The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton :: :: University of Virginia Library

O Christ, it is a grief for me to tell
How many a noble earl and valourous knight
In fighting for King Harold nobly fell,
All slain in Hastings field in bloody fight.
O sea, our teeming donor! had thy flood
Had any fructuous entendèment,
Thou wouldst have rose and sunk with tides of blood,
Before Duke William's knights had hither went;
Whose coward arrows many earlès slain,
And 'brued the field with blood, as season-rain.

II

And of his knights did eke full many die,
All passing high, of mickle might each one,
Whose poignant arrows, tipped with destiny,
Caused many widows to make mickle moan.
Lordings, avaunt! that chicken-hearted are,
From out of hearing quickly now depart;
Full well, I wot, to sing of bloody war

135

Will grieve your tenderly and maiden heart.
Go, do the weakly woman in man's gear,
And scond your mansion if grim war come there.

III

Soon as the early matin-bell was toll'd,
And sun was come to bid us all good day,
Both armies on the field, both brave and bold,
Prepared for fight in champion array.
As when two bulls, destined for Hocktide fight,
Are yokèd by the neck within a spar,
They rend the earth, and travellers affright,
Yearning to wage the sportive bloody war;
So yearnèd Harold's men to come to blows,
The Normans yearnèd for to wield their bows.

IV

King Harold turning to his liegemen spake:
“My merry men, be not cast down in mind;
Your only praise for aye to mar or make,
Before yon sun has done his course, you'll find.
Your loving wives, who erst did rid the land
Of lurdanes, and the treasure that you han,
Will fall into the Norman robber's hand,
Unless with hand and heart you play the man.

136

Cheer up your hearts, chase sorrow far away,
God and Saint Cuthbert be the word to-day.”

V

And then Duke William to his knights did say:
“My merry men, be bravely everiche;
If I do gain the honour of the day,
Each one of you I will make mickle rich.
Bear you in mind, we for a kingdom fight;
Lordships and honours each one shall possess;
Be this the word to-day, ‘God and my right;’
No doubt but God will oür true cause bless.”
The clarions then sounded sharp and shrill;
Death-doing blades were out, intent to kill.

VI

And brave King Harold now had done his say,
He threw with might amain his short horse-spear,
The noise it made the duke to turn away,
And hit his knight, De Beque, upon the ear.
His crested beaver did him small abound,
The cruel spear went thórough all his head;
The purple blood came gushing to the ground,
And at Duke William's feet he tumbled dead:
So fell the mighty tow'r of Standrip, when
It felt the fury of the Danish men.

VII

O Afflem, son of Cuthbert, holy Saint,
Come aid thy friend, and shew Duke William's pain;
Take up thy pencil, all his features paint;
Thy colouring excels a singer's strain.

137

Duke William saw his friend slain piteously,
His loving friend whom he much honourèd,
For he had loved him from puerility,
And they together both had been y-bred:
O! in Duke William's heart it raised a flame,
To which the rage of empty wolves is tame.

VIII

He took a brazen cross-bow in his hand,
And drew it hard with all his might amain,
Not doubting but the bravest in the land
Had by his sounding arrow-head been slain.
Alúred's steed, the finest steed alive,
By comely form distinguished from the rest;
But now his destined hoür did arrive,
The arrow hit upon his milk-white breast;
So have I seen a lady-smock so white,
Blown in the morning, and mown down at night.

IX

With such a force it did his body gore,
That in his tender guts it enterèd,
In verity, a full cloth-yard or more,
And down with dreadful noise he sunken dead.
Brave Alured, beneath his faithful horse,
Was smeared all over with the gory dust,
And on him lay the racer's lukewarm corse,
That Alured could not himself aluste.
The standing Normans drew their bow each one,
And brought full many English champions down.

138

X

The Normans kept aloof, at distance still,
The English naught but short horse-spears could wield;
The English many death-sure darts did kill,
And many arrows twanged upon the shield.
King Harold's knights desired for handy stroke,
And marchèd furious o'er the bloody plain
In body close, and made the plain to smoke;
Their shields rebounded arrows back again:
The Normans stood aloof, nor heed the same,
Their arrows would do death, tho' from far off they came.

