Queen Mary; and, Harold

by Baron Alfred Tennyson Tennyson

SCENE I.—IN NORTHUMBRIA.
ARCHBISHOP ALDRED, MORCAR, EDWIN, and FORCES. Enter HAROLD.
The standard of the golden Dragon of Wessex preceding him.

HAROLD. What! are thy people sullen from defeat?
Our Wessex dragon flies beyond the Humber,
No voice to greet it.
EDWIN. Let not our great king
Believe us sullen—only shamed to the quick
Before the king—as having been so bruised
By Harold, king of Norway; but our help
Is Harold, king of England. Pardon us, thou!
Our silence is our reverence for the king!
HAROLD. Earl of the Mercians! if the truth be gall,
Cram me not thou with honey, when our good hive
Needs every sting to save it.
VOICES. Aldwyth! Aldwyth!
HAROLD. Why cry thy people on thy sister's name?
MORCAR. She hath won upon our people thro' her beauty,
And pleasantness among them.
VOICES. Aldwyth, Aldwyth!
HAROLD. They shout as they would have her for a queen.
MORCAR. She hath followed with our host, and suffer'd all.
HAROLD. What would ye, men?
VOICE. Our old Northumbrian crown,
And kings of our own choosing.
HAROLD. Your old crown
Were little help without our Saxon carles
Against Hardrada.
VOICE. Little! we are Danes,
Who conquer'd what we walk on, our own field.
HAROLD. They have been plotting here! [Aside.
VOICE. He calls us little!
HAROLD. The kingdoms of this world began with little,
A hill, a fort, a city—that reach'd a hand
Down to the field beneath it, 'Be thou mine,
Then to the next, 'Thou also!' If the field
Cried out 'I am mine own;' another hill
Or fort, or city, took it, and the first
Fell, and the next became an Empire.
VOICE. Yet
Thou art but a West Saxon: we are Danes!
HAROLD. My mother is a Dane, and I am English;
There is a pleasant fable in old books,
Ye take a stick, and break it; bind a score
All in one faggot, snap it over knee,
Ye cannot.
VOICE. Hear King Harold! he says true!
HAROLD. Would ye be Norsemen?
VOICES. No!
HAROLD. Or Norman?
VOICES. No!
HAROLD. Snap not the faggot-band then.
VOICE. That is true!
VOICE. Ay, but thou art not kingly, only grandson
To Wulfnoth, a poor cow-herd.
HAROLD. This old Wulfnoth
Would take me on his knees and tell me tales
Of Alfred and of Athelstan the Great
Who drove you Danes; and yet he held that Dane,
Jute, Angle, Saxon, were or should be all
One England, for this cow-herd, like my father,
Who shook the Norman scoundrels off the throne,
Had in him kingly thoughts—a king of men,
Not made but born, like the great king of all,
A light among the oxen.
VOICE. That is true!
VOICE. Ay, and I love him now, for mine own father
Was great, and cobbled.
VOICE. Thou art Tostig's brother,
Who wastes the land.
HAROLD. This brother comes to save
Your land from waste; I saved it once before,
For when your people banish'd Tostig hence,
And Edward would have sent a host against you,
Then I, who loved my brother, bad the king
Who doted on him, sanction your decree
Of Tostig's banishment, and choice of Morcar,
To help the realm from scattering.
VOICE. King! thy brother,
If one may dare to speak the truth, was wrong'd.
Wild was he, born so: but the plots against him
Had madden'd tamer men.
MORCAR. Thou art one of those
Who brake into Lord Tostig's treasure-house
And slew two hundred of his following,
And now, when Tostig hath come back with power,
Are frighted back to Tostig.
OLD THANE. Ugh! Plots and feuds!
This is my ninetieth birthday. Can ye not
Be brethren? Godwin still at feud with Alfgar,
And Alfgar hates King Harold. Plots and feuds!
This is my ninetieth birthday!
HAROLD. Old man, Harold
Hates nothing; not his fault, if our two houses
Be less than brothers.
VOICES. Aldwyth, Harold, Aldwyth!
HAROLD. Again! Morcar! Edwin! What do they mean?
EDWIN. So the good king would deign to lend an ear
Not overscornful, we might chance—perchance—
To guess their meaning.
MORCAR. Thine own meaning, Harold,
To make all England one, to close all feuds,
Mixing our bloods, that thence a king may rise
Half-Godwin and half-Alfgar, one to rule
All England beyond question, beyond quarrel.
