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THE 
 
 GRAVE OF THE LAST SAXON; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE CURFEW. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WH1TEFK1ARS. 
 
THE 
 
 GRAVE OF THE LAST SAXON; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE CURFEW. 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 BY THE REV. W. L. BOWLES, 
 
 AUTHOR OF LETTERS TO LORD BYRON, 
 POEMS, ETC. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO. ; 
 
 AND 
 
 ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO., EDINBURGH. 
 
H 
 
TO I > 
 
 RICHARD HEBER, ESQ., .;.,:! 
 
 M. P. FOR. THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 
 
 THIS POEM IS DEDICATED, 
 IN TOKEN OF PUBLIC AND PRIVATE RESPECT, 
 
 BY HIS OBEDIENT SERVANT, 
 
 W. L, BOWLES. 
 
 \ \ 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE circumstance of the late critical con- 
 troversy with Lord Byron having recalled my 
 attention to a poem, sketched some years ago, 
 on a subject of national history, I have been 
 induced to revise and correct, and now venture 
 to offer it to the public. 
 
 The subject, though taken from an early pe- 
 riod of our history, is, as far as relates to the 
 Grave of Harold, purely imaginary, as are all 
 the characters, except those of the Conqueror, 
 and of Edgar Atheling. History, I think, justi- 
 fies me in representing William as acting con- 
 stantly under strong religious impressions. A 
 few circumstances in his life will clearly show 
 this. When Harold was with him in Nor- 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 mandy, he took an oath of him on two altars, 
 within which were concealed miraculous relics*. 
 His banner was sent from Rome, consecrated 
 by the Pope, for the especial purpose of the 
 invasion of England. Without adverting to 
 the night spent in prayer before the battle of 
 Hastings, was not this impression more de- 
 cidedly shown when he pitched his tent among 
 the dead on that night, and vowed to build an 
 abbey on the spot ? The event of the battle 
 was so much against all human probability, that 
 his undertaking it, at the place and time, can 
 only be reconciled by supposing he acted under 
 some extraordinary impression. 
 
 When the battle was gained, he knew not on 
 what course to determine : instead of marching 
 to London, he retired towards Dover. When 
 he was met by the Kentish men, with green 
 boughs, the quaint historian says, " He was 
 daunted" These and many other incidental 
 circumstances may occur to the reader. 
 
 * See the picture in Stodhard's travels. 
 
INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 In representing him, therefore, as under the 
 control of superstitious impressions, I trust I 
 have not transgressed, at least, poetical veri- 
 similitude. An earthquake actually happened 
 about the period at which the poem commences, 
 followed by storms and inundations. Of these 
 facts I have availed myself. 
 
 I fear the poem will be thought less interest- 
 ing, from having nothing of Love in it, except, 
 in accordance with the received ideas of the 
 gentleness of Atheling's character, I have made 
 him not insensible to one of my imaginary fe- 
 males, and have therefore, to mark his cha- 
 racter, made him advert to the pastoral scenes 
 of Scotland, where he had been a resident. 
 There is a similarity between my " Monk," and 
 " The Missionary," but their offices and the 
 scenes are entirely different, and some degree 
 of similarity was unavoidable in characters of 
 the same description. 
 
 Filial affection, love of our country, bravery, 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sternness, (inflexible, except under religious 
 fears,) the loftier feelings of a desolate female, 
 under want and affliction, with something of the 
 wild prophetical cast ; religious submission, and 
 deep acquiescence in the will of God ; these 
 passions are brought into action, round one 
 centre, if I may use the word, " The GRAVE OF 
 THE LAST SAXON." 
 
 That Harold's sons landed with a large fleet 
 from Denmark, were joined by an immense con- 
 federate army, in the third year of William's 
 reign, is a well-known historical fact. That 
 York was taken by the confederate army, and 
 that all the Normans, except Sir William Malet, 
 and his family, were killed, is also matter of 
 record. (See Drake's History of York, and 
 Turner's History of England.*) That after- 
 wards (the blow against William failing), the 
 whole country, from the H umber to Tyne, from 
 the east to the west, was depopulated by sword 
 and famine, are facts also found in all historians. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XL 
 
 Some slight anachronisms may, I hope, be 
 pardoned ; if anachronisms they are, such as 
 the year in which the Tower was built, &c. 
 
 The plan will be found, I trust, simple and 
 coherent, the characters sufficiently marked and 
 contrasted, and the whole, conducive, however 
 deficient, in other respects, to the excitement 
 of virtuous sympathy, and subservient to that, 
 which alone can give dignity to poetry, the 
 cause of moral and religious truth. 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 35, line 16. 
 To 
 
 " Mingled with things forgotten," 
 Add 
 
 " Until then, 
 " And then remember'd freshly." 
 
 Page 37, line 9. 
 For 
 
 " This, 
 
 " Your darling, for his safety, lo !" 
 Read 
 
 " Him, 
 
 " Whom ev'ry eye must view with tenderness. 
 " Oh ! trust me ; for his safety, lo ! I pledge." 
 
 Page 46, line last, dele " rose." 
 75, 6, dele " midnight." 
 86, 2, for " warm," read " warn." 
 
(irate of tl)e last 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE CURFEW. 
 
Cfje <rate of flje last 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CANTO. 
 
 Subject Grave and Children of Harold Confederate 
 Army of Danes, Scots, and English arrived in the 
 Humber the third year of the Conqueror, and marching 
 to York. 
 
 " KNOW ye THE LAND where the bright orange glows ?" 
 
 Oh ! rather know ye not THE LAND, belov'd 
 
 Of Liberty, where your brave fathers bled ? 
 
 THE LAND of the white cliffs, where ev'ry cot 
 
 Whose smoke goes up in the clear morning sky, 
 
 On the green hamlet's edge, stands as secure 
 
 As the proud Norman castle's banner'd keep ? 
 
 Oh ! shall the poet paint a land of slaves, 
 
 (Albeit, that the richest colours warm 
 
 His tablet, glowing from the master's hand,) 
 
 And THEE forget, HIS COUNTRY thee, HIS HOME ? 
 
CANTO. 
 
 Fair Italy ! thy 'hills and olive-groves, 
 A lovelier light empurples or when Morn, 
 Streams o'er the cloudless van of Apennine, 
 Or more majestic Eve, on the wide scene, 
 Of columns, temples, arcs, and aqueducts, 
 Sits, like reposing Glory, and collects 
 Her richest radiance at that parting hour ; 
 While distant domes, touched by her hand, shine out 
 More solemnly, 'mid the gray monuments, 
 That strew th' illustrious plain ; yet say, can these, 
 E'en when their pomp is proudest, and the sun, 
 Sinks o'er the ruins of Immortal Rome, 
 A holy intVest wake, intense as that, 
 Which visits his full heart, who, sever'd long, 
 And home returning, sees once more the light 
 Shine on the land where his forefathers sleep ; 
 Sees its white cliffs at distance, and exclaims. 
 (< There I was born, and there my bones shall rest ?" 
 
 Then, oh ! ye bright pavilions of the East, 
 Ye blue Italian skies, and summer-seas, 
 
INTRODUCTORY CANTO. 5 
 
 By marble cliffs high-bounded, throwing far 
 A gray illumination through the haze 
 Of orient morning ; ye, Etruscan shades, 
 Where Pan's own pines o'er Valombrosa wave ; 
 Scenes, where old Tiber, for the mighty dead 
 As mourning, heavily rolls ; or Anio 
 Flings its white foam ; or lucid Arno steals 
 On gently through the plains of Tuscany ; 
 Be ye th' impassioned themes of other song. 
 
 Nor mine, thou wondVous WESTERN WORLD, to call 
 The thunder of thy cataracts, or paint 
 The mountains and the vast volcano-range 
 Of Cordilleras, high above the stir 
 Of human things, lifting to middle air 
 Their snows in everlasting solitude, 
 Upon whose nether crags the vulture, lord 
 Of summits inaccessible, looks down, 
 Unhearing, when the thunder dies below ! 
 
 Nor, midst th' irriguous valleys of the South, 
 Where Chili spreads her green lap to the sea, 
 
6 INTRODUCTORY CANTO. 
 
 Now pause I to admire the bright blue bird, 
 Brightest and least of all its kind, that spins 
 Its twinkling flight, still humming o'er the flowYs, 
 Like a gem of flitting light ! 
 
 To THESE ADIEU! 
 
 Yet ere thy melodies, my harp, are mute 
 For ever, whilst the stealing day goes out 
 With slow-declining pace, I would essay 
 One patriot theme, one ancient British song : 
 So might I fondly dream, when the cold turf 
 Was heap'd above my head, and carping tongues 
 Were ceased, some tones, OLD ENGLAND, thy green hills 
 Might then remember 
 
 TlME HAS REFT THE SHRINE, 
 
 Where the LAST SAXON, canonized, lay, 
 And every trace has vanished, like the light 
 That from the high-archM eastern window fell, 
 With broken sunshine* on his marble tomb 
 
INTRODUCTORY CANTO. 7 
 
 So have they passed ; and silent are the choirs 
 
 That to his spirit sung eternal rest ; 
 
 And scatter'd are his bones who raised those walls, 
 
 Where, from the field of blood slowly conveyed, 
 
 His mangled corse, with torch and orison, 
 
 Before the altar, and in holy earth, 
 
 Was laid ! Yet oft I muse upon the theme, 
 
 And now, whilst solemn the slow curfew tolls, 
 
 Years and dim centuries seem to unfold 
 
 Their shroud, as at the summons ; and I think 
 
 How sad that sound on ev'ry English heart 
 
 Smote, when along those darkening vales, where Lea (1> 
 
 Beneath the woods of Waltham winds, it broke 
 
 First on the silence of the night, far heard 
 
 Through the deep forest! PHANTOMS or THE PAST, 
 
 Ye gather round me ! VOICES OF THE DEAD, 
 
 Ye come by fits ! And now I hear, far off, 
 
 Faint ELEESONS swell, while to the fane 
 
 The long procession, and the pomp of death, 
 
 Moves visible ; and now one voice is heard 
 
8 INTRODUCTORY CANTO. 
 
 From a vast multitude, " Harold, farewell ! 
 
 " Farewell, and rest in peace !" That sable car 
 
 Bears the LAST SAXON to his grave, (the last 
 
 From Hengist, of the long illustrious line 
 
 That sway'd the English sceptre !) Hark ! a cry ! 
 
 'Tis from his mother, who, with frantic mien, 
 
 Follows the bier ! with manly look composed, 
 
 Godwin, his eldest-born, and Adela, 
 
 Her head declined, her hand upon her brow 
 
 Beneath the veil, supported by his arm, 
 
 Sorrowing succeed : lo ! pensive Edmund there, 
 
 Leads Wolfe, the least and youngest, by the hand !- 
 
 Brothers and sisters, silent and in tears, 
 
 Follow their father to the dust, beneath 
 
 Whose eye they grew Last and alone, behold, 
 
 Marcus, (2) subduing the deep sigh, with brow 
 
 Of sterner acquiescence Slowly pace 
 
 The sad remains of England's chivalry, 
 
 The few whom Hastings 1 field of carnage spared, 
 
 To follow their slain monarch's hearse this night, 
 
INTRODUCTORY CANTO. 
 
 Whose corse is borne beneath th' escutcheon'd pall, 
 
 To rest in Waltham Abbey. So the train, 
 
 (Imagination thus embodying it) 
 
 Moves onward to the Abbey's western porch, 
 
 Whose windows and retiring aisles reflect 
 
 The long funereal lights. Twelve stoled monks, 
 
 Each with a torch, and pacing, two and two, 
 
 Along the pillar'd nave, with crucifix 
 
 Aloft, begin the supplicating chant, 
 
 Intoning " Miserere Domine." 
 
 Now, the stone-coffins in the earth are laid 
 Of Harold, and of Leofrine, and Girth, < 3) 
 Brave brethren slain in one disastrous day. 
 And hark ! again the monks and choristers 
 Sing, pacing round the grave-stone, " REQUIEM 
 " ETERNAM DONA us." To HIS GIIAVE, 
 So was King Harold borne, within those walls 
 His bounty raised : his children knelt and wept, 
 Then slow departed, never in this world, 
 
10 INTRODUCTORY CANTO. 
 
 Perhaps, to meet again. But who is she, 
 Her dark hair streaming on her brow, her eye 
 Wild, and her breast deep-heaving ? She beheld 
 At distance the due rites, nor wept, nor spake, 
 And now is gone. 
 
 Alas ! from that sad hour, 
 By many fates, all who that hour had met, 
 Were scattered. Godwin, Edmund, Adela, 
 Exiles in Denmark, there a refuge found 
 From England's stormy fortunes. Three long years 
 Have passed ; again they tread their native land. 
 The Danish armament beneath the SPURN (4) 
 Is anchored Twenty thousand men at arms 
 Follow huge Waltheof, on his barbed steed, 
 His battle-axe hung at the saddle-bow ; 
 Morcar and Edwin, English earls, are there, 
 With red-cross banner, and ten thousand men 
 From Ely and Northumberland : they raise 
 The death-song of defiance, and advance 
 With bows of steel. From Scotland's mountain-glens, 
 
INTRODUCTORY CANTO. 11 
 
 From sky-blue lochs, and the wild highland heaths, 
 
 From Lothian villages, along the banks 
 
 Of Forth, King Malcolm leads his clansmen bold, 
 
 And, dauntless as romantic, bids unfurl 
 
 The banner of St. Andrew ! by his side 
 
 Mild Edgar Atheling, a stripling boy, 
 
 His brother, heir to England's throne, appears, 
 
 The dawn of youth on his fresh cheek ! and lo ! 
 
 The broad-swords glitter as the tartan'd troops 
 
 March to the pibroch's sound. The Danish trump 
 
 Brays, like a gong, heard to the holts and towns 
 
 Of Lincolnshire. 
 
 With crests and shields the same, 
 A lion frowning on each helmet's cone, 
 Like the two brothers famed in ancient song, (5) 
 Godwin and Edmund, sons of Harold, lead 
 From Scandinavia and the Baltic isles 
 The impatient Northmen to th" embattled host 
 On Humberts side The standards wave in air, 
 Drums roll, and glittering columns file, and arms 
 
12 INTRODUCTORY CANTO. 
 
 Flash to the morn, and banners-trumpets bray, 
 
 Heralds, or armorers, from tent to tent 
 
 Are hurrying crests, and spears, and steel-bows gleam> 
 
 Far as the eye can reach barb'd horses neigh 
 
 Their mailed riders wield the battle-axe, 
 
 Or draw the steel-bows with a clang and hark ! 
 
