The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume Ii Part 12

There had been fearful sounds in the air last night In the wild wolds of Holderness, when York Flamed to the midnight sky, and spells of death Were heard amidst the depth of Waltham woods; 4 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.

SPIRITS AND NIGHT-HAGS.

Around, around, around, Troop and dance we to the sound, 10 Whilst mocking imps cry, Ho! ho! ho!

On earth there will be woe! more woe!

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. 20

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!

FIRST SPIRIT.

Hear! 25 Spirits that our 'hests perform In the earthquake or the storm, Appear, appear!

A fire is lighted--the pale smoke goes up; Obscure, terrific features through the clouds 30 Are seen, and a wild laughter heard, We come!

FIRST MINISTERING SPIRIT.

I have syllables of dread; They can wake the dreamless dead.

SECOND SPIRIT.

I, a dark sepulchral song, That can lead h.e.l.l's phantom-throng.

THIRD SPIRIT.

Like a nightmare I will rest This night upon King William's breast!

SPIRITS AND NIGHT-HAGS.

Around, around, around, Dance we to the dismal sound Of dying shrieks and mortal woe, 40 Whilst antic imps shout, Ho! ho! ho!

They vanished, and the earth shook where they stood.

That night, King William first within the Tower Received his va.s.sal barons; in that Tower Which oft since then has echoed to night-shrieks Of secret murder, or the lone lament. 46 Now other sounds were heard, for on this night Its canopied and vaulted chambers rang With minstrelsy; whilst sounds of long acclaim Re-echoed, from the loopholes, o'er the Thames 50 The drawbridge, and the ponderous cullis-gate, Frowned on the moat; the flanking towers aspired O'er the embattled walls, where proudly waved 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 visored 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 60 Of the hoa.r.s.e 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, backed 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 70 The sons of Harold,--what hast thou to fear?

London's sole Tower might laugh their strength to scorn!

Upon that night when York's proud castle fell, Here William held his court. The torches glared On crest and crozier. Knights and prelates bowed 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 80 Shone, and his brow a dignified repose Marked 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 Engrailed upon the mail.

Odo approached, And knelt, then rising, placed the diadem 90 Upon his brow, with laurels intertwined.

Again the voice of acclamation rang, And from the galleries a hundred harps Resounded Roland's song! Long live the King!

The barons, and the prelates, and the knights, Long live the Conqueror! cried; a G.o.d on earth!

That instant the high vaulted chamber shook As with a blast from heaven, and all was mute Around him, and the very fortress rocked, As it would topple on their heads. He rose 100 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 ever great; Have mercy on my sins! The crucifix Shook as he spoke, shook visibly, and, hark! 110 There is a low moan, as of dying men, At distance heard.

Then William first knew fear. 113 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 G.o.d that moment turned And saw it beating.

Rising slow, he flung 120 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 pa.s.sed away; A glittering palace rose, with mailed men Thronged, and the voice of mult.i.tudes was heard Acclaiming: suddenly the sounds had ceased, The glittering palace vanished, and, behold!

Long winding cloisters, echoing to the chant 130 Of stoled fathers; and the ma.s.s-song ceased-- Then a dark tomb appeared, and, lo! a shape As of a phantom-king!

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 A while, then lifting its dark visor up-- Horrible vision!--shewed a grisly wound 140 Deep in its forehead, and therein appeared Gouts, as yet dropping from an arrow's point Infixed! And that red arrow's deadly barb The shadow drew, and pointed at the breast Of William; and the blood dropped on his breast; And through his steely arms one drop of blood 146 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 exclaimed, 150 Hence, horrid phantom! Ho! Fitzalain, ho!

Montgomerie! Each baron, with a torch, Before him stood. By dawn of day, he cried, We will to horse. What pa.s.ses 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; 160 The song of Roland, or of Charlemagne-- Or our own fight at Hastings.

Torches! ho!

And let the gallery blaze with lights! Awake, Harpers of Normandy, awake! By Heaven, I will not sleep till your full chords ring out The song of England's conquest! Torches! ho!

He spoke. Again the blazing gallery Echoed the harpers' song. Old Eustace led The choir, and whilst the king paced to and fro, 170 Thus rose the bold, exulting symphony.

SONG OF THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS.

The Norman armament beneath thy rocks, St Valerie, Is moored; 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 blessed.

The gale is fair, the sails are set, cheerily the south wind blows, And Norman archers, all in steel, have grasped their good yew-bows; Aloud the harpers strike their harps, whilst morning light is flung Upon the cross-bows and the s.h.i.+elds, that round the masts are hung.

Speed on, ye brave! 'tis William leads; bold barons, at his word, Lo! sixty thousand men of might for William draw the sword.

So, bound to England's southern sh.o.r.e, we rolled upon the seas, And gallantly the white sails set were, and swelling to the breeze.

On, on, to victory or death! now rose the general cry; The minstrels sang, On, on, ye brave, to death or victory!

Mark yonder s.h.i.+p, how straight she steers; ye knights and barons brave, 'Tis William's s.h.i.+p, and proud she rides, the foremost o'er the wave.

And now we hailed the English coast, and, lo! on Beachy Head, The radiance of the setting sun majestical is shed.

The fleet sailed on, till, Pevensey! we saw thy welcome strand; Duke William now his anchor casts, and dauntless leaps to land.

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 a while, and their long lines display, Now front to front they stand, in still and terrible array.

Give out the word, G.o.d, and our right! rush like a storm along, Lift up G.o.d's banner, and advance, resounding Roland's song!

Ye spearmen, poise your lances well, by brave Montgomerie led, Ye archers, bend your bows, and draw your arrows to the head.

They draw--the bent bows ring--huzzah! another flight, and hark!

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.