HAROLD. Who sow'd this fancy here among the people?
MORCAR. Who knows what sows itself among the people?
A goodly flower at times.
HAROLD. The Queen of Wales?
Why, Morcar, it is all but duty in her
To hate me; I have heard she hates me.
MORCAR. No!
For I can swear to that, but cannot swear
That these will follow thee against the Norsemen,
If thou deny them this.
HAROLD. Morcar and Edwin,
When will you cease to plot against my house?
EDWIN. The king can scarcely dream that we, who know
His prowess in the mountains of the West,
Should care to plot against him in the North.
MORCAR. Who dares arraign us, king, of such a plot?
HAROLD. Ye heard one witness even now.
MORCAR. The craven!
There is a faction risen again for Tostig,
Since Tostig came with Norway—fright not love.
HAROLD. Morcar and Edwin, will ye, if I yield,
Follow against the Norseman?
MORCAR. Surely, surely!
HAROLD. Morcar and Edwin, will ye upon oath,
Help us against the Norman?
MORCAR. With good will;
Yea, take the Sacrament upon it, king.
HAROLD. Where is thy sister?
MORCAR. Somewhere hard at hand.
Call and she comes.
[One goes out, then enter ALDWYTH.
HAROLD. I doubt not but thou knowest
Why thou art summon'd.
ALDWYTH. Why?—I stay with these,
Lest thy fierce Tostig spy me out alone,
And flay me all alive.
HAROLD. Canst thou love one
Who did discrown thine husband, unqueen thee?
Didst thou not love thine husband?
ALDWYTH. Oh! my lord,
The nimble, wild, red, wiry, savage king—
That was, my lord, a match of policy.
HAROLD. Was it?
I knew him brave: he loved his land: he fain
Had made her great: his finger on her harp
(I heard him more than once) had in it Wales,
Her floods, her woods, her hills: had I been his,
I had been all Welsh.
ALDWYTH. Oh, ay—all Welsh—and yet
I saw thee drive him up his hills—and women
Cling to the conquer'd, if they love, the more;
If not, they cannot hate the conqueror.
We never—oh! good Morcar, speak for us,
His conqueror conquer'd Aldwyth.
HAROLD. Goodly news!
MORCAR. Doubt it not thou! Since Griffith's
head was sent
To Edward, she hath said it.
HAROLD. I had rather
She would have loved her husband. Aldwyth, Aldwyth,
Canst thou love me, thou knowing where I love?
ALDWYTH. I can, my lord, for mine own sake, for thine,
For England, for thy poor white dove, who flutters
Between thee and the porch, but then would find
Her nest within the cloister, and be still.
HAROLD. Canst thou love one, who cannot love again?
ALDWYTH. Full hope have I that love will answer love.
HAROLD. Then in the name of the great God, so be it!
Come, Aldred, join our hands before the hosts,
That all may see.
[ALDRED joins the hands of HAROLD and ALDWYTH
and blesses them.
VOICES. Harold, Harold and Aldwyth!
HAROLD. Set forth our golden Dragon, let him flap
The wings that beat down Wales!
Advance our Standard of the Warrior,
Dark among gems and gold; and thou, brave banner,
Blaze like a night of fatal stars on those
Who read their doom and die.
Where lie the Norsemen? on the Derwent? ay
At Stamford-bridge.
Morcar, collect thy men; Edwin, my friend—
Thou lingerest.—Gurth,—
Last night King Edward came to me in dreams—
The rosy face and long down-silvering beard—
He told me I should conquer:—
I am no woman to put faith in dreams.
(To his army.)
Last night King Edward came to me in dreams,
And told me we should conquer.
VOICES. Forward! Forward!
Harold and Holy Cross!
ALDWYTH. The day is won!

SCENE II.—A PLAIN. BEFORE THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD-BRIDGE.
HAROLD and his GUARD.

HAROLD. Who is it comes this way? Tostig?
(Enter TOSTIG with a small force.) O brother,
What art thou doing here?
TOSTIG. I am foraging
For Norway's army.
HAROLD. I could take and slay thee.
Thou art in arms against us.
TOSTIG. Take and slay me,
For Edward loved me.
HAROLD. Edward bad me spare thee.
TOSTIG. I hate King Edward, for he join'd with thee
To drive me outlaw'd. Take and slay me, I say,
Or I shall count thee fool.
