Now, King of Britain, in the name of God
I tender thee a throne, two yards of earth
To rot on, and a diadem, a wreath
Of death-drops for thy haught aspiring brow."

"There, there, look there," Caswallon cried, his hand
Stretch'd tow'rd his son, and in a frantic laugh
Broke out, and echoed,-" Diadems and thrones!"
With rigid finger pointing at the dead.

A moment, and the fury burst again;
Down came the ponderous battle-axe, from edge
To edge it rived the temper'd brass, as swift
As shot-stars the thin ether; but the glaive
Of Samor right into his bosom smote.
Like some old turret, under whose broad shade
At summer noon the shepherd oft his flock
Hath driven, and in the friendly cool rejoiced,
Suddenly, violently, from its base

Push'd by the winter floods, he fell; his look
Yet had its savage blasphemy: he felt
More than the blow, the deadly blow, the cries
Of joy and triumph from each army sent,
Vaunting and loud; to him to die was nought,
He could not brook the shame of being slain.
But other thoughts arose; hardly he crept

To where dead Malwyn from the car hung down,
Felt on his face the cold depending hand,
And with a smile, half joy half anguish, died.

Th' Avenger knelt, his heart too full for prayer,
Knelt, and held up his conquering sword to heaven,
Yet spake not. But the battle, as set free,
Its rugged game renew'd, nor equal now
Nor now unbroken, Flight and shameful Rout
Here scatter'd, Victory there and Pride array'd,
And mass'd in comely files and full square troops
Bore onward. Mountaineer and German break
Around the hill foot, and like ebbing waves
Disperse away. Argantyr, Hengist move
In the recoiling flood reluctant. Them
Nought more resembled, than two mountain bulls
Driven by the horse and dog and hunter's spear,
Still turning with huge brow and tearing up
The deep earth with their wrathful stooping horns.

But as the hill was open'd, from the top Even to the base arose a shriek and scream, As when some populous Capital besieged, Sees yawning her wide-breach'd wall, and all Her shatter'd bulwarks on the earth, so wild, So dissonant the female rout appear'd Hanging with fierce disturbance the hill side. Some with rent hair ran to and fro, some stood With silent mocking lip, some softly prest Their infants to their heart, some held them forth As to invite the foe, and for them sued The mercy of immediate slaughter. Some Spake fiercely of past deeds of fame, some sang In taunting tone old songs of victory. Wives, With eye imploring and quick-heaving breast, Look'd sad allusions to endearments past; Mothers, all bashfulness cast down, rent down Their garments, to their sons displaying bare

The fountains of their infant nourishment,
Now ready to be plough'd with murtherous swords.
Some knelt before their cold deaf Gods, some scoff
With imprecation blasphemous and shrill
Not fiercer on Citharon side, th' affright
Their stony and unwakening thunders. Noise

Not drearier, when the Theban Bacchic rout,
Their dashing cymbals white with moonshine, loose
Their tresses bursting from their ivy crowns,
And purple with enwoven vine-leaves, led
Their orgies dangerous. In the midst the Queen
Agave shook the misdeem'd Lion's head
Aloft, and laugh'd and danced and sung, nor knew
That lion suckled at her own white breast.

But Elfelin the Prophetess her seat
Changed not, nor the near horror could recall
Her eye from its strange commerce with th' unseen;
There had she been, there had she been in smiles
All the long battle; just before the spear

Or falchion drank a warrior's life-blood, she
Audible, as a high-tribunal'd judge,

Spake out his name, and aye her speech was doom.

Nor long the o'erbearing flight enwrapt thy strength
Argantyr! thou amid the shattering wreck
Didst rise as in some ruinous city old,
Babylon or Palmyra, magic built,

A single pillar yet with upright shaft
Stands, 'mid the wide prostration mossy and flat,
Showing more eminent. Past the Saxon by,
And look'd and wonder'd, even that he delay'd;
Cried his own Anglians-" King, away, away!"
First came King Hoel on, whose falchion clove
His buckler, with a wrest he burst in twain
The shivering steel; came Emrys next, aside
His misaim'd blow he shook; last Uther, him
His war-horse, by Argantyr's beam-like spear
Then first appall'd, bore in vain anger past.

