The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume Ii Part 11

Oh! rather know ye not the land, beloved Of Liberty, where your brave fathers bled!

The land of the white cliffs, where every 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 bannered keep!

Oh! shall the poet paint a land of slaves, (Albeit, that the richest colours warm His tablet, glowing from the master's hand,) 10 And thee forget, his country--thee, his home!

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, arches, and aqueducts, Sits, like reposing Glory, and collects Her richest radiance at that parting hour; 18 While distant domes, touched by her hand, s.h.i.+ne out More solemnly, 'mid the gray monuments That strew the ill.u.s.trious plain; yet say, can these, Even when their pomp is proudest, and the sun Sinks o'er the ruins of immortal Rome, A holy interest wake, intense as that Which visits his full heart, who, severed long, And home returning, sees once more the light s.h.i.+ne 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, 30 Ye blue Italian skies, and summer seas, 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 Valambrosa 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 the impa.s.sioned themes of other song. 40 Nor mine, thou wondrous 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 the irriguous valleys of the south, 50 Where Chili spreads her green lap to the sea, Now pause I to admire the bright blue bird, 52 Brightest and least of all its kind, that spins Its twinkling flight, still humming o'er the flowers, 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: 60 So might I fondly dream, when the cold turf Is heaped above my head, and carping tongues Have ceased, some tones, Old England, thy green hills Might then remember.

Time has reft the shrine Where the last Saxon, canonized, lay, And every trace has vanished,[90] like the light That from the high-arched eastern window fell, With broken suns.h.i.+ne on his marble tomb-- So have they pa.s.sed; and silent are the choirs, 70 That to his spirit sang eternal rest; And scattered 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 every English heart 80 Smote, when along those darkening vales, where Lea[91]

Beneath the woods of Waltham winds, it broke 82 First on the silence of the night, far heard Through the deep forest! Phantoms of the past, Ye gather round me! Voices of the dead, Ye come by fits! And now I hear, far off, Faint Eleesons swell, whilst to the fane The long procession, and the pomp of death, Moves visible; and now one voice is heard From a vast mult.i.tude, Harold, farewell! 90 Farewell, and rest in peace! That sable car Bears the last Saxon to his grave; the last From Hengist, of the long ill.u.s.trious line That swayed the English sceptre. Hark! a cry!

'Tis from his mother, who, with frantic mien, Follows the bier: with manly look composed, G.o.dwin, 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 100 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, Magnus,[92] subduing the deep sigh, with brow Of sterner acquiescence. Slowly pace The sad remains of England's chivalry, The few whom Hastings' field of carnage spared, To follow their slain monarch's hea.r.s.e this night, Whose corse is borne beneath the escutcheoned pall, 110 To rest in Waltham Abbey. So the train, 111 Imagination thus embodies 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 pillared nave, with crucifix Aloft, begin the supplicating chant, Intoning "Miserere Domine."

Now the stone coffins in the earth are laid 120 Of Harold, and of Leofrine, and Girth,[93]

Brave brethren slain in one disastrous day.

And hark! again the monks and choristers Sing, pacing round the grave-stone, "Requiem Eternam dona iis." To his grave So was King Harold borne, within those walls His bounty raised: his children knelt and wept, Then slow departed, never in this world, Perhaps, to meet again. But who is she, Her dark hair streaming on her brow, her eye 130 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. G.o.dwin, Edmund, Adela, Exiles in Denmark, there a refuge found From England's stormy fortunes. Three long years Have pa.s.sed; again they tread their native land.

The Danish armament beneath the Spurn[94] 140 Is anch.o.r.ed. Twenty thousand men at arms 141 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, From sky-blue lochs, and the wild highland heaths, From Lothian villages, along the banks 150 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 broadswords glitter as the tartaned troops March to the pibroch's sound. The Danish trump Brays like a gong, heard to the holts and towns Of Lincolns.h.i.+re. 160 With crests and s.h.i.+elds the same, A lion frowning on each helmet's cone, Like the two brothers famed in ancient song,[95]

G.o.dwin and Edmund, sons of Harold, lead From Scandinavia and the Baltic isles The impatient Northmen to the embattled host On Humber's side. The standards wave in air, Drums roll, and glittering columns file, and arms Flash to the morn, and bannered-trumpets bray, Heralds or armourers from tent to tent 170 Are hurrying; crests, and spears, and steel-bows gleam, Far as the eye can reach; barbed horses neigh, Their mailed riders wield the battle-axe, Or draw the steel-bows with a clang; and, hark! 474 From the vast moving host is heard one shout, Conquest or death!--as now the sun ascends, And on the bastioned walls of Ravenspur[96]

Flings its first beam--one mighty shout is heard, Perish the Norman! Soldiers, on!--to York!

