Despatches Home
William Neill
At last we have them all well fooled, well tamed;
they use our baths and lard themselves with oil,
truss up their souls and bodies in the toga.
The squireens speak school-Latin and affect
misunderstanding of the kerns from their estates
(less slaves these than their masters
whom we have flattered into Roman ways).
Now, when our swords save them from their own kin
and mind plays traitor, there’s no need for gyves.
Up in the hills, I grant you, there are those
whose hides are dun with peat-reek and who keep their arms
tough as our own with “Parry! Thrust! Recover!”
Who watch and watch, and hope that we grow weak.
Ungovernable these, growling in their own speech;
lean as the wolves they prowl their bracken dales,
dream vengeance as the bards sing round their fires.
They curse their former lords – lost to Catullus –
and snarl like tigers when we bay them up.
Holding for the most part, then, to the Pax Romana,
out from the hills some few
attempt their bloody mischief on dark nights.
These demons armoured in enamelled bronze
hate us as we hate them.
We both despise
the Latin-lisping traitors of the town.
At last we have them all well fooled, well tamed;
they use our baths and lard themselves with oil,
truss up their souls and bodies in the toga…
—William Neill (1922–2010), “Despatches Home”
from DESPATCHES HOME (Reprographia, 1972)
A #Roman #poem for the #IdesofMarch
#poetry #RomanBritain
