The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 43

The Saxon rein'd his war-horse on the brow 37 Of the broad hill; and if his inmost heart Ever confest to fear, fear touch'd it now;-- Not that chill pang which strife and death impart To meaner men, but such religious awe As from brave souls a foe admired can draw:

Behind a quick and anxious glance he threw, 38 And pleased beheld spur midway up the hill His knights and squires: again his horn he blew, Then hush'd the hounds, and near'd the slope where still The might of Arthur rested, as in cloud Rests thunder; there his haughty crest he bow'd,

And lower'd his lance, and said--"Dread foe and lord, 39 Pardon the Saxon Harold, nor disdain To yield to warrior hand a kingly sword.

Behold my numbers! to resist were vain, And flight----" Said Arthur, "Saxon, is a word Warrior should speak not, nor a King have heard.

"And, sooth to say, when Cymri's knights shall ride 40 To chase a Saxon monarch from the plain, More knightly sport shall Cymri's king provide, And Cymrian tromps shall ring a n.o.bler strain.

Warrior, forsooth! when first went warrior, say, With hound and horn--G.o.d's image for the prey?"

Gall'd to the quick, the fiery earl erect 41 Rose in his stirrups, shook his iron hand, And cried--"ALFADER! but for the respect Arm'd numbers owe to one, my Saxon brand Should--but why words? Ho, Mercia to the field!

Lance to the rest!--yield, scornful Cymrian, yield!"

For answer, Arthur closed his ba.s.sinet. 42 Then down it broke, the thunder from that cloud!

And, ev'n as thunder by the thunder met, O'er his spurr'd steed broad-breasted Harold bow'd; Swift through the air the rus.h.i.+ng armour flash'd, And tempests in the shock commingling clash'd!

The Cymrian's lance smote on the Mercian's breast, 43 Through the pierced s.h.i.+eld,--there, s.h.i.+vering in the hand, The dove had stirr'd not on the Prince's crest, And on his destrier bore him to the band, Which, moving not, but in a steadfast ring, With levell'd lances front the coming King.

His s.h.i.+ver'd lance thrown by, high o'er his head, 44 Pluck'd from the selle, his battle-axe he shook-- Paused for an instant--breathed his foaming steed, And chose his pathway with one lightning look: On either side, behind the Saxon foes, Cimmerian woods with welcome gloom arose;

These gain'd, to conflict numbers less avail. 45 He paused, and every voice cried--"Yield, brave King!"

Scarce died the word ere through the wall of steel Flashes the breach, and backward reels the ring, Plumes shorn, s.h.i.+elds cloven, man and horse o'erthrown, As the arm'd meteor flames and rushes on.

Till then, the danger shared, upon his crest, 46 Unmoved and calm, had sate the faithful dove, Serene as, braved for some beloved breast, All peril finds the gentle hero,--Love; But rising now, towards the dexter side Where darkest droop the woods, the pinions guide.

Near the green marge the Cymrian checks the rein, 47 And, ev'n forgetful of the dove, wheels round, To front the foe that follows up the plain: So when the lion, with a single bound, Breaks through Numidian spears,--he halts before His den,--and roots dread feet that fly no more.

Their riven ranks reform'd, the Saxons move 48 In curving crescent, close, compact, and slow Behind the earl; who feels a hero's love Fill his large heart for that great hero foe: Murmuring, "May Harold, thus confronting all, Pa.s.s from the spear-storm to The Golden Hall!"[1]

Then to his band--"If prophecy and sign 49 Paling men's cheeks, and read by wizard seers, Had not declared that Odin's threatened line, And the large birthright of the Saxon spears, Were cross'd by SKULDA,[2] in the baleful skein Of him who dares 'The Choosers of the Slain.'[3]

"If not forbid against his single arm 50 Singly to try the even-sworded strife, Since his new G.o.ds, or Merlin's mighty charm, Hath made a host, the were-geld of his life-- Not ours this shame!--here one, and there a field, But men are waxen when the Fates are steel'd.

"Seize we our captive, so the G.o.ds command-- 51 But ye are men, let manhood guide the blow; Spare life, or but with life-defending hand Strike--and Walhalla take that n.o.ble foe!

Sound trump, speed truce."--Sedately from the rest Rode out the earl, and Cymri thus address'd:--

"Our steels have cross'd: hate s.h.i.+vers on the s.h.i.+eld; 52 If the speech gall'd, the lance atones the word; Yield, for thy valour wins the right to yield; Unstain'd the scutcheon, though resign'd the sword.

Grant us the grace, which chance (not arms) hath won Why strike the many who would save the one?"

"Fair foe, and courteous," answered Arthur, moved 53 By that chivalric speech, "too well the might Of Mercia's famous Harold have I proved, To deem it shame to yield as knight to knight; But a king's sword is by a nation given; Who guards a people holds his post from heaven.

"This freedom which thou ask'st me to resign 54 Than life is dearer; were it but to show That with my people thinks their King!--divine Through me all Cymri!--Streams shall cease to flow, Yon sun to s.h.i.+ne, before to Saxon strife One Cymrian yields his freedom save with life.

"And so the saints a.s.soil ye of my blood; 55 Return;--the rest we leave unto our cause And the just Heavens!" All silent, Harold stood And his heart smote him. Now, amidst that pause, Arthur look'd up, and in the calm above Behold a falcon wheeling round the dove!

For thus it chanced; the bird which Harold bore 56 (As was the Saxon wont), whate'er his way, Had, in the woodland, slipp'd the hood it wore, Unmark'd; and, when the bloodhounds bark'd at bay, Lured by the sound, had risen on the wing, Over the conflict vaguely hovering--

Till when the dove had left, to guide, her lord, 57 It caught the white plumes glancing where they went; High in large circles to its height it soar'd, Swoop'd;--the light pinion foil'd the fierce descent; The falcon rose rebounding to the prey; And closed escape--confronting still the way.