CANTO FIRST.

Castle of Ravenspur, on the Humber--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 wandering step, Or distant shout, or dip of hastening oar, Or tramp of steed, or far-off trumpet, break The hushed horizon, we can catch the sound When breathless expectation watches there.

Upon the platform of the highest tower Of Ravenspur, beneath the lonely lamp, 10 At midnight, leaning o'er the battlement, The daughter of slain Harold, Adela, And a gray monk who never left her side, Watched: 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, 18 At times, the beach, or breaks beneath the cliff.

Listen! was it the fall of hastening oars?

No! all is hushed! Oh! when will they return?

Adela sighed; for three long nights had pa.s.sed, Since her brave brothers left these bastioned walls, And marched, with the confederate host, to York.

They come not: Have they perished? So dark thoughts Arose, and then she raised her look to heaven, And clasped the cross, and prayed more fervently.

Her lifted eye in the pale lamp-light shone, Touched with a tear; soft airs of ocean blew Her long light hair, whilst audibly she cried, 30 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 rang, And voices rose, and hurrying lights appeared; Now louder shouts along the platform peal-- Oh! they are Normans! she exclaimed, and grasped The old man's hand, and said, Yet we will die As Harold's daughter; and, with mien and voice, Firm and unfaltering, kissed the crucifix. 40 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, 50 Speak! speak! oh! tell me, do my brothers live?

Atheling answered: They will soon appear; 52 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! 60 My brothers live! cried Adela, and knelt Upon the platform, with uplifted hands, And look to heaven;--then rising, with a smile: We have watched, 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! 70 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; 80 And strange are both our fortunes.

Atheling, (Adela answered) early piety Hath disciplined my heart to every change.

How didst thou pa.s.s in safety from this land 85 Of slavery and sorrow?

He replied: When darker jealousy and lowering hate Sat on the brow of William, England mourned, And one dark spirit of conspiracy 90 Muttered its curses through the land. 'Twas then, With fiercer glare, the lion's eye was turned On me:--My sisters and myself embarked-- The wide world was before us--we embarked, With some few faithful friends, and from the sea Gazed tearful, for a moment, on the sh.o.r.es We left for ever (so it then appeared).

Poor Margaret hid her face; but the fresh wind Swelled the broad mainsail, and the lessening land, The towers, the spires, the villages, the smoke, 100 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 sang Louder, till wrecked upon the sh.o.r.es of Forth Our vessel lay. Here, friendless, we implored A short sojourn and succour. Scotland's king Then sat in Dunfermline; he heard the tale Of our distress, and flew himself to save; But when he saw my sister Margaret, 110 Young, innocent, and beautiful in tears, His heart was moved.

Oh! welcome here, he cried: 'Tis Heaven hath led you. Lady, look on me-- If such a flower be cast to the bleak winds, 'Twere meet I took and wore it next my heart.

Judged he not well, fair maid?

Thou know'st the rest; 118 Compa.s.sion 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 a.s.sembled here, King Malcolm left his land of hills; his arm Might make the Conqueror tremble on his throne!

Even 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, 130 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 s.h.i.+ps!

G.o.dwin still cried; oh! give me men and s.h.i.+ps! 140 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 sh.o.r.es of Denmark. Our brave s.h.i.+ps Burst through the Baltic straits, how gloriously!

I heard the trumpets ring; I saw the sails 150 Of nigh three hundred war-s.h.i.+ps, the dim verge Of the remote horizon's skiey track 152 Bestudding, here and there, like gems of light Dropped from the radiance of the morning sun On the gray waste of waters. So our s.h.i.+ps Swept o'er the billows of the north, and steered Right on to England.

