BOADICEA.
15
Untrod since Nature's hand in ruin hurl'd
The bands of rock that chain'd her to the world;
Whom the rapt Druid sees in terrors rove
'Mid the deep silence of his gloomy grove,
Or where your temples vaulted by the skies,
A frowning band of giant columns rise;
And ye who haunt the shores where Mona rides
Securely moor'd amid the rocking tides,
Bend from your cloudy car. If e'er your force
Check'd Julius' steps, and stay'd his victor course;
If urged by you Caractacus's car
Swept down Salurian steeps the torrent war;
If fired by you his captive eye could roll
Its freeborn glance and awe a despot's soul;
Now bid each arm in injured freedom strong,
Avenge a Country's woes, a Monarch's wrong.
Lo! through the surge the Roman chargers bound
That girds your sacred Mona's woods around;
In vain your hoary Druids on the shore,
Their torches toss and imprecations pour;
In vain your fearless tribes, a faithful band,
Before your shrines unyielding fall or stand:
The victors stride above the ranks of dead,
Your hallow'd vistas shrink before their tread;
Fall'n are your sacred groves where silence reign'd,
Your altars ruin'd and your shrines profaned,
Your priests, their silver hair with gore defiled,
Lie on the strand in ghastly carnage piled;
And lie they unrevenged? with impious hand,
Shall Rome deal woes around the groaning land,
And shall no power that guards the injured good
Look from yon azure skies, and mark her deeds of blood?
Yes, they have mark'd; and speak in[1] portents dread
The wrath that trembles o'er th' oppressor's head.
The bands of rock that chain'd her to the world;
Whom the rapt Druid sees in terrors rove
'Mid the deep silence of his gloomy grove,
Or where your temples vaulted by the skies,
A frowning band of giant columns rise;
And ye who haunt the shores where Mona rides
Securely moor'd amid the rocking tides,
Bend from your cloudy car. If e'er your force
Check'd Julius' steps, and stay'd his victor course;
If urged by you Caractacus's car
Swept down Salurian steeps the torrent war;
If fired by you his captive eye could roll
Its freeborn glance and awe a despot's soul;
Now bid each arm in injured freedom strong,
Avenge a Country's woes, a Monarch's wrong.
Lo! through the surge the Roman chargers bound
That girds your sacred Mona's woods around;
In vain your hoary Druids on the shore,
Their torches toss and imprecations pour;
In vain your fearless tribes, a faithful band,
Before your shrines unyielding fall or stand:
The victors stride above the ranks of dead,
Your hallow'd vistas shrink before their tread;
Fall'n are your sacred groves where silence reign'd,
Your altars ruin'd and your shrines profaned,
Your priests, their silver hair with gore defiled,
Lie on the strand in ghastly carnage piled;
And lie they unrevenged? with impious hand,
Shall Rome deal woes around the groaning land,
And shall no power that guards the injured good
Look from yon azure skies, and mark her deeds of blood?
Yes, they have mark'd; and speak in[1] portents dread
The wrath that trembles o'er th' oppressor's head.
- ↑ Tacitus, An. XIV. 32. Dio. Cass. LXII. 1.
