Boudicca from Omphalos by Cesair

When the British warrior queen
bleeding from the Roman rods,
sought with an indignant mien
counsel of her country's gods.

Sage beneath a spreading oak,
sat the Druid, hoary chief,
every burning word he spoke
full of hate and full of grief:

'Princess, if our aged eyes
weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
'tis because resentment ties
all the terror of our tongues.

Rome shall perish - write that word
in the blood that she has spilt:
perish hopeless and abhorred,
deep in ruin as in guilt.

How sweet it is for fatherland to die!
True Virtue opens heaven to worth.
She makes the way, she does not find
the vulgar crowd, the humid earth.

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

• Britain
• Europe
• World
• battle
• celtic
• celts
• folk
• heathen
• occidental
• pagan
• romans
• Netherlands