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

The Isle lies empty and desolate. A people of the Gaulish Main, chosen out, by lot, overfare to Britain. Samoth is duke and father of the new Island-nation. Sarron, the Star, succeeds him. Marriage of father Sarron's daughters; and that sire's death. After him his ten sons-in-law rule the Britons. After their time, and being now strife among the island tribes, Dunwallon is chosen royal warden of the nation, as Samoth, erewhile, was. Dunwallon gives his people laws. That great and good king is slain. Belinus then and Brennus, his twin sons, contend for the sovereignty.

Brennus, passed the seas, is received by his uncle Correus, king of Sénones Gauls. Brennus, in Arden forest, fights with ethling Heremod, duke of an inroad of neighbour Almains; wherein they both, in a manner, being conquerors, Brennus and Heremod make covenant together, and swear oathbrotherhood.

King Belinus passes the sea, with an army, to go against Brennus. Their mother Corwen passes over, in another vessel. Reconciliation of those royal brethren. Word, then, is brought, from Britain; that the tribes' princes have banished them from the Isle.

Belinus and Brennus fare forth, with new gathered armies, to Gaulish wars; and joined, to theirs, is an Almain power, with ethling Heremod. After many marches, Gauls, gone forth, in arms, avenge the Aquitainians of their enemies, Iberians. Gauls, thus, conquer, to themselves, new seats in far-off Spain; Celtiberia.

I chant new day-spring, in the Muses' Isles,
Of Christ's eternal Kingdom. Men of the East,
Of hew and raiment strange, and uncouth speech,
Behold, in storm-beat ship, cast nigh our Land!

New Light is risen upon the World, from whence
The dawn doth rise. In Canaan of the East,
These days, was heard, of men, as Voice divine;
Which in Thy mouth, Jesua, our Prince of Peace!

But thou, dear Foster, Britain's Muse, record,
What antique wights dwelled ere in this sweet soil;
Who kings, of sacred seed, bare o'er them rule;
What gods adored then the blue-pictured Britons.
Sith tumults, great war-deeds of Britain's sons;
And erst of glorious Brennus in Mainland.
Who conquered Rome, and Italy did burn;
And arms of his great seed, still turned gainst Rome.

None from dim ruins, in vast deep abysm,
Of buried ages, Muse, save thou alone,
Nurseling of Memory, can revoke again!
Sith Cæsar's wars, in this Far Island Britain;
Where now, behold, yond saints of Christ arrive.

Now, after sundered from the Continent;
This Isle lay empty, a land of cloud and frost,
And forest of wild beasts; till creeping time
Brought man's kin forth. Then Fathers of the World,
Begate the nations. Last few fisher folk,
Passed, driven by tempest, from the Mainland's coast.
They feeble of stature, clad in fells of beasts;
(Whose weapons, in their hands, were sharp flint stones,)
The river strands possessed, and wild salt shores.
To them were holes, delved underground, for bowers:
Trees were and streams and hills and stars, their gods.

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.

When last that weary night's long shadow past,

Them fails now, in mid course, the morning wind.
Then herdmen Gauls, outlaying their rude oars,
To win yond White Isle's cliffs, long vainly strive.
For aye them backward sets a sliding tide.
Loud all that day, rockt in their idle ships,
(And oft each other, as in so thick fleet,
They fall aboard,) call Gauls on their land-gods;
And faint their cattle, tossed in long unrest.
Then Samoth's mind is rent, twixt two dread thoughts;
Whether, to saviour gods, he offer up,
To-day, his son, for passage of that deep,
Or die himself, amidst his people's ships.

Senotigern, in Samoth's barge, who sails,
Chief druid, sees divine statures, in sea mist,
Of woody gods; whose lofty antique groves,
This people have hewed down, to build them ships;
Wherefore they, angry, sea-bound hold their navy.
Proclaims then loud-voiced herald, that all men make,
Devoutly, to those wood-gods vows and prayers;
And Noden, sovereign lord, named of sea deep.
Behold, at setting sun, now sign divine!
Green-grown the timbers of the royal barge,
That shoot out branches then and golden buds.
Anon, new springing East wind wafts their keels.
Nigh middle night they touch, under white cliffs,

In a fair bay. Was first there to take land,
A widow's bark, rowed of her valiant sons,
Portending, in that soil, should women reign.

At morrow, founden were, on those white cliffs,
Their sacred steers. Gauls then, to joyous feast,
Them give, till eve; when kindled beacon fires,
At Samoth's word, in sign they salute Gaul.
Soon shout this folk, when answering flames are seen!
Far over seas, from their own Gaulish Main.
Those sacred heifers Druids, at new dawn,
Yoke unto Samoth's barge. By laund, those then
Draw, towards hill-grove: whereas, betwixt two oaks,
It priests set up, under green wattled lodge,
Of the trees' boughs. Therein, of Samoth's god,
An image is, which brought his fathers old,
From Land of the Sunrising, soil far off;
Wherein, (is fame,) aforetime, Gauls abode.
That here, the narrow sea beyond; in view
Of Gaul's great Main, should be his dwelling-place.

Then king, in the New Isle, is Samoth named,
His people's father, of Gaul's o'erfared druids.
In his white mantle, sith cast sacred lots
Senotigern, the old: and this, to wot,
Unto which part, appoint the holy gods,
Should every kindred tread up from this shore;

And it possess. Behold then, on green hill,
The same whereat were found the sacred steers;
Standing before his folk, the righteous King
Ordains that all, in summer moon, each year,
Assemble to this place; and judges sit
With him, this people's causes to enquire:
Which month should aye be void of warlike fear.
Is this that antique Samoth named The Star,
For sacred skill, was in him, of star-read,
Founder of kingdoms, and our nation's laws;
Whom after ages worshipped as a god.

When now have dwelled in Britain, many years,
His Gauls, deceased King Samoth, in ripe age;
Succeeded, in whose room, his nephew Sarron.
For Samoth's son, vowed, in that passing o'er,
To a sea god, might not long live on ground.
Men his disciples name Sarronides.

Much then increased this nation of the Gauls,
In the Isle. Last grown King Sarron blind and old,
Not having sons, the people are his heirs;
Though ten his daughters, born of one chaste womb.
And died in the last birth of their sweet babes,
Their mother Bronwen of most perfect feature;
Whose sovereign beauty, in every one diverse,
Is seen and infused wisdom of their sire.

Then princes many asked those royal maids,
And without dower, for their beloved sons.
For he, who nourished all young lords, that sought
To him, for doctrine, as the poor for bread,
Had well-nigh, now, his once large substance spent.
Howbe just gods, which love the bounteous soul,
As their own image, blessed his herds and flocks.