XI

Duke William drew again his arrow-string,
An arrow with a silver head drew he:
The arrow dancing in the air did sing,
And hit the horse [of] Tosslyn on the knee.
At this brave Tosslyn threw his short horse-spear,
Duke William stoopèd to avoid the blow;
The iron weapon hummèd in his ear,
And hit Sir Doullie Naibor on the prow,
Upon his helm so furious was the stroke,
It split his beaver, and the rivets broke.

XII

Down fell the beaver, by Tosslyn split in twain,
And on his head exposed a puny wound,
But on Destoutville's shoulder came amain,
And felled the champion to the bloody ground.

139

Then Doullie mightily his bow-string drew,
And thought to give brave Tosslyn bloody wound,
But Harold's asenglave stopped it as it flew,
And it fell bootless on the bloody ground.
Sir Doullie, when he saw his 'venge thus broke,
Death-doing blade from out the scabbard took.

XIII

And now the battle closed on every side,
And face to face appeared the knights full brave;
They lifted up their bills with mickle pride,
And many wounds unto the Normans gave.
So have I seen two weirs at once give ground,
White-foaming high, to roaring combat run;
In roaring din and heaven-breaking sound,
Burst waves on waves, and spangle in the sun;
And when their might in bursting waves is fled,
Like cowards, steal along their oozy bed.

XIV

Young Egelrede, a knight of comely mien,
Akin unto the king of Dynefarre,
At every tilt and tourney he was seen,
And loved to be among the bloody war;
He couched his lance, and ran with mickle might
Against the breast of Sieur de Bonoboe;
He groaned and sank upon the place of fight,
O Christ! to feel his wound, his heart was woe.
Ten thousand thoughts pushed in upon his mind,
Not for himself, but those he left behind.

140

XV

He died and left a wife and children twain,
Whom he with cherishment did dearly love;
In England's court, in good King Edward's reign,
He won the tilt, and wore her crimson glove.
And thence unto the place where he was born,
Together with his wealth and better wife,
To Normandy he did, parde, return,
In peace and quietness to lead his life,
And now with sovereign William he came,
To die in battle, or get wealth and fame.

XVI

Then, swift as lightning, Egelredus set
Against Du Barlie of the mountain-head;
In his dear heart's blood his long lance was wet,
And from his courser down he tumbled dead.
So have I seen a mountain-oak, that long
Has cast his shadow on the mountain-side,
Brave all the winds, though ever they were strong,
And view the briars below with self-taught pride.
But, when thrown down by mighty thunder-stroke,
He'd rather be a briar than an oak.

XVII

Then Egelred did, in a declynie,
His lance uprear with all his might amain,
And struck Fitzport upon the dexter eye,
And at his poll the spear came out again.
But as he drew it forth, an arrow fled

141

With mickle might sent from De Tracy's bow,
And at his side the arrow enterèd,
And out the crimson stream of blood gan flow;
In purple strokes it did his armour stain,
And smoked in puddles on the dusty plain.

XVIII

But Egelred, before he sunken down,
With all his might amain his spear besped,
It hit Bertrammil Manne upon the crown,
And both together quickly sunken dead.
So have I seen a rock o'er others hang,
Who, strongly placed, laughed at his slippery state;
But, when he falls with heaven-piercing bang,
That he the sleave unravels of their fate,
They, broken on the beach, this lesson speak,
The strong and firm should not defame the weak.

XIX

Howel ap Jevah came from Matraval,
Where he by chance had slain a noble's son,
And now was come to fight at Harold's call,
And in the battle he much good had done;
Unto king Harold he fought mickle near,
For he was yeoman of the body-guard;
And with a target and a fighting spear
He of his body had kept watch and ward.

142

True as a shadow to a substant thing,
So true he guarded Harold, his good king.