HAROLD. Take thee, or free thee,
Free thee or slay thee, Norway will have war;
No man would strike with Tostig, save for Norway.
Thou art nothing in thine England, save for Norway,
Who loves not thee but war. What dost thou here,
Trampling thy mother's bosom into blood?
TOSTIG. She hath wean'd me from it with such bitterness.
I come for mine own Earldom, my Northumbria;
Thou hast given it to the enemy of our house.
HAROLD. Northumbria threw thee off, she will not have thee,
Thou hast misused her: and, O crowning crime!
Hast murder'd thine own guest, the son of Orm,
Gamel, at thine own hearth.
TOSTIG. The slow, fat fool!
He drawl'd and prated so, I smote him suddenly,
I knew not what I did. He held with Morcar.—
I hate myself for all things that I do.
HAROLD. And Morcar holds with us. Come back with him.
Know what thou dost; and we may find for thee,
So thou be chasten'd by thy banishment,
Some easier earldom.
TOSTIG. What for Norway then?
He looks for land among us, he and his.
HAROLD. Seven feet of English land, or something more,
Seeing he is a giant.
TOSTIG. That is noble!
That sounds of Godwin.
HAROLD. Come thou back, and be
Once more a son of Godwin.
TOSTIG (turns away). O brother, brother,
O Harold—
HAROLD (laying his hand on TOSTIG'S shoulder).
Nay then, come thou back to us!
TOSTIG (after a pause turning to him). Never
shall any man say that I, that Tostig
Conjured the mightier Harold from his North
To do the battle for me here in England,
Then left him for the meaner! thee!—
Thou hast no passion for the House of Godwin—
Thou hast but cared to make thyself a king—
Thou hast sold me for a cry.—
Thou gavest thy voice against me in the Council—
I hate thee, and despise thee, and defy thee.
Farewell for ever!
[Exit.
HAROLD. On to Stamford-bridge!

SCENE III.

AFTER THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD-BRIDGE. BANQUET.
HAROLD and ALDWYTH. GURTH, LEOFWIN, MORCAR, EDWIN,
and other EARLS and THANES.

VOICES. Hail! Harold! Aldwyth! hail, bridegroom and bride!
ALDWYTH (talking with HAROLD).
Answer them thou!
Is this our marriage-banquet? Would the wines
Of wedding had been dash'd into the cups
Of victory, and our marriage and thy glory
Been drunk together! these poor hands but sew,
Spin, broider—would that they were man's to have held
The battle-axe by thee!
HAROLD. There was a moment
When being forced aloof from all my guard,
And striking at Hardrada and his madmen
I had wish'd for any weapon.
ALDWYTH. Why art thou sad?
HAROLD. I have lost the boy who play'd at ball with me,
With whom I fought another fight than this
Of Stamford-bridge.
ALDWYTH. Ay! ay! thy victories
Over our own poor Wales, when at thy side
He conquer'd with thee.
HAROLD. No—the childish fist
That cannot strike again.
ALDWYTH. Thou art too kindly.
Why didst thou let so many Norsemen hence?
Thy fierce forekings had clench'd their pirate hides
To the bleak church doors, like kites upon a barn.
HAROLD. Is there so great a need to tell thee why?
ALDWYTH. Yea, am I not thy wife?
VOICES. Hail, Harold, Aldwyth!
Bridegroom and bride!
ALDWYTH. Answer them! [To HAROLD.
HAROLD (to all). Earls and Thanes!
Full thanks for your fair greeting of my bride!
Earls, Thanes, and all our countrymen! the day,
Our day beside the Derwent will not shine
Less than a star among the goldenest hours
Of Alfred, or of Edward his great son,
Or Athelstan, or English Ironside
Who fought with Knut, or Knut who coming Dane
Died English. Every man about his king
Fought like a king; the king like his own man,
No better; one for all, and all for one,
One soul! and therefore have we shatter'd back
The hugest wave from Norseland ever yet
Surged on us, and our battle-axes broken
The Raven's wing, and dumb'd his carrion croak
From the gray sea for ever. Many are gone—
Drink to the dead who died for us, the living
Who fought and would have died, but happier lived,
If happier be to live; they both have life
In the large mouth of England, till her voice
Die with the world. Hail—hail!
MORCAR. May all invaders perish like Hardrada!