 From the vast moving host is heard one shout, 
 
 " CONQUEST or DEATH !" as now the sun ascends, 
 
 And on the bastion'd walls of Ravenspur 
 
 Flings its first beam one mighty shout is heard, 
 
 " PERISH THE NORMAN! SOLDIERS, ON! TO YORK!" 
 
 
of tfje last 
 
 CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
 Castle of Ravenspur, on the Number Daughter of 
 Harold Ailric, the monk. 
 
 " LET us go up to the west turret's top," 
 Adela cried; " let us go up the night 
 " Is still, and to the east great ocean's hum 
 " Is scarcely heard. If but a wand'ring step, 
 " Or distant shout, or dip of hastening oar, 
 " Or tramp of steed, or far-off trumpet, break 
 " The hush'd horizon, we can catch the sound, 
 u When breathless expectation watches there." 
 
 Upon the platform of the highest towV 
 Of Ravenspur, beneath the lonely lamp. 
 
14 THE GRAVE OF CANTO I. 
 
 At midnight, leaning o'er the battlement, 
 The daughter of slain Harold, Adela, 
 And a gray monk who never left her side, 
 Watch'd : for this night or death or victory 
 
 The Saxon standard waits 
 
 Hark ! 'twas a shout, 
 
 And sounds at distance as of marching men ! 
 No ! all is silent, save the tide, that rakes, 
 At times, the beach, or breaks beneath the cliff. 
 Listen ! was it the fall of hastening oars ? 
 No ! all is hush'd ! " Oh ! when will they return ?" 
 Adela sigh'd ; for three long nights had pass'd, 
 Since her brave brothers left these bastion'd walls, 
 And march'd, with the confederate host, to YORK. 
 " They come not : Have they perish'd ?" So dark thoughts 
 Arose, and then she rais'd her look to Heav'n, 
 And clasp'd the cross, and pray'd more fervently. 
 Her lifted eye in the pale lamp-light shone, 
 Touch'd with a tear ; soft airs of ocean blew. 
 Her long light hair, whilst audibly she cried, 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 15 
 
 " Preserve them, blessed Mary ! oh ! preserve 
 
 " My brothers." As she prayed, one pale small star, 
 
 A still and lonely star, through the black night 
 
 Looked out, like Hope ! Instant, a trumpet rung, 
 
 And voices rose, and hurrying lights appeared ; 
 
 Now louder shouts along the platform peal 
 
 " Oh ! they are Normans !" she exclaimed, and grasp'd 
 
 The old man's hand, and said, " yet we will die 
 
 " As HAROLD'S DAUGHTER ;" and, with mien and voice, 
 
 Firm and unfaltering, kiss'd the crucifix. 
 
 They knelt together, and the old man spoke : 
 
 " All here is toil and tempest we shall go, 
 
 " Daughter of Harold, where the weary rest." 
 
 Oh ! holy Mary, 'tis the clank of steel 
 
 Up the stone stairs ! and, lo ! beneath the lamp, 
 
 In arms, the beaver of his helmet raised, 
 
 Some light hairs straying on his ruddy cheek, 
 
 With breath hastily drawn, and cheering smile, 
 
 Young ATHELING. " THE SAXON BANNER WAVES"- 
 
 " Oh ! are my brothers safe ?" cried Adela, 
 
 
16 THE GRAVE OF 
 
 CANTO I, 
 
 "Speak! speak! Oh! tell me, do my brothers live?" 
 
 Atheling answer'd, " They will soon appear 
 
 " My post was on the eastern hills a scout 
 
 " Came breathless, sent from Edmund, and I hied, 
 
 " With a small company, and horses fleet, 
 
 " At his command, to thee. He bade me say, 
 
 " Even now, upon the citadel of York, 
 
 " Above the bursting fires, and rolling smoke, 
 
 " THE SAXON BANNER WAVES'" 
 
 " I thank thee, Lord! 
 
 " My brothers live !" cried Adela, and knelt 
 Upon the platform, with uplifted hands, 
 And look to Heaven then rising with a smile, 
 Said, " We have watch'd, I and this old man here, 
 " Hour after hour, through the long lingering night, 
 " And now 'tis almost morning : I will stay 
 " Till I have heard my brother's distant horn 
 " From the west-woods ; but YOU are weary, youth ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! I will keep watch with you till dawn 
 " To me most soothing is an hour like this ! 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 17 
 
 " And who that saw> as now, the morning stars 
 
 " Begin to pale, and the gray twilight steal 
 
 " So calmly on the seas, and wide-hushed world, 
 
 " Could deem there was a sound of misery 
 
 " On earth ? nay, who could hear thy gentle voice, 
 
 " Fair maid, and think there was a voice of hate 
 
 " Or strife beneath the stillness of that cope 
 
 " Above us ? Oh ! I hate the noise of arms 
 
 " Here will I watch with you" Then, after pause, 
 
 " Poor ENGLAND is not what it once has been ; 
 
 " And strange are both our fortunes." 
 
 " ATHELING," 
 
 (ADELA answered) " early piety 
 " Hath disciplined my heart to ev'ry change. 
 " How didst thou pass in safety from this land 
 " Of slavery and sorrow ?" 
 
 He replied 
 
 " When darker jealousy and lowering hate 
 " Sat on the brow of WILLIAM, England mourn'd, 
 " And one dark spirit of conspiracy 
 
18 THE GRAVE OF CANTO I. 
 
 " Muttered its curses through the land. 'Twas then, 
 
 " With fiercer glare, the lion's eye was turn'd 
 
 " On me My sisters and myself embark'd 
 
 " The wide world was before us we embarked, 
 
 " With some few faithful friends, and from the sea 
 
 " Gazed tearful, for a moment, on the shores 
 
 " We left for ever (so it then appeared). 
 
 " Poor Margaret hid her face ; but the fresh wind 
 
 " SwelTd the full mainsail, and the lessening land, 
 
 " The tow'rs, the spires, the villages, the smoke, 
 
 " Were seen no more. 
 
 " When now at sea, the winds 
 " Blew adverse, for to HOLLAND was our course 
 " More fearful rose the storm the east-wind sung 
 " Louder, till wrecked upon the shores of Forth 
 " Our vessel lay Here, friendless, we implored 
 " A short sojourn and succour SCOTLAND'S king 
 " Then sat in DUMFERMLINE he heard the tale 
 " Of our distress he flew himself to save-^ 
 " But when he saw my sister Margaret, 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 19 
 
 " Young, innocent, and beautiful in tears, 
 " His heart was mov'd. 
 
 " ' Oh ! welcome here,' he cried : 
 " < 'Tis Heaven hath led you Lady, look on me 
 " ( If such a flower be cast to the bleak winds, 
 " c 'Twere meet I took and wore it next my heart." 
 66 Judg'd he not well, fair maid ? 
 
 " Thou know'st the rest 
 " Compassion nurtured love, and Margaret 
 " (Such are the events of ruling Providence) 
 " Is now all Scotland's queen ! 
 
 " To join the bands 
 
 " Of warriors, in one cause assembled here, 
 " King Malcolm left his land of hills his arm 
 " Might make the CONQUEROR tremble on his throne ! 
 66 E'en should we fail, my sister Margaret 
 " Would love and honour you ; and I might hope, 
 " (Oh! might I?) on the banks of Tay, or Tweed, 
 " With thee to wander, (where no curfew sounds,) 
 " And mark the summer-sun, beyond the hills, 
 
20 THE GRAVE OF CANTO I. 
 
 " Sink in its glory, and then, hand in hand, 
 
 " Wind through the woods, and " 
 
 Adela replied, 
 
 With smile complacent, " Listen I will be 
 " (So to beguile the creeping hours of time) 
 " A tale-teller. Two years we held sojourn 
 " In Denmark two long weary years, and sighed, 
 " When, looking on the southern deep, we thought 
 " Of our poor country < Give me men and ships P 
 " Godwin still cried ' Oh ! give me men and ships !' 
 " The king commanded, and his armament 
 " (A mightier never stemmed the Baltic deep, 
 " Sent forth by sea-kings of the north, or bent 
 " On hardier enterprise : for NOT some isle 
 " Of the lone Orcades was now the prize, 
 " But ENGLAND'S throne.) 
 
 " His mighty armament 
 
 " Now left the shores of Denmark. Our brave ships 
 " Burst through the Baltic straits, how gloriously ! 
 " I heard the trumpets ring; I saw the sails 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 
 
 " Of nigh three hundred war-ships, the dim verge 
 " Of the remote horizon's skiey track 
 " Bestudding, here and there, like gems of light 
 " Dropt from the radiance of the morning sun 
 " On the gray waste of waters So our ships 
 " Swept o^er the billows of the north, and steer'd 
 " Right on to ENGLAND. 
 
 " Foremost of the fleet 
 " Our gallant- vessel rode around the mast 
 " Emblazon'd shields were ranged and plumed crests 
 " Shook as the north-east rose Upon the prow, 
 " More ardent, Godwin, my brave brother, stood, 
 " And milder Edmund, on whose mailed arm 
 " I hung, when the white waves before us swelFd, 
 " And parted. The broad banner, in full length, 
 " Streamed out its folds, on which the Saxon horse 
 " Ramp'd, as impatient on the land to leap, 
 " To which the winds still bore it bravely on ; 
 " Whilst the red cross, on the front banner, shone, 
 " The hoar deep crimsoning. 
 
22 THE GRAVE OF <;ANTO i. 
 
 " Winds, bear us on 
 " Bear us as cheerly, till white Albion's cliffs 
 " Resound to our triumphant shouts ; till there, 
 " On his OWN TOW'R, that frowns above the Thames, 
 " EVn there we plant these BANNERS and this CROSS, 
 " And stamp the CONQUEROR and his CROWN to dust ! 
 " They would have kept me on a foreign shore, 
 " But could I leave my brothers ? I with them 
 " Grew up, with them I left my native land, 
 " With them all perils have I braved, of sea, 
 " Or war, all storms of hard adversity : 
 " Let death betide, I reck not ; all I ask, 
 " Is yet, once more in this sad world, to kneel 
 " UPON MY FATHER'S GRAVE, and kiss the earth. 
 " When the fourth morning gleam'd along the deep, 
 " ' ENGLAND, OLD ENGLAND f burst the general cry : 
 " ' ENGLAND, OLD ENGLAND P Every eye, intent, 
 " Was turned ; and Godwin pointed with his sword 
 " To Flamborough, pale rising o'er the surge : 
 " ' Nearer into the kingdom's heart bear on 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 23 
 
 " fi The death-storm of our vengeance !' Godwin cried. 
 
 " Soon, like a cloud, the Northern Foreland rose 
 
 " Know ye those cliffs, towYing in giant state ? 
 
 " But hark ! along the shores alarum-bells 
 
 " Ring out more loud trump answers trump the swords 
 
 " Of hurrying horsemen, and projected spears, 
 
 " Flash to the sun On yonder castle-walls 
 
 " A thousand bows are bent Again, our course 
 
 " Back to the north is turned. Now twilight veiPd 
 
 " The sinking sands of Yarmouth, and we heard 
 
 " A long deep toll from many a village tow'r 
 
 " On shore and lo ! the scattered in-land lights, 
 
 " That sprinkled, winding ocean's lowly verge, 
 
 " At once are lost in darkness ' GOD IN HEAVEN, 
 
 " ' IT is THE CURFEW !' Godwin cried, and smote 
 
 " His forehead. We all heard that s\illen sound 
 
 " For the first time, that night ; but the winds blew 
 
 " Our ship saiTd out of hearing ; yet we thought 
 
 " Of the poor mother, who on winter nights, 
 
 " (When her belated husband from the wood 
 
24 THE GRAVE OF 
 
 " Was not come back), her lonely taper lit, 
 " And turn'd the glass, and saw the faggot-flame 
 " Shine on the faces of her little ones 
 " Those times will ne'er return. 
 
 " Darkness descends ; 
 " Again the sun is rising o'er the waves : 
 " And now hoarse Humber roars beneath our keels, 
 " And we have landed -- " 
 
 " Yea, and struck a blow, 
 
 " Such as may make the crowned Conqueror quail," 
 Edgar replied. 
 
 " Grant, Heav'n, that we may live," 
 Adela cried, ( ' in love and peace again, 
 " When every storm is past But this good man 
 "Is silent Ailric, does no hope, e'en now, 
 *' Arise on thy dark heart ? Good father, speak." 
 
 With aspect mild (on which its fitful light 
 The watch-tow'r lamp threw pale) the monk replied, 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 25 
 
 " Youth, on thy light hair, and ingenuous brow, 
 " Most comely sits the morn of life ; on me, 
 " And this bare head, the night of time descends 
 " In sorrow. I look back upon the past, 
 " And think of joy and sadness upon earth, 
 " Like the vast ocean's fluctuating toil 
 " From everlasting ! I have seen its waste 
 " Now in the sunshine sleeping now high-ridged 
 " With storms ; and such the kingdoms of the earth. 
 " Yes, youth, and flattering fortune, and the light 
 " Of summer days, are as the radiance 
 " That flits along the solitary waves, 
 " E'en whilst we gaze, and say, c how beautiful !' 
 " So fitful and so perishing the dream 
 " Of human things. But there is light above, 
 " Undying ; and, at times, faint harmonies 
 " Heard, by the weary pilgrim, in his way 
 " O'er perilous rocks, and through unwater'd wastes, 
 " Who looks up, fainting, and prays earnestly, 
 " To pass into that rest, whence sounds so sweet 
 
26 THE GRAVE OF CANTO I, 
 
 " Come, whispering of hope ; else it were best, 
 
 " Beneath the load the forlorn heart endures, 
 
 " To sink at once ; to shut the eyes on things 
 
 " That sear the sight ; and so to wrap the soul 
 
 " In sullen, tearless, ruthless apathy ! 
 
 " Therefore, midst ev'ry human change, I drop 
 
 " A tear upon the cross, and all is calm ; 
 
 " Yea, full of blissful and of brightest views, 
 
 " On this dark tide of time. 
 