XX

But when Egélred tumbled to the ground,
He from King Harold quickly did advance,
And struck De Tracy such a cruel wound,
His heart and liver came out on the lance:
And then retreated, for to guard his king.
On dinted lance he bore the heart away;
An arrow came from Auffroie Griel's string
Into his heel, beneath his iron stay;
The grey-goose pinion, that thereon was set,
Eftsoons with smoking crimson blood was wet.

XXI

His blood at this was woxen flaming hot,
Without ado, he turnèd once again,
And hit De Grïel such a blow, God wot,
Maugre his helm, he split his head in twain.
This Auffroie was a man of mickle pride,
Whose featliest beauty ladden in his face;
His chance in war he ne'er before had tried,
But lived in love and Rosalind's embrace;
And, like a useless weed among the hay,
Among the slain warríors Grïel lay.

143

XXII

King Harold then he put his yeomen by,
And fiercely rode into the bloody fight;
Earl Ethelwolf, and Goodrick, and Alfie,
Cuthbert, and Goddard, mickle men of might,
Ethelwin, Ethelbert, and Edwin too,
Effred the famous, and Earl Ethelwarde,
King Harold's liegemen, earlès high and true,
Rode after him, his body for to guard;
The rest of earlès, fighting other-wheres,
Stainèd with Norman blood their fighting spears.

XXIII

As when some river, with the season-rains
White foaming high, doth break the bridges oft,
O'erturns the hamlet and all [it] contains,
And layeth o'er the hills a muddy soft,
So Harold ran upon his Norman foes,
And laid the great and small upon the ground,
And dealt among them such a store of blows,
Full many a Norman fell by him, dead-wound;
So who he be that elfin fairies strike,
Their souls will wander to King Offa's dyke.

XXIV

Fitz Salnarville, Duke William's favourite knight,
To noble Edelwarde his life did yield;
With his tilt-lance he struck with such a might,
The Norman's bowels steamed upon the field.
Old Salnarville beheld his son lie dead,

144

Against Earl Edelwarde his bow-string drew;
But Harold at one blow made twain his head;
He died before the poignant arrow flew.
So was the hope of all the issue gone,
And in one battle fell the sire and son.

XXV

De Aubigny rode fiercely thro' the fight,
To where the body of Salnárville lay;
Quoth he, “And art thou dead, thou man of might?
I'll be revenged, or die for thee this day.”
“Die then thou shalt,” Earl Ethelwarde he said;
“I am a cunning earl, and that can tell;”
Then drew his sword, and ghastly cut his head,
And on his friend eftsoons he lifeless fell,
Stretched on the bloody plain; great God forfend,
It be the fate of no such trusty friend!

XXVI

Then Egwin Sieur Pikeny did attack,
He turn'd about and vilely sought to fly;
But Egwin cut so deep into his back,
He rollèd on the ground and soon did die.
His distant son, Sire Romara de Biere,
Sought to revenge his fallen kinsman's lot,
But soon Earl Cuthbert's dinted fighting-spear
Stuck in his heart, and stayed his speed, God wot.
He tumbled down close by his kinsman's side,
(Mingle their streams of purple blood), and died.

XXVII

And now an arrow from a bow unwot
Into Earl Cuthbert's heart eftsoons did flee;

145

Who, dying, said, “Ah me! how hard my lot!
Now slain, mayhap, of one of low degree.”
So have I seen a leafy elm of yore
Have been the pride and glory of the plain;
But, when the spending landlord is grown poor,
It falls beneath the axe of some rude swain;
And like the oak, the sovereign of the wood,
Its fallen body tells you how it stood.

XXVIII

When Edelward perceived Earl Cuthbert die,
On Hubert, strongest of the Norman crew,
As wolves, when hungered, on the cattle fly,
So Edelward amain upon him flew.
With such a force he hit him to the ground,
And was demasing how to take his life,
When he behind received a ghastly wound
Giv'n by De Torcie, with a stabbing knife;
Base treacherous Normans, if such acts you do,
The conquered may claim victory of you.