In vain the dove to Arthur seeks to flee; 58 Round her and round, with every sweep more near, The swift destroyer circles rapidly, Fixing keen eyes that fascinate with fear, A moment--and a shaft, than wing more fleet, Hurls the pierced falcon at the Saxon's feet.

Down heavily it fell;--a moment stirr'd 59 Its fluttering plumes, and roll'd its glazing eye; But ev'n before the breath forsook the bird, Ev'n while the arrow whistled through the sky, Rush'd from the grove which screen'd the marksman's hand, With yell and whoop, a wild barbarian band--

Half clad, with hides of beast, and s.h.i.+elds of horn, 60 And huge clubs cloven from the knotted pine; And spears like those by Thor's great children borne, When Caesar bridged with marching[4] steel the Rhine, Countless they start, as if from every tree Had sprung the uncouth defending deity;

They pa.s.s the King, low bending as they pa.s.s; 61 Bear back the startled Harold on their way; And roaring onward, ma.s.s succeeding ma.s.s, s.n.a.t.c.h the hemm'd Saxons from the King's survey.

On Arthur's crest the dove refolds its wing; On Arthur's ear a voice comes murmuring,--

"Man, have I served thy G.o.d?" and Arthur saw 62 The priest beside him, leaning on his bow; "Not till, in all, thou hast fulfill'd the law-- Thou hast saved the friend--now aid to s.h.i.+eld the foe;"

And as a s.h.i.+p, cleaving the sever'd tides, Right through the sea of spears the hero rides.

The wild troop part submissive as he goes; 63 Where, like an islet in that stormy main, Gleam'd Mercia's steel; and like a rock arose, Breasting the breakers, the undaunted Thane; He doff'd his helmet, look'd majestic round; And dropp'd the murderous weapon on the ground;

And with a meek and brotherly embrace 64 Twined round the Saxon's neck the peaceful arm.

Strife stood arrested--the mild kingly face, The loving gesture, like a holy charm, Thrill'd through the ranks: you might have heard a breath!

So did soft Silence seem to bury Death.

On the fair locks, and on the n.o.ble brow, 65 Fell the full splendour of the heavenly ray; The dove, dislodged, flew up--and rested now, Poised in the tranquil and translucent day.

The calm wings seem'd to canopy the head; And from each plume a parting glory spread.

So leave we that still picture on the eye; 66 And turn, reluctant, where the wand of Song Points to the walls of Time's long gallery: And the dim Beautiful of Eld--too long Mouldering unheeded in these later days, Starts from the canva.s.s, bright'ning as we gaze.

O lovely scene which smiles upon my view, 67 As sure it smiled on sweet Albano's dreams; He to whom Amor gave the roseate hue And that harmonious colour-wand which seems Pluck'd from the G.o.d's own wing!--Arcades and bowers, Mellifluous waters, lapsing amidst flowers,

Or springing up, in multiform disport, 68 From murmurous founts, delightedly at play; As if the Naiad held her joyous court To greet the G.o.ddess whom the flowers obey; And all her nymphs took varying shapes in glee, Bell'd like the blossom--branching like the tree.

Adown the cedarn alleys glanced the wings 69 Of all the painted populace of air, Whatever lulls the noonday while it sings Or mocks the iris with its plumes,--is there-- Music and air so interfused and blent, That music seems life's breathing element.

And every alley's stately vista closed 70 With some fair statue, on whose gleaming base Beauty, not earth's, benignantly reposed, As if the G.o.ds were native to the place; And fair indeed the mortal forms, I ween, Whose presence brings no discord to the scene!

Oh, fair they are, if mortal forms they be! 71 Mine eye the lovely error must beguile; So bloom'd the Hours, when from the heaving sea[5]

Came Aphrodite to the rosy isle.

What time they left Olympian halls above, To greet on earth their best beguiler--Love?

Are they the Oreads from the Delphian steep 72 Waiting their G.o.ddess of the silver bow?

Or shy Napaeae,[6] startled from their sleep, Where blue Cithaeron guards sweet vales below, Watching as home, from vanquished Ind afar, Comes their loved Evian in the panther-car?

Why stream ye thus from yonder arching bowers? 73 Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band, With spears that, thyrsus-like, glance, wreath'd with flowers, And garland-fetters, linking hand to hand, And locks, from which drop blossoms on your way, Like starry buds from the loose crown of May?

Behold how Alp on Alp shuts out the scene 74 From all the ruder world that lies afar; Deep, fathom-deep, the valley which they screen; Deep, as in chasms of cloud a happy star!

What pa.s.s admits the stranger to your land?

Whom wait, whom watch ye for, O lovely band?

Ages ago, what time the barbarous horde, 75 From whose rough bosoms sprang Imperial Rome, Drew the slow-widening circle of the sword Till kingdoms vanish'd in a robber's home, A wise Etrurian chief, forewarn'd ('twas said) By his dark Caere,[7] from the danger fled:

He left the vines of fruitful Fiesole, 76 Left, with his household G.o.ds and chosen clan, Intent beyond the Ausonian bounds to flee, And Rome's dark shadow on the world of man.

So came the exiles to the rocky wall Which, centuries after, frown'd on Hannibal

Here, it so chanced, that down the deep profound 77 Of some huge Alp--a stray'd Etrurian fell; The pious rites ordain'd to explore the ground, And give the ashes to the funeral cell; Slowly they gain'd the gulf, to scare away A vulture ravening on the mangled clay;