In sacred moon of the revolving year,
Was day uprising from his purple throne,
When lords and elders, Gauls' new nation's heads,
Reverent, convey the blind sire in his charret.
To moot-hill, all that day, he softly rides:
Where come; behold, green camps and wattled bowers,
Of leafy boughs; and Britons lodge around.
Was then Senotigern, old royal druid,
Revealed his people's will, at length, to Sarron;
And namely, that should wed the royal maids:
Brought gifts have Britons also, in their hands,
They to the judges' seat, will none approach,
This year, to trouble feast in Samoth's house.

Answered the pious King, touching this thing,
He would enquire, of heaven, by sacrifice;
More favourable he had oft-time, found, his gods,
By night-time. For this people, whose infinite voice,
I hear, slay, druid, a white bull; and slay

Me, (see thou,) a perfect wether for my soul:
And for each of my children, an ewe lamb.
So might my prayer receive thrice-holy gods.
That druid went forth; and when he came again,
Bright messenger of sacred dawn, is risen,
The morning star. Then to the Briton sire,
He spake, how severally the bowels renounce,
Propitious is the mind of Gauls' great gods.
On turven altars, dight the victims' flesh;
Them, suddenly, a three-forked flame of lightning smote,
Which every one consumed, to the green sods.

Now day, an herald, from moot-hill, proclaims,
Sarron the King, admonished of high gods,
The people's asking grants. Stand forth who covet,
Of noble youth, be sons in Samoth's house.
Three score, lo, wooers of those royal maids,
Excelling all their fellows, in men's sight,
Of hew full pale, (so love drinks up their spirits!)
Rise: and seen now they all were to be sons,
Of whoso noblest are of o'erfared Gauls.
Bundles Senotigern then, of little rods,
Prepares; whereon each wooer his several token,
Sets: and these being all together cast,
In priest's white saie; behold that reverend druid
Calls two purblind old wights, out of the press.

As these then wave and shake, their lots fall forth:
Till seemeth now only ten ones to remain.
Then cries the priest! and they withhold their hands.

Britons loud hail those happier chosen ones.
Cluster now whoso noblest them around:
So, young men, bring forth, mild of countenance,
But with elated breasts, and lead to Sarron;
Who, under large oak boughs, gives audience.
Britons sing bridal songs, all, with glad voice.
Taking their hands, divines that long-aged sire,
The bodily image of his sons-in-law;
And riddles them, to read their hearts, propounds.
Sarron then bade, to call, from the ox-wains,
His daughters. See, where come those royal maids!
With blushing looks and gracious steps of doves.
All, like to dream, are fair! With heart's amaze,
Each noble youth, each royal virgin sees,
Him, whom least hardly she might love; he her,
Whom he, above a mother's love, doth choose!
Their hearts already have knit holy gods.
With bowed-down heads, each gentle pair plight hands,
Sign of their virgin troth, in the blind palms,
Of their and all this people's father, Sarron.
And they the doom-hill now, with Sarron sire,
Ascend. He, blind, sat down on Samoth's stone,

And all acclaim him. Then, before the Gauls,
The necks girt the king-father's trembling hands,
With royal wreath of gold, of every of those
Young lords shall be his sons. His sceptre rod,
Unto each then gives, in order, in his hand;
Ordaining each were king, after his day,
By monthly course; and Britons loud applaud.
The sire descended, eftsoon, mounts in chariot!
And, three times round, about the moot-hill drives,
In that he supplicates his nation's gods.

But when day's eve, and deckt the bridal bowers;
Now after supper, clad in whitest lawn,
The royal brides, with chaplets on their heads,
Of the May-lilies, like the sister hours,
Lo, led forth, with shrill songs and carolings,
And voice of pipes, midst band of noble maids;
Where stand the bridegrooms, in glad companies,
With thousand torches of the cloven pine.
Ten thousand throats then, loud, the marriage gods
Praising, pray bless those, paired now, royal lives.

Soon after parts the blind sire, in his chariot,
In white moonlight, unto his wonted place;
Which is an hall and bowers, and shepherd's cotes,
Twixt streaming Medway and green forest side.

Sith ten days' long, with song and merry make,

(And each day of a royal pair, is named;)
The Britons, gathered in their open camps,
Those bridals keep, which look toward's Gaul's mainland.
But when fulfilled those days of dance and feast;
Creeps in all hearts desire now to turn home.
Britons, at early morrow, will forsake
Their withered bowers. But hardly well uprisen,
Is this new sun when, lo, in powdered chariot,
With panting steeds, arrives an hoar-head herald.
Belvese, who standing, hollow-voiced, for grief,
Proclaims aloud, amongst the people's press;
That from this fleshes darkness, passed, to-night,
Great Sarron's Spirit, to new light of the gods.
Rose confused murmur, great then wailing voice
Brake from a mourning nation's multitude!

Those sperse them soon, in many companies;
Then wend they all to field, for halm and wood,
Till eve; for burning of the royal dead.
Unto the moot-hill, cometh now slowly on
The funeral wain. All fare, when sets this sun,
To sprinkle meadow-sweet and flower of broom,
Before the bier. Bards blow loud wailing note,
In trumps and reeds; and rue the people's hearts;
And bellow Kent's white hills, as the sea's shore.

Drawn of slow ox-team, shrouded in white lawn,
Behold, which convoy forth, the people's heads,
Singing shrill funeral hymns, the royal corse.
Before them priests, with cressets go and brands:
And each one sighs, as for his father dead.
But come this mourning to their high-strewed pyre,
Princes and druids, crowned with dismal yew,
Reverent, uplifting, bear the royal corse,
Upon the high-banked wood. The Britons all,
Standing in compass round, with veiléd heads;
Those royal spouses, Sarron's sons-in-law,
Slay sheep and beves. When druids the king's corse
Have with the victims' fat, then overlaid,
Priests give, from off the holy altars, brands,
Unto the princes; and those fire the wood,
Whereon loud sighing East wind gins to breathe.

And, lo, uprolling smoke, and climbing flames,
Like roaring waves! whilst a sad people watch,
Sitting, till morning-red, all, on dank grass.
The dying embers, quenched the royal sons,
With mead and milk; then in an ark of bronze,
Gather those few bleached bones, with pious hands.

Britons, in the next days, on rolling beams,
Draw mighty stones, unto that burning-place.
Sith, under-delving, them uprear, on end,

To stand aye round the chamber of the dead:
Which custom is of antique royal Gauls;
Whose father, Gomer, dreamed should drown the world.
A sennight, Britons, banking earth and sods,
Labour to mound high tomb. Lighten their toil
The silver accords of bard's trembling crowth.

