 | Poetical Trifles |  |
46
HASTINGS.
Slow roll'd the tedious hours of night away,
While anxious honour watch'd the coming day;
That awful day, from whose uncertain Fight
Again should dawn fair freedom's heav'n-born light;
Or slav'ry once more fix her galling chain,
And blast each hope beneath a Norman reign:
Doubtful, yet not despairing of th' event,
(His faithful warriors summon'd at his tent)
The gallant Harold, with the artless strain
Of untaught eloquence, address'd his martial train.
While anxious honour watch'd the coming day;
That awful day, from whose uncertain Fight
Again should dawn fair freedom's heav'n-born light;
Or slav'ry once more fix her galling chain,
And blast each hope beneath a Norman reign:
Doubtful, yet not despairing of th' event,
(His faithful warriors summon'd at his tent)
The gallant Harold, with the artless strain
Of untaught eloquence, address'd his martial train.
“Friends! warriors! countrymen!—or if that name
“Be dearer than the rest to virtuous fame,
“Guardians of Albion!—From the iron hand
“Of Norman William, and his ruthless band,
“Freedom still ling'ring on her once-lov'd shore,
“Ere yet her fleeting empire be no more,
“Calls for your aid: O rouse your gallant train,
“Nor let the voice of freedom plead in vain.
“Be dearer than the rest to virtuous fame,
“Guardians of Albion!—From the iron hand
“Of Norman William, and his ruthless band,
“Freedom still ling'ring on her once-lov'd shore,
“Ere yet her fleeting empire be no more,
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“Nor let the voice of freedom plead in vain.
“The Norman proudly chides the loitering night,
“Counts the slow hours, and with to-morrow's light
“Hurls on your camp defiance; of the choice
“Of England's nobles, or her people's voice,
“Lightly he deems; but, with presumptuous aim,
“On Edward's promise founds his shadowy claim.
“Vain argument! Shall then, unseen, unheard,
“Our rights, our darling honours, be transferr'd,
“A sick man's legacy?—If yet the fire
“Of antient virtue one firm breast inspire;
“If yet the memory of their deeds remain,
“Nor sages toil'd, nor heroes bled in vain;
“Dash his proud hopes, and bid the tyrant know,
“Who scorn'd the friend, may yet repent the foe.
“Counts the slow hours, and with to-morrow's light
“Hurls on your camp defiance; of the choice
“Of England's nobles, or her people's voice,
“Lightly he deems; but, with presumptuous aim,
“On Edward's promise founds his shadowy claim.
“Vain argument! Shall then, unseen, unheard,
“Our rights, our darling honours, be transferr'd,
“A sick man's legacy?—If yet the fire
“Of antient virtue one firm breast inspire;
“If yet the memory of their deeds remain,
“Nor sages toil'd, nor heroes bled in vain;
“Dash his proud hopes, and bid the tyrant know,
“Who scorn'd the friend, may yet repent the foe.
“Rais'd by your chearful suffrage to the throne,
“To guard your rights, to vindicate my own,
“Your aid I claim; prepar'd with you to share
“Each arduous task, each perilous chance of war:
“No higher prize, no brighter wreath I claim;
“Our danger equal—equal be our fame.
“But if, averse our daring hopes to bless,
“Fortune on William's arms shall stamp success,
“Ne'er from this field shall vanquish'd Harold fly,
“My fate is fix'd, or death, or victory.
“To guard your rights, to vindicate my own,
“Your aid I claim; prepar'd with you to share
“Each arduous task, each perilous chance of war:
“No higher prize, no brighter wreath I claim;
“Our danger equal—equal be our fame.
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“Fortune on William's arms shall stamp success,
“Ne'er from this field shall vanquish'd Harold fly,
“My fate is fix'd, or death, or victory.
“Let cowards, sunk in indolent repose,
“Slumber through life, and wither as they rose;
“To us a nobler station is assign'd,
“That as by birth the foremost of mankind,
“The foremost still where danger leads the way,
“By brighter deeds we justify our sway;
“Still bid around our brows fresh laurels bloom,
“Nor date our honours from a father's tomb.
