The Dawn in Britain :: :: University of Virginia Library

Then, from the East, ascends new warlike brood,
In stature like to children of the gods:
Foot-folk and chariot riders, whose stern hands,
Armed with hard bronze, and great their flocks and herds.
Nephews of these, in long succeeding ages,
Filled all that fair wide soil, which we Main Gaul
Now name, to gates even of vast Ocean Stream.

Were gathered then, to marches of the North,
Kindreds and tribes, before their kings; to choose,
A people which, to new seats, should fare forth.
In every five, is one man taken, by lot.
Lords chosen are of their thousands, in like sort.
Those called before North Gaul's assembled kings;
When now, new sacred lots were, mongst them cast,
One taken is, Samoth, to be supreme duke,
Of royal kin; and strengthen him the gods.
At full moon should be this new nation's voyage.

But come the day, when gathered to great plain,
Of Belges' Gaul, this people should remove,
Priests join, to Samoth's wain, two young white steers,
Whose wide-horned fronts, lo, guirlanded with flowers!
And are their necks unbroken to the yoke.
The people, with their droves, sue where those wend.
Each eve, where halt the sacred beves, they lodge.
Then days, fare this new folk, of many weeks,
In devious paths, until, in fine, far off,
They view that Ocean Stream, which girds the World.

And lo, the sacred heifers, Samoth's wain,
Draw down, at morrow, to sea's barren strand.
In salt waves, then, descended, they begin,

Come to their withers, both forth stately swim.
In the vast desert tide: and their face set
Is, to dim-shining cliffs of yond White Isle.
Gaul's stand then all confused, on that wide shore.
Duke Samoth, leapt down from the sacred wain,
Him many, through strange billows, bear to land.
Dripping salt humour, he in view of all,
Sea's pebble-banks ascends. Soon beckons then,
The duke, from cliff; and shout his word loud heralds,
That lodge they all, to-day, at these sea brinks.

Whilst Gauls long gaze, were lost, to view, those beves.
At eve, fleet back their guirlands, to this strand,
Then whispered was; And there would some man vow
His soul, for Gauls' great voyage, now to high gods,
His name should spring among the endless stars,
Where gods and heroes old. Start three young lords,
That to priests' turven altars, hold in course;
Each greedy of glory; and one, above the rest,
(Youth of divine aspect,) with glittering glaive,
Running, it thrust, ah! down, in his own bowels!
Might hardly his germains, druids then refrain,
(Were all those sons of one old noble man,)
But weeping, they, with generous great desire,

Would likewise slay themselves, with the self brand.
To honour him that dead is, mourn the Gauls,
All night, whilst fire consumes his sacred corse:
Whose ashes priests, at dawn, strew to sea waves.

Sent Samoth word, to yet assembled kings,
That bade, to-night, in dream of sleep, his god,
Him ride on vast salt-water's plain, to land:
Whence Samoth makes request, they one year's space,
Might tarry at these sea-brinks, to build them ships;
Wherein they follow should their sacred steers.

Unto him, is brought back word, enquired Gaul's kings,
Done sacrifice, of this thing, of their gods;
And they, consenting, grant, moreo'er, them tithe
Of the land's corn; which those, in harvest season,
May reap down, for their peoples' sustenance.

With stroke on stroke, of thousand strong right arms,
That sea-bent rings; and falls the antique forest.
Taught of poor fishers, Samoth's folk wrought barks,
Of boards, with spikes, conjoined, to crooked knees,
Of oaks; and caulked with tallow and hair of beasts.
Other, them weaved, of osier, basket boats,
Which they with fells o'erdight of sacrifices.

When twelve moons now have waned, in Gaul's cold skies,
Descends that green wood, a loose-timbered navy;
And rides on wild sea-billows' face, at strand.
Is fashioned the duke Samoth's barge, like chariot,
Which mongst them fleets, wherein their sacred things.

Full shines the thirteenth moon, on Gaul's bleak seas,
When now flood-tide springs, under their fraught keels.
Then standing by their prows, with guirlands, dight,
This fearful people wait some heavenly sign.
Eftsoon, the wind veers lightly from Gaul's land.

Then sounds out Samoth's trumpet, priests hurl brands,
From altars to sea waves. Gauls climbed aboard,
Plash forth, with oars; and loud chant to their gods.
Nor had that fleeting nation lost the shore,
Whereon now burning left they thousand fires,
When, in sea's watery paths, gin dread their hearts.
Soon in this moonshine, sounds much confused voice,
Of men embarked, with multitude of stived beasts.