From his late victory in proud breathlessness
Slow came the Avenger, but Argantyr raised
A cry of furious joy: "Long sought, late found,
I charge thee, by our last impeded fight,

I charge thee, give me back mine own, my sword
Is weary of its bathes of vulgar blood,

And longs in nobler streams to plunge; with thine
I'll gild and hang it on my Father's grave,
And his helm'd ghost in Woden's hall shall vaunt
The glories of his son." "Generous and brave,
When last we met, I shrunk to see my sword
Bright with God's sunlight, now with dauntless hand
I lift it, and cry On, in the name of God."

They met, they strove, as with a clond enwrapt In their own majesty; their motions gave Terror even to their shadows: round them spread Attention like a sleep. Flight paused, Pursuit Caught up its loose rein, Death his furious work Ceased, and a dreary respite gave to souls Half parted; on their elbows rear'd them up The dying, with faint effort holding ope Their dropping eyelids, homage of delight War from its victims thus exacting. Mind

And body engross'd the conflict. Men were seen
At distance, for in their peculiar sphere,
Within the wind and rush of their quick arms
None ventured, following with nnconscious limbs
Their blows, and shrinking as themselves were struck.
Like scatter'd shiverings of a scathed oak, lay
Fragments of armour round them, the hard brass
Gave way, and broke the fiery temper'd steel,
The stronger metal of the human soul,
Valour, endured, and power thrice purified
In danger's furnace fail'd not. Victory, tired
Of wavering, to those passive instruments,
Look'd to decide her long suspense. Behold
Argantyr's falchion, magic-wrought, his sires
So fabled, by the Asgard dwarfs, nor hewn
From earthly mines, nor dipp'd in earthly fires,
Broke short. Th' ancestral steel the Anglians saw,
Sign of their Kings, and worship of their race,
Give way, and wail'd and shriek'd aloud. The King
Collected all his glory as a pall

To perish in, and scorn'd his sworded foe

To mock with vain defence of unarm'd hand.
The exultation and fierce throb of hope
Yet had not pass'd away, but look'd to death
As it had look'd to conquest, death so well,
So bravely earn'd to warrior fair as life:
Stern welcoming, bold invitation lured

To its last work the Conqueror's sword. Him flush'd
The pride of Conquest, vengeance long delay'd,
Th' exalted shame of victory won so slow,
So toilsomely; all fiery passions, all
Tumultuous sense-intoxicating powers
Conspired with their wild anarchy beset

His despot soul. But he "Ah, faithless sword,
To me as to thy master faithless, him
Naked at his extreme to leave, and me
To guile of this occasion fair to win
Honour or death from great Argantyr's arm."

"Christian, thy God is mightiest, scorn not thou
His bounty, nor with dalliance mock thy hour-
Strike and consummate!"-"Anglian, yes; my God,
Th' Almighty, is the mightiest now and ever,
Because I scorn him not, I will not strike."-
So saving, he his sword cast down. Thus, thus
Warr'st thou?" the Anglian cried, "then thou hast won.
I, I Argantyr yield me, other hand

Had tempted me in vain with that base boon
Which peasants prize and women weep for, life:
To lord o'er dead Argantyr fate might grant,
He only grants to vanquish him alive,
Only to thee, well named Avenger!" Then
The Captive and the Conqueror th' armies saw
Gazing upon each other with the brow
Of high arch'd admiration; o'er the field
From that example flow'd a noble scorn
Of slaughtering the defenceless, mercy slaked
The ardour of the fight. As the speck'd birch
After a shower, with th' odour of its bark
Freshens the circuit of the rain-bright grove;
Or as the tender argent of Love's star
Smiles to a lucid quiet the wild sky:

So those illustrious rivals with the light
Of their high language and heroic act
Cast a nobility o'er all the war.