Upon the king's grave-mound, Senotigern then,
Standing, loud praised the days of Sarron dead.
Last, thrice, about the royal funeral hill,
All slowly pace; and three times, shout Farewell!
The mourning ended, they, with Sarron's sons,
Which henceforth, in their several months, should rule,
Turn to go home. Those noble brethren dwell,
Sith, without envy or guile, in Sarron's hall.

When gone, sith that king's death, were certain years,
Wasted the isle a grievous pestilence.
Perish unnumbered Britons' multitude.
And who survived, so feeble were and low,
They might uneath their garments' weight sustain:
Whence custom grew, that Island Britain's Gauls,
Muchwhat their valiant members leave unclad;
And stain, in war, which counted healing was,

Their flesh with woad. Cause of this death, deemed druids,
Some unappeased ire of the blue sea-gods.
Wherefore, when Britons gathered were to cliff
Of Kent, in the moot-month, each lord his steed
Cast to sea waves. Which done, divining druids,
At new day-spring, beheld three high-necked steeds,
Before the precinct of their sacred grove,
Divine of semblant. Whilst they marvelling stood,
Those steeds brake, with loud neighing, to sea shore;
Whence seemed they to draw forth, in full career,
Swart chariot running o'er the hoary billows:
And ceased, even from that hour, the island plagues.

Twain only rest of all those royal spouses,
Cingorix, who deaf, oblivious now with age,
Cedes to King Peredur, his brother peer,
(Yet fresh, like one of the long-living gods,)
His monthly sovereignty: in whose day, erst was
A maintenance assigned to Britain's druids;
And public seats, where might the ingenuous youth,
Learn Sarron's discipline, lifting up men's souls,
From dust of that rude age. Oft were their schools,
Then, cowslip lawns and glades of leafy woods,
And banks of bubbling streams. Then first set bornes;
And common ways were measured of league stones.

In this king's time, erst Belges from the Main,
By German arms oppressed, sought Britain's Isle.
Those lately arrived, from a vast region,
Beyond the mighty currents of the Rhine,
Led by their god of war. And Peredur,
Divided land, to all, by equal lot.

And to that Brittany, which The Less or Erinn,
Is named, wherein stand altars of the sun,
And priests a daily-dying god adore;
Iberian stranger nation, the same year,
In wicker keels came, fugitive, from afar;
Whereof part, in waves wilderness, had perished;
Part driven were, peradventure, to those coasts;
Of whom the sons, to Britain, called the More,
Excelling all that shoot in crooked bows,
Silures named, o'erfared in the next age.

The people of Samoth, now to nation grown,
Were in their borders, tumults. Ploughmen strive,
With ploughmen; herdfolk for hill-pastures wild:
Then kings gan threaten arms. Sith king Dunwallon
Arose, one surnamed the Just Lord; whom all
In the truce-month, Britons' assembled tribes,
Choose warden of the nation, as ere was
Sarron the Star. Before the people then
Sate down on the doom-hill, he redressed wrongs;

And in the next year, published equal laws.
But as good thing, even when at best it is,
Wont fail; so by await of wicked men,
Was midst his days, great king Dunwallon slain.

Unto him young Belinus succeeds, his son;
But god-like Brennus grudging, younger born,
His brother twin; hath passed, these days, the seas,
In secret ship, unto his mother's kin:
For had Dunwallon, as in troublous time,
In a king's court been nurtured on the Main;
And namely amongst the Sénones, Belges Gauls,
Where to the dear Corwenna, was he joined,
In his first manhood, child of Gaulish kings.
There by his uncle Correus, as became
His high estate, is Brennus entertained;
Whose valour, gentle person, and fair speech,
Gifts of the gods, accepted are of all;
Whence gather noble Gauls to Brennus' part.

Come summer season, he an hunting leads,
To Arden woods; who ride with him, bear bows.
Being entered in that wold of stony hills,
First thrilled prince Brennus' shaft, a great tyned hart.
All light, to sup, now eve, then, in that place.
Sith Main and Island Gauls sleep round their fires.

When wakes them early chiddering of small birds,
They start desirous from their leafy beds,
The tuskéd swine and fierce ureox to hunt,
Follow them britain sleuth-hounds, in wild forest.

A league those were not ridden, whenas they gleam,
In yonder hills, discern, of stranger arms;
Great-statured horsemen, under whom there run
Little rough steeds; so that the men's shanks seemed
Touch nigh the grass. An hundred on their beasts'
Bare chines sit, Almain riders, by their guise,
Such as were wont to vex, with oft inroads,
The lands of neighbour Gauls. In days of peace,
Is this most honour of their warlike youth.
Contemners of the cold, the wind and the rain;
Short pilches clothe them, broached with brazen pin,
Or thorn, at the large breast; and long rough braies.
Come mingled with them runners, fleet of foot,
And all are armed with javelins and broad shields.

Now those, which passed in hazardry have and feast,
(Casting, for dice, the huckle-bones of sheep,
Which yester they had reaved, and sith did eat,)
Much night; being risen tardy, when the sun
Already soars, whilst in cold-running stream,
Some wash them; lifting night-mist from the plain,

Their watch espy some riding of armed Gauls.
Those then, shrill-fluting in their fist, call in
Their men; that hastily running, steeds and arms
Take: mongst whom, stern young lord, their duke, up-spake;
That show they should their manhood; and what vaunts
Some, last night, made they now, by deeds, approve.
They call on Woden, god, then, as they ride,
Father-of-Victory, mighty Lord-of-Spears.

Rides Brennus only as on hunting, armed,
With bow and shafts, and bear his Gauls no shields.
Almains approach then, with hoarse chant, to augment
Whose horrid sound, like buzzing of East wind,
They press broad bucklers to their scornful lips.
To-side, some little, draws then martial Brennus;
For slanting sunbeams in Gauls' faces smite.
Lifting his hand, few words that prince then spake;
Though ride yond Almain bands, to warfare armed,
And more than we; should those now make amends,
For many ancient wrongs. As they come on,
With shout, bend your stiff bows, and naming each
His god; your levelled shafts let fly, at once.
The gods may will we fall, but not die basely.

Gauls lost from view, the Almains ride forthright;
And would have passed that thick and cragged place;

But at loud neighing of a Gaulish steed,
Wends the Almain duke, that sits high on white horse.