“Hence then with each unmanly thought of fear,
“To heaven itself is sacred Virtue dear,
“Superior to the cry of erring fame,
“In victory, or ruin, still the same;
“By fortune favour'd, or by fate deprest,
“Where Virtue is, that Virtue must be blest.
“Slumber through life, and wither as they rose;
“To us a nobler station is assign'd,
“That as by birth the foremost of mankind,
“The foremost still where danger leads the way,
“By brighter deeds we justify our sway;
“Still bid around our brows fresh laurels bloom,
“Nor date our honours from a father's tomb.
“Hence then with each unmanly thought of fear,
“To heaven itself is sacred Virtue dear,
“Superior to the cry of erring fame,
“In victory, or ruin, still the same;
“By fortune favour'd, or by fate deprest,
“Where Virtue is, that Virtue must be blest.
“Through toils, through dangers, undismay'd proceed,
“And bravely conquer, or as bravely bleed;
“Whatever good, whatever ill betide,
“This be our comfort, this our noble pride,
“No sordid purposes our swords shall stain,
“No meaner views our sacred cause prophane;
“And while, disdainful of a foreign Lord,
“In freedom's cause we draw th' avenging sword,
“In life, in death, alike with glory crown'd,
“We fall lamented, or we live renown'd.
“And bravely conquer, or as bravely bleed;
“Whatever good, whatever ill betide,
“This be our comfort, this our noble pride,
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“No meaner views our sacred cause prophane;
“And while, disdainful of a foreign Lord,
“In freedom's cause we draw th' avenging sword,
“In life, in death, alike with glory crown'd,
“We fall lamented, or we live renown'd.
“What need of more? See where the morning light
“Chases the envious clouds of tardy night;
“His rays are welcome: Here our conference ends;
“Each to his several charge; farewell, my friends!
“The foe approaches: Whatsoe'er th' award,
“Or death, or victory, we come prepar'd
“With hearts resolv'd; let each man do his best,
“To heaven, and heaven's high will submit the rest.”
“Chases the envious clouds of tardy night;
“His rays are welcome: Here our conference ends;
“Each to his several charge; farewell, my friends!
“The foe approaches: Whatsoe'er th' award,
“Or death, or victory, we come prepar'd
“With hearts resolv'd; let each man do his best,
“To heaven, and heaven's high will submit the rest.”
He ceas'd. “To arms,” (each maddening hero cry'd
“To arms, to arms, each echoing voice reply'd,
“The foe approaches: Whatsoe'er th' award,
“Or death, or victory, we come prepar'd
“With hearts resolv'd; let each man do his best,
“To heaven, and heaven's high will submit the rest.”
“To arms, to arms, each echoing voice reply'd,
“The foe approaches: Whatsoe'er th' award,
“Or death, or victory, we come prepar'd
“With hearts resolv'd; let each man do his best,
“To heaven, and heaven's high will submit the rest.”
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Spirits of Harold, and his godlike band,
Who 'gainst stern William made your gallant stand,
Who ne'er to tyranny bow'd the free head,
But fought for freedom, and for freedom bled;
If from your heaven of heavens, where thron'd on high,
Your shades enjoy their long-lov'd liberty,
If not unmindful of your antient fame,
These earthly scenes your patriot aid may claim,
Watch o'er this realm; in every breast inspire
The generous sparks of your celestial fire,
By your examples animate the brave,
And guard that land your valour fail'd to save.
Who 'gainst stern William made your gallant stand,
Who ne'er to tyranny bow'd the free head,
But fought for freedom, and for freedom bled;
If from your heaven of heavens, where thron'd on high,
Your shades enjoy their long-lov'd liberty,
If not unmindful of your antient fame,
These earthly scenes your patriot aid may claim,
Watch o'er this realm; in every breast inspire
The generous sparks of your celestial fire,
By your examples animate the brave,
And guard that land your valour fail'd to save.
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