 " Youth, thou hast known 
 " Adversity ; even in thy morn of life, 
 " The spring-tide rainbow fades, and many days, 
 " And many years, perchance, of weal or woe 
 " Hang o'er thee : happy, if through evVy change 
 " Thy constant heart, thy stedfast view, be nVd 
 " Upon that better kingdom, where the crown 
 " Immortal is held out to holy hope, 
 " Beyond the clouds that rest upon the grave. 
 " Oh ! I remember when King Harold stood 
 " Blooming in youth like thee : I saw him crown'd 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 27 
 
 " I heard the loud voice of a nation hail 
 
 " His rising star : then, flaming in mid-heaven 
 
 " The red portentous comet, (6) like the hand 
 
 " Upon the wall, came forth : its fatal course 
 
 " All marked, and gazed in terror, as it look'd, 
 
 " With lurid light, upon this land. It pass'd 
 
 " Old men had many bodings ; but I saw, 
 
 " Reckless, King Harold, in his plumed helm, 
 
 " Ride foremost of the mailed chivalry, 
 
 " That, when the fierce Norwegian (7; pass'd the seas, 
 
 " Met his host, man to man ; I saw the sword, 
 
 " Advanced and glittering, in the victor's hand, 
 
 " That smote the HARDRADA to the earth ! To-day, 
 
 " King Harold rose, like an avenging God, 
 
 " To-morrow (so it seem'd, so short the space,) 
 
 " To-morrow, through the field of blood, we sought 
 
 " His mangled corse amid the heaps of slain 
 
 " Shall I recount th' event more faithfully ? 
 
 " Its spectred memory never since that hour 
 
 " Has left my heart. 
 
28 THE GRAVE OF CANTO I. 
 
 " WILLIAM was in his tent, 
 " Spread on the battle-plain, on that same night 
 " When seventy thousand dead lay at his feet 
 " They, who at sun-rise, with bent bows and spears, 
 " Confronted and defied him, at his feet 
 " Lay dead ! alone, he watches in his tent, 
 " At midnight midst a sight so terrible 
 " We came we stood before him, where he sat, 
 " I and my brother Osgood. ' Who are ye ?' 
 " Stern he inquired ; and Osgood thus replied. 
 " ' Conqueror, and Lord, and soon to be a King, 
 " ' We, two poor monks of Waltham Abbey, kneel 
 " 6 Before thee, sorrowing! He who is slain 
 " To us was bountiful. He raised those walls 
 " ' Where we devote our life to pray'r and praise. 
 " ' Oh ! by the mercies which the God of all 
 " ' Hath shown to thee this day, grant our request ; 
 " ' To search for his dead body, through this field 
 " ' Of terror, that his bones may rest with us.' 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 29 
 
 " c Your king hath met the meed of broken faith,' 
 " William replied : < But yet he shall not want 
 " ' A sepulchre ; and on this very spot 
 " c My purpose stands, as I have vow'd to God, 
 " ' To build an holy monastery : here, 
 " ' A hundred monks shall pray for all who fell 
 " c In this dread strife ; and YOUR KING HAROLD here 
 " ' Shall have due honours and a stately tomb.' 
 
 " Still on our knees, we answered, c Oh ! not so, 
 " ' Dread Sovereign ; hear us, of your clemency, 
 " ' We beg his body ; beg it for the sake 
 66 ' Of our successors ; beg it for ourselves, 
 " e That we may bury it in the same spot 
 " c Himself ordain'd when living ; where the choirs 
 " ' May sing for his repose, in distant years, 
 " ( When we are dust and ashes.' 
 
 " ' Then go forth, 
 
 " ' And search for him, at the first dawn of day,' 
 " King William said. We cross'd our breasts, and pass'd, 
 " Slow-rising, from his presence. So we went, 
 
30 THE GRAVE OF CANTO I. 
 
 " In silence, to the quarry of the dead. 
 
 " The sun rose on that still and dismal host 
 
 " Toiling from corse to corse, we trod in blood 
 
 " From morn till noon toiling, and then I said, 
 
 " ' Seek Editha, her whom he loved.' She came ; 
 
 " And through the field of death she passed : she look'd 
 
 " On many a face, ghastly upturned ; her hand 
 
 " Unloosed the helmet, smoothed the clotted hair, 
 
 " And many livid hands she took in hers ; 
 
 " Till stooping o'er a mangled corse, she shriek'd, 
 
 " Then into tears burst audibly, and turn'd 
 
 " Her face, and with a falt'ring voice pronounced, 
 
 " c Oh ! Harold !' We took up, and bore the corse 
 
 " From that sad spot, and wash'd the ghastly wound 
 
 " Deep in the forehead, where the broken barb 
 
 " Was fix'd. 
 
 " So welt'ring from the field, we bore 
 " King Harold's corse. A hundred Norman knights 
 " Met the sad train, with pikes that trail'd the ground. 
 " Our old men pray'd, and spoke of evil days 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 31 
 
 " To come ; the women smote their breasts and wept ; 
 
 " The little children knelt beside the way, 
 
 " As on to Waltham the funereal car 
 
 " Moved slow. Few and disconsolate the train 
 
 " Of English earls, for few, alas ! remained, 
 
 " So many in the field of death lay cold. 
 
 u The horses slowly paced, till Waltham tow'rs 
 
 " Before us rose. THERE, with long taper'd blaze, 
 
 " Our brethren met us, chanting, two and two, 
 
 " The ' Miserere' of the dead. And THERE 
 
 " But, my child Adela, you are in tears 
 
 " There at the foot of the HIGH ALTAR lies 
 
 " The LAST OF SAXON KINGS. Sad Editha, 
 
 " At distance, watch'd the rites, and from that hour 
 
 " We never saw her more." 
 
 A distant trump 
 
 Now rung again ! again ! and thrice a trump 
 Has answered from the walls of Ravenspur. 
 " My brothers! they are here!" Adela cried, 
 And left the tow'r in breathless ardour. " YORK 
 " Flames to the sky !" a general voice was heard 
 
32 THE GRAVE OF CANTO I. 
 
 The drawbridge clanks into the inner court 
 A mailed man rides on " York is no more P 1 
 The cry without redoubles On the ground 
 The rider flung his bloody sword, and raised 
 His helm dismounting the first dawn of day 
 GleanTd on the shattered plume. " Oh ! Adela," 
 He cried, u your brother Godwin" and she flew, 
 And murmuring, " my brave brother!" hid her face, 
 Clasping his mailed breast. Soon gazing round, 
 She cried, " But where is Edmund ? Was he wont 
 "To linger?" 
 
 " Edmund has a sacred charge," 
 Godwin replied. " But trust his anxious love, 
 " We soon shall hear his voice. I need some rest 
 " 'Tis now broad day ; but we have watch'd and fought 
 " I can sleep sound, though the shrill bird of morn 
 " Mount and upbraid my slumbers with her song." 
 
 Tranquil and clear the autumnal day declined : 
 The barks at anchor cast their lengthened shades 
 On the gray bastion'd walls ; airs from the deep 
 
CANTO i. THE LAST SAXON. 33 
 
 Wander'd, and touched the cordage as they pass'd, 
 Then hover'd with expiring breath, and stirr'd 
 Scarce the quiescent pennant ; the bright sea 
 Lay silent in its glorious amplitude, 
 Without; far up, in the pale atmosphere, 
 A white cloud, here and there, hung over-head, 
 And some red freckles streak'd the horizon's edge, 
 Far as the sight could reach : beneath the rocks, 
 That rear'd their dark brows beetling o'er the bay, 
 The gulls and guillemots, with short, quaint cry, 
 Just broke the sleeping stillness of the air, 
 Or skimming almost touched the level main, 
 With wings far seen, and more intensely white, 
 Opposed to the blue space ; whilst Panope 
 Play'd in the offing. HUMBERTS ocean-stream, 
 Inland, went sounding on, by rocks, and sands, 
 And castle, yet so sounding as it seem'd 
 A voice amidst the hushed and listening world 
 That spoke of peace; whilst from the bastion's point 
 One piping red-breast might almost be heard. 
 
34 THE GRAVE OF CANTO I. 
 
 Such quiet all things hush'd, so peaceable 
 The hour : the very swallows, ere they leave 
 The coast to pass a long and weary way 
 O'er ocean's solitude, seem to renew 
 Once more their summer feelings, as a light 
 So sweet would last for ever, whilst they flock 
 In the brief sunshine of the turret-top 
 'Twas at this hour of evening, Adela 
 And Godwin, now restored by rest, went forth, 
 Link'd arm in arm, upon the eastern beach, 
 Beyond the head-land's shade. If such an hour 
 Seem'd smiling on the heart, how smiled it now, 
 To him, who yesternight, a soldier, stood 
 Amid the direst sight of human strife, 
 And bloodshed ; heard the cries, the trumpet's blast, 
 Ring o'er the dying ; saw, with all its tow'rs, 
 A city blazing to the midnight sky, 
 And mangled groups of miserable men, 
 Gasping or dead, whilst with his iron heel 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 35 
 
 He splash'd the blood beneath ! How changed the scene ! 
 
 The sun's last light upon the battlements, 
 
 The sea, the landscape, the peace-breathing air, 
 
 Remember'd both, of the departed hours 
 
 Of early life, when once they had A HOME, 
 
 A COUNTRY, where their father wore a crown. 
 
 What changes since that time, for them, and all 
 
 They loved ! how many found an early grave, 
 
 Cut off by the red sword ! how many mourn'd, 
 
 Scattered by various fates, through distant lands ! 
 
 How desolate their own poor country, bound 
 
 By the Oppressor's chain ! As thoughts like these 
 
 Arose, the bells of rural Nevilthorpe 
 
 Rung out a joyous peal, rung merrily, 
 
 For tidings heard from York : their melody 
 
 Mingled with things forgotten. Adela 
 
 That instant turn'd to hide her tears, and saw 
 
 Her brother Edmund, leading by the hand 
 
 A boy of lovely mien, and footstep light, 
 
 Along the sands. " My sister," Edmund cried, 
 
36 THE GRAVE OF CANTO ] 
 
 " See, here, a foot-page I have brought from York, 
 
 " To serve a lady fair." The boy held out 
 
 His hand to Adela, as he would say, 
 
 " Look, and protect me, lady." Adela, 
 
 Advancing with a smile and glowing cheek, 
 
 Cried, " Welcome, truant brother," and then took 
 
 The child's right hand, and said, " My pretty page, 
 
 " And have you not a tale to tell to me ?" 
 
 The boy spake nothing, but look'd earnestly 
 
 And anxiously at Edmund. Edmund said, 
 
 " If he is silent, I must speak for him. 
 
 " Twas when the Minster flamed, and, sword in hand, 
 
 " Godwin, and Waltheof, and stern Hereward, 
 
 " Directed the red slaughter, black with smoke 
 
 " I burst into the citadel, and saw 
 
 " Not the grim warder, with his huge axe up, 
 
 " But o'er her child a frantic mother, mute (9) 
 
 " With horror, in delirious agony, 
 
 " Clasping it to her bosom ; stern and still 
 
 " The father stood, his hand upon his brow, 
 
CANTO I. THE LAST SAXON. 37 
 
 " As praying, in that hour, that God might make, 
 
 " In mercy, the last trial brief. * FEAR NOT 
 
 " ( I AM A MAN ! nay, fear not ME,' I cried, 
 
 " And seizing this child's hand, in safety placed, 
 
 " Amidst the smoke, and sounds and sights of death, 
 
 " Him and his mother ! she with bursting heart 
 
 " Knelt down to bless me : when I saw that boy, 
 
 " So beautiful, I thought of Adela, 
 
 " And said, < Oh ! trust with his preserver this 
 
 " c Your darling ; for his safety, lo ! I pledge 
 
 " c My honour and my life,' 
 
 " And I have brought 
 
 " My trusted charge, that you, my Adela, 
 
 \ 
 " May show him gentler courtesy than those, 
 
 " Whom war in its stern trade has almost steel'd." 
 His sister kiss'd the child's light hair and cheek, 
 And folded his small hands in hers, and said, 
 " You shall be my true knight, and wear a plume, 
 " Wilt thou not, boy ? and for a lady's love 
 " Fight, like a valiant soldier ?" " I will die," 
 
38 THE GRAVE, &c. CANTO 
 
 The poor child said, " for friends like those who saved 
 " My father and my mother;" and again 
 Adela kiss'd his forehead and his eyes, 
 And said, " But we are SAXONS !" 
 
 As she spoke, 
 
 The winds began to muster, and the sea 
 SwelPd with a sound more solemn, whilst the sun 
 Was sinking, and its last, and lurid light, 
 Streak'd the long line of cumbrous clouds, that hung 
 In wild red masses o'er the murmuring deep, 
 Now flickering fast with foam. The sea-fowl flew 
 Rapidly on, o'er the black-lifted surge, 
 Borne down the wind, and then was seen no more. 
 Meantime the dark deep wilder heaves, and hark ! 
 Heavily, over-head the gather'd storm 
 Comes sounding ! 
 
 Haste ! and in the castle-keep 
 List to the winds and waves that roar without. 
 
Cije fetoe of tlje last 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
 Waltham Forest Tower William and his Barons. 
 
 THERE had been fearful sounds in th' air last night 
 In the wild wolds of Holderness, when York 
 Flam'd to the midnight sky, and spells of death 
 Were heard amidst the depth of Waltham wood ; 
 For there the wan and weird sisters met 
 Their imps, and the dark spirits that rejoice 
 When foulest deeds are done on earth, and there 
 In dread accordance rose their dismal joy. 
 " Around, around, around, 
 " Troop and dance we to the sound, 
 " Whilst mocking imps cry, Ho! ho! ho! " 
 " On earth there will be Woe ! more woe F 
 
40 THE GRAVE OF CANTO II. 
 
 SPIRIT OF THE EARTHQUAKE. 
 
 Arise, swart Fiends, 'tis I command 
 Burst your caves, and rock the land. 
 
 SPIRIT OF THE STORM. 
 
 Loud tempests, sweep the conscious wood ! 
 
 SPIRIT OF THE BATTLE. 
 
 I scent from earth more blood ! more blood ! 
 
 SPIRIT OF THE FIRE. 
 
 When the wounded cry, 
 
 And the craven die, 
 I will ride on the spires, 
 And the red volumes of the bursting fires* 
 
 SPIRITS, AND NIGHT-HAGS. 
 
 " Around, around, around, 
 
 " Dance we to the dismal sound 
 
 " Of dying cries and mortal woe, 
 
 " Whilst mocking imps shout, Ho ! ho ! ho f" 
 
CANTO II. THE LAST SAXON. 41 
 
 FIRST SPIRIT. 
 
 Hear! 
 
 Spirits, that our bests perform 
 
 In the earthquake or the storm, 
 
 Appear, appear ! 
 