Twang then of bows! and sped, like swallows, forth,
That Gauls have sudden loost, as six score shafts!
Which ravisht of the wind, pierce men and steeds.
Shrink the enemy's troops; a bow-shot they draw off.
Not many are fallen, on Arden's leafy moss.
In glade those halt. An Almain youth returns,
Towards Gauls; whose shaven beard and his polled locks
Witness, that yet none enemy slain, he hath
But this, of stature huge; with goodly targe,
And raiment, seems some noble personage.
With thick speech, Sigfried, insolent, cries to Gauls,
Ha, Welshmen, archers of small fowl in wood,
Too vile your shafts were to drink heroes' souls!
Body to body, and durst ye now contend,
With men in the open, know that Heremod,
Aelling, (was Aella son to Sigegaar,
Which of the blood divine derives of Woden,)
This day, your duke defies to mortal fight.
We plight us, and our Almain say is sooth,
Were Heremod overcomen, to serve Gauls;
But, and he overcome, ye shall serve us.

To lead them forth, Gauls loud, impatient, shout!
But Brennus careful for his people's good,
Seeing they came not, as on warfare, armed,
Them beckons peace. Then he, the enemies' proffer,
Accepts. So turns that earl to Heremod.

Six heralds now, three Gauls, with three of Almains,
Measure there lists, in a green glade; and fence,
With cords and hazel rods. Gauls, hunters, halt,
With spended bows. Halt Almains, with round shields,
Of linden light, before their warlike breasts.
Shine twybills in their belts; and lean their hands,
On grounded spears. When now all ready is,
Prince Brennus, on tall steed, pricks to midspace.
Sallies duke Heremod, straight, on a white horse,
Nourished by fountain, in dim sacred grove;
Gift of his sister, virgin prophetess,
And ensign of these Almains in their wars;
And of whose neighing wont divine the prince.

On Brennus' bridle waits a Briton page:
Young Sigfried, with broad shield, on Heremod.
But that great-hearted, when he marks outride
Brennus, to meet him, without fence of targe;
Bade Sigfried bear his own, wrought like the moon,
Whose circuits tin and bronze, (by hand o'erlaid,

Of Weyland, Saxon smith,) to the Welsh prince.
Heremod embraced then buckler of his squire.

Now heralds in bright helm of Heremod,
Shake battle lots: and, lo, have given the gods,
The onset and first stroke to Briton Brennus.
Then hurled the Briton prince his hunting lance:
That flaw of wind, or hand of hostile god,
Makes swerve; for it o'erflies the stoopéd neck,
Of Heremod, who, lo, cometh on, with bright dart,
And bloody intent, to reave his foeman's life.
He it casts; but midst of his own well-wrought targe,
The violent bitter head is stayed, of bronze.
Yet partly, eager to drink blood, it pierced,
Through beaten hide and brass: and razed beneath,
The hero's flesh. Trembles the javelin's heel,
As wicker wand, that whips in river's stream.
They closed together, on uprearing steeds,
Wrestles duke Heremod, with stiff mighty brawns,
Recure his weapon, pluck his foemen down.
Sits like tall cedar, rocking in fell blast,
The Briton prince; with glaive then, smote the Almain.
It glancing from bright helm of Heremod,
Rasheth hard border of his hollow targe;
And severed sinews hath of the duke's arm.
So huge the stroke, astonished, would have fallen

Duke Heremod, from his sell, but, generous, Brennus,
By the belt, upholds him, now in his tough arms,
Him mainly heaves, on his tall Gaulish horse.
And the Almain duke, upstaied, before him bears!
Then, by the bridle, wrought with gingling rings,
A goodly broidered work, of thongs, embossed,
He caught that courser white of Heremod.
Gauls, Britons, shout to heaven, at this brave sight.
Returns, unto his part, prince Brennus thus:
When, ah, that burdened steed, whereon they ride,
Founders, pierced in the belly, from a bush.

Rose Brennus light; and gently him uprearing,
Who swoons, with his stout other arm embraced,
And shields the Almain duke! This wrong hath wrought
Carle which lies bleeding, by shaft's shot, on grass;
That trained him, hither, crippling, like to snake;
While fastened were all eyes on the dukes' fight.

Now when this fell deed saw the prince's page,
He loost two Britain hounds out from the leash.
Those leap forth baying deep; but gainst them cast,
From either hand, that earl of Heremod, dart;
For Sigfried hath, in both hands, equal force.
An hound one smote to earth; but the other shot,
Razed foot of Brennus; whence the angry Gauls,

Their threatful bows, whereon ben arrows crossed,
Gan draw up to their breasts: but noble Brennus,
Unto his Gauls and Britons, beckons peace;
Dreading some retchless hand, might loose a shaft,
Gainst Heremod's life; and minish his high praise.
Lay the Almain heralds, on that felon, hands;
And spits earl Sigfried in his hilding face!

Softly then Brennus lifts, on his white steed,
Hurt Heremod: and him, lo, the prince embraced,
In his strong arms, afoot, now faring leads.
Ere silent in fierce scorn, then Almain throats
Shout, praising Brennus! Sigfried now and heralds,
They send to knit, with martial Gauls, right hands;
Asking they might not serve, as vanquished thralls,
But follow aye prince Brennus, in his wars.

Prince Brennus comely grants; and quoth to Almains,
How was he put unjustly from his right,
In land, beyond sea waves, White Island Britain;
Wherefore, in Gaul, he gathers armament:
And they, in arms, should follow him as friends.
Those further ask, to take up now, in Arden,
Their slain, to make them solemn funerals,
As custom is: which, likewise, grants prince Brennus.

Bearing seven bounden corses, on their steeds,

Almains, with Sigfried, ride: hurt Heremod leave
They, with Gaul's prince. Brennus cures Heremod's wound.
And were, of Gauls, that night their lych-fires seen,
In far-off hill, where they the bodies burn.
At dawn, the dead men's weapons those divide,
From mile to mile, for plays of running steeds,
In heaps. Who heap attains, that fee is his.
Only the ornaments of all fallen men,
Shall to their widowed households, be borne home.
Nathless none run that heat of freeborn Almains;
Since, pierced by shafts, those died inglorious:
Wherefore, who servants, gather their bright arms.

Returned, they Heremod find refreshed, with Brennus,
And Brennus makes them feast, in the wild forest,
Of chines of the wood-boar and swans' fat roast,
Venison of light-foot roes and the dun deer.
And when they all, in wood, have supped their fill,
And drunk, instead of ale, of the clear well,
Mingled with the wild sweet of honey combs,
Almains and valorous Gauls, plighting right hands,
Swear brotherhood; and duke Heremod with prince Brennus.
Hath each one conquered, even thus they hold,

In deeds magnanimous; whence appeased their hearts,
They in fast friendship, will contend henceforth.