Foremost of the fleet Our gallant vessel rode; around the mast Emblazoned s.h.i.+elds were ranged, and plumed crests 160 Shook as the north-east rose. Upon the prow, More ardent, G.o.dwin, my brave brother, stood, And milder Edmund, on whose mailed arm I hung, when the white waves before us swelled, And parted. The broad banner, in full length, Streamed out its folds, on which the Saxon horse Ramped, 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 h.o.a.r deep crimsoning. 170 Winds, bear us on; Bear us as cheerily, till white Albion's cliffs Resound to our triumphant shouts; till there, On his own Tower, that frowns above the Thames, Even 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 sh.o.r.e; 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 180 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 gleamed along the deep, England, Old England! burst the general cry: 186 England, Old England! Every eye, intent, Was turned; and G.o.dwin pointed with his sword To Flamborough, pale rising o'er the surge.

Nearer into the kingdom's heart bear on The death-storm of our vengeance! G.o.dwin cried.

Soon, like a cloud, the northern Foreland rose-- Know ye those cliffs, towering in giant state!

But, hark! along the sh.o.r.es alarum-bells Ring out more loud, blast answers blast, the swords Of hurrying hors.e.m.e.n, 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 veiled The sinking sands of Yarmouth, and we heard 200 A long deep toll from many a village tower On sh.o.r.e--and, lo! the scattered inland lights, That sprinkled winding ocean's lowly verge, At once are lost in darkness. G.o.d in heaven, It is the curfew! G.o.dwin cried, and smote His forehead. We all heard that sullen sound For the first time, that night; but the winds blew, Our s.h.i.+p sailed out of hearing; yet we thought Of the poor mother, who, on winter nights, When her belated husband from the wood 210 Was not come back, her lonely taper lit, And turned the gla.s.s, and saw the f.a.ggot-flame s.h.i.+ne 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 hoa.r.s.e Humber roars beneath our keels, And we have landed Yea, and struck a blow, 219 Such as may make the crowned Conqueror quail, Edgar replied.

Grant Heaven 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, even now, Arise on thy dark heart? Good father, speak!

With aspect mild, on which its fitful light The watch-tower lamp threw pale, the monk replied: Youth, on thy light hair and ingenuous brow Most comely sits the morn of life; on me, 230 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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, 240 Even whilst we gaze, and say, How beautiful!

So fitful and so peris.h.i.+ng 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 unwatered wastes, Who looks up, fainting, and prays earnestly To pa.s.s into that rest, whence sounds so sweet Come, whispering of hope; else it were best Beneath the load the forlorn heart endures 250 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! 253 Therefore, 'midst every 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 springtide rainbow fades, and many days, 260 And many years, perchance, of weal or woe Hang o'er thee! happy, if through every change Thy constant heart, thy steadfast view, be fixed 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 crowned-- I heard the loud voice of a nation hail His rising star; then, flaming in mid-heaven 270 The red portentous comet,[97] like the hand Upon the wall, came forth: its fatal course All marked, and gazed in terror, as it looked With lurid light upon this land. It pa.s.sed; 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 pa.s.sed the seas, Met his host man to man; I saw the sword, Advanced and glittering, in the victor's hand, 280 That smote the Hardrada[98] to the earth! To-day King Harold rose, like an avenging G.o.d; To-morrow (so it seemed, so short the s.p.a.ce), 283 To-morrow, through the field of blood, we sought His mangled corse amid the heaps of slain: Shall I recount the event more faithfully?

Its spectred memory never since that hour Has left my heart.

William was in his tent, Spread on the battle-plain, on that same night 290 When seventy thousand dead lay at his feet; They who, at sunrise, 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?

Sternly he asked; and Osgood thus replied: Conqueror, and lord, and soon to be a king, We, two poor monks of Waltham Abbey, kneel 300 Before thee, sorrowing! He who is slain To us was bountiful. He raised those walls Where we devote our life to prayer and praise.

Oh! by the mercies which the G.o.d of all Hath shewn 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.

Your king hath met the meed of broken faith, William replied. But yet he shall not want A sepulchre; and on this very spot 310 My purpose stands, as I have vowed to G.o.d, To build a holy monastery: here, A hundred monks shall pray for all who fell In this dread strife; and your King Harold here Shall have due honours and a stately tomb.