 A fire is lighted the pale smoke goes up : 
 
 Obscure, terrific features through the clouds 
 
 Are seen, and a wild laughter heard, " We come !" 
 
 MINISTERING SPIRITS SING. 
 1. 
 
 I have syllables of dread ; 
 
 They can wake the dreamless dead. 
 
 2. 
 
 I, a dark sepulchral song, 
 That can lead Hell's phantom-throng. 
 
 3. 
 
 Like a nightmare I will rest 
 This night upon KING WILLIAM'S breast! 
 

 I THE GRAVE OF CANTO n. 
 
 SPIRITS, AND NIGHT-HAGS. 
 
 " Around, around, around, 
 
 " Dance we to the dismal sound 
 
 " Of dying shrieks and mortal woe, 
 
 " Whilst antic imps shout, Ho ! ho ! ho !" 
 
 They vanished, and the earth shook where they stood. 
 
 That night, KING WILLIAM first, within the TOW'R, 
 Received his vassal Barons in that TOW'R, (11) 
 Which oft since then has echo'd to night-shrieks 
 Of secret murder, or the lone lament 
 Now other sounds were heard, for on this night 
 Its canopied and vaulted chambers rung 
 With minstrelsy ; whilst sounds of long acclaim 
 Re-echoed, from the loop-holes, o'er the Thames : 
 The drawbridge, and the pond'rous cullis-gate, 
 Frowned on the moat the flanking towers aspired 
 O'er the embattled walls, where proudly waved 
 
CANTO II. THE LAST SAXON. 43 
 
 The Norman banner. WILLIAM, laugh to scorn, 
 
 The murmurs of conspiracy and hate, 
 
 That round thee gather, like the storms of night 
 
 Mustering, when murder hides her visor'd mien ! 
 
 Now, what hast Thou to fear ? Let the fierce Dane 
 
 Into the centre of thy kingdom sweep, 
 
 With hostile armament, even like the tide 
 
 A 
 
 Of the hoarse Humber, on whose waves he rode ! 
 Let foes confederate ; let one voice of hate, 
 One cry of instant vengeance, one deep curse, 
 Be heard, from Waltham woods to Holderness ! 
 Let Waltheof, stern in steel, let Hereward, 
 Impatient as undaunted, flash their swords ; 
 Let the boy Edgar, back'd by Scotland's King, 
 Advance his feeble claim, and don his casque, 
 Whose brows might better a blue bonnet grace ; 
 Let Edwin and vindictive Morcar join 
 The sons of Harold! what hast thou to fear? 
 LONDON'S SOLE TOW'E might laugh their strength to scorn ! 
 Upon that night, when YORK'S proud castle fell, 
 
44 THE -GRAVE OF CANTO II. 
 
 Here William held his court. The torches glared 
 
 On crest or crozier. Knights and prelates bow'd 
 
 Before THEIR SOVEREIGN. He, his knights and peers 
 
 Surveying with a stern complacency, 
 
 Inclined not from his seat, o'ercanopied 
 
 With golden valance, woven by no hand, 
 
 Save of the Queen. Yet calm his countenance 
 
 Shone, and his brow a dignified repose 
 
 Mark'd kingly ; high his forehead, and besprent 
 
 With dark hair, interspersed with gray ; his eye 
 
 Glanced amiable, chiefly when the light 
 
 Of a brief smile attempered majesty. 
 
 His beard was dark and heavy, yet diffused, 
 
 Low as the lion ramping on his breast 
 
 EngraiFd upon the mail (I2) . 
 
 ODO approach'd, 
 
 And knelt, then rising, placed the diadem 
 Upon his brow, with laurels intertwined. 
 Again the voice of acclamation rung, 
 And from the galleries a hundred harps 
 
CANTO II. THE LAST SAXON. 45 
 
 Resounded ROLAND'S song ! " LONG LIVE the King T 
 
 The barons, and the prelates, and the knights, 
 
 " Long live the Conqueror!" cried; " a God on earth!" 
 
 That instant the high vaulted chamber shook (13) 
 
 As with a blast from heaven, and all was mute 
 
 Around him, and the very fortress rock'd, 
 
 As it would topple on their heads : He rose 
 
 Disturbed and frowning, for tumultuous thoughts 
 
 Crowded like night upon his heart; then waved 
 
 His hand ! The barons, abbots, knights, retire. 
 
 Behold him now alone ! before a lamp 
 
 A crucifix appears; upon the ground 
 
 Lies the same sword that Hastings* battle dyed 
 
 Deep to the hilt in gore ; behold, he kneels 
 
 And prays, " Thou only, Lord, art great, 
 
 " Have mercy on my sins !" The crucifix 
 
 Shook as he spoke, shook visibly! and, hark! 
 
 There is a low moan, as of dying men, 
 
 At distance heard. 
 
 Then William first knew fear' 14 >. 
 
46 THE GRAVE OF CANTO II. 
 
 He had heard tumults of the battle-field, 
 The noise, the glorious hurrahs, and the clang 
 Of trumpets round him, but no sound like this 
 Ere smote with unknown terror on his heart, 
 As if the eye of God that moment turn'd 
 And saw it beating. 
 
 Rising slow, he flung 
 Upon a couch his agitated limbs : 
 The lamp was near him; on the ground his sword 
 And helmet lay, short troubled slumbers stole, 
 And darkly rose the spirit of his dream. 
 
 He saw a field of blood, it pass'd away ; 
 A glittering palace rose, with mailed men 
 Throng'd, and the voice of multitudes was heard 
 Acclaiming : suddenly the sounds were ceased, 
 The glittering palace vanished, and, behold, 
 Long winding cloisters, echoing to the chant 
 Of stoled fathers ; and the mass-song ceased * 
 Then a dark tomb appeared, and, lo! a shape 
 As of a phantom-king rose ! 
 
CANTO II. THE LAST SAXON. 47 
 
 Nearer it came, 
 
 And nearer yet in silence through the gloom. 
 Advancing, still advancing : the cold glare 
 Of armour shone as it approached, and now 
 It stands o'er William's couch ! The spectre gazed 
 Awhile, then lifting its dark visor up, 
 (Horrible vision !) show'd a grisly wound 
 Deep in its forehead, and therein appear'd 
 Gouts, as yet dropping from an arrow's point 
 Infix'd ! And that red arrow's deadly barb 
 The shadow drew, and pointed at the breast 
 Of William; and the blood dropp'd on his breast; 
 And through his steely arms one drop of blood 
 Came cold as death's own hand upon his heart ! 
 Whilst a deep voice was heard, " Now sleep in peace, 
 " I am avenged !" 
 
 Starting, he exclaim'd, 
 
 " Hence, horrid phantom ! Ho ! Fitz-alain, ho! 
 " Montgomerie !" Each baron, with a torch, 
 Before him stood ! " By dawn of day," he cried, 
 
48 THE GRAVE OF CANTO II. 
 
 " We will to horse. What passes in our thoughts 
 " We shall unfold hereafter. By St. Anne, 
 " Albeit, not ten thousand phantoms sent 
 " By the dead Harold can divert our course, 
 " They may bear timely warning. 
 
 "'Tis yet night 
 
 " Give me a battle-song, ere daylight dawns ; 
 " The song of Roland, or of Charlemagne ! 
 " Or our own fight at Hastings ! 
 
 "Torches! -ho! 
 
 " And let the gallery blaze with lights f Awake, 
 " Harpers of Normandy, awake ! By Heav'n, 
 " I will not sleep till your full chords ring out 
 " The song of England's conquest ! Torches ! ho ! n 
 
 He spoke ! again the blazing gallery m 
 Echo'd the harpers' song. Old Eustace led 
 The choir, and, whilst the king pac'd to and fro, 
 Thus rose the bold, exulting symphony. 
 
CANTO II. THE LAST SAXON. 49 
 
 SONG OF THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS. 
 
 1. 
 
 The Norman armament, beneath thy rocks St. Valerie, 
 Is moor'd; and, streaming to the morn, three hundred 
 
 banners fly ; 
 
 Of crimson silk, with golden cross, effulgent o'er the rest, 
 That banner, proudest in the fleet, streams, which the 
 
 Lord had bless'd. 
 The gale is fair, the sails are set, cheerly the south wind 
 
 blows, 
 And Norman archers, all in steel, have grasp'd their good 
 
 yew-bows; 
 Aloud the harpers strike their harps, whilst morning light 
 
 is flung 
 Upon the cross-bows and the shields, that round the masts 
 
 are hung. 
 
 
50 THE GRAVE OF CANTO II. 
 
 Speed on, ye brave, 'tis WILLIAM leads; bold Barons, at 
 
 his word, 
 Lo! sixty thousand men of might for WILLIAM draw the 
 
 sword. 
 
 2. 
 So, bound to England's southern shore, we rolTd upon 
 
 the seas, 
 And gallant the white sails were set, and swelling to the 
 
 breeze. 
 
 " On, on, to victory or death!"" now rose the general cry; 
 The minstrels sung, " On, on, ye brave, to death or 
 
 victory !" 
 Mark yonder ship, how straight she steers: ye knights 
 
 and barons brave, 
 'Tis WILLIAM'S ship, and proud she rides, the foremost 
 
 o'er the wave. 
 And now we hail'd the English coast, and, lo ! on Beachy 
 
 Head, 
 The radiance of the setting sun majestical is shed. 
 
CANTO II. THE LAST SAXON. 51 
 
 The fleet saiPd on, till, Pevensey ! we saw thy welcome 
 
 strand ; 
 Duke WILLIAM now his anchor casts, and dauntless leaps 
 
 to land. 
 
 3. 
 
 The English host, by HAROLD led, at length appear in sight, 
 
 And now they raise a deafening shout, and stand prepared 
 for fight; 
 
 The hostile legions halt awhile, and their long lines display, 
 
 Now front to front they stand, in still and terrible array. 
 
 Give out the word, " God, and our right !" rush like a 
 storm along, 
 
 LIFT UP GOD'S BANNER, and advance, resounding RO- 
 LAND'S SONG! 
 
 Ye, spearmen, poise your lances well, by brave MONT- 
 GOME RIE led, 
 
 Ye, archers, bend your bows, and draw the arrows to the 
 head. 
 
 They draw the bent bows ring huzzah ! another flight, 
 and, hark! 
 
 TT O 
 
 fj r* 
 
52 THE GRAVE, &c. CANTO II. 
 
 How the sharp arrowy shower beneath the sun goes 
 
 hissing dark. 
 
 Hark ! louder grows the deadly strife, till all the battle- 
 plain 
 Is red with blood, and heaped around with men and horses 
 
 slain. 
 On! Normans, on! DUKE WILLIAM cried, and, HAROLD, 
 
 tremble Thou, 
 
 Now think upon thy perjury, and of thy broken vow. 
 The banner* of thy ARMED KNIGHT, thy shield, thy helm, 
 
 are vain 
 The fatal shaft has sped, by Heav'n! it hisses in his 
 
 brain ! 
 So William won the English crown, and all his foe-men 
 
 beat, 
 And Harold, and his Britons brave, lay silent at his feet. 
 
 " Enough ! the day is breaking," cried the King : 
 
 " Away ! away ! be armed at my side, 
 
 " Without attendants, and to HORSE, to HORSE ! 
 
 * Harold's banner had tlu> device of an armed knight. 
 
Cf)e <rate of tf)e last 
 
 CANTO THE THIRD. 
 
 Waltham Abbey and Forest Wild Woman of the 
 Woods. 
 
 AT WALTHAM ABBEY, o'er KING HAROLD'S GRAVE 
 
 A REQUIEM was chanted ; for last night 
 
 A passing spirit shook the battlements, 
 
 And the pale monk, at midnight, as he watch'd 
 
 The lamp, beheld it tremble ; whilst the shrines 
 
 Shook, as the deep foundations of the fane 
 
 Were mov'd. " Oh ! pray for Harold's soul P he cried. 
 
 And now, at matin bell, the monks were met, 
 
 And slowly pacing round the grave, they sung: 
 
54 THE GRAVE OF CANTO III. 
 
 DIRGE. 
 
 1. 
 
 Peace, oh ! peace be to the shade 
 Of him who here in earth is laid : 
 Saints, and spirits of the blest, 
 Look upon his bed of rest ; 
 Forgive his sins, propitious be 
 Dona pacem, Domine, 
 Dona pacem, Domine ! 
 
 2. 
 
 When, from yonder window's height, 
 The moonbeams on the floor are bright, 
 Sounds of viewless harps shall die, 
 Sounds of Heaven's own harmony ! 
 Forgive his sins, propitious be 
 Dona pacem, Domine, 
 Dona pacem, Domine ! 
 
CANTO III. THE LAST SAXON. 55 
 
 8. 
 
 By the spirits of the brave, 
 
 Who died the land they lov'd to save ; 
 
 By the soldier's faint farewell, 
 
 By Freedom's blessing, where he fell ; 
 
 Forgive his sins, propitious be 
 
 Dona pacem, Domine, 
 
 Dona pacem, Domine ! 
 
 4. 
 
 By a nation's mingled moan, 
 By Liberty's expiring groan, 
 By the saints, to whom 'tis given 
 To bear that parting groan to Heaven ; 
 To his shade propitious be 
 Dona pacem, Domine, 
 Dona pacem, Domine ! 
 
 The PROUD and 
 
56 THE GRAVE OF CANTO III. 
 
 As they sung, the doors 
 Of the west portal, with a sound that shook 
 The vaulted roofs, burst open ; and, behold ! 
 An armed Norman knight, the helmet clos'd 
 Upon his visage, but of stature tall, 
 His coal-black armour clanking as he trod, 
 Advancing up the middle aisle alone, 
 Approached : he gaz'd in silence on the GRAVE 
 OF THE LAST SAXON ; there awhile he stood, 
 Then knelt a moment, muttering a brief prayer : 
 The fathers crossM their breasts the mass-song ceas'd : 
 Heedless of all around, the mailed man 
 Rose up, nor speaking, nor inclining, pac'd 
 Back through the sounding aisle, and left the fane. 
 The monks their interrupted song renewed : 
 
 The proud and mighty, when they die, 
 With the crawling worm shall lie ; 
 But who would not A CROWN resign, 
 HAROLD, for a rest like thine ? 
 
 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 THE LAST SAXON. 57 
 
 Saviour Lord, propitious be 
 Dona pacem, Domine, 
 Dona pacem, Domine ! 
 
