 | Lays and Legends or Ballads of the New World |  |
111
HASTINGS.
[_]
[Suggested by the monkish chronicle of William of Malmesbury, who was personally intimate with the Conqueror and his cruel son, and who mentions many picturesque incidents connected with the battle, that handed over England from one usurper of her throne to another, that are omitted by better historians.]
An angry man was the Bastard,
As he dashed his wine-cup down,
And darker grew his furrowed brow,
And blacker grew his frown.
As he dashed his wine-cup down,
And darker grew his furrowed brow,
And blacker grew his frown.
He swore on the holy relics,
“By the glory of the Lord,”
Till he'd hurled the nithering from his throne,
He'd never sheathe his sword.
“By the glory of the Lord,”
Till he'd hurled the nithering from his throne,
He'd never sheathe his sword.
And he tore in twain his royal robe,
And laid his mantle down,
And donned his dinted hauberk,
And doffed his father's crown.
And laid his mantle down,
And donned his dinted hauberk,
And doffed his father's crown.
While the Norman barks are manning,
He paces on the sand,
At the white rock walls of Britain
He shakes his mailed hand.
He paces on the sand,
At the white rock walls of Britain
He shakes his mailed hand.
On the eve of good St. Michael,
His ship with the crimson sail,
Like a falcon on its quarry,
Flies fast before the gale.
His ship with the crimson sail,
Like a falcon on its quarry,
Flies fast before the gale.
112
Their glittering vanes like golden stars,
Shine bright upon the deep,
Like some dream's gorgeous pageant
Across a poet's sleep.
Shine bright upon the deep,
Like some dream's gorgeous pageant
Across a poet's sleep.
Still as the slain in battle,
The realm of England lay;
The doomed upon the morrow,
Are banqueting to-day.
The realm of England lay;
The doomed upon the morrow,
Are banqueting to-day.
Blythest of all is Harold,
His gem-bossed robe gleams bright;
Though a shroud shall wrap that monarch
Before the morrow's light.
His gem-bossed robe gleams bright;
Though a shroud shall wrap that monarch
Before the morrow's light.
There's bloody stains on every brow,
There's blood on every hand,
And viewless forms of terror
Move silent 'mid the band.
There's blood on every hand,
And viewless forms of terror
Move silent 'mid the band.
A weary man was Harold,
Weary of foeman's slaughter,
Of press, and throng, and battle,
Down by dark Humber's water.
Weary of foeman's slaughter,
Of press, and throng, and battle,
Down by dark Humber's water.
A panting vassal enters,
“The Norman's come,” he cries;
“Begone,” said the jeering nobles,
“The Saxon villain lies.”
“The Norman's come,” he cries;
“Begone,” said the jeering nobles,
“The Saxon villain lies.”
“There's camped a host at Hastings
Of shaven priests in arms;”
“They're pilgrims,” said a vavasour,
“Poor chanters of the psalms.”
Of shaven priests in arms;”
“They're pilgrims,” said a vavasour,
“Poor chanters of the psalms.”
“By Heaven!” cried noble Harold,
“No woman's priests are these;
Arm for the shock of battle,
This is no time for ease.”
“No woman's priests are these;
Arm for the shock of battle,
This is no time for ease.”
113
From the one camp rang the shout and song
Into the midnight air;
From the other, to the silent stars
Arose the pious prayer.
Into the midnight air;
From the other, to the silent stars
Arose the pious prayer.
The hymn to Christ's sweet mother
Was heard by God on high;
The curse of the drunken jesters
Drew vengeance from the sky.
Was heard by God on high;
The curse of the drunken jesters
Drew vengeance from the sky.
The night, the still calm night, went by,
Red morning dawned again;
With an eagle's glance the Bastard
Swept the broad level plain.
Red morning dawned again;
With an eagle's glance the Bastard
Swept the broad level plain.
To the chanted hymn of Roland
The Norman host came on;
From his cloudy home of darkness
Came forth the golden sun.
The Norman host came on;
From his cloudy home of darkness
Came forth the golden sun.
Like eagles on untiring wing
The gonfanels flew past;
The war shouts 'mid that forest
Moved like a tempest blast.
The gonfanels flew past;
The war shouts 'mid that forest
Moved like a tempest blast.
With his gold bound brow, the Bastard
Shone fair with banded mail;
Like the ruddy flame from Heaven
That gleams on shattered sail.
Shone fair with banded mail;
Like the ruddy flame from Heaven
That gleams on shattered sail.
Gay hearted were the spearmen
To leave the trenched camp;
High shone the sacred banner
Above their measured tramp.
To leave the trenched camp;
High shone the sacred banner
Above their measured tramp.
114
In the teeth of the bearded Saxon
Drove fast the arrow sleet;
Ne'er upon gilded gambazon
Did such a tempest beat.
Drove fast the arrow sleet;
Ne'er upon gilded gambazon
Did such a tempest beat.
The slingers plied the leathern thong,
And the Norman shafts they flew;
And 'mid the Kentish chosen van
A bloody lane, they hew.
And the Norman shafts they flew;
And 'mid the Kentish chosen van
A bloody lane, they hew.
'Mid Martel's band, the Saxon axe
Cleaves through bright painted shield;
And shouts, and yells, and shrieks, and groans,
Go up from gory field.
Cleaves through bright painted shield;
And shouts, and yells, and shrieks, and groans,
Go up from gory field.
Like a peasant churl fights Harold,
And Gurth is by his side;
Like two strong, lusty swimmers,
They stem the battle tide.
And Gurth is by his side;
Like two strong, lusty swimmers,
They stem the battle tide.
Ah, God! a shaft has pierced the brain
Of him who wears the crown;
Like a monarch to his slumber
He lapseth slowly down.
Of him who wears the crown;
Like a monarch to his slumber
He lapseth slowly down.
As if in grief for Harold,
The sun sinks to his rest;
Like a gore-bestained conqueror
Far in the crimson west.
The sun sinks to his rest;
Like a gore-bestained conqueror
Far in the crimson west.
Throned on a heap of English dead,
Where reddest was the sod,
Where Harold fell, the Bastard kneels,
And thanks his gracious God.
Where reddest was the sod,
Where Harold fell, the Bastard kneels,
And thanks his gracious God.
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