Still on our knees, we answered, Oh! not so, Dread sovereign;--hear us, of your clemency. 317 We beg his body; beg it for the sake Of our successors; beg it for ourselves, That we may bury it in the same spot Himself ordained 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 crossed our b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and pa.s.sed, Slow rising, from his presence. So we went, 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, 330 From morn till noon toiling, and then I said, Seek Editha, her whom he loved. She came; And through the field of death she pa.s.sed: she looked 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 shrieked, Then into tears burst audibly, and turned Her face, and with a faltering voice p.r.o.nounced, Oh, Harold! We took up, and bore the corse 340 From that sad spot, and washed the ghastly wound Deep in the forehead, where the broken barb Was fixed.

So weltering from the field, we bore King Harold's corse. A hundred Norman knights Met the sad train, with pikes that trailed the ground.

Our old men prayed, and spoke of evil days To come; the women smote their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and wept; The little children knelt beside the way, As on to Waltham the funereal car 350 Moved slow. Few and disconsolate the train 351 Of English earls, for few, alas! remained; So many in the field of death lay cold.

The horses slowly paced, till Waltham towers Before us rose. There, with long tapered 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, 360 At distance, watched 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 tower in breathless ardour. York Flames to the sky! a general voice was heard-- The drawbridge clanks; into the inner court A mailed man rides on--York is no more! 370 The cry without redoubles. On the ground The rider flung his b.l.o.o.d.y sword, and raised His helm, dismounting: the first dawn of day Gleamed on the shattered plume. Oh! Adela, He cried, your brother G.o.dwin! 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, 380 G.o.dwin replied. But trust his anxious love, We soon shall hear his voice. I need some rest-- 'Tis now broad day; but we have watched and fought: I can sleep sound, though the shrill bird of morn 384 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 bastioned walls; airs from the deep Wandered, and touched the cordage as they pa.s.sed, Then hovered with expiring breath, and stirred 390 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 overhead, And some red freckles streaked the horizon's edge, Far as the sight could reach; beneath the rocks, That reared 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, 400 With wings far seen, and more intensely white, Opposed to the blue s.p.a.ce; whilst Panope Played in the offing. Humber's ocean-stream, Inland, went sounding on, by rocks and sands And castle, yet so sounding as it seemed 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.

Such quiet all things hushed, so peaceable The hour: the very swallows, ere they leave 410 The coast to pa.s.s 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 suns.h.i.+ne of the turret-top.

'Twas at this hour of evening, Adela And G.o.dwin, now restored by rest, went forth, Linked arm in arm, upon the eastern beach, 418 Beyond the headland's shade. If such an hour Seemed 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 towers, A city blazing to the midnight sky, And mangled groups of miserable men, Gasping or dead, whilst with his iron heel He splashed the blood beneath! How changed the scene!

The sun's last light upon the battlements, The sea, the landscape, the peace-breathing air, 430 Remembered 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 mourned, 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 440 Rang out a joyous peal, rang merrily, For tidings heard from York: their melody Mingled with things forgotten. Until then, And then remembered freshly, Adela That instant turned 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, See here a footpage I have brought from York To serve a lady fair! The boy held out 450 His hand to Adela, as he would say, Look, and protect me, lady. Adela, 452 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 looked 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, 460 G.o.dwin, 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[99]

With horror, in delirious agony, Clasping it to her bosom; stern and still The father stood, his hand upon his brow, As praying, in that hour, that G.o.d might make, In mercy, the last trial brief. Fear not-- 470 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 him Whom every eye must view with tender love, Oh! trust me; for his safety, lo! I pledge My honour and my life. 480 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 steeled.

His sister kissed the child's light hair and cheek, 485 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, The poor child said, for friends like those who saved 490 My father and my mother; and again Adela kissed his forehead and his eyes, And said, But we are Saxons!

As she spoke, The winds began to muster, and the sea Swelled with a sound more solemn, whilst the sun Was sinking, and its last and lurid light Streaked the long line of c.u.mbrous clouds, that hung In wild red ma.s.ses o'er the murmuring deep, Now flickering fast with foam. The sea-fowl flew 500 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 overhead the gathered storm Comes sounding!

Haste!--and in the castle-keep List to the winds and waves that roar without.

CANTO SECOND.

Waltham Forest--Tower--William and his Barons.