That capture took a host, none scorn'd to yield,
So loftily Argantyr wore the garb

Of stern surrender, none inclined to slay,
When Samor held the signal up to spare.

But where the Lord of that dire falchion named The Widower of Women? He, the Chief Whose arms were squadrons, whose assault the shock Of hosts advancing? Hath the cream-blanched steed, Whom the outstripp'd winds pant after, borne away His master, yet with hope uncheck'd, and craft Unbaffled, th' equal conflict to renew? Fast flew the horse, and fierce the rider spurr'd, That horse that all the day remorseless went O'er dead and dying, all that Hengist slew All he cast down before him. Lo, he checks Suddenly, startingly, with ears erect, Thick tremor oozing out from every pore, His broad chest palpitating, the thick foam Lazily gathering on his dropping lip: The pawing of his uplift forefoot chill'd To a loose hanging quiver. Nor his Lord Less horror seized; slack trembled in his left The bridle, with his right hand dropt his sword. Dripp'd slowly from its point the flaking blood Of hundreds, this day fall'n beneath its edge.

For lo, descended the hill side, stood up Right in his path the Prophetess, and held With a severe compassion both her arms Over her head, and thus-“ It cannot be, I've cried unto the eagle, air hath none; I've sued unto the fleet and bounding deer, I've sought unto the sly and mining snake; There's none above the earth, beneath the earth, No flight, no way, no narrow obscure way. I've call'd unto the lightning, as it leap'd Along heaven's verge, it cannot guide thee forth; I've beckon'd to the dun and pitchy gloom, It cannot shroud thee; to the caves of earth I've wail'd and shriek'd, they cannot chamber thee."

He spoke not, moved not, strove not: man and steed, Like some equestrian marble in the courts Of Emperors: that fierce eye whose wisdom keen Pierced the dark depths of counsel, hawk-like roved, Seizing the unutter'd thoughts from out men's souls, Wrought order in the battle's turbulent fray By its command, on the aged Woman's face Fix'd like a moonstruck idiot. She upright With strength beyond her bow'd and shrivell'd limbs Still stood, and murmur'd low. "Why comest thou not, Thou of the Vale? thou fated, come! come! come!"

The foes o'ertook, he look'd not round, their tramp Was round him, still he moved not; violent hands Seized on him, still the enchanted falchion hung Innocent as a feather by his side.

They tore him from his steed, still clung his eyes
On her disastrous face; she fiercely shriek'd

Half pride at her accomplish'd prophecy, Half sorrow at Erle Hengist's fall, then down Upon the stone that bore her, she fell dead.

BOOK XII.

Он Freedom, of our social Universe

The Sun, that feedest from thy urn of light

The starry commonwealth, from those mean lamps
Modestly glimmering in their sphere retired
Even to the plenar and patrician orbs,
That in their rich nobility of light,
Or golden royalty endiadem'd,

Their mystic circle undisturb'd round thee
Move musical; but thou thy central state
Preserving, equably the fair-rank'd whole
In dutiful magnificence maintain'st,
And stately splendour of obedience. Earth
Wonders, th' approval of th' Almighty beams
Manifest in the glory of the work.

Though sometimes drown'd within the red eclipse
Of tyranny, or brief while by the base
And marshy exhalations of low vice
And popular license madden'd thou hast flash'd
Disastrous and intolerable fire;

Yet ever mounting hast thou still march'd on
To thy meridian throne. My waxen wing
Oh, quenchless luminary! may not soar
To that thy dazzling and o'erpowering noon;
Rather the broken glimpses of thy dawn
Visiteth, when thy orient overcast

A promise and faint foretaste of its light

Without the walls, close by the marge of Thames,
The synod of the Conquerors met; a place
Solemn and to the soul discoursing high.

Here broad the bridgeless Thames, even like them

selves

Thus at their flush and high tide of renown,
Swell'd his exulting waters. There all waste
The royal cemetery of Britain lay,
The monuments, like their cold tenantry,
Mouldering, above all ruin as beneath,

A wide profound, drear sameness of decay.
Upon the Church of Christ had heavily fallen
The Pagan desolation, hung the doors
Loose on their broken and disused hinge,
And grass amid the chequer'd pavement squares
Was springing, and along the vacant choir

The shrill wind was God's only worshipper.

