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

Climbed, by the shrouds, sees Phelles, when late eve;
Low coast and breaking waves, on craigs, beneath.
All watch, till shine, on loft, the stars of God.
Then sets them, landward-in, slow sliding tide.

New day, wide-springing, now; behold, they fleet,
Embayed, their ship swims in large river-mouth!
Which seeing, record their hearts of Egypt's flood.
Them bears in, Liger's salt in-flowing tide.
By dunes, eftsoon; by meadows, hanging woods:
They upland drive. At length, on river-hill,
Lo, halm-thatched cabans, blackened of the rain.
Is this some Gaulish town, whose uncouth keels
Ride, yonder, under holt; whose hawsers chains,
Their leathern sails hang flagging in the wind.

From that dune shore, lo, manned-forth barks, with rowers,
Girt in frieze coats. Those lay their boats aboard:
And mounting now, tall yellow-bearded Gauls,
The stranger ship; bid, proffering hard right hands,
To guests and sea-folk, welcome, in dumb show.

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Other made towlines fast, of wreathed whale's-hide,
To blue-eyed stem of bruised Phœnician vessel,
Toll-on, by force of oars, now, to their staithe.

Is this their hythe, where tawny nets outspread;
And smells of fish. A thronging people wait
Them, on the quay; where gang-board thrust to ship,
Many stout arms. Step, holpen of kind hands,
Forth, sea-beat saints; and say, The Peace of God,
And of His Christ, be on this heathen strand!

Then they, astonished, one on other, looked;
Saying, Even here is Rome! for Roman soldiers,
They see; and sentinels, leaning on their spears.
He, who their officer is, with friendly countenance,
The saints salutes: Salvete! in tongue, he saith,
Of gentile Rome. Totter their feeble knees,
When he the brethren, thronging on them Gauls,
By cobbled street, to the prætorium, leads:
There Roman gate and house of guard, they pass.
He brings them in, to high-built hall of audience.

There Priscus, on his bed, sits, Roman quæstor;
Who goodly greets those shipwrecked, them perceiving
To be some strangers of a Roman Province.
He marks, in Syrian wise, them to be clad.
They see, is sick, this Roman magistrate:

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Who speaks now word, remembered from his youth;
What time he warred, under great Cneius Sextus,
(Reigning Tiberius,) Shalom, peace! His steward,
Good Priscus charged prepare them bath; and give
The strangers change of raiment; and make ready,
That might those shipwrecked, also, dine, anon.
Livia, his wife, sends for the shipwrecked women.
And named this town is Corbelo, the saints hear.

Called, after supper, in, the saints; the quæstor
Gins commune, with them, of their perilous voyage;
First, asking, in Greeks' speech, of their estate.
Interprets Alexander: And likes Priscus,
Well, of their words; as who wont daily read,
In Greeks' philosophy; and namely of One God,
Who Father of all breath, both men and gods.

Sith, to his officers, sitting him around,
Good Priscus gan relate; how, child, sometime,
He dwelled in Petra, city of Nabatæans;
Convallis deep, cleft in those mountains waste:
In whose cliffs, have men hewed them, of great cost,
Like Tuscans, stately mansions of the dead;
(Even as the martins delve their sandy nests!)
Howbeit of builded clay and rubble stone,
Save their god's temple is the merchant town.

Centurion, fared, with that Egyptian army,

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His father to the war, which, (Aelius duke,)
Augustus sent, to reave the far-famed wealth,
Of lean Arabia, which vast wilderness is,
Of thorns and tamarisks; where, in the baked earth,
And sand, few waterpits are; and tawny wights,
That in poor hair-cloth booths, sun-blackened, lodge,
And satyrs seem; and, every day, they fast,
And, every day, with their few beasts, remove.

Led by false guides, six months, through desolate wastes,
Marched Aelius' army; where none water was:
And seemed that soil, for heat, the sun-god's hearth!
The wasted cohorts hardly nighed, at length,
To certain hills; where incense they, and gold,
And water, found: whose barbarous people armed,
With lances, slings, short swords, and two-edged bills,
Great multitude, but inexpert, in arms,
Assembled, fought, at a brook side, with Aelius.
Of whom then, battle joined, Romans slew thousands!
Of our part, fell two soldiers. There were taken,
With prey of cattle, many enemies, captives;
Of whom, being some compelled to be their guides,
That highway of Sabæan merchandise,
Which Nabatæans, in any wise, would hide,
Revealed to Romans; who ascending thence,

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Therein now marched, weak remnant of proud legions,
Wasted by misery and thirst, to a third part!

Those took some open towns, by the way-side:
Sith, the two Hejras; where, midst palms, they passed,
By many wells. But, angry, o'erthrew Romans,
To wreak them of the king of Nabatæans,
For his false guides, his merchant-city there;
Crowned with sharp cliffs; such as, at Petra, are,
And chambered, with like stately sepulchres.
Hid-treasure they, in that deep sand, of gold,
And frankincense also, found; her citizens, thence,
They carried away, captive. Westward forth,
Marched Romans, o'er waste mountains' craggéd coast;
Whose stones are sounding iron, to Hejra-port;
Where they inshipped, for Egypt: but being sent
To Hierosolyma, sith, his father's cohort;
Was captain, there, his father, in the tower,
Antonia; and namely of the temple-guard:
Which temple, for Jews' nation, lately, Herod
Had edified, (he who Magnus sith surnamed;)
Unto whom Augustus gave the diadem.