XXIX

The earl he felt de Torcie's treacherous knife
Had made his crim son blood and spirits flow;
And knowing that he soon must quit this life,
Resolvèd Hubert should too with him go.
He held his trusty sword against his breast,
And down he fell, and pierced him to the heart;
And both together then did take their rest,
Their souls from corpses unaknell'd depart;

146

And both together sought the unknown shore,
Where we shall go, where many's gone before.

XXX

King Harold Torcie's treachery did spy,
And high aloft his tempered sword did wield,
Cut off his arm, and make the blood to fly,
His proof-steel armour did him little shield;
And not content, he split his head in twain,
And down he tumbled on the bloody ground;
Meanwhile the other earlès on the plain
Gave and receivèd many a bloody wound,
Such as the arts in war had learnt with care;
But many knights were women in men's gear.

XXXI

Herewald, born on Sarum's spreading plain,
Where Thor's famed temple many ages stood;
Where Druids, ancient priests, did rites ordain,
And in the middle shed the victim's blood;
Where ancient Bardi did their verses sing,
Of Cæsar conquered, and his mighty host,
And how old Tynyan, necromancing king,
Wrecked all his shipping on the British coast,
And made him in his tattered barks to fly,
'Till Tynyan's death and opportunity.

147

XXXII

To make it more renownèd than before,
(I, though a Saxon, yet the truth will tell),
The Saxons stained the place with British gore,
Where naught but blood of sacrifices fell.
Though Christians, still they thought much of the pile,
And here they met when causes did it need;
'Twas here the ancient Elders of the Isle
Did by the treachery of Hengist bleed;
O Hengist! had thy cause been good and true,
Thou wouldst such murderous acts as these eschew.

XXXIII

The earl he was a man of high degree,
And had that day full many Normans slain,
Three Norman Champïons of high degree
He left to smoke upon the bloody plain:
The Sieur Fitzbotevilleine did then advance,
And with his bow he smote the earlès head;
Who eftsoons gored him with his tilting-lance,
And at his horse's feet he tumbled dead:
His parting spirit hovered o'er the flood
Of sudden-rushing much-loved purple blood.

XXXIV

De Viponte then, a squire of low degree,
An arrow drew with all his might amain;
The arrow grazed upon the earlès knee,
A puny wound, that caused but little pain.
So have I seen a dolthead place a stone,
In thought to stay a driving river's course;

148

But better had it been to let alone,
It only drives it on with mickle force;
The earl, so wounded by so base a hind,
Raised furious doings in his noble mind.

XXXV

The Sieur Chatillion, younger of that name,
Advancèd next before the earlès sight;
His father was a man of mickle fame,
And he renowned and valorous in fight.
Chatillion his trusty sword forth drew,
The earl draws his, men both of mickle might;
And at each other vengefully they flew,
As mastiff-dogs at Hocktide set to fight;
Both scorned to yield, and both abhorred to fly,
Resolved to vanquish, or resolved to die.

XXXVI

Chatillion hit the earl upon the head,
That split eftsoons his crested helm in twain;
Which he, perforce, with target coverèd,
And to the battle went with might amain.
The earl then hit Chatillion such a blow
Upon his breast, his heart was plain to see;
He tumbled at the horses' feet also,
And in death-pangs he seized the racer's knee:
Fast as the ivy round the oak doth climb,
So fast he, dying, gripped the racer's limb.

XXXVII

The racer then began to fling and kick,
And toss'd the earl far off unto the ground;
The earlès squire then a sword did stick
Into his heart, a deadly ghastly wound;

149

And down he fell upon the crimson plain,
Upon Chatillion's soulless corse of clay;
A puddly stream of blood flowed out amain;
Stretched out at length, besmeared with gore, he lay;
As some tall oak, felled from the greeny plain,
To live a second time upon the main.

XXXVIII

The earl he now a horse and beaver han,
And now again appearèd on the field;
And many a mickle knight and mighty man
To his death-doing sword his life did yield,
When Sieur de Broque an arrow long let fly,
Intending Herewaldus to have slain;
It missed; but hit Edardus on the eye,
And at his poll came out with horrid pain.
Edardus fell upon the bloody ground,
His noble soul came rushing from the wound.