All traitors fail like Tostig. [All drink but HAROLD.
ALDWYTH. Thy cup's full!
HAROLD. I saw the hand of Tostig cover it.
Our dear, dead, traitor-brother, Tostig, him
Reverently we buried. Friends, had I been here,
Without too large self-lauding I must hold
The sequel had been other than his league
With Norway, and this battle. Peace be with him!
He was not of the worst. If there be those
At banquet in this hall, and hearing me—
For there be those I fear who prick'd the lion
To make him spring, that sight of Danish blood
Might serve an end not English—peace with them
Likewise, if they can be at peace with what
God gave us to divide us from the wolf!
ALDWYTH (aside to HAROLD).
Make not our Morcar sullen: it is not wise.
HAROLD. Hail to the living who fought, the dead who fell!
VOICES. Hail, hail!
FIRST THANE. How ran that answer which King Harold gave
To his dead namesake, when he ask'd for England?
LEOFWIN. 'Seven feet of English earth, or something more,
Seeing he is a giant!'
FIRST THANE. Then for the bastard
Six feet and nothing more!
LEOFWIN. Ay, but belike
Thou hast not learnt his measure.
FIRST THANE. By St. Edmund
I over-measure him. Sound sleep to the man
Here by dead Norway without dream or dawn!
SECOND THANE. What is he bragging still that he will come
To thrust our Harold's throne from under him?
My nurse would tell me of a molehill crying
To a mountain 'Stand aside and room for me!'
FIRST THANE. Let him come! let him come.
Here's to him, sink or swim! [Drinks.
SECOND THANE. God sink him!
FIRST THANE. Cannot hands which had the strength
To shove that stranded iceberg off our shores,
And send the shatter'd North again to sea,
Scuttle his cockle-shell? What's Brunanburg
To Stamford-bridge? a war-crash, and so hard,
So loud, that, by St. Dunstan, old St. Thor—
By God, we thought him dead—but our old Thor
Heard his own thunder again, and woke and came
Among us again, and mark'd the sons of those
Who made this Britain England, break the North:
Mark'd how the war-axe swang,
Heard how the war-horn sang,
Mark'd how the spear-head sprang,
Heard how the shield-wall rang,
Iron on iron clang,
Anvil on hammer bang—
SECOND THANE. Hammer on anvil, hammer on anvil. Old dog,
Thou art drunk, old dog!
FIRST THANE. Too drunk to fight with thee!
SECOND THANE. Fight thou with thine own double, not with me,
Keep that for Norman William!
FIRST THANE. Down with William!
THIRD THANE. The washerwoman's brat!
FOURTH THANE. The tanner's bastard!
FIFTH THANE.
The Falaise byblow!
[Enter a THANE, from Pevensey, spattered with mud.
HAROLD. Ay, but what late guest,
As haggard as a fast of forty days,
And caked and plaster'd with a hundred mires,
Hath stumbled on our cups?
THANE from Pevensey. My lord the King!
William the Norman, for the wind had changed—
HAROLD. I felt it in the middle of that fierce fight
At Stamford-bridge. William hath landed, ha?
THANE from Pevensey. Landed at Pevensey—I am from Pevensey—
Hath wasted all the land at Pevensey—
Hath harried mine own cattle—God confound him!
I have ridden night and day from Pevensey—
A thousand ships—a hundred thousand men—
Thousands of horses, like as many lions
Neighing and roaring as they leapt to land—
HAROLD. How oft in coming hast thou broken bread?
THANE from Pevensey.
Some thrice, or so.
HAROLD. Bring not thy hollowness
On our full feast. Famine is fear, were it but
Of being starved. Sit down, sit down, and eat,
And, when again red-blooded, speak again;
(Aside.) The men that guarded England to the South
Were scatter'd to the harvest.... No power mine
To hold their force together.... Many are fallen
At Stamford-bridge ... the people stupid-sure
Sleep like their swine ... in South and North at once
I could not be.
(Aloud.) Gurth, Leofwin, Morcar, Edwin!
(Pointing to the revellers.)
The curse of England! these are drown'd in wassail,
And cannot see the world but thro' their wines!
Leave them! and thee too, Aldwyth, must I leave—
Harsh is the news! hard is our honeymoon!
Thy pardon. (Turning round to his ATTENDANTS.)
Break the banquet up ... Ye four!
