. O'er scenes thus wild adventurous Cæsar stray'd, And joyless view'd the conquests he had made; And bless'd Italia's happier plains and skies, Through purest air where yellow olives rise; From elm to elm where stretching tendrils twine, Bending with clusters of the purple vine : While, spread o'er sunny hill and verdant wood, Stray the white flocks, which drink Clitumnus' flood. Rude as the wilds around his sylvan home In savage grandeur see the Briton roam. Bare were his limbs, and strung with toil and cold, O'er his broad brawny shoulders loosely flung Which, monster-like, ev'n to the confines ran Of nature's work, and left him hardly man. A direful image of his ruthless heart; But you, illustrious Fair Ones, wont to brave ■ Inesse enim sanctum quid et providum fœminis putant. Tac. de moribus Germ. "Απαντες γὰρ τῆς δεισιδαιμονίας ἀρχηγὸς οἴονται τὰς γυναῖκας. Strabo lib. vii. What is said of the ancient German women is applied by Mr. Mason, and our early historians, to our countrywomen of earlier ages. The important offices, which they filled in the government, so unusual in the savage state, fully justify this application. But, proudly bending to a just controul, Bow'd in obeisance to the female soul; And deem'd, some effluence of th' Omniscient mind In woman's beauteous image lay enshrin'd; With inspiration on her bosom hung, And flow'd in heav'nly wisdom from her tongue. Fam'd among warrior-chiefs the crown she wore ; Rul'd the triumphant car; and rank'd in fame No tender virgin heard th' impassion'd youth Breathe his warm vows, and swear eternal truth: No sire, encircled by a blooming race, View'd his own features in his infant's face : The savage knew not wedlock's chaster rite; Uxores habent deni duodenique inter se communes. Si qui sunt ex his nati, eorum habentur liberi, a quibus primum virgines quæque ductæ sunt. Cæsar De Bello Gallico. The torch of Hymen pour'd a common light; Such was the race, who drank the light of day, When lost in western waves Britannia lay. Content they wander'd o'er their heaths and moors, They vainly deem'd the twinkling orbs of light For them alone the golden lamp of day Held its bright progress through the heav'n's high way. When the chill breeze of morning overhead Wav'd the dark boughs, that roof'd his sylvan bed, Up the light Briton sprung-to chase the deer Through Humber's vales, or heathy Cheviot drear. Languid at noon his fainting limbs he cast On the warm bank, and sought his coarse repast. With acorns, shaken from the neighbouring oak, Or sapless bark, that from the trunk he broke, His meal he made; and in the cavern'd dell fell. At eve, retracing slow his morning road, Dio Nicæus says, that the Britons in the woods would live upon roots or bark of trees. |