One day, to fetch, from Petra, home, his house,
With certain Idumeans and merchant Jews,
Of sheep and corn; he rode, unwarlike train,

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Of camels and of mules, to the Peræa.
With weary march, they compassed the salt plain,
From whose deep coast, where they ascended forth;
Fell men out, on them, of waste wilderness,
Baked in the sun, where grows nor corn nor grass.

Some pierced were, by the salvage people's shafts:
The rest fled scattered, left their beasts to loss.
Only his father, (Roman!) would not flee;
But done-on helm, drawn glaive, his shield embraced,
The first wild men he slew, which them advanced.
Then, running, many drew him, from his horse;
And smote, with claves, to ground, and stripped of weed.
Sore bruised and wounded; they him left, for dead:
Yet some him laid, under a thornbush shade;
Being so commanded of their desert god,
Mankindness show, to every dying wight.
Those left a water-bottle, at his head!

A merchant Jew, of Hebron, chanced that way,
With loaded camel-train, to fare, at morrow.
But his hired servants, carrion eagles, white,
Marked yonder tire, as on unburied corse;
Gan, (Jews,) to drive, from that defilement, forth,
Their laded beasts; and would have shunned the place,
And fearing robbers, in that valley of rocks.

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Howbeit the chapman, Jew of mean estate,
But pious, of right bountiful good heart,
Fearing his God, aye hoping to see good,
Drew nigh to weet, if, there, did any live;
Whom, peradventure, he, (were righteous deed,)
Might save. Much languishing, he my father found:
And spake that Jew, What man be'st thou? that liest
Thus, wounded, in thy life-blood, here, alas!
He to his camels ran then; and him brought,
To drink of water, mixt with wine; and washed
My father's wounds: sith, with new tunic, clothed;
So, gently, him rearing, set on his own ass;
And tracing him beside, to Rabba, brought.

Oft, had he heard his father tell this story:
And to requite that goodness of the Jew,
Would he the rather, kindly, deal with these,
That be of the Jews' nation, shipwrecked guests.
With pleasant taling, thus, the evening hours,
That Roman drives. So, with new word of Peace,
Priscus, went forth, them bidding well to rest.

But envious spirits, which sleep not, from that place,
Drive night's sweet rest. Men cry out, in their dreams:

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Hounds howl; and three times, ran to arms, the watch.
Priscus lay, all this night, appalled by visions,
Of Roman cohort, drenching in salt billows.
Now when new day is risen, upon the earth,
The quæstor, called those children of the East,
And questions with them; Could they dreams interpret?
Who answer; They but soothfastness, might speak.
Weary, then, Priscus calls, for cup of wine.
But when now somewhat soared, the morning sun;
In Corbelo street, approaching to these gates,
Hark concourse, and much voice. An officer, soon,
Brings in this hall some Gaulish horseman soldier;
Who, roll of an epistle, takes to Priscus.
With trembling hand, good Priscus it received:
The seal upbreaks, and reads; Sempronius,
Sends greeting, warden of this Roman shore.
And be it known, to thee, most excellent Priscus,
According to what certain word we heard;
From mouth of Sequana, lately sailed great vessel,

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Called the Bucefalus; which was ship of charge,
With victual, and the year's relief of soldiers.
Dread is; they, in ere-yester's tempest, perished.
Timbers and tables drifted up, all night,
Under my station. Then, at dawning light,
Were weltering carcases seen of legionaries,
In billows heaving: which be drawn to shore,
At my commandment. And I gather wood,
To make drowned soldiers seemly funerals.
Even as I write, is found the body of Faustus,
Captain of soldiers, of the second cohort.
Given at this Roman tower, Pictonia.

Avert the immortal gods, from us, all evil!
Know, after I had sealed the former scroll,
I sent out barks. Then many, upon sharp skerries,
Left by the ebbing tide, were corses found.
These drawn to shore, bade I then lay, on rows;

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Mongst whom, as many doubt, forbid it gods!
A young man lies, like thy son Lepidus,
Who sailed, in that great vessel, the same tide.
Lo, I thee send his ring, for a sure token.
Strengthen thee, in this sorrow, I pray the gods!

So Priscus trembles, with an ashen face,
That seemed all radical moisture him forsake;
And burst a great sob forth, from his sick chest.
Then Roman sufferance, lo, in his fixt looks!
He puts on humour of philosophy.
Priscus commands anon; that were made ready,
An expedition, which should, with him, march.

Tread armed bands, eftsoons, forth, of legionaries;
That, in the paved court, ground their rattling spears.
Livia, to whom hath Priscus sent that ring;
Behold, much weeping, after them, comes in,
The quæstor's spouse; whom, veiled, sustain her women.
She, Lepidus! sobs; our loved son, Lepidus!
Shall, thy dead limbs, thy mother's hands compose,
Upon thy timeless bier; ah, cruel gods!

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She enters, in her litter; and now march
Those Roman soldiers, forth, with drooping spears.
Parts, in another, Priscus, leaving word,
With his freedman, well entertain those strangers.

When, sith, to midday, draws, the saints outwend,
To pray; and seeking pure aparted place,
They hold their way down to the river's brinks.
All kneeling now, at Liger's tiding shore,
Make mention of good Priscus, in their prayer.

The R. Loire.