And thou, my carrier-pigeon of black news,
Cram thy crop full, but come when thou art call'd.
[Exit HAROLD.

ACT V.

SCENE I.—A TENT ON A MOUND, FROM WHICH CAN BE SEEN THE FIELD OF
SENLAC.
HAROLD, sitting; by him standing HUGH MARGOT the Monk, GURTH,
LEOFWIN,

HAROLD. Refer my cause, my crown to Rome!... The wolf
Mudded the brook and predetermined all.
Monk,
Thou hast said thy say, and had my constant 'No'
For all but instant battle. I hear no more.
MARGOT. Hear me again—for the last time. Arise,
Scatter thy people home, descend the hill,
Lay hands of full allegiance in thy Lord's
And crave his mercy, for the Holy Father
Hath given this realm of England to the Norman.
HAROLD. Then for the last time, monk, I ask again
When had the Lateran and the Holy Father
To do with England's choice of her own king?
MARGOT. Earl, the first Christian Caesar drew to the East
To leave the Pope dominion in the West
He gave him all the kingdoms of the West.
HAROLD. So!—did he?—Earl—I have a mind to play
The William with thine eyesight and thy tongue.
Earl—ay—thou art but a messenger of William.
I am weary—go: make me not wroth with thee!
MARGOT. Mock-king, I am the messenger of God,
His Norman Daniel! Mene, Mene, Tekel!
Is thy wrath Hell, that I should spare to cry,
Yon heaven is wroth with thee? Hear me again!
Our Saints have moved the Church that moves the world,
And all the Heavens and very God: they heard—
They know King Edward's promise and thine—thine.
HAROLD. Should they not know free England crowns herself?
Not know that he nor I had power to promise?
Not know that Edward cancell'd his own promise?
And for my part therein—Back to that juggler,
[Rising.
Tell him the saints are nobler than he dreams,
Tell him that God is nobler than the Saints,
And tell him we stand arm'd on Senlac Hill,
And bide the doom of God.
MARGOT. Hear it thro' me.
The realm for which thou art forsworn is cursed,
The babe enwomb'd and at the breast is cursed,
The corpse thou whelmest with thine earth is cursed,
The soul who fighteth on thy side is cursed,
The seed thou sowest in thy field is cursed,
The steer wherewith thou plowest thy field is cursed,
The fowl that fleeth o'er thy field is cursed,
And thou, usurper, liar—
HAROLD. Out, beast monk!
[Lifting his hand to strike him. GURTH stops the blow.
I ever hated monks.
MARGOT. I am but a voice
Among you: murder, martyr me if ye will—
HAROLD. Thanks, Gurth! The simple, silent, selfless man
Is worth a world of tonguesters. (To MARGOT.) Get thee gone!
He means the thing he says. See him out safe!
LEOFWIN. He hath blown himself as red as fire with curses.
An honest fool! Follow me, honest fool,
But if thou blurt thy curse among our folk,
I know not—I may give that egg-bald head
The tap that silences.
HAROLD. See him out safe.
[Exeunt LEOFWIN and MARGOT.
GURTH. Thou hast lost thine even temper, brother Harold!
HAROLD. Gurth, when I past by Waltham, my foundation
For men who serve the neighbour, not themselves,
I cast me down prone, praying; and, when I rose,
They told me that the Holy Rood had lean'd
And bow'd above me; whether that which held it
Had weaken'd, and the Rood itself were bound
To that necessity which binds us down;
Whether it bow'd at all but in their fancy;
Or if it bow'd, whether it symbol'd ruin
Or glory, who shall tell? but they were sad,
And somewhat sadden'd me.
GURTH. Yet if a fear,
Or shadow of a fear, lest the strange Saints
By whom thou swarest, should have power to balk
Thy puissance in this fight with him, who made
And heard thee swear—brother—I have not sworn—
If the king fall, may not the kingdom fall?
But if I fall, I fall, and thou art king;
And, if I win, I win, and thou art king;
Draw thou to London, there make strength to breast
Whatever chance, but leave this day to me.
LEOFWIN (entering). And waste the land about thee as thou goest,
And be thy hand as winter on the field,
To leave the foe no forage.
HAROLD. Noble Gurth!
Best son of Godwin! If I fall, I fall—
The doom of God! How should the people fight
When the king flies? And, Leofwin, art thou mad?
