Edith. Waste not thy might before Harold. And thou must hence. And so Farewell. [He is going, but turns back. The ring thou darest not wear, Is but her king, and thou art Harold! I have had it fashion'd, see, to meet Harold. Edith, The sign in heaven-the sudden blast at sea My fatal oath-the dead Saints-the dark dreams The Pope's Anathema Rood the Holy my hand. [HAROLD shows the ring, which is on his finger. Farewell! [He is going, but turns back again. I am dead as Death this day to aught of earth's That bow'd to me at Waltham-Edith, Save William's death or mine. I, the last English King of England- people, And chosen by the people Harold. And fighting for Look not thus wan! Edith. What matters how I look? Have we not broken Wales and Norseland? slain, Whose life was all one battle, incarnate war, Their giant-king, a mightier man-in Edith. Thy death!-to-day! Is it not thy birthday? Harold. Ay, that happy day! A birthday welcome! happy days and Gurth. The Norman moves! Stigand. Our Church in arms-the Spear into pruning hook-the counter way Cowl, helm; and crozier, battle-axe. Leofric, and all the monks of Peter- Strike for the king; but I, old wretch, old Stigand, Edith. Are those the blessed angels quiring, father? Stigand. No, daughter, but the canons out of Waltham, The king's foundation, that have follow'd him. Edith, O God of battles, make their wall of shields Are storming up the hill. The range of knights Firm as thy cliffs, strengthen their pal- Sit, each a statue on his horse, and isades! wait. Their lightning-and they fly-the Norman flies. Edith. Stigand, O father, have we won the day? Stigand. No, daughter, no-they fall behind the horse Their horse are thronging to the barricades; I see the gonfanon of Holy Peter Floating above their helmets-ha! he is down! Edith. He down! Who down? Stigand. No, no, he hath risen again -he bares his face Shouts something-he points onward -all their horse Swallow the hill locust-like, swarming up. battle-axe keen Edith. O God of battles, make his [heavy As thine own sharp-dividing justice, As thine own bolts that fall on crimeful heads Charged with the weight of heaven wherefrom they fall! Canons (singing). Jacta tonitrua Deus bellator! Surgas e tenebris, Sis vindicator! Fulmina, fulmina Deus vastator! Stigand. Truth! no; alie; a trick, a They turn on the pursuer, horse against foot, They murder all that follow. Have mercy on us! Stigand. Hot-headed fools-to burst the wall of shields ! They have broken the commandment of the king! Edith. His oath was broken-O holy Ye that are now of heaven, and see be yond Your Norman shrines, pardon it, pardon it, That he forsware himself for all he loved, Me, me and all! Look out upon the battle! Stigand. They press again upon the barricades. My sight is eagle, but the strife so thick SCENE II. FIELD OF THE ALDWYTH and EDITH. hair Of Peter, and his brother Tostig helpt; The wicked sister clapt her hands and laught; Aldwyth. O Edith, art thou here? Then all the dead fell on him. O Harold, Harold Our Harold-we shall never see him more. Aldwyth. Edith, EdithEdith. What was he like, this husband? like to thee? Edith. For there was more than Call not for help from me. I knew sister in my kiss, And so the saints were wroth. I can him not. He lies not here: not close beside the not love them, standard. |