 " Pacem" (as slow the stoled train retire), 
 
 " Pacem," the shrines and fretted roofs returned. 
 
 * 
 'Twas told, three Norman knights, in armour, spurred 
 
 Their foaming steeds to the West Abbey door ; 
 
 But who it was, that with his visor clos'd 
 
 Passed up the long and echoing fane alone, 
 
 And knelt on Harold's grave-stone, none could tell ! 
 
 The stranger knights in silence left the fane, 
 
 And soon were lost in the surrounding shades 
 
 Of Waltham forest. 
 
 He, who foremost rode, 
 Passed his companions, on his fleeter steed, 
 And, muttering in a dark and dreamy mood, 
 Spurred on alone, till, looking round, he heard 
 Only the murmur of the woods above, 
 
58 THE GRAVE OF CANTO III. 
 
 Whilst soon all traces of a road were lost 
 In the inextricable maze. From morn 
 Till eve, in the wild woods he wandered lost. 
 Night followed, and the gathering storm was heard 
 Among the branches. List ! there is no sound 
 Of horn far off, or tramp of toiling steed, 
 Or call of some belated forester ; 
 No lonely taper lights the waste ; the woods 
 Wave high their melancholy boughs, and bend 
 Beneath the rising tempest. Heard ye not 
 Low thunder to the north ? The solemn roll 
 Redoubles through the darkening forest deep, 
 That sounds through all its solitude, and rocks, 
 As the long peal at distance rolls away. 
 Hark ! the loud thunder crashes overhead, 
 And, as the red fire flings a fitful glare, 
 The branches of old oaks, and mossy trunks, 
 Distinct and visible shine out ; and lo ! 
 Interminable woods a moment seen, 
 Then lost again in deeper, lonelier night. 
 
CANTO III. THE LAST SAXON. 59 
 
 The torrent rain o'er the vast leafy cope 
 Comes sounding, and the drops fall heavily 
 Where the strange knight is sheltered by the trunk 
 Of a huge oak, whose dripping branches sweep 
 Far round. Oh ! happy, if beneath the flash 
 Some castle's banner'd battlements were seen, 
 Where the lone minstrel, as the storm of night 
 Blew loud without, beside the blazing hearth 
 Might dry his hoary locks, and strike his harp 
 (The fire relumin'd in his aged eyes) 
 To songs of Charlemagne ! 
 
 Or, happier yet, 
 
 If some gray convent's bell remote proclaimed 
 The hour of midnight service, when the chant 
 Was up, and the long range of windows shone 
 Far off, on the lone woods, whilst Charity 
 Might bless and welcome, in a night like this, 
 The veriest outcast ! ANGEL OF THE STORM ! 
 Ha! thy red bolt this instant shiv'ring rives 
 That blasted oak ! 
 
60 THE GRAVE OF CANTO III. 
 
 The horse starts back, and bounds 
 From the knight's grasp. The way is dark and wild 
 So dark and wild, as if the solitude 
 Had never heard the sound of human steps. 
 Pondering he stood, when by the lightning's glance 
 The knight now mark'd a small and craggy path. 
 Descending through the woody labyrinth, 
 He track'd his way slowly from brake to brake, 
 Till now he gain'd a deep sequestered glen 
 " I fear not storms, nor thunders, nor the sword,*" 
 The knight exclaimed : " that eye alone I fear ! 
 " God's stern and stedfast eye upon the heart ! 
 " Yet peace is in the grave where HAROLD sleeps." 
 
 " Who speaks of Harold ?" cried a woman's voice, 
 Heard through the deep night of the woods " HE spoke," 
 A stern voice answer'd, " HE, of Harold spoke, 
 " Who fear'd his sword in the red front of war, 
 " Less than the powers of darkness :" and he cross'd 
 His breast, for at that instant rose the thought 
 
CANTO III. THE LAST SAXON. 61 
 
 Of the weird sisters of the wold, that mock 
 
 Night wanderers, and " syllable men's names" 
 
 In savage solitude " If now," he cried, 
 
 " Dark minister, thy spells of wizard power 
 
 " Have rais'd the storm and wild winds up, APPEAR !" 
 
 He scarce had spoken, when, by the red flash 
 
 That glanc'd along the glen, half visible 
 
 Appeared a tall, majestic female form ; 
 
 So visible, her eyes 1 intenser light 
 
 Shone wildly through the darkness ; and her face, 
 
 On which one pale flash more directly shone, 
 
 Was like a ghost's by moonlight, as she stood 
 
 A moment seen : her lips appeared to move 
 
 Muttering, whilst her long locks of ebon hair 
 
 Streamed o'er her forehead, by the bleak winds blown 
 
 Upon her heaving breast. 
 
 The knight advanced 
 Th' expiring embers from a cave within, 
 Now waken'd by the night-air, shot a light, 
 Fitful and trembling, and this human form, 
 
62 THE GRAVE OF CANTO HI. 
 
 If it was human, at the entrance stood, 
 
 As seem'd, of a rude cave. You might have thought 
 
 She had strange spells, such a mysterious power 
 
 Was round her, such terrific solitude, 
 
 Such night, as of the kingdom of the grave, 
 
 Whilst hurricanes seem'd to obey her hest. 
 
 And she no less admired, when, front to front, 
 By the rekindling ember's darted gleam, 
 A mailed man, of proud illustrious port, 
 She marked ; and thus, but with unfaltering voice, 
 She spake 
 
 " Yes! it was HAROLD'S name I heard! 
 " Whence, arid what art thou ? I have watch'd the night, 
 " And listened to the tempest as it howFd, 
 " And whilst I listening lay, methought I heard, 
 " Even now, the tramp as of a rushing steed 
 " Therefore I rose, and look'd into the dark, 
 " And now I hear one speak of Harold : say, 
 " Whence, and what art thou, solitary man ? 
 
CANTO III. THE LAST SAXON. 63 
 
 " If lost and weary, enter this poor shed 
 
 " If wretched, pray with me if on dark deeds 
 
 " Intent, I am a most poor woman, cast 
 
 " Into the depths of mortal misery ! 
 
 " The desolate have nought to lose : pass on ! 
 
 " I had not spoken, but for Harold's name, 
 
 " By thee pronounced : it sounded in my ears 
 
 " As of a better world ah, no ! of days 
 
 " Of happiness in this. Whence, who art THOU ?" 
 
 " I am a NORMAN, woman ; more to know 
 " Seek not : and I have been to HAROLD'S GRAVE, 
 " Remembering the MIGHTIEST are but dust ; 
 " And I have pray'd the peace of God might rest 
 " UPON HIS SOUL." 
 
 " And, by our blessed Lord, 
 " The deed was holy," that lorn woman said ; 
 " And may the benediction of all saints, 
 " Whoe'er thou art, rest on thy head. But say, 
 66 What perilous mischance hath hither led 
 " Thy footsteps in an hour and night like this ?" 
 
64 THE GRAVE OF 
 
 CANTO HI. 
 
 " Over his grave, of whom we spake, I heard 
 " The mass-song sung ! I knelt upon his grave, 
 " And pray'd for my own sins ! I left the fane, 
 " And heard the chanted rite at distance die. 
 " Returning through these forest shades, with thoughts 
 " Not of this world, I pressed my panting steed 
 " The foremost of the Norman knights, and pass'd 
 " The track, that, leading to the forest-ford, 
 ' Winds through the opening thickets on a height 
 c I stood and listened, but no voice replied 
 " The storm descended : at the lightning^s flash 
 " My good steed burst the reins, and frantic fled 
 " I was alone : the small and craggy path 
 " Led to this solitary glen ; and here, 
 " As dark and troubled thoughts arose, I mused 
 " Upon the dead man's sleep ; FOR GOD, I thought, 
 
 " THIS NIGHT, SPOKE IN THE ROCKING OF THE WINDS f 
 
 " There is a JUDGE in heaven," the woman said, 
 " Who seeth all things; and there is a VOICE, 
 " Inaudible midst the tumultuous world, 
 
CANTO III. THE LAST SAXON. 65 
 
 66 That speaks of fear or comfort to the heart 
 
 " When all is still ! But shroud thee in this cave 
 
 " Till morning : such a sojourn may not please 
 
 " A courtly knight, like echoing halls of joy. 
 
 " I have but some wild roots, a bed of fern, 
 
 " And no companion save this bloodhound here, 
 
 " Who, at my beck, would tear thee to the earth 
 
 " Yet enter fear not" And that poor abode 
 
 The proud knight entered, with rain-drenched plume. 
 
 " Yet here I dwell in peace," the woman said, 
 
 " Remote from towns, nor start at the dire sound 
 
 " Of that ACCURSED CURFEW! Soldier-knight, 
 
 " Thou art a NORMAN ! Had th 1 invader spurn'd 
 
 66 Ah 1 charities in thy own native land, 
 
 Yes thou would'st know what injured Britons feel." 
 
 " Nay, ENGLISHWOMAN, thou dost wrong our king," 
 The knight replied : " conspiracy and fraud 
 " Hourly surrounding him, at last compelled 
 " Stern Rigour to awake. What! shall the bird 
 
66 THE GRAVE OF CANTO III. 
 
 " Of thunder slumber on the citadel, 
 
 " And blench his eye of fire, when, looking down, 
 
 " He sees, in ceaseless enmity combined, 
 
 " Those who would pluck his feathers from his breast, 
 
 " And cast them to the winds ? Woman, on thee, 
 
 " Haply, the tempest of the times has beat 
 
 " Too roughly ; but thy griefs HE can requite !" 
 
 The indignant woman answered, "HE requite ! 
 " Can he bring back the dead ? Can he restore 
 " Joy to the broken-hearted ? He requite ! 
 " Can he pour plenty on the vales his frown 
 " Has blasted ? bid sweet evening hear again 
 " The village pipe ? and the fair flowVs revive 
 " His bloody footstep crushed ? For poverty, 
 " I reck it not : what is to me the night, 
 " Spent cheerless, and in gloom, and solitude ? 
 " I fix my eye upon that crucifix, 
 " I mourn for those that are not for my brave, 
 " My buried countrymen ! Of this no more ! 
 
CANTO in. THE LAST SAXON. 67 
 
 " Thou art a foe; but a brave soldier-knight 
 
 " Would scorn to wrong a woman ; and if death 
 
 " Could arm my hand this moment, thou wert safe 
 
 " In a poor cottage as in royal halls. 
 
 " Here rest awhile till morning dawns the way 
 
 " No mortal could retrace: 'twill not be long, 
 
 " And I can cheat the time with some old strain 
 
 " For, Norman though thou art, thy soul has felt 
 
 " Ev'n as a man, when sacred sympathy 
 
 " This morning led thee to KING HAROLD'S GRAVE." 
 
 The woman sat beside the hearth, and stirr'd 
 The embers, or with fern or brushwood rais'd 
 A fitful flame, but cautious, lest its light 
 Some roving forester might mark. At times, 
 The small and trembling blaze shone on her face, 
 Still beautiful, and show'd the dark eye's fire 
 Beneath her long black locks. When she stood up, 
 A dignity, though in the garb of want, 
 Seem'd round her, chiefly when the brush-wood-blaze 
 
 
68 THE GRAVE OF CANTO I 
 
 Glanc'd through the gloom, and touch'd the dusky mai 
 Of the strange knight then with sad smile she sung 
 
 Oh ! when "'tis Summer weather, 
 And the yellow bee, with fairy sound, 
 The waters clear is humming round, 
 And the cuckoo sings unseen, 
 And the leaves are waving green 
 
 Oh ! then 'tis sweet, 
 
 In some remote retreat, 
 To hear the murmuring dove, 
 With those whom on earth alone we love, 
 And to wind through the green- wood together. 
 
 But when 'tis Winter weather, 
 And crosses grieve, 
 And friends deceive, 
 And rain and sleet 
 The lattice beat 
 Oh ! then 'tis sweet 
 
 
CANTO III. THE LAST SAXON. 69 
 
 To sit and sing 
 
 Of the friends, with whom, in the days of spring, 
 We roamM through the green- wood together. 
 
 The bloodhound slept upon the hearth he rais'd 
 His head, and, through the dusk, his eyes were seen, 
 Fiery, a moment ; but again he slept, 
 When she her song renew'd. 
 
 " Though thy words might well deceive me 
 
 That is passed subdu'd I bend ; 
 Yet, for mercy, do not leave me 
 
 To the world without a friend ! 
 Oh ! thou art gone ! and would, with thee, 
 
 Remembrance too had fled ! 
 She lives to bid me weep, and see 
 
 The wreath I cherish'd dead. 
 
 The knight, through the dim lattice, watch'd the clouds 
 Of morn, now slowly struggling in the east, 
 
70 THE GRAVE OF CANTO III. 
 
 When, with a voice more thrilling, and an air 
 Wilder, again a sad song she inton'd 
 
 " Upon the field of blood, 
 
 Amidst the bleeding brave, 
 O'er his pale corse I stood 
 
 But HE is in HIS GRAVE. 
 I wip'd his gory brow, 
 
 I smoothed his clotted hair 
 But he is at peace, in the cold ground now 
 
 Oh ! when shall WE meet there ?" 
 
 At once, horns, trumpets, and the shouts of men, 
 
 Were heard above the valley. At the sound, 
 
 The knight, upstarting from his dreamy trance, 
 
 High rais'd his vizor, and his bugle rung, 
 
 Answering. " By God in heaven, thou ART THE KING !" 
 
 The woman said. Again the clarions rung 
 
 Like lightning ! Alain and Montgomerie 
 
 Spurred through the wood, and led a harness'd steed 
 
CANTO ill. THE LAST SAXON. 71 
 
 To the lone cabin's entrance, whilst the train 
 Sent up a deaf ning shout, " Long live the King !" 
 He, ere he vaulted to the saddle-bow, 
 Turn'd with a look benevolent, and cried, 
 " Barons and lords, to this poor woman here 
 66 Haply I owe my life ! Let HER NOT NEED !" 
 