XXXIX

This Herewald perceived, and full of ire
He on the Sieur de Broque with fury came;
Quoth he, “Thou'st slaughtered my belovèd squire,
But I will be revengèd for the same.”
Into his bowels then his lance he thrust,
And drew thereout a steamy, dreary load;
Quoth he, “These offals are for ever curst,
Shall serve the choughs and rooks and daws for food.”

150

Then on the plain the steamy load he throw'd,
Smoking with life, and dyed with crimson blood.

XL

Fitz Broque, who saw his father killèd lie,
“Ah me!” said he; “what woeful sight I see!
But now I must do something more than sigh;”
And then an arrow from the bow drew he.
Beneath the earlès navel came the dart:
Fitz Broque on foot had drawn it from the bow;
And upwards went into the earlès heart,
And out the crimson stream of blood 'gan flow,
As from a lock, drawn with a vehement gier,
White rush the bursting waves, and roar along the weir.

XLI

The earl with one hand grasped the racer's mane,
And with the other he his lance besped;
And then fell bleeding on the bloody plain,
His lance it hit Fitz Broque upon the head;
Upon his head it made a wound full slight,
But pierced his shoulder, ghastly wound inferne;
Before his optics danced a shade of night,
Which soon were closèd in a sleep eterne.
The noble earlè then, without a groan,
Took flight, to find the regiöns unknown.

XLII

Brave Alured from beneath his noble horse
Was gotten on his legs, with blood all smore;

151

And now alighted on another horse;
Eftsoons he with his lance did many gore.
The coward Norman knights before him fled,
And from a distance sent their arrows keen;
But no such destiny awaits his head,
As to be slayèn by a wight so mean.
Though oft the oak falls by the peasant's shock,
'Tis more than hinds can do, to move the rock.

XLIII

Upon Du Chatelet he fiercely set,
And pierced his body with a force full great;
The asenglave of his tilt-lance was wet,
The rolling blood along the lance did fleet.
Advancing, as a mastiff at a bull,
He ran his lance into Fitz Warren's heart;
From Partaie's bow, a wight unmerciful,
Within his own he felt a cruel dart;
Close by the Norman champions he had slain,
He fell; and mixed his blood with theirs upon the plain.

XLIV

Earl Ethelbert then hove, with clinie just,
A lance, that struck Partaie upon the thigh,
And pinned him down unto the gory dust;
“Cruel,” quoth he, “thou cruelly shalt die.”
With that his lance he entered at his throat;
He shrieked and screamed in melancholy mood;
And at his back eftsoons came out, God wot,
And after it a crimson stream of blood:

152

In agony and pain he there did lie,
While life and death strove for the mastery.

XLV

He gripèd hard the bloody murdering lance,
And in a groan he left this mortal life.
Behind the earl, Fiscampe did [next] advance,
And thought to kill him with a stabbing knife;
But Egward, who perceived his foul intent,
Eftsoons his trusty sword he forthwith drew,
And such a cruel blow to Fiscampe sent,
That soul and body's blood at one gate flew.
Such deeds do all deserve, whose deeds so foul
Will black their earthly name, if not their soul.

XLVI

When lo! an arrow from Walleris' hand,
Wingèd with fate and death, dancèd along;
And slew the noble flower of Powisland,
Howel ap Jevah, who y-clept the strong.
When he the first mischance receivèd han,
With horseman's haste he from the army rode;
And did repair unto the cunning man,
Who sang a charm, that did it mickle good;
Then prayed St. Cuthbert and our holy Dame
To bless his labour, and to heal the same:

XLVII

Then drew the arrow, and the wound did seck,
And put the taint of holy herbès on;

153

And put a row of blood-stones round his neck;
And then did say; “go champion, get you gone!”
And now was coming Harold to defend,
And metten with Walleris' cruel dart;
His shield of wolf-skin did him not attend,
The arrow pierced into his noble heart;
As some tall oak, hewn from the mountain-head,
Falls to the plain, so fell the warrior dead.

