And when the zoning eve has died
Where yon dark valleys wind forlorn,
Come Hope and Memory, spouse and bride,
From out the borders of the morn,
With that fair child betwixt them born.


And when no mortal motion jars

The blackness round the tombing sod, Thro' silence and the trembling stars Comes Faith from tracts no feet have trod, And Virtue, like a household god


Promising empire; such as those

That once at dead of night did greet
Troy's wandering prince, so that he rose
With sacrifice, while all the fleet
Had rest by stony hills of Crete.


LADY, let the rolling drums

Beat to battle where thy warrior stands: Now thy face across his fancy comes, And gives the battle to his hands.

Lady, let the trumpets blow,

Clasp the little babes about thy knee: Now their warrior father meets the foe,

And strikes him dead for thine and thee.

HOME they brought him slain with spears. They brought him home at even-fall: All alone she sits and hears

Echoes in his empty hall,

Sounding on the morrow.

The Sun peep'd in from open field,
The boy began to leap and prance,
Rode upon his father's lance,
Beat upon his father's shield

"O hush, my joy, my sorrow.'



WHILE about the shore of Mona those Neronian legionaries

Burnt and broke the grove and altar of the Druid and Druidess,

Far in the East Boadicéa, standing loftily charioted,

Mad and maddening all that heard her in her fierce volubility,

Girt by half the tribes of Britain, near the colony Cámulodúne,

Yell'd and shriek'd between her daughters o'er a wild confederacy.

'They that scorn the tribes and call us Britain's barbarous populaces,

Did they hear me, would they listen, did they pity me supplicating?

Shall I heed them in their anguish ? shall I brook to be supplicated?

Hear Icenian, Ĉatieuchlanian, hear Coritanian, Trinobant!

Must their ever-ravening eagle's beak and talon annihilate us?

Tear the noble heart of Britain, leave it gorily quivering?

Bark an answer, Britain's raven! bark and blacke


Blacken round the Roman carrion, make the ca cass a skeleton,

Kite and kestrel, wolf and wolfkin, from the wi derness, wallow in it,

Till the face of Bel be brighten'd, Taranis be pr pitiated.

Lo their colony half-defended! lo their colon Cámulodúne!

There the horde of Roman robbers mock at a ba barous adversary.

There the hive of Roman liars worship a glutto ous emperor-idiot.

Such is Rome, and this her deity: hear it, Spir of Cássivelaún !

'Hear it, Gods! the Gods have heard it, O Ic nian, O Coritanian !

Doubt not ye the Gods have answer'd, Catieucl lanian, Trinobant.

These have told us all their anger in miraculou utterances,

Thunder, a flying fire in heaven, a murmur hear


Phantom sound of blows descending, moan of a enemy massacred,

Phantom wail of women and children, multitud nous agonies.

Bloodily flow'd the Tamesa rolling phantom bodie of horses and men;

Then a phantom colony smoulder'd on the refluer estuary;

Lastly yonder yester-even, suddenly giddily totte ing

There was one who watch'd and told me dow their statue of Victory fell.

Lo their precious Roman bantling, lo the colon Cámulodúne.

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Shall we teach it a Roman lesson ? shall we care to be pitiful?

Shall we deal with it as an infant? shall we dandle it amorously?

'Hear Icenian, Catieuchlanian, hear Coritanian, Trinobant!

While I roved about the forest, long and bitterly meditating,

There I heard them in the darkness, at the mystical ceremony,

Loosely-robed in flying raiment, sang the terrible prophetesses.

"Fear not, isle of blowing woodland, isle of silvery parapets!

Tho' the Roman eagle shadow thee, tho' the gathering enemy narrow thee,

Thou shalt wax and he shall dwindle, thou shalt be the mighty one yet!

Thine the liberty, thine the glory, thine the deeds to be celebrated,

Thine the myriad-rolling ocean, light and shadow illimitable,

Thine the lands of lasting summer, many-blossoming


Thine the North and thine the South and thine the battle-thunder of God."

So they chanted: how shall Britain light upon auguries happier?

So they chanted in the darkness, and there cometh a victory now.

'Hear Icenian, Catieuchlanian, hear Coritanian, Trinobant!

Me the wife of rich Prasutagus, me the lover of liberty,

Me they seized and me they tortured, me they lash'd and humiliated,

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