 " Away !" she cried, " KING OF THESE REALMS, away ! 
 " I ask not wealth nor pity least from THEE, 
 " Of all men." As the day began to dawn, 
 More fiVd and dreadful seem'd her stedfast look, 
 The long black hair upon her labouring breast 
 Streamed, whilst her neck, as in disdain, she rais'd 
 Swelling her eyes a wild terrific light 
 Shot, and her voice, with intonation deep, 
 Utter'd a curse, that ev'n the bloodhound crouch'd 
 Beneath her feet, whilst with stern look she spoke : 
 " Yes ! I AM EDITHA ! SHE whom he lov'd 
 " SHE, whom thy sword has left in solitude, 
 " How desolate ! yes I AM EDITHA ! 
 " AND THOU HAST BEEN TO HAROLD'S GRAVE oh ! think, 
 
72 THE GRAVE OF CANTO ill. 
 
 " KING, WHERE THY OWN WILL BE ! HE rests in peace ; 
 " But ev'n a spot is to thy bones denied 
 
 " I see thy carcass trodden under foot 
 
 " THY CHILDREN His, with filial reverence, 
 
 " Still think upon the spot where he is laid, 
 
 " Though distant and far-severed But thy son*, 
 
 " Thy eldest born, ah! see, he lifts the sword 
 
 " Against his father's breast! Hark, hark! the chase 
 
 " Is up ! in that wild forest thou hast made ! 
 
 " The deer is flying the loud horn resounds 
 
 " Hurrah ! the arrow that laid HAROLD low 
 
 " It flies it trembles in the RED KING'S HEART f ! 
 
 " NORMAN, HEAV'N'S HAND is ON THEE, and THE CURSE 
 
 " Of this devoted land ! HENCE, TO THY THRONE !" 
 
 The King a moment with compassion gaz'd, 
 
 And now the clarions, and the horns, and trumps 
 
 Rung louder ; the bright banners in the winds 
 
 Wav'd beautiful ; the neighing steeds aloft 
 
 * Robert of Normandy. t William llufus, culled the lied King. 
 
CANTO III. THE LAST SAXON. 73 
 
 Mantled their manes, and up the valley flew, 
 And soon have left behind, the glen, the cave 
 Of solitary Editha, and sounds 
 Of her last agony ! 
 
 " Montgomerie," 
 
 King William, turning, cried, " when this whole land 
 " Is portioned (for till then we may not hope 
 " For lasting peace) FORGET NOT EDITHA * !" 
 
 In the gray beam the spires of London shone, 
 And the proud banner on the bastion 
 Of William's Tower was seen above the Thames, 
 As the gay train, slow winding through the woods, 
 Approached ; when, lo ! with spurs of blood, and voice 
 Falt'ring, upon a steed, whose laboring chest 
 Heaved, and whose bit was wet with blood and froth, 
 A courier met them. 
 
 * It is a singular fact, that the name of Editha Pulcherrima occurs in 
 Domesday.- See Turner. 
 
74 THE GRAVE, &c. CANTO HI. 
 
 " YORK! oh King!" he cried, 
 " YORK is in ashes ! all thy NORMANS slain !" 
 
 " Now, by the splendour of the throne of God !" 
 King William cried, " nor woman, man, nor child, 
 " Shall live." Terrific flashed his eye of fire, 
 And darker grew his frown ; then, looking up, 
 He drew his sword, and with a vow to Heaven, 
 Amid his barons, to the trumpet's clang 
 Rode onward (breathing vengeance) TO THE TOW'R ! 
 
Cf)e <rabe of fl)e last 
 
 CANTO THE FOURTH. 
 
 Wilds ofHolderness Hags Parting on the Hwriber- 
 Waltham Abbey, and Grave Conclusion. 
 
 THE moon was high when, mid the wildest wolds 
 Of Holderness, where erst that structure vast, 
 An idol-temple *, in old heathen times 
 Frown'd, with gigantic shadow to the moon. 
 That oft had heard the dark song, and the groans 
 Of midnight sacrifice 
 
 There, the wan sisters met,- 
 They circled the rude stone, and call'd the dead, 
 And sung by turns their more terrific song : 
 
 * This temple Camden places at Delgovitia. 
 
 
76 THE GRAVE OF CANTO IV. 
 
 i 
 
 FIEST HAG. 
 
 I look'd in the seer's prophetic glass, 
 And saw the deeds that should come to pass 
 From Carlisle- Wall to Flamborough Head, 
 The reeking soil was heaped with dead. 
 
 SECOND HAG. 
 
 The towns were stirring at dawn of day, 
 
 And the children went out in the morn to play ; 
 
 The lark was singing on holt and hill 
 
 I look'd again, but the towns were still, 
 
 The murder'd child on the ground was thrown, 
 
 And the lark was singing to heaven alone. 
 
 THIRD HAG. 
 
 I saw a famish'd mother lie, 
 
 Her lips were livid, and glaz'd her eye ; 
 
 The tempest was rising, and sung in the south, 
 
 And I snatched the blade of grass from her mouth. 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON. 77 
 
 FOURTH HAG. 
 
 By the rolling of the drums ! 
 Hitherward KING WILLIAM comes : 
 The night is struggling with the day 
 Hags of darkness ! hence ! away ! 
 
 WILLIAM is in the north the avenging sword 
 
 Descended like a whirlwind where he pass'd 
 
 Slaughter and Famine at his bidding wait, 
 
 Like lank, impatient bloodhounds, till he cries 
 
 " Pursue !" Again the Norman banner floats 
 
 Triumphant on the citadel of York, 
 
 Where, circled with the blazonry of arms, 
 
 Amid his Barons, WILLIAM holds his state. 
 
 The boy preserved from death, young MALET, kneels, 
 
 With folded hands : His father, mother kneel, 
 
 Imploring clemency for HAROLD'S sons 
 
 For Edmund most. Bareheaded Waltheof bends, 
 
 And yields the keys ! A breathless courier came ; 
 
 " What tidings ?" " O'er the seas the Danes are fled 
 
 " Morcar and Edwin in Northumberland, 
 
78 THE GRAVE OF CANTO IV. 
 
 " Amidst its wildest mountains, seek to hide 
 
 " Their broken hopes their troops are all dispersed. 
 
 " Malcolm alone, and the boy Atheling, 
 
 " And the two sons of the dead Harold, wait 
 
 " The winds to bear them to the North away." 
 
 " Bid forth a thousand spearmen," William cried : 
 
 " Now, by the resurrection, and the throne 
 
 " Of God, King Malcolm shall repent the hour 
 
 " He ere drew sword in England ! Hence, away T 
 
 The west wind blows the boat is on the beach, 
 The clansmen are embark'd the pipe is heard 
 Whilst thoughtful Malcolm and young Atheling 
 Linger the last upon the shore : and there 
 Are Harold's children, the gray-headed monk, 
 Godwin, and Edmund, and poor Adela : 
 Then Malcolm spoke " The lot is cast : oh ! fly 
 " From this devoted land, and live with us, 
 " Amidst our lakes and mountains !" " Adela," 
 Atheling whispered, " does thy heart say Yes ? 
 " For in this world we ne'er may meet again." 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON. 79 
 
 " The brief hour calls come, Adda," exclaimed 
 Malcolm, and kindly took her hand. She look'd 
 To heaven, and fell upon her knees then rose, 
 And answered : 
 
 " Sire, when my brave father fell, 
 " We three were exiles on a distant shore, 
 " And never, or in solitude or courts, 
 " Was God forgotten all is in his hand. 
 " When those whom I had lov'd from infancy 
 " Here joined the din of arms, I came with them 
 " With them I have partaken good and ill, 
 " Have in the self-same mother's lap been laid, 
 " The same eye gaz'd on us with tenderness, 
 66 And the same mother prayed prosperity 
 " Might still be ours through life ! Alas ! our lot, 
 " How different ! 
 
 " Yet let THEM go with you, 
 " I argue not the first time in our lives, 
 " If it be so, we here shall separate 
 " Whatever fate betide, I will not go 
 
80 THE GRAVE OF CANTO n 
 
 " Till I have knelt upon MY FATHER'S GRAVE !" 
 
 " 'Tis perilous to think," Atheling cried, 
 
 " Most perilous how "scape the Norman's eye ?" 
 
 She turnM, and with a solemn calmness said, 
 
 " If we should perish at the hour of death 
 
 " My father will look down from Heaven, and say, 
 
 " ' Come, my poor child ! Oh ! come where I am bless'd ! 
 
 " My brothers, seek your safety Here I stand 
 
 " Resolv'd and never will I leave these shores 
 
 " Till I have knelt upon MY FATHER'S GRAVE !" 
 
 " We never will forsake thee !" Godwin cried. 
 
 " Let death betide !" said Edmund, " we will go 
 
 " Yes! go with thee, or perish!" 
 
 As he spoke, 
 
 The pilot gave the signal " Then farewell !" 
 King Malcolm cried, " friends lately met, and now 
 " To part for ever !" and he kiss'd the cheek 
 Of Adela, and took brave Godwin's hand 
 And Edmund's, and then said, almost in tears, 
 " It is not now too late ! yet o'er my grave 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON. 81 
 
 * 
 
 " So might a duteous daughter weep !" " God speed 
 " Brave Malcolm to his father's land !" they cried. 
 The ships, beyond the promontory's point, 
 Were anchored and the tide was ebbing fast. 
 
 Then Ailric " Sire, not unforeseen by me 
 " Was this sad day : Oh ! King of Scotland, hear 
 " I was a brother of that holy house 
 " Where Harold's bones are buried from my vows 
 " I was absolved, and followed for I lov'd 
 " His children followed them through every fate. 
 " My few gray hairs will soon descend in peace, 
 " When I shall be forgotten; but till THEN, 
 " My services, my last poor services, 
 " To THEM I have devoted, for the sake 
 " Of HIM, their father, and MY KING, to whom, 
 " All, in this world, I ow'd ! Protect them, Lord, 
 " And bless them, when the turf is on my head, 
 " And, in their old age, may they sometimes think 
 " Of Ailric, cold and shrouded in his grave, 
 
82 THE GRAVK OF CANTO IV. 
 
 " When summer smiles. Sire, listen, whilst I pray 
 " One boon of thy compassion ; NOT for me 
 " I reck not whether vengeance wake or sleep 
 " But for the safety of this innocent maid 
 " I speak. South of the Humber, in a cave, 
 " Concealed amidst the rocks and tangled brakes, 
 " I have deposited some needful weeds 
 " For this sad hour, For well, indeed, I knew, 
 " If all should fail, this maiden's last resolve, 
 
 " To KNEEL UPON HER FATHER'S GRAVE, OR DIE. 
 
 " For this I have provided : but the time 
 
 " Is precious, and the sun is west'ring slow : 
 
 " The fierce eye of the lion may be turn'd 
 
 " Upon this spot to-morrow ! Adela, 
 
 " Now, hear your friend, your father ! the fleet hour 
 
 " Is passing, never to return : Oh ! seize 
 
 " The instant. Thou, King Malcolm, grant my pray'r ! 
 
 " If we embark, and leave the shores this night, 
 
 " The voice of fame will bruit it far and wide, 
 
 " That Harold's children fled with thee, and sought 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON. 83 
 
 u A refuge in thy kingdom None will know 
 
 " Our destination In thy boat convey'd, 
 
 " We may be landed near the rocky cave, 
 
 " The boat again ply to thy ships, and they 
 
 " Plough homeward the north seas, whilst WE ARE left 
 
 " To FATE !" Again the pilot's voice was heard 
 
 And, o'er the sand-hills, an approaching file 
 
 Of Norman soldiers, with projected spears, 
 
 Already seem'd as rushing on their prey. 
 
 Then Ailric took the hand of Adela 
 
 She and her brothers, and young Atheling, 
 
 And Scotland's king, are in one boat embark'd 
 
 Meantime the sun sets red, and twilight shades 
 
 The sinking hills The solitary boat 
 
 Has reach'd the adverse shore. 
 
 " Here, then, we part!" 
 King Malcolm said ; and every voice replied, 
 " God speed brave Malcolm to his father's land!'" 
 
 Ailric, the brothers, and their sister, left 
 
84 THE GRAVE OF CANTO IV. 
 
 The boat they stood upon the moonlight beach, 
 Still listening to the sounds, as they grew faint, 
 Of the receding oars, and watching still 
 If one white streak at distance, as they dipp'd, 
 Were seen, till all was solitude around. 
 Pensive, they sought a refuge for that night 
 In the bleak ocean-cave. The morning dawns, 
 The brothers have put off the plumes of war, 
 Dropping one tear upon the sword ! Disguised 
 In garb to suit their fortunes, they appear 
 Like shipwrecked seamen of Armorica, 
 By a Franciscan hermit through the land 
 Led to St. Alban"s shrine, to offer vows 
 Vows to the God, who heard them in that hour, 
 When all besides had perish'd in the storm. 
 
 Wrecked near his ocean-cave, an eremite 
 (So went the tale of their disastrous fate) 
 Sustained them, and now guides them through a land 
 Of strangers That fair boy was wont to sing 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON. 85 
 
 Upon the mast, when the still ship went slow 
 
 Along the seas, in sunshine and that garb 
 
 Conceals the lovely, light-hair'd Adela. 
 
 The cuckooes note in the deep woods was heard 
 
 When forth they far'd. At many a convent gate 
 
 They stood and pray'd for shelter, and their pace 
 
 Hastened, if high amid the clouds they marked 
 
 Some solitary castle lift its brow 
 
 Gray in the distance hastened, so to reach, 
 
 Ere it grew dark, its hospitable towVs 
 
 There the lithe minstrel sung his roundelay. 
 
 Listen, lords and ladies bright : 
 I can sing of many a knight 
 Who fought in paynim lands afar 
 Of Be vis, or of Iscapar. 
 I have tales of wand'ring maids, 
 And fairy elves in haunted glades, 
 Of phantom-troops that silent ride 
 By the moonlight forest's side. 
 
86 THE GRAVE OF . CANTO IV. 
 
 I have songs (fair maidens, hear !) 
 To warm the love-lorn lady's ear 
 The choice of all my treasures take, 
 And grant us food for pity's sake. 
 
 When tir'd, at noon, by the white waterfall, 
 In some romantic and secluded glen, 
 They sat, and heard the blackbird overhead 
 Singing, unseen, a song, such as they heard 
 In infancy. * So every vernal morn 
 Brought with it smell of flowers, or song of birds, 
 Mingled with many shapings of old things, 
 And days gone by ! Then up again, to scale 
 The airy mountain, and behold the plain 
 Stretching below, and fading far away, 
 How beautiful ! yet still to feel a tear 
 Starting (even when it shone most beautiful), 
 To think, " HERE, in the country of our birth, 
 
 * William took the field in spring. 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON. 87 
 
 " No rest is ours P 
 
 " ON, TO OUR FATHER'S GRAVE T 
 So southward through the country they had passed 
 Now many days, and casual shelter found, 
 In villages, or hermit's lonely cave, 
 Or castle, high-embattled on the point 
 Of some steep mountain, or in convent walls ; 
 For most with pity heard his song, and marked 
 The countenance of the way-faring boy ; 
 Or when the pale monk, with his folded hands 
 Upon his breast, pray'd, " For the love of God, 
 " Pity the poor," gave alms, and bade them " Speed !" 
 And now, in distant light, the pinnacles 
 Of a gray fane appeared, whilst on the woods 
 Still evening shed its parting light : " Oh ! say 
 " Say, viUager, what towVs are those that rise 
 " Eastward beyond the alders ?" 
 