At morrow's dawn, duke Heremod, with his Almains,
Mounts homeward. He, ere long, will turn again;
Thus made is their accord, with all who will
Partake the adventure of the prince of Britain.
They slowly march; earl Sigfried Heremod's steed
Leads: is his uncle's son, that salvage groom.

Lo, as covenant was, this last day of the moon,
All new assembled in the wilds of Arden,
Brennus with Gauls; and Heremod with tall Almains,
At grove which hallowed to the woody god,
(Arduina named,) is in the forest side.
Terrible of aspect, armed forth to the wars,
Behold those Almain youth, five hundred spears.
They to the plain descend, at day, with Brennus.
Who tiding sent before, where he should pass;
Wherefore Gauls daily gather in green paths,
With steeds and arms, unto the Britain prince.

But warned of this new stir, hath prudent Correus
Tiding sent to his sister, beyond seas:
Which passed, his messengers find, the queen, Corwen,
At Troynovant, with Belin Britons' king.
King Belinus and his lords, with their armed servants,

Uprose anon. To Kent's sea, those march forth;
From Dover port, to pass. There, gathered ships,
They hastily loose from shore. They then, next morn,
With prosperous sail, arrive in Belges' Gaul;
Where, lo, (with Briton-cries!) out of their keels,
Descend, three thousand spears, to the fast land.

Also in a tall hoy, Corwenna embarked,
(So dreads her mother's heart,) at Troynovant.
Her ship much buffeted then, in billows, was
Two days. Next rising sun, come under Gaul,
They draw down sail; and row inshore with oars:
Where ride already keels of Britain fashion,
And tents are seen, of Belin, pitched beyond!
Nor she waits, mother, ladder from the board;
But leapt down, in her woman's garments, wades
The queen, in running surges, to white sand:
For, from her masthead, was, like glittering cloud,
Seen as a mighty army; and it divines
Her mother's heart, is power of her son Brennus.
Impatient, towards King Belin's camp, she hies.
Her seemeth some nightmare which withholds, so cloys,
Her hasting feet. She runs, of all unwist;
For look those only inward to the land;
And hides her tall ship's mast much dunéd sand.

Even now had Belin sent his horse-folk out,
Descry that marching of armed Gauls, heard Brennus
Descends, to meet him, at the very coast;
Whence he, in arms, would overfare to Britain.
Much moved was Belin, in his tent-door, seeing
(Nor wist he she had sailed,) his mother Corwen!
His scouts, returned, bring word of nation strange,
Great-statured wights, not Gauls, that march with Brennus.
Is dread, to hear the songs of whose rude throats,
In tongue uncouth. Now they, as who rest out
This mid-day's heat, lodge yonder, on green grass,
By a flood side: which heard, issues King Belin,
With shining arms, amidst the Britons' camp;
Where, marshalled all his power, he mounts tall steed.

Then, like as falcon compasseth wide skies,
With aery skritches, when her birds she sees
Lie in some peril; so this careful queen,
In making shrill lament, anew hies forth,
All on her feeble feet. And she outrunning
Her damsels' train, and even the armed young men,
Beyond deep sand, came to that hollow stream,
Where her heart pants, as wanting living breath.
But turned to her again her weary spirits,
She wakes the further shore and slumbering men,

With her shrill shrieks, calling on her son Brennus,
Beyond that twin-banked river streaming wide.
Upstart Gauls, Almains, then, confused from sleep.
A woman cries. Son, cease from impious wars,
So shall thy brother cease: cease, my son Brennus!
And I will send to call thine uncle Correus,
That he be arbiter, betwixt your griefs.
Then all Gauls knew, it is the Britain queen.

Britons, from Belin's camp, in this, approach,
With spended bows; and clad in glittering mails,
Went down, before them, to the river's brink,
Belin, who lights from steed. The mother queen
Beckons, that all keep silence. She calls then,
Her sons to parley, each standing on his strand,
And she, in the cold tide, somewhat, descended.
That royal mother spread abroad her hands,
Twixt both hosts, cries, What wicked hap, alas!
Arms brother's hand against a brother's life?
Why trouble ye these bowels, again; my sons?
Could Britain not contain what this one womb?
Would I had carried you, till now, therein!
Were such, my sons, more tolerable case,
Than bear this heart, which swells up in my chest,
With immense grief. So saying, rent Corwen queen

Her upper weed and aged paps displaied,
Fountains, whereat both sons had sucked, at once;
For were they twins. She, furious, beats, alas!
Her royal breast; strait stooping, took she up
That river's ooze, and strewed her reverend hairs.

Then, as beside her mind, in the cold tide,
Forgate her eld, she goes. On the twin brinks,
Still gazing, negligent of warlike arms;
Stand opposed hosts. Queen Corwen shrilly cries,
If evil you, were I, O, my loved sons,
Of one . . .! no more, (for immense dool so chokes
A mother's throat,) queen Corwen couth say forth.
Like then to heifer, whom hath stung the brese,
She headlong rushing, plasheth to mid-stream.
Where currents deep. There fail her feeble knees:
She, ah, drenching! Lady of Britain, is borne down!

Straight, in their ranks, uprisen, have cast strong men,
On every hand, their arms: leapt, from both brinks,
Hundred, as frogs, lo, sudden down, at once!
Then truce, in all hearts, was of enmities,
Whilst hurl they and wade; some, like to otters, swim;
That thresh, with furious force, the sliding stream.
Before them all, like scaley water-snake,
Rusheth King Belin, in a shining harness.

Brennus comes, mainly staying on stiff lance,
In his bright mails, whereon the sunbeams break;
And seems in tumult of that water's race,
As flame. But outwent all their valiant men,
Belin in shole, Brennus in hollow stream.
Each to mid-current wins. Each prince's arms,
His mother strongly uplifts and girds. They bear,
Unto small eyot, twixt them both, now her;
With comfrey and watermints and loosestrife, deckt;
And willow-herb, and hemmed with lilies white;
Whereon have timbered swans their shield-broad nest.
They her softly all-drooping set, and do outwring
Her upper weed. Each brother looked then, erst,
On brother, as looks hound on felon wolf.
She vomiting, dismaied, much water, faints!
But come again her spirits, her feeble arms
Them both constrain, in fervent long embrace,
Each to each pap: then melt their frozen hearts.

Each germain marvels, in his secret breast,
They lately variance had, for glory base!
Then both, laid their right hands, twixt her cold palms,
Swear by All-seeing Sun, and this stream's god;
And by all-nourishing bosom of the ground;
Peace, without guile, and to abide, henceforth,
By the arbitrage of king Correus. Men muse viewing

Those twin strong boars weep on their mother's breast.
Whilst yet all on her gaze, and on her sons;
And read her venerable mother-looks,
Creeps inward sweetness in their warlike hearts.