XLVIII

His countryman, brave Mervyn ap Teudor,
Who, love of him, had from his country gone,
When he perceived his friend lie in his gore,
As furious as a mountain-wolf he ran.
As elfin fairies, when the moon shines bright,
In little circles dance upon the green,
All living creatures fly far from their sight,
Nor by the race of destiny be seen;
For what he be that elfin faires strike,
Their souls will wander to king Offa's dyke.

XLIX

So from the face of Mervyn Tewdor brave
The Normans eftsoons fled away aghast;
And left behind their bow and asenglave,
For fear of him, in such a coward haste.
His garb sufficient were to move affright;
A wolf-skin girded round his middle was;
A bear-skin, from Norwegians won in fight,
Was tightened round his shoulders by the claws:

154

So Hercules, 'tis sung, much like to him,
Upon his shoulder wore a lion's skin.

L

Upon his thighs and hart-swift legs he wore
A hugè goat-skin, all of one great piece;
A boar-skin shield on his bare arms he bore;
His gauntlets were the skin of hart of grease.
They fled; he followed close upon their heels,
Vowing vengeance for his dear countryman;
And Sieur de Sancelotte his vengeance feels;
He pierced his back, and out the blood it ran;
His blood went down the sword unto his arm,
In springing rivulet, alive and warm.

LI

His sword was short, and broad, and mickle keen,
And no man's bone could stand to stop its way;
The Norman's heart in partès two cut clean,
He closed his eyes, and closed his eyes for aye.
Then with his sword he set on Fitz du Valle,
A knight much famous for to run at tilt;
With such a fury on him he did fall,
Into his neck he ran the sword and hilt;
As mighty lightning often has been found
To drive an oak into unfallowed ground.

LII

And with the sword, that in his neck yet stuck,
The Norman fell unto the bloody ground;
And with the fall ap Tewdor's sword he broke,
And blood afresh came trickling from the wound.
As when the hinds, before a mountain wolf,
Fly from his paws, and angry visage grim;

155

But when he falls into the pitty gulf,
They dare him to his beard, and batten him;
And 'cause he frightened them so much before,
Like coward hinds, they batten him the more.

LIII

So when they saw ap Tewdor was bereft
Of his keen sword, that wrought such great dismay;
They turned about, eftsoons upon him leapt,
And full a score engagèd in the fray.
Mervyn ap Tewdor, raging as a bear,
Seized on the beaver of the Sieur de Laque,
And wrung his head with such a vehement gier,
His visage was turned round unto his back.
Back to his heart retired the useless gore,
And fell upon the plain, to rise no more.

LIV

Then on the mighty Sieur Fitz Pierce he flew,
And broke his helm and seized him by the throat:
Then many Norman knights their arrows drew,
That entered into Mervyn's heart, God wot.
In dying pang he griped his throat more strong,
And from their sockets started out his eyes;
And from his mouth came out his blameless tongue,
And both in pain and anguish eftsoon dies.
As some rude rock, torn from his bed of clay,
Stretched on the plain the brave ap Teudor lay.

LV

And now Earl Ethelbert and Egward came
Brave Mervyn from the Normans to assist;
A mighty sire, Fitz Chatulet by name,

156

An arrow drew that did them little list.
Earl Egward points his lance at Chatulet,
And Ethelbert at Walleris set his;
And Egward did the Sire a hard blow hit,
But Ethelbert by a mischance did miss:
Fear laid Walleris flat upon the strand,
He ne'er deserved a death from earlès hand.

LVI

Betwixt the ribs of Sire Fitz Chatulet
The pointed lance of Egward did y-pass;
The distant side thereof was ruddy wet,
And he fell breathless on the bloody grass.
As coward Walleris lay on the ground,
The dreaded weapon hummèd o'er his head,
And hit the squire such a deadly wound,
Upon his fallen lord he tumbled dead:
Oh shame to Norman arms! a lord a slave,
A captive villain than a lord more brave!

LVII

From Chatulet his lance Earl Egward drew,
And hit Walleris on the dexter cheek,
Pierced to his brain, and cut his tongue in two:
“There, knight,” quoth he, “let that thy actions speak.”

[OMITTED]