 * " Know ye not," 
 
 He answer'd, " WALTHAM ABBEY ? HAROLD there 
 " Is buried He, who in the fight was slain 
 
88 THE GRAVE OF CANTO IV. 
 
 At HASTINGS !" To the cheek of Adela 
 A deadly paleness came. " On let us on," 
 Faintly she cried, and held her brother's arm, 
 And hid her face a moment with her hand ! 
 And now the massy portal's sculptured arch 
 Before them rose. 
 
 " Say, porter," Ailric cried, 
 " Poor mariners, wrecked on the northern shores, 
 " Ask charity ! Does aged Osgood live ? 
 " Tell him a poor Franciscan, wandVing far, 
 " And wearied, for the love of God would ask 
 " His charity." 
 
 Osgood came slowly forth 
 The light that touched the western turret, fell 
 On his pale face. The pilgrim-father said, 
 " I am your brother Ailric look on me ! 
 
 " And THESE ARE HAROLD^S CHILDREN J" 
 
 Whilst he spoke, 
 
 Godwin, advancing, with emotion cried, 
 " We are his children ! I am Godwin, this 
 
CANTO iv. THE LAST SAXON. 
 
 " Is Edmund, and lo ! poor and in disguise, 
 
 " Our sister ! we would KNEEL UPON HIS GRAVE 
 
 " OUR FATHER'S !" 
 
 " Come yet nearer," Osgood said, 
 " Yet nearer !" and that instant Adela 
 Looked up, and wiping from the lids a tear, 
 " Have you forgotten Adela ?" 
 
 "Oh God r 
 
 The old man trembling cried, " ye are indeed 
 " Our benefactor's children ! Adela, 
 " Edmund, brave Godwin ! welcome to these walls 
 " Welcome, my old companion !" and he fell 
 Upon the neck of Ailric, and both wept. 
 Then Osgood 4 ' Children of that honoured lord 
 " Who gave us all, go near and bless his grave." 
 One parting sunbeam yet upon the floor 
 Rested it passed away, and darker gloom 
 Was gathering in the aisles. Each footstep^s sound 
 Was more distinctly heard, for all beside 
 Was silent. Slow along the glimmering fane 
 
90 THE GRAVE OF CANTO IV. 
 
 They passed, like shadows risen from the tombs. 
 
 The entrance-door was closed, lest ought intrude 
 
 Upon the sanctity of this sad hour ! 
 
 The inner quoir they enter, part in shade 
 
 And part in light, for now the rising moon 
 
 Began to glance upon the shrines, and tombs, 
 
 And pillars : trembling through the windows high 
 
 One beam, a moment, on that cold gray stone 
 
 Is flung the word " Infelix" * is scarce seen 
 
 " BEHOLD HIS GRAVE-STONE !" Osgood said. Each eye 
 
 Was turn'd. Awhile intent they gaz'd, then knelt 
 
 Before the altar, on the marble stone ! 
 
 No sound was heard through all the dim expanse 
 
 Of the vast building, none but of the air 
 
 That came in dying echoes up the aisle, 
 
 Like whispers heard at the confession-chair. 
 
 Thus Harold's children, hand in hand, knelt down 
 
 Upon THEIR FATHER'S GRAVE KNELT down ! and pray'd 
 
 * In some accounts it is said the only inscription on the tomb was 
 " Infelix Harold." 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON. 91 
 
 " Have mercy on his soul HAVE MERCY, LORD !" 
 
 They knelt a lengthened space, and bow'd their heads, 
 
 Some natural tears they shed, and cross'd their breasts, 
 
 Then, rising slowly up, look'd round, and saw 
 
 A monk approaching near, unmark'd before ; 
 
 And in the farther distance the tall form 
 
 As of a female. He who wore the hood 
 
 And habit of a monk, approached and spoke 
 
 " Brothers ! beloved sister ! know ye not 
 
 " These features ?" and he rais'd his hood" Behold 
 
 " Me me, your brother Marcus ! whom these weeds, 
 
 " Since last we met, have hid from all the world : 
 
 " Let ME kneel with you HERE !" 
 
 When Adela 
 
 Beheld him, she exclaim'd, " Oh ! do we meet 
 " Here, my lost brother, o'er a father's grave? 
 " You live, restor'd a moment in this world, 
 " To us as from the grave !" And Godwin took 
 His hand, and said, " My brother, tell us all 
 " How have you liv'd unknown ? Oh ! tell us all." 
 
92 THE GRAVE OF CANTO IV. 
 
 " When in that grave our father (he replied) 
 " Was laid, ye fled, and I in this sad land 
 " Remained to cope with fortune. To these walls 
 " I came, when Ailric, from his vows absolv'd, 
 " With you was wandering. None my lineage knew, 
 " Or name, but I, some time, had won regard 
 " From the Superior Osgood knew me not, 
 " For with Earl Edwin I had liv'd from youth 
 " To our Superior thus I knelt and pray'd : 
 " * Sir, I beseech you, for the love of God, 
 " < And of our Lady Mary, and St. John, 
 " ' You would receive me here to live and die 
 " ' Among you.' What most mov'd my heart to take 
 " The vows, was this, that here, from day to day, 
 " From year to year, within the walls he raised, 
 " I might behold my Father's grave ! This eve 
 " I sat in the Confessional, unseen, 
 " When you approached I scarce restrained the tear, 
 " From many recollections, when I heard 
 " A tale of sorrow and of sin-! Come near, . 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON. 93 
 
 " WOMAN of woe P and a wan woman stood 
 Before them, tall and stately ; her dark eyes 
 Shone, as th 1 uncertain lamp cast a brief glare, 
 And show'd her neck, and raven hair, and lips 
 Moving She spoke not, but advanced and knelt 
 She, too on HAROLD'S GRAVE; then pray'd aloud, 
 
 " OH ! GOD BE MERCIFUL TO HIM AND ME !" 
 
 " Who art thou ?" Godwin cried. 
 
 " Ah ! know ye not 
 
 " The wretched EDITHA ? No CHILDREN'S LOVE 
 <' Could equal MINE ! I trod among the dead ! 
 " Did I not, fathers ? trod among the dead 
 " From corse to corse, or saw men^s dying eyes 
 " Fix'd upon mine, and heard such groans as yet 
 " Rive, with remembrance, my torn heart I found 
 " HIM, who rests here, where then he lay in blood ! 
 " When he was buried, I beheld the rites 
 " At distance, and with broken heart retired 
 " To the wild woods ; there I have liv^d unseen 
 " From that sad hour. Late, when the tempest rocked, 
 
94 THE GRAVE OF CANTO iv. 
 
 " At midnight, a proud soldier shelter sought 
 
 " In my lone cell ; 'twas when the storm was heard 
 
 " Through the deep forest, and he too had knelt 
 
 " At HAROLD'S grave! Who was it? HE! the KING! 
 
 " Say, fathers, was it not the hand of God 
 
 " That led his footsteps there! -But has he learn'd 
 
 " Humility? oh! ask this bleeding land. 
 
 " Last night, a phantom came to me in dreams, 
 
 " And a voice said, ' Come, visit my cold grave P 
 
 " I came, by some mysterious impulse led ; 
 
 " I heard the even-song, and when the sound 
 
 " Had ceas'd, and all departed, save one monk, 
 
 " Who stood and gaz'd upon this grave alone, 
 
 " I pray'd that he would hear me, at this hour, 
 
 " Confess my secret sins, for my full heart 
 
 " Was labouring. It was Harold's son who sat 
 
 " In the Confessional, to me unknown 
 
 " But all is now reveal'd and lo ! I stand 
 
 " Before you !" 
 
 As she spoke, a thrilling awe 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON. 95 
 
 Came to each heart : loftier she seegi'd to stand 
 
 In the dim moonlight ; sorrowful, yet stern, 
 
 Her aspect ; and her breast was seen to beat : 
 
 Her eyes were fix'd, and shoner with fearful light 
 
 She rais'd her right hand, and her dark hair fell 
 
 Upon her neck, whilst all, scarce breathing, heard : 
 
 " My spirit labours !" she exclaim'd ! " this night ! 
 
 " The tomb ! the altar ! Ha ! the vision strains 
 
 " My senses to oppression ! Marked ye not 
 
 " The trodden throne restored? the Saxon line* 
 
 " Of England's monarchs bursting through the gloom ? 
 
 " Lady, I look on thee In distant years, 
 
 " Ev'n from the Northern throne which thou shalt share, *f* 
 
 " A warrior-monarch shall arise, whose arm, 
 
 " In concert with this country, now bow'd low, 
 
 " Shall tear the EAGLE from a CONQUEROR'S grasp, 
 
 " Far greater than THIS NORMAN ! 
 
 * The Saxon line was restored through the sister of Atheling. 
 f A daughter of Harold married Waldimir of Russia. This part was 
 written when the Emperor of Russia was in England. 
 
96 THE GRAVE OF CANTO IV. 
 
 " Spare, oh God ! 
 
 " My burning brain !" ^hen, with a shriek, she fell 
 Insensible upon the SAXON'S GRAVE ! 
 They bore her from the i^ne and Godwin said, 
 " Peace, peace be with her, now and evermore P 
 He, taking Marcus by the hand, " Yet, here 
 " Thou shalt behold behold, from day to day, 
 " This HONOURED GRAVE ! But where in the great world 
 " Shall be thy place of rest, poor Adela ?" 
 " Oh ! God be ever with her !" Marcus cried, 
 " With her, and you, my brothers ! Here we part, 
 " Never to meet again whatever your fate, 
 " I shall remember with a brother's love, 
 " And pray for you ! but all my spirit rests 
 " In other worlds in worlds, oh ! not like THIS ! 
 " Ye may return to this sad scene when I 
 " Am dust and ashes ; ye may yet return 
 " And visit this sad spot ; perhaps when age 
 " Or grief has brought such change of heart as now 
 " I feel, then shall you look .upon MY grave 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON 97 
 
 " And shed one tear for HIM, whose latest pray'r 
 
 " Will be Oh! bless you! bless MY SISTER, Lord!" 
 
 Then Adela, with lifted look composed, 
 
 " FATHER, IT is PERFORM'D, the duty vow'd 
 
 " When we return'd to this devoted land, 
 
 " The last sad duty of a daughter's love ! 
 
 " And now I go in peace go to a world 
 
 " Of sorrow, conscious that a father's voice 
 
 " Speaks to my soul, and that thine eye, oh God, 
 
 " Whatever the fortunes of our future days, 
 
 " Is o'er us. THOU, DIRECT OUR ONWARD ROAD !" 
 
 O'er the LAST SAXON'S GRAVE, old Osgood rais'd 
 
 His hands, and pray'd 
 
 " FATHER OF HEAV'N AND EARTH ! 
 " All is beneath thine eye ! 'tis ours to bend 
 66 In silence. Children of misfortune, lov'd, 
 " Rever'd children of HIM who rais'd these roofs, 
 " No home is found for YOU in this sad land ; 
 " And none, perhaps, may know the spot, or shed 
 " A tear upon the earth where ye are laid !" 
 So saying, on their heads he plac'd his hands, 
 
 H 
 
98 THE GRAVE OF CANTO IV. 
 
 And bless'd them all but, after pause, rejoined, 
 " 'Tis dangerous lingering here the fire-ey'd Lynx 
 " Would lap your blood! Westward, beyond theXea, 
 " There is a cell, where ye may rest to-night." 
 
 The portal opened on the battlements 
 The moonlight shone silent and beautiful ! 
 Before them lay their path through the wide world 
 The nightingales were singing as they passed ; 
 And, looking back upon the glimmering towers, 
 THEY, led by Ailric, and with thoughts on HeaVn, 
 Through the lone forest held their pensive way ! 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 WILLIAM, on his imperial throne at York 
 
 Is seated, clad in steel, all but his face, 
 
 From casque to spur. His brow yet wears a frown, 
 
 And his eyes show the imextinguish'd fire 
 
 Of stedfast vengeance, as his inmost heart 
 
 Yet laboured, like the ocean after storm. 
 
CANTO iv. THE LAST SAXON. 99 
 
 His sword unsheathed appears, which none beside 
 Can wield ; his sable beard, full and diffused, 
 Below the casque is spread ; the lion ramps 
 Upon his mailed breast, engraiPd with gold. 
 Behind him stand his barons, in dark file * 
 Rang'd, and each feature hid beneath the helms ; 
 Spears, with escutcheon^ banners on their points, 
 Above their heads are raised. Though all alike 
 Are cas'd in armour, know ye not that knight 
 Who next, behind the King, seems more intent 
 To listen, and a loftier stature bears ? 
 'Tis bold Montgomerie ; and he who kneels 
 Before the seat, his armour, all with gules, 
 Checkered, and checker'd his small banneret, 
 Is Lord Fitz-alain. WILLIAM holds a scroll 
 In his right hand, and to Fitz-alain speaks : 
 " All these, the forfeited domains and land 
 " Of Edwin and of Morcar, traitor-lords, 
 
 * The picture is taken from an original, preserved in Drake, in 
 which William and his barons are thus represented. He is shown 
 in the act of presenting his nephew Alain with the forfeited lands 
 of Earl Edwin. 
 
 ir 9 
 
 II At 
 
100 THE GRAVE OF CANTO IV. 
 
 " From Ely to the banks of Trent, I give 
 
 "To theeand thine!" 
 
 i 
 Fitz-alain lowly knelt, 
 
 And kiss'd his iron-hand, then slow arose, 
 
 Whilst all the Barons shouted, " LIVE THE KING!" 
 
 This is thy song, WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR, 
 The tale of HAROLD'S children, and THE GRAVE 
 OF THE LAST SAXON ! The huge fortress frowns 
 Still on the Thames, where WILLIAM'S banner wav'd, 
 Though centuries, year after year, have passed, 
 As the stream flows for ever at its feet 
 HAROLD, thy bones are scattered, and the tomb 
 That held them, where the Lea's lorn wave delay 'd*, 
 Is seen no more ; and the high fane, that heard 
 The ELEESON pealing for thy soul, 
 A fragment stands, and none will know the spot 
 Where those, whom thou didst love, in dust repose, 
 
 Thy CHILDREN ! But the tale may not be vain, 
 
 * " Waltham" is, literally, the Ham in the Wold. 
 