King Belin bade, proclaim, a loud-voiced herald,
Unto all then, Gauls of Britain and the Main;
Is peace established, twixt Dunwallon's sons.
Lo, upbear the princes both, the queen Corwen,
From chilling flood, then to the Britons' bank!
There certain gentlewomen, which the seas,
With her, have passed, receiving, lead the queen,
Apart, to covert-bowering alders, where,
With fire they her recomfort and dry cloth.

Brennus takes horse, the flood again to pass.
Is cry then heard, mongst Britons, shout to arms!
For strangers issue yonder, from dark grove;
Are Almain warmen of Duke Heremod.
Horsemen, have these, (to whom Welsh tongue uncouth,)
Ridden unperceived, the stream, above, to pass;
And fall unwares, on Brennus' enemies' backs.
Britons stand hastily then, in ordinance,
With spended bows, ready to loose; but Brennus,
Spurred forth, by signs, by shout, warns Heremod.
Loud, Belin cries to Britons, Hold your hands!

Each brother, twixt the hosts, his brother shields;
Each greedy give, for germain's life, his life.

Eftsoons cometh Heremod. Seven noble youths,
Lo, on his bridle wait; of whom chief is
That Sigfried earl. And help him these to light:
Nor yet his wound is whole, under his harness.
Of them all Heremod saved the lives in fight:
Wherefore they vowed their lives, to keep his life.
Belin, with ethling Heremod, joins right hands,
Whilst heralds truce proclaim; in both the tongues,
To Gauls and Almains. Those of Brennus, part,
To Belin pass. Sith lodged in neighbour camps,
At the sea side; they tarry still for Correus.

After few days, that king renowned, arrives,
With flower of Gauls and chief estates and druids.
And joys the noble king, heard this accord,
Made twixt his sister's sons; and them embraced.
They bring him on, with worship, through their camps
Where royal Correus, salute thousand throats.
Much of the welfare of the queen Corwen,
The sire asks of her sons, as they forthride.
Corwenna's tent, stretcht yonder, on a dune,
Lo, stands apart; who issues is the queen!
Nor yet discerns she, is Correus to her rides.

Hath each not seen, since when, in their first youth,

They playferes were, in Moel's court, their sire,
The other's face. And what day led Dunwallon,
Briton, her virgin bride, who noble was,
And valorous most, mongst princes which her sought;
She, maiden, goddess, seemed in beauty and grace,
(Now old are both;) and tamer of fierce steeds,
Was comely, as a god, young Correus.
Once more, he lights before her, from war-steed.
The same fresh looks, now rugged-browed and hoary!
Once more, their lips together meet and kiss.
And whilst they gaze, with infinite affect,
One upon other; each gan, as whilere,
The other's infant-name to murmur dear.
Long, hand, those germains stand, in hand, as when,
With linkéd palms, they gathered flowers, in fere,
In the spring mead: and Corwen smiles and weeps.
Sith her two sons, to Correus, she commends.
But when again, with Correus, as behoves,
The princes mount, to Council-tent, to ride;
Them bids return to sup the queen Corwen:
And bring, friend of her sons, duke Heremod.

Three days, in fellowship, dwell then forth and feast,
Almains and Gauls; and who are come with Correus.
The fourth morn, keel arrives, from Island Britain,

With embassage. Lo, who mount, much people suing,
From wide sea-strand, be messengers, public heralds.
Those led before the kings, done reverence,
With solemn cheer, make declaration thus:
Lords gathered, this moot-month, to Cantion cliff,
Two days, at the truce hill, held parliament;
Whereafter, reason heard of all would speak,
They caused it be proclaimed and published thus:
Deceased Dunwallon, chosen of the gods,
All lordships should revert to former state.
And, for now war Dunwallon's sons abroad,
And threaten bring in Britain foreign harms;
Be banned those princes from the Isle, henceforth.
All lords, of common read then and accord,
Did swear, on burning altars of the gods,
This to maintain, with all their arméd powers.

Fierce ire flames in the germain princes' hearts;
And kindles, even in breast of prudent Correus,
Disdain: loud clamour Gauls; shout Heremod's Almains!
And drawn that mingled host out thousand glaives,
And shaking spears, would in their furious mood,
Straight ship for Britain: but, sith, pious voice
Prevails of Corwen, widow of Dunwallon.
She, mongst the princes, counsels, mother queen;

They send enquire of certain oracle,
Which not far off, on this sea-coast, of name.
Horsemen of Correus leap anon to steeds,
As birds in flight. And they already, at eve,
Before an isle, lies nigh to land, arrive;
Whereto durst none, but he bear in his hand,
With devout heart, some sacred gift, approach:
Which cast to waves, he long, loud, shouts from strand!

But sea-gods, the same night, whence lately set
The sun, unchained so great tempestuous blast;
That broken were, in rage of storm, the most,
Not drawn up, on the shore, of Brennus' ships.
Dunwallon's sons see their repair cut off;
And darkened, on the morrow, were their looks,
Which sit, in council, with king Correus.

Returned Corwenna's messengers, those record,
They heard a sea-god's voice, from billows, roaring,
Should brothers strive, within their mother's womb?
Dark saying; and which might, yet, no tongue unfold:
Till quoth the queen, perceiving the hid sense;
Should not their Foster Land her sons invade.
New ferment grows: loud Main and Island Gauls
Call on their captains, lead them to far wars!

Now fortuned, this year, came to court of Correus,

Where Brennus sojourned, men, outlandish wights,
Being merchants lading foreign wares on mules,
Which strangers were of speech and hew and fashion.
And lately those had overpassed vast Alps.
Brennus had, oft time, through interpreters,
Heard them the penury of Gaul's soil reproach;
Boasting in theirs more rich and happier life,
Where men a mingled juice, blood of the earth,
Wont drink, which gift is of the blesséd gods.
Low-statured men, those did, and of loose life,
Defraud the people, in their merchandise.
He smally accounts their valour in the wars.
Whence whispered had prince Brennus, in men's ears,
Might not he Britain win; that soil of theirs,
Called Summer Land, he would attempt in arms.

New spirit invades, of warfare, all men's hearts,
They think it long, till they the sons of Corwen,
Follow with blowing war-horns. Prudent Correus
Permits, to his young men, that enterprise.
And ready is Heremod, duke, to march with Brennus.
Him pricks forth noble impotent desire,
Of glory, and after death high-mounded tomb,
Guerdon of great war-deeds and deathless song.
Their moot-place, Correus sets, in forest Arden.