Even where they met, through the long years have

sate

In Parliament our nation's high and wise.

There have deep thoughts been ponder'd, strong de

signs

On which the fate of the round world hath hung.
Thence have the emanating rays of truth,
Freedom, and constancy, and holiness

Flow'd in their broad beneficence, no bound
Owning but that which limits this brief earth,
Brightening this misty state of man; the winds
That thence bear mandates to th' inconstant thrones
Of Europe, to the realms of th' orient Sun,
Or to the new and ocean-sever'd earth,

Or to the Southern cocoa-feather'd isles,
Are welcome, as pure gales of health and joy.
Still that deep dwelling underneath the earth

gloom.

Even with such promise dost thou now adorn
Thy chosen city by the Thames, where holds
Victorious Emrys his high Judgment court.
Thither the long ovation hath he led,
Amid the solemn music of rent chains,
The rapture of deliverance; where he past
Earth brightening, and the face of man but now
Brow-sear'd with the deep brand of servitude,
To its old upright privilege restored

Of gazing on its kindred heaven. The towns
Gladden'd amid their ruins, churches shook
With throngs of thankful votaries,* till 't was fear
Transport might finish Desolation's work,
And bliss precipitate the half moulder'd walls.
'Tis famed, men died for joy, untimely births
Were frequent, as the eager mothers prest
To show their infants to the brightening world.
They that but now beheld the bier-borne dead
With miserable envy, past them by
Contemptuously pitying, as too soon
Departed from this highly gifted earth.
So they the Trinobantine City reach'd.

*Then did Aurelius Ambrosius put the Saxons out of all other parts of the land, and repaired such cities, towns, and also churches, as by them had been destroyed or defaced, etc. Holl. Book 6, Chap. 8.

Dark palace of our island's parted Kings.
Earth-ceil'd pavilion of our brave and wise,
Whose glory ere it swept them off, hath cast
A radiance on the scythe of Death. Disused
For two long heathen ages, it became
The pavement of our sumptuous minster fair,
That ever and anon yet gathers in

King, Conqu'ror, Poet, Orator, or Sage

To her stone chambers, there to sleep the sleep That wakens only at the Archangel's trump.

First in the synod rose King Emrys; he The royal sword of justice from his side Ungirding, placed it in the Avenger's hand, And led him to the judgment-seat. He shrunk, And offer'd back the solemn steel-"Oh! King, Judge and Avenger! who shall reconcile The discord of those titles, private wrongs Will load my partial arm, and drag to earth The unsteady balance. Only God can join And blend in one the Injured and the Judge." But as a wave lifts up and bears along A stately bark, so the acclamation swell Floated into the high Tribunal throne Reluctant Samor: on his right the King Sate sceptred, royal Uther on the left, While all around the assembled Nation bask'd

For the arraignment made the Judge a sign,
And the first witness was a mighty cry,
As 't were the voice of the whole Isle, hills
And plains and waters their abhorrence spake;
Hoarse harmony of imprecation seem'd
To break the ashy sleep of ruin'd towns,
And th' untomb'd slumbers of far battle vales.
As if the crowd about the Judgment Court
Did only with articulate voice repeat
What indistinct came down on every wind.
Then all the near, the distant, sank away,
Only a low and melancholy tone,

Like a far music down a summer stream
Remain'd; upon the lull'd, nor panting air
Fell that smooth snow of sound, till nearer now
It swell'd, as clearer water-falls are heard
When midnight grows more still. A funeral hymn,
It pour'd the rapture of its sadness out,
Even like a sparkling soporific wine.
But now and then broke from its low long fall,
Something of martial and majestic swell,
That spake its mourning o'er no vulgar dead.

