CANTO FIRST.

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,

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,

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 passed,

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,

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.

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,

Speak! speak! oh! tell me, do my brothers live?

Atheling answered: They will soon appear;

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!

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!

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;

And strange are both our fortunes.

Atheling,

( Adela answered ) early piety

Hath disciplined my heart to every change.

How didst thou pass in safety from this land

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

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 shores

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,

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 shores 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,

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;

Compassion 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 assembled 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,

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 ships!

Godwin still cried; oh! give me men and ships!

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 shores of Denmark. Our brave ships

Burst through the Baltic straits, how gloriously!

I heard the trumpets ring; I saw the sails

Of nigh three hundred war-ships, the dim verge

Of the remote horizon's skiey track

Bestudding, here and there, like gems of light

Dropped from the radiance of the morning sun

On the gray waste of waters. So our ships

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 shields were ranged, and plumed crests

Shook as the north-east rose. Upon the prow,

More ardent, Godwin, 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 hoar deep crimsoning.

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 shore;

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

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:

England, Old England! Every eye, intent,

Was turned; and Godwin 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! Godwin cried.

Soon, like a cloud, the northern Foreland rose —

Know ye those cliffs, towering in giant state!

But, hark! along the shores alarum-bells

Ring out more loud, blast answers blast, the swords

Of hurrying horsemen, 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

A long deep toll from many a village tower

On shore — and, lo! the scattered inland lights,

That sprinkled winding ocean's lowly verge,

At once are lost in darkness. God in heaven,

It is the curfew! Godwin cried, and smote

His forehead. We all heard that sullen sound

For the first time, that night; but the winds blew,

Our ship sailed out of hearing; yet we thought

Of the poor mother, who, on winter nights,

When her belated husband from the wood

Was not come back, her lonely taper lit,

And turned the glass, and saw the faggot-flame

Shine 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 hoarse Humber roars beneath our keels,

And we have landed

Yea, and struck a blow,

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,

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 sunshine 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,

Even whilst we gaze, and say, How beautiful!

So fitful and so perishing 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 pass into that rest, whence sounds so sweet

Come, whispering of hope; else it were best

Beneath the load the forlorn heart endures

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!

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,

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

The red portentous comet,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 passed;

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 passed the seas,

Met his host man to man; I saw the sword,

Advanced and glittering, in the victor's hand,

That smote the Hardradato the earth! To-day

King Harold rose, like an avenging God;

To-morrow ( so it seemed, so short the space ),

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

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

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 God 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

My purpose stands, as I have vowed to God,

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.

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 breasts, and passed,

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,

From morn till noon toiling, and then I said,

Seek Editha, her whom he loved. She came;

And through the field of death she passed: 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 pronounced,

Oh, Harold! We took up, and bore the corse

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 breasts and wept;

The little children knelt beside the way,

As on to Waltham the funereal car

Moved slow. Few and disconsolate the train

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,

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!

The cry without redoubles. On the ground

The rider flung his bloody sword, and raised

His helm, dismounting: the first dawn of day

Gleamed on the shattered plume. Oh! Adela,

He cried, your brother Godwin! 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,

Godwin 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

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 passed,

Then hovered with expiring breath, and stirred

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,

With wings far seen, and more intensely white,

Opposed to the blue space; 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

The coast to pass 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 sunshine of the turret-top.

‘ Twas at this hour of evening, Adela

And Godwin, now restored by rest, went forth,

Linked arm in arm, upon the eastern beach,

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,

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

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

His hand to Adela, as he would say,

Look, and protect me, lady. Adela,

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,

Godwin, 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

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 God might make,

In mercy, the last trial brief. Fear not —

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.

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,

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

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 cumbrous clouds, that hung

In wild red masses o'er the murmuring deep,

Now flickering fast with foam. The sea-fowl flew

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.