To gather greater power, wends Heremod home.

The Briton princes bring him on his journey.
Three ravens flying, lo, then, from dark grove,
Great flock of skritching daws before them drive;
And fell their bloody beaks many, to ground.
One of those ravens also wounded is.
Much did dispute thereof then augurers;
And more, when this sun set, and now they lodge,
Under thick boughs; and supper being dight,
On the three princes' heads, were seen to rest
As flickering flames; which read divining druids,
Unto each, portend great glory, in time to come.

Sith Corwen widow-queen; and royal Correus,
Part from each other; but with presage sad,
They should again not meet. He to Lutece
Rides forth, his royal city; and her white sails
Soon lifted to the wind, lo, under land!
To governance of Dunwallon's royal house,
(Wherein she daughters left,) this noble queen
Repairs again, by ship, to island Britain.

Wide springs, in Belges' Gaul, that name of Brennus!
Youth rise up, which would prove their warlike worth,
In all Gauls' Sénones' marches, from their hearths.
Soon full of armed men marching, are all paths.

Now, at the appointed time, to Arden forest,
Approach, lo, warlike thousands of the Gauls.
Careless of idle words of banishment,
Come from Isle Britain, triple bands of horse,
Called the trimarch. But Almain Heremod
Not yet arrives. Pass the meanwhile, in Arden,
Britons and Gauls, in martial exercises;
And kindle battle chants of bards their hearts.

But Corwen, sick, these days, might not return,
To Gaul, to take farewell of her loved sons.
She harness sends them, shields and glaives and helms,
Of all the best, which hanged had on the walls,
Or deckt high roof-tree, of Dunwallon's hall,
With loving message. She them both commends,
To Gauls' and Britons' gods, with daily breath.
Moreover, she sends their father's silver cup,
The lip of gold; Govannon's divine work,
Whence might they pour libations to the gods;
And make them merry, in land of enemies.
To Heremod, Corwen sends, (whom, with her sons,
She numbers,) targe, whereon, for nombril, formed,
Which might sustain his life, a mother's breast.

Now in midst of the third month, as forward was,
Nighs to Gauls' camps, in Arden, Heremod,

With power of Almains; such as, ere, not seen,
In warlike Gaul. Him stayed uncertain omens;
And swelled against them currents of the Rhine:
Wherefore had Almains marched about to place,
Where they his giddy flood might safely pass;
Casting in pious Heremod a white steed,
Their sacrifice, unto that river's god.

In Aella's marches, king of seven tribes,
Duke chosen was lately ethling Heremod,
Namely of that year's outfaring Saxon youth:
Whence he, to the great warfare now of Brennus,
Leads army of foot, twelve thousand and light horse.
Gauls hail, then, with loud throats, their Almain guests;
As they, in the green wood, pass by to lodge.
Kills hundred beves, at even, royal Correus,
And without number sheep. Then called are Almains,
To meat; and soon those sit, by hundred hearths,
Mingled with warlike Gauls; and drink the best,
And merry make. Chant, lacking common speech,
Then, Gauls and Almains loud hymns of their gods.
Sith risen, some wrestle; other vie, in dance,
Other in race. Not seld leaps, mongst sharp swords,
His mastery for to show, some naked Almain.
Gauls beckon them to drink. And bards endite
Their measures sweet, at the lords' evening fires.

When springs new morrow's sacred light, king Correus,
Amongst the princes, offers sacrifices;
And priests look in the bowels. Then they declare,
Will of the gods, the mingled hosts remove.
Returned, the dukes, in haste, mount their war-steeds;
And put the army in ordinance to march.
With Gauls, in every troop, fare mingled Almains.

Now Paris.

Tri, three; march, horse.

Govannon, divine smith.

Loud blasts of warhorns rouse men's panting hearts!
With shrilling merry note of hundred pipes,
The hosts fare forth. And quakes the foster earth,
Neath thick tread of warfaring multitude.
Riding apart, the forward hold the dukes:
Each to be known, both by his goodly steed,
His garments sheen and noble personage.
Three men, with them, be seen, of stranger nation;
Whose foreheads girt with guirlands of field flowers,
To horse; but bounden backward be their hands:
Ausonians those, which from far Summer Land,
Came to king Correus. Now they captives ride;
And should those be the Gauls' interpreters.

But forasmuch as were in Gaul, all strangers
Accounted guests, much doubted noble Correus
Attach the men, though many them accused;

Till, in a drunken fray, those Tuscans slew
Some of his Gauls; then he them judged to bonds.
Nathless the princes, freedom both and gold
Them promise; and those well in their war-voyage,
Them serve. With the forthfaring army, outride
King Correus, lo, and Sénones lords. But risen,
When fourth sun is in heaven, the Belges' king,
With father's hands, on those three princes' heads,
Did warlike morions of hard bronze impose,
Labour of cunning smith; is each helm's crest
A raven and a star. Sith Correus kissed
His sister's sons; and takes, in both of his,
Their valiant hands and Almain Heremod's.
So wisheth them, that fare to war, godspeed.

This mighty host, through Belges Gaul, descends,
From camp to camp. But when the winter gods,
Now rain incessantly, upon earth's large face,
The armies halt, under wide-sheltering woods;
Where build the Gauls them bowers, for many a league.

Ride the three princes thence, before the hosts,
Forth; and to river dune, of the Sun's face,
(Lug's-town, ) arrive; where altars of that god,
Twixt meeting of great Rhone and Sargon floods.
Those royal germains, with duke Heremod,

There, after the day's sun, do vigil keep;
Slumbering on fleeces of their sacrifices.
The princes, of the sun-god, would enquire,
Concerning their great warlike enterprise:
Whose wont is answer in prophetic vision.

They leave, without the holy precinct, there,
Shields, hauberks, brazen helms and shining arms.
Those captives also, which they hither led,
They therein now have loosed. Sith offering made
Three wethers; when they of the victim's flesh,
Have supped, the princes laid them down to rest;
Expecting should rise on their dreaming sense,
Some heavenly vision of the time to come.

But soon those captives, whispering in the dark,
From temple brake; and they, even where most swift
Run eddies deep, in the cold waves of Rhone;
On Gauls, invoking dreadful curse, all leap
Did down, from cliff; and drench for country's health!
Lifting his head, smooth-streaming Sargon rose;
Then, with great tumult, headlong Rhodanus:
And soon their whirling floods that field invade;
Yet raught not the degrees, where the dukes sleep,
Before the altar of their sacrifices.