Lo to the royal burying-place, chance borne Even at this solemn time, or so ordain'd From their bright-scutcheon'd biers their part to bear In this arraignment, came King Vortigern, And th' honour'd ashes of his Son. But still And voiceless these cold witnesses past on, Unto the place of tombs. Along the Thames Far floated into silence the spent hymn: And one accusing sound arose from them, The heavy falling of their earth to earth.

One female mourner came behind the King, Half of her face the veil conceal'd, her eyes Were visible, and though a deadly haze

Film'd their sunk balls, she sent into the grave,
Following the heavy and descending corpse,
A look of such imploring loveliness,
A glance so sad, so self-condemning, all
(So softly, tremulously it appeal'd)
Might wonder that the spirit came not back
To animate for the utterance that she wish'd
Those bloodless lips: forgiveness it was plain
She sought, and one so beauteous to forgive,
The dead might almost wake. And she sate down.
Leaning her cheek upon a broken stone
(Once a King's monument) as listening yet
Th' acceptance of her prayers: nor cloister'd Nun
Hath ever since mourning her broken vows,
And his neglect for whom those vows she broke,
Come to the image of her Virgin Saint
With such a faded cheek and contrite mien,
As her who by those royal ashes sate.

But lo, new witnesses: a matron train In flowing robes of grief came forth, the wives And mothers of those nobles foully slain At the Peace banquet, them the memory yet Seem'd haunting of delicious days broke off. On Hengist, even a captive, dared not they Look firmly, as their helpless loneliness

Spake for them, they their solitary breasts
Beat, wrung their destitute cold hands, and pass'd.
Arose the mitred Germain, glanced his hand
From that majestic criminal, where lay
The ruins of God's church, and so sate down.

But Samor look'd upon the mourner train,
As though he sought a face that was not there,
That could not be, soft Emeric's.-"I have none,
I only none to witness of my wrongs."—
So said he, but he shook the softness off,
On the tribunal rose severe, and stood
Erect before the multitude. Thou King,
And ye, assembled People of the Isle,
If that I speak your sentence right, give in
Your sanction of Amen. Here stands the man,
Who two long years laid waste with fire and sword
Your native cities and your altar shrines:
Here stands the man, who by slow fraud and guile
Discrown'd your stately Monarch, Vortigern:
Here stands the man, hath water'd with your blood
The red and sickening herbage of your land:
Here stands the man, that to your peaceful fenst
Brought Murther, that grim seneschal, and drugg'd
With your most noble blood your friendly cups.”

And at each charge came in the deep Amen, Even like the sounds men hear on stormy nights, When many thunders are abroad. Nought moved, Stood Hengist, if emotion o'er him pass'd, "T was likest an elate contemptuous joy And glorying in those lofty worded crimes. Then, "Saxon Hengist, as thy sword hath made Our children fatherless, so fatherless Must be thy children!"* And Amen knoll'd back, As a plague-visited Metropolis

Mourning the wide and general funeral, tolls

From all her towers and spires the bell of death.

Thy children fatherless! not so-not so”-
Rose with a shriek that Woman by the grave,
And she sprang forth, as from beneath the earth.
As a partaker of, no mourner near
That kingly coffin. Veil fell off, and band
Started, through her bright tresses her pale face
Glitter'd, like purest ivory chased in gold.
Between the Criminal and Judge her stand
Rowena took; him as she saw and knew
Flush'd a sick rapture o'er her face and neck,
A fading rose-hue, like eve's parting light
On a snow bank; but from her marble brow
She the bright-clustering hair wiped back, and thus:
"Samor, the last time thou this brow beheld'st
The moonlight was upon it, since that hour
The water hath flow'd o'er it, holy sign
Hath there been left by Christian hand, and I
Thy creed have learnt, and one word breathes it all
Mercy."-"But Justice is God's attribute,

Lady, as well as mercy, Man on earth
Must be Vicegerent of both stern and mild,
Lest over-ramping Evil set its foot

*The words used to Agag were applied on this occasion, according to the Welsh tradition. - Robert's Translation of the Brut of Tysilio.