How should the King of England waste the fields
Of England, his own people?—No glance yet
Of the Northumbrian helmet on the heath?
LEOFWIN. No, but a shoal of wives upon the heath,
And someone saw thy willy-nilly nun
Vying a tress against our golden fern.
HAROLD. Vying a tear with our cold dews, a sigh
With these low-moaning heavens. Let her be fetch'd.
We have parted from our wife without reproach,
Tho' we have dived thro' all her practices;
And that is well.
LEOFWIN. I saw her even now:
She hath not left us.
HAROLD. Nought of Morcar then?
GURTH. Nor seen, nor heard; thine, William's or his own
As wind blows, or tide flows: belike he watches,
If this war-storm in one of its rough rolls
Wash up that old crown of Northumberland.
HAROLD. I married her for Morcar—a sin against
The truth of love. Evil for good, it seems,
Is oft as childless of the good as evil
For evil.
LEOFWIN. Good for good hath borne at times
A bastard false as William.
HAROLD. Ay, if Wisdom
Pair'd not with Good. But I am somewhat worn,
A snatch of sleep were like the peace of God.
Gurth, Leofwin, go once more about the hill—
What did the dead man call it—Sanguelac,
The lake of blood?
LEOFWIN. A lake that dips in William
As well as Harold.
HAROLD. Like enough. I have seen
The trenches dug, the palisades uprear'd
And wattled thick with ash and willow-wands;
Yea, wrought at them myself. Go round once more;
See all be sound and whole. No Norman horse
Can shatter England, standing shield by shield;
Tell that again to all.
GURTH. I will, good brother.
HAROLD. Our guardsman hath but toil'd his hand and foot,
I hand, foot, heart and head. Some wine!
(One pours wine into a goblet which he hands to HAROLD.)
Too much!
What? we must use our battle-axe to-day.
Our guardsmen have slept well, since we came in?
LEOFWIN. Ay, slept and snored. Your second-sighted man
That scared the dying conscience of the king,
Misheard their snores for groans. They are up again
And chanting that old song of Brunanburg
Where England conquer'd.
HAROLD. That is well. The Norman,
What is he doing?
LEOFWIN. Praying for Normandy;
Our scouts have heard the tinkle of their bells.
HAROLD. And our old songs are prayers for England too!
But by all Saints—
LEOFWIN. Barring the Norman!
HAROLD. Nay,
Were the great trumpet blowing doomsday dawn,
I needs must rest. Call when the Norman moves—
[Exeunt all, but HAROLD.
No horse—thousands of horses—our shield wall—
Wall—break it not—break not—break— [Sleeps.
VISION OF EDWARD. Son Harold, I thy king, who came before
To tell thee thou shouldst win at Stamford-bridge,
Come yet once more, from where I am at peace,
Because I loved thee in my mortal day,
To tell thee them shalt die on Senlac hill—
Sanguelac!
VISION OF WULFNOTH. O brother, from my ghastly oubliette
I send my voice across the narrow seas—
No more, no more, dear brother, nevermore—
Sanguelac!
VISION OF TOSTIG. O brother, most unbrotherlike to me,
Thou gavest thy voice against me in my life,
I give my voice against thee from the grave—
Sanguelac!
VISION OF NORMAN SAINTS. O hapless Harold!
King but for an hour!
Thou swarest falsely by our blessed bones,
We give our voice against thee out of heaven!
Sanguelac! Sanguelac! The arrow! the arrow!
HAROLD (starting up, battle-axe in hand.) Away!
My battle-axe against your voices. Peace!
The king's last word—'the arrow!' I shall die—
I die for England then, who lived for England—
What nobler? men must die.
I cannot fall into a falser world—
I have done no man wrong. Tostig, poor brother,
Art thou so anger'd?
Fain had I kept thine earldom in thy hands
Save for thy wild and violent will that wrench'd
All hearts of freemen from thee. I could do
No other than this way advise the king
Against the race of Godwin. Is it possible
That mortal men should bear their earthly heats
Into yon bloodless world, and threaten us thence
Unschool'd of Death? Thus then thou art revenged—
I left our England naked to the South
To meet thee in the North. The Norseman's raid
Hath helpt the Norman, and the race of Godwin
Hath ruin'd Godwin. No—our waking thoughts
Suffer a stormless shipwreck in the pools
Of sullen slumber, and arise again
Disjointed: only dreams—where mine own self
Takes part against myself! Why? for a spark
Of self-disdain born in me when I sware
Falsely to him, the falser Norman, over
His gilded ark of mummy-saints, by whom
I knew not that I sware,—not for myself—
For England—yet not wholly—
Enter EDITH.