Now is the hour, when deepest sound the streams,
Before the dawn; and sleep weighs on men's sense.

Unto each alike then of her dreaming sons.
Corwenna, in heavenly radiance, lo, appears!
Full pale she is; and spake, even now, from earth,
I passed and borne is, towards the stars, my spirit;
But love to you me, yet, detains a moment.
For nothing, be, my sons, dismaied, the heavens
Favour your arms. You, conquerors from far wars,
Shall bring again, Gaul's high safe-guarding gods.
Ah! I may not you embosom, in these arms,
Once more! so sadly faded she. Each starts,
From sleep; each, to the other, tells his vision.
Each germain takes his brother's hands, and weeps.

Now Lyons.

Flock to Lug's dune, Gaul's Southern tribes, in arms;
Come, with much foot, in; companies, lo, of horse,
To join them to tall Sénones of the North,
Whose army already arrives. Yet certain days,
The princes mourn, by Rhone, their mother dead.
Polled his long yellow locks, duke Heremod;
And, Britons, three days, taste no cookéd food.

Come the sixth dawn, loud-sounding iron-throat war-horns,
The three kings' hosts remove, with a vast noise.
Wayfaring thence, they march, a month of days:

Till by lake Atax, nigh to blue sea waves,
Arrived; the Gauls and Heremod pitch: and loose
To pasture, forth, their lean wayfaren beasts.

Whilst thus they tarry, out of Aquitaine,
With gore-stained rusty garments rent, come men;
Which plain them of a crude Iberian nation,
Have burned their fields, and people slain with sword.
Like angry bees, the army of Sénones' Gauls
Loud murmurs: tumult then is in their camps.
A fury upon them breathe avenging gods;
So that Gauls, risen from meat, smite shields and shout.
Nor more them might refrain their dukes: they march,
By the moon's lamp; and Gauls, vast woody mount,
Blue Pyrene, see, at dawn, with snowy crest.
But sickness feigns king Belin, in Gauls' camps,
In the next days; and to dig many graves:
Sith, semblant makes of flight. The king's mind is,
From yond hill-forts, entice his enemies.

Sith Brennus, taking part of his light horse,
Departs, by covert night, with Heremod.
By day, they shroud them, in some thicket place.
They steal thus forth: their guides, the third night, lead,
By pools, by quaking moors and alders rough,

Where startle fowl before them, with shrill cries:
And sith, by whispeling canes, much sand and rocks;
Where mighty Pyrene stoops to blue sea waves,
His cragged knees, with much ado, they passed.

Now, this same night, as covenanted was,
Belin made semblant of a burning camp.
Iberians, greedy as hawks, descend in haste,
To ravin, from hill-strengths. But ambush laid
Dunwallon's son, in thicket-valley's paths,
Where the enemies running, headlong, with loud cries,
In glittering harness, swart-skinned multitude;
With sudden sleet of darts, Gauls on them rise.
Then long, in vain, the mountain nation fight;
Gainst Gauls as oaks, till few remain alive.

Their scouts above, which look down from hill paths,
Discern, that burn their fields, left without ward,
Beneath, in wide South March. There Brennus drives
Innumerable prey of great horn-beasts,
And bleating flocks. Ere noon, he measures camp,
By summer brook, two steepy meads divides.
With walls, those cattle then, of dry-heaped stones,
They close: and would they wait there the main army,
Which nighing now with Belin. Each king hath;
Through Britain war-hounds, taught to run by night,

And turn upon the sleuth, from host to host,
Tidings, in these days, of each other's speed:
Being tokens limned and bound on the hounds' necks
With images of war, in birchen rind,
Camps, battles, and who hurt known by their crests;
Preys, burning steads, with days shown of the moon:
And he who sends, by like sign, is made known.
In this wise, word is now received, from Brennus,
The next day early, should that king arrive.

But this night bold Asturians, Cantabers,
Ansigones, assail that wall of Brennus.
Led by voice of their own penned beasts, they creep,
Unshod, o'er rampire of now slumbering Gauls;
And javelins cast, and bitter sleet of shafts,
They shoot, in what part, lodged, sleep valorous Almains.
Those leapt up, from armed slumber, at the fires;
And rushing, now in gloom, with long iron swords,
And twybills, slay forth their first enemies.
Shines out the covert moon, when fierce Iberians,
Now yelling throngs, the cattle-camps invade!
Defends King Brennus, with his flower of Britons,
And Gauls; which bucklers joined above their head
Them shelter make, from hail of sharp sling stones.

Loud shout the dukes. Resounds the lofty night,

With smitten shields, and cries of mortal wights.
Brunt upon brunt, and new and new alarms:
Now Brennus; now, uneath, stout Heremod,
The poise of war sustain. Like sudden wind,
In that, come scour to them of Britain warhounds;
Whereby they know, that Belin's army approach.
Hark a far-sounding of iron-throated warhorns!
Amazed, the battle press of enemies,
Convert their warlike face. Gauls, whom leads Belin,
Have fired yond harvest fields. Before them, goes
Red flame, as billows wide, in wild night wind.
Of feeble corn stalks, is that fearful light;
Whereby yet-shimmering night of stars, is quenched.
Day springs: like to swift storm, comes the trimarch!
With levelled spears, they smite a confused press.
Then shrink, twixt double army of the Gauls,
Iberians. And when now the dawn unfolds,
Is seen that hostile nation of the hills,
Well-nigh consumed; strewn with their carcases,
Strange blackened field and trampled shields and arms!

Being thus the Aquitanian Gauls avenged;
In the next days, divide the island kings,
To them much cattle, and more, to store their farms,
Than ere had crude Iberians from them reaved.

Yet whilst Gauls rest in camps, to cure their wounds,
Marched forth duke Heremod, with light armed and horse;
Which harry and burn, even to far sea's wide coast.
Tiding of good success, Dunwallon's sons
Send to their uncle, royal Correus.
Then Gauls, Spain's plenteous conquered glebe possess;
With cattle and corn and captives of these wars.
Sith autumn come, they eat, to them unwont,
The clustered grapes, which gather in their thralls;
That stive, in mighty fats, and tread the must.

Was then, when those see drunken their new lords,
In their own fields, with new wine; they conspire,
Rise in one night, to kill all Gauls and Almains!
Of whom being some forewarned, of their wife-thralls,
(Which they, not few, have wedded since the war;)
Made angry Gauls sheep-slaughter of their servants:
And everywhere is fear, and watch in arms;
Till time when the sweet Spring renews the year.
Then first those spouses, travailling, unto Gauls,
Bring forth Iberian sons; and founded is,
In this far soil, new Nation of mixed blood.