LESSON 59 BoadiceaWhen the British warrior Queen,Bleeding from the Roman rods,Sought, with an indignant mien,Counsel of her country's godsSage beneath a spreading oakSat the Druid, hoary chief;Every burning word he spoke full of rage and full of grief ―Princess! if our aged eyesWeep upon thy matchless wrongs,'Tis because resentment ties all the terrors 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.Rome, for empire far renowned, tramples on a thousand states;Soon her pride shall kiss the ground―Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!Other Romans shall arise,Heedless of a soldier's name;Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,Harmony the path to fame.