CANTO IV. THE LAST SAXON. 101 
 
 If haply it awake one duteous thought 
 
 Of filial tenderness. < 
 
 That day of blood 
 
 Is pass'd, like a dark spectre ! but it speaks 
 Ev'n to the kingdoms of the earth 
 
 Behold 
 
 " The hand of God ! from that dark day of blood, 
 " When Vengeance triumphed, and the curfew knolTd, 
 " England, thy proud majestic policy 
 " Slowly arose ! through centuries of shade 
 " The pile august of British liberty 
 " Tower'd, till behold it stand in clearer light 
 " Illustrious. At its base fell Tyranny 
 " Gnashes his teeth, and drops the broken sword ; 
 " Whilst Freedom, Justice, to the cloudless skies 
 " Uplift their radiant forms, and Fame aloft 
 " Sounds o'er the subject seas, from East to West, 
 " From North to South, her trumpet ' ENGLAND, LIVE ! 
 
 " ' AND RULE, TILL WAVES AND WORLDS SHALL BE NO 
 MORE !' " 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Page 6, line 16. 
 Every trace has vanished. 
 
 Part of the abbey remains, but I believe there is no trace 
 of the tomb ; it was of gray marble. That part of the abbey 
 where it lay is entirely destroyed. 
 
 Page 7, line 12. 
 
 Where Lea. 
 
 The river Lea, near which the abbey called Waltham Holy 
 Cross was founded. 
 
 Page 8, line 16. 
 Marcus. 
 
 I have taken the liberty, for the sake of euphony, to alter 
 the name of Harold's third son, from Magnus to Marcus. 
 
 There is a quaint epitaph in Speed, describing him as having 
 been buried in a convent at Lewes. I have so far adhered to 
 historical tradition, as to represent him under the character 
 and in the habit of a religious order. The abbey, founded by 
 his father, seemed more appropriate than a convent or cell at 
 Lewes. The wife of Harold is not introduced at the funeral, 
 as she had fled to a convent. 
 
104 NOTES. 
 
 Page 9, line 12. 
 
 Leofnne. t 
 
 Altered from the real name, for the same cause as I have 
 given a variation to the name of Magnus. I have taken the 
 liberty also of representing, the " religious" at Waltham 
 Abbey as Monks ; though, in fact, they were " Canons." 
 
 Page 10, line 11. 
 
 Spurn-head. 
 Spurn-head, at the entrance of the Humber. 
 
 Page 11, line 14. 
 
 Like the two brothers famed in ancient song. 
 Fratres Helenae. 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 Page 12, line 9. 
 
 Ravenspur. 
 
 This town and castle are now vanished ; but the name is 
 well known in English history. It is uncertain whether it was 
 built since the Conquest, but there can be no doubt there was 
 a castle at the entrance of the Humber ; and as the name was 
 familiar, and the antiquity of the place acknowledged, I con- 
 sider myself at liberty to retain the name. 
 
 Page 27, line 3. 
 Red portentous comet. 
 A comet appeared at the time of Harold's coronation. 
 
 Page 27, line 10. 
 Fierce Nonvegian. 
 Hardrada, of Norway, had invaded England just before 
 
NOTES. 105 
 
 the arrival of William. Harold defeated him with immense 
 slaughter in the north, and was called from thence to a more 
 desperate and fatal struggle. 
 
 Page 30, line 17. 
 A hundred Norman knights. 
 
 William and the Normans were solicitous to pay every mark 
 of respect to the remains of the late king. 
 
 Page 33, line 14. 
 
 Panope. 
 On the level brine, 
 
 Sleek PANOPE, with all her sisters play'd. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 Page 34, line 3. 
 The very swallows. 
 
 I have placed, according to the best accounts, the taking 
 of York at the fall of the year. 
 
 William prepared his army, and took the field in the spring ; 
 and the whole country, north of the Humber to the Tyne, 
 was entirely laid waste and desolated by fire, famine, and the 
 sword. See Turner's excellent History of England, and of 
 the Anglo-Saxons. 
 
 Page 36, line 17. 
 
 But o'er her child, a frantic mother. 
 
 Only one family was saved in the massacre of the Normans 
 at York. The name is Malet, or Mallet. I have made this 
 historical circumstance illustrative of the milder, but no less 
 brave, character of Edmund, and introduced the episode for the 
 sake of " relief;" as many other descriptions, which I need 
 not point out. 
 
106 NOTES. 
 
 Page 42, line 6. 
 
 | 
 
 First, within the Tower. 
 
 Whether it is a matter of fact or not, that the Tower was 
 finished in this year, I am justified in assuming it poetically, 
 and it is at least historically credible. 
 
 Page 43, line 19. 
 
 London's sole Toio'r might laugh their strength to scorn. 
 " Our Castle's strength will laugh a siege to scorn." 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Page 44, line 7. 
 Yet calm his countenance. 
 
 William, with all his sternness, is described by contemporary 
 historians as having a remarkable complacent smile, and seems 
 to have been by nature bold, benevolent, and superstitious. I 
 have endeavoured to sketch his portrait, as it appears from a 
 comparison of the writers of the period. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS FROM SPEED. 
 
 " This victory thus obtained Duke William wholly 
 ascribed vnto God, and by way of a solemne supplication or 
 procession, gaue him the thankes ; and pitching for that night 
 his pauilion among the bodies of the dead, the next day re- 
 turned to Hastings, there to consult vpon his great and most 
 prosperously begun enterprise, giuiiig first commandement for 
 the buriall of his slain souldiers. 
 
NOTES. 107 
 
 c But Morcar and Edwin, the vnfortunate Queenes Bre- 
 thren, by night escaping the battaile, came vnto London, 
 where, with the rest of the Peeres, they beganne to lay the 
 foundation of some fresh hopes; posting thence their mes- 
 sengers to raise a new supply, and to comfort the English 
 (who, through all the Land, were stricken into a feareful asto- 
 nishment with this vnexpected newes) from a despairing feare, 
 shewing the chance of Warre to be mutable, their number 
 many and Captaines sufficient to try another field. Alfred, 
 Archbishop of Yorke, there present, and President of the As- 
 sembly, stoutly and prudently gaue his counsell forthwith to 
 consecrate and crowne young Edgar Atheling (the true heire) 
 for their King, to whom consented likewise both the sea-Cap- 
 taines and the Londoners. But the Earles of Yorkeshire and 
 Cheshire, Edwin and Morcar (whom this feareiull state of 
 their country could not disswade from disloyaltie and ambi- 
 tion), plotting secretly to get the crown themselues, hindred 
 that wise and noble designe. In which, while the sorrowfull 
 Queene, their sister, was conueyed to Westchester, where, 
 without state or title of a Queene, she led a solitary and quiet 
 life. 
 
 " The Mother of the slaine King did not so well mo- 
 derate her womanly passions as to receiue either comfort or 
 counsell of her friends : the dead body of her sonne shee greatly 
 desired, and to that end sent to the Conquerour two sage 
 brethren of his Abbey at Waltham, who had accompanied him 
 in his vnfortunate expedition : Their names (as I finde them 
 recorded in an olde manuscript) were Osegod and Ailric, 
 whose message to the Conquerour, not without abundance of 
 teares and feare, is there set downe in the tenour as fol- 
 loweth : 
 
108 NOTES. 
 
 ec ' Noble Duke ; and ere long to b^ a most great and mightie 
 King, we thy most humble seruants, destitute of all comfort 
 (as we would we were also of life) are come to thee as sent 
 from our brethren, whom this dead King hath placed in the 
 Monastery of Waltham, to attend the issue of this late dreadfull 
 battaile (wherein God fauouring thy quarrell, he is now taken 
 away and dead, which was our greatest comforter, and by 
 whose onely bountifull goodnesse we were relieued and main- 
 tained, whom hee had placed to serue God in that Church.) 
 Wherefore wee most humbly request the (now our dread 
 Lord) by that gracious fauour which the Lord of Lords hath 
 shewed vnto thee, and for the reliefe of their soules, who in 
 this quarrell haue ended their dayes, that it may be lawfull 
 for vs by thy good leaue safely to take and carry away with vs 
 the dead body of the King, the Founder and builder of our 
 Church and Monasterie ; as also the bodies of such others as 
 whom for the reuerence of him and for his sake desired also 
 to be buried with vs, that the state of our Church by their 
 helpe strengthened, may be the stronger, and indure the firmer/ 
 With whose so humble a request, and abundant teares, the 
 victorious and worthy Duke moued, answered : 
 
 " ' Your King (said he) vnmindfull of his faith, although 
 he haue for the present endured the worthy punishment of his 
 fault, yet hath he not therefore deserued to want the honour 
 of a Sepulchre or to lie vnburied : were it but that he dyed a 
 King, howsoeuer he came by the Kingdom, my purpose is, for 
 the reuerence of him and for the health of them who hauing 
 left their wiues and possessions haue here in my quarrel lost 
 their Hues, to build here a Church and a monastery with an 
 hundred Monkes in it, to pray for them for euer, and in the 
 same Church to bury your King abouc the rest, with all ho- 
 
NOTES. 109 
 
 nour vnto so great a Prince, and for his sake to endow the 
 same with great reuenewes/ 
 
 " With which his courteous speech and promises, the two 
 religious fathers, comforted and encouraged, again replied : 
 
 " ' Not so, noble Duke, but grant this thy servants most 
 humble request, that we may, for God by the leaue, receiue 
 the dead body of our Founder, and to bury it in the place which 
 himself in his life time appointed, that wee, cheered with the 
 presence of his body, may thereof take comfort, and that his 
 Tombe may be vnto our successors a perpetual monument of 
 his remembrance/ 
 
 " The Duke, as he was of disposition gracious, and inclined 
 to mercy, forthwith granted their desires, whereupon they 
 drew out stores of gold to present him in way of gratulation, 
 which he not only vtterly refused, but also oifered them plenty 
 to supply whatsoeuer should be needfull for the pompe of his 
 funerall, as also for their costs in trauaile to and fro, giuing 
 strait commandments that none of his souldiers should per- 
 sume to molest them in this businesse or in their returne. 
 Then went they in haste to the quarry of the dead, but 
 by no meanes could find the body of the King; for the 
 countenances of all men greatly alter by death, but being 
 maimed and imbrued with bloud, they are not known to be the 
 men they were. As for his other regall ornaments which 
 might haue shewed him for their King, his dead corps was 
 despoyled of them, either through the greedy desire of prey 
 (as the manner of the field is) or to be the first bringer of such 
 happy news, in hope of a princely reward, vpon which purpose 
 many times the body is both mangled and dismembred, and 
 
110 NOTES. 
 
 so was this King after his death by p^base souldier gasht and 
 hackt into the legge, whom Duke William rewarded for so vn- 
 suldier like a deed, casheiring him for euer out of his wages 
 and warres. So that Harold, lying stript, wounded, beman- 
 gled, and goared in his bloud, could not be founde nor knowne 
 till they sent for a woman named Editha (for her passing 
 beatie surnamed Swan shals, that is, Swans-necke), whom hee 
 entertained in secret loue before he was King, who by some 
 secret marks of his body, to her well knowne, found him out, 
 and then put into a coffine, was by diuers of the Norman No- 
 bilitie honourably brought vnto the place afterward called 
 Battle Bridge, where it was met by the nobles of England, 
 and, so conueyed to Waltham, was there solemnly and with 
 great lamentation of his mother, royally interred, with this 
 rudeJEpitaph*, well beseeming the time, though not the 
 person. 
 
 " Goodwine, the eldest son of the King Harold, being growne 
 to some ripenesse of years in y e life of his Father, after his 
 death and ouerthrow by the Conquerour, took his brother 
 with him and flew ouer into Ireland, from whence he returned 
 and landed in Somersetshire, slew Edmoth (a Baron sometimes 
 of his Fathers) that encountered him, and taking great preyes 
 in Deuonshire and Cornwell, and departed till the next yeare. 
 When comeing again he fought with Beorn and Earle of Corn- 
 wall, and after retired into Ireland, and thence went into 
 Denmarke to King Swayn, his Cosen German, where he spent 
 the rest of his life. 
 
 " Edmund, the second sonne to King Harold, went with 
 
 * For this epitaph, see Speed. 
 
NOTES. Ill 
 
 his brother into Ireland, returned with him into England, 
 and was at the slaughter and ouerthrow of Edmoth and his 
 power in Sommesetshire, at the spoyles committed in Cornwall 
 and Devonshire, at the conflict with the cornish Earle Beorn, 
 passed, repassed with him in all his voyages, inuasions, and 
 warres, by sea and by land, in England and Ireland ; and at the 
 last departed with him from Ireland to Denmarke, tooke part 
 with him of all plasure and calamitie whatsoeuer, and attend- 
 ing and depending wholly upon him, liued and died with him 
 in that country. 
 
 " Magnus, the third sonne of the King Harold, went with 
 his brothers into Ireland, and returned with them the first 
 time into England, and is neuer after that mentioned amongst 
 them, nor elsewhere, vnlesse (as some conjecture) he be that 
 Magnus, who, seeing the mutability of humane affaires, became 
 an Anchoret, whose epitaph, pointing to his Danish original!, 
 the learned Clarenciaux discouered in a little desolate Church 
 at Lewes, in Sussex, where, in the gaping chinks of an arch in 
 the wall, in a rude and ouer worne character, certain old im- 
 perfect verses were found." 
 
 A daughter, whose name is not known, left England with 
 her brothers, and sought refuge with them in Denmark. 
 
 Speed quotes Saxo Grammaticus, who says, " She afterwards 
 married Waldemar, King of Russia." To this daughter I have 
 given the name and character in the poem. 
 
 THE END. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 fRIKTKD BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITETRIAUS. 
 
E UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFOI 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFOI 
 
 OV-/TO 
 
 ! UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFOf 
 
OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
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 286&1 
 
 LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 f 
 
 OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 9|e 
 
 ) U-. ( 
 
 I ^ J 
 
 aM 
 
 OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 G\\ 
 
 -^ ^ ^ ^ = ~^7\ A / 
 
 ^4^<kH ; | >m>m^t 
 
 g = 6