Edith, Edith,
Get thou into thy cloister as the king
Will'd it: be safe: the perjury-mongering Count
Hath made too good an use of Holy Church
To break her close! There the great God of truth
Fill all thine hours with peace!—A lying devil
Hath haunted me—mine oath—my wife—I fain
Had made my marriage not a lie; I could not:
Thou art my bride! and thou in after years
Praying perchance for this poor soul of mine
In cold, white cells beneath an icy moon—
This memory to thee!—and this to England,
My legacy of war against the Pope
From child to child, from Pope to Pope, from age to age,
Till the sea wash her level with her shores,
Or till the Pope be Christ's.
Enter ALDWYTH.
ALDWYTH (to EDITH). Away from him!
EDITH. I will.... I have not spoken to the king
One word; and one I must. Farewell! [Going.
HAROLD. Not yet.
Stay.
EDITH. To what use?
HAROLD. The king commands thee, woman!
(To ALDWYTH.)
Have thy two brethren sent their forces in?
ALDWYTH. Nay, I fear not.
HAROLD. Then there's no force in thee!
Thou didst possess thyself of Edward's ear
To part me from the woman that I loved!
Thou didst arouse the fierce Northumbrians!
Thou hast been false to England and to me!—
As ... in some sort ... I have been false to thee.
Leave me. No more—Pardon on both sides—Go!
ALDWYTH. Alas, my lord, I loved thee.
HAROLD (bitterly). With a love
Passing thy love for Griffyth! wherefore now
Obey my first and last commandment. Go!
ALDWYTH. O Harold! husband! Shall we meet again?
HAROLD. After the battle—after the battle. Go.
ALDWYTH. I go. (Aside.) That I could stab her standing there!
[Exit ALDWYTH.
EDITH. Alas, my lord, she loved thee.
HAROLD. Never! never!
EDITH. I saw it in her eyes!
HAROLD. I see it in thine.
And not on thee—nor England—fall God's doom!
EDITH. On thee? on me. And thou art England! Alfred
Was England. Ethelred was nothing. England
Is but her king, and thou art Harold!
HAROLD. Edith,
The sign in heaven—the sudden blast at sea—
My fatal oath—the dead Saints—the dark dreams—
The Pope's Anathema—the Holy Rood
That bow'd to me at Waltham—Edith, if
I, the last English King of England—
EDITH. No,
First of a line that coming from the people,
And chosen by the people—
HAROLD. And fighting for
And dying for the people—
EDITH. Living! living!
HAROLD. Yea so, good cheer! thou art Harold, I am Edith!
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-arms
Than William.
HAROLD. Ay, my girl, no tricks in him—
No bastard he! when all was lost, he yell'd,
And bit his shield, and dash'd it on the ground,
And swaying his two-handed sword about him,
Two deaths at every swing, ran in upon us
And died so, and I loved him as I hate
This liar who made me liar. If Hate can kill,
And Loathing wield a Saxon battle-axe—
EDITH. Waste not thy might before the battle!
HAROLD. No,
And thou must hence. Stigand will see thee safe,
And so—Farewell. [He is going, but turns back.
The ring thou darest not wear.
I have had it fashion'd, see, to meet 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 ought of earth's
Save William's death or mine.
EDITH. Thy death!—to-day!
Is it not thy birthday?
HAROLD. Ay, that happy day!
A birthday welcome! happy days and many!
One—this! [They embrace.
Look, I will bear thy blessing into the battle
And front the doom of God.
NORMAN CRIES (heard in the distance).
Ha Rou! Ha Rou!
Enter GURTH.
GURTH. The Norman moves!
HAROLD. Harold and Holy Cross!
[Exeunt HAROLD and GURTH.
Enter STIGAND.
STIGAND. Our Church in arms—the lamb the lion—not
Spear into pruning-hook—the counter way—
Cowl, helm; and crozier, battle-axe. Abbot Alfwig,
Leofric, and all the monks of Peterboro'
Strike for the king; but I, old wretch, old Stigand,
With hands too limp to brandish iron—and yet
I have a power—would Harold ask me for it—
I have a power.
EDITH. What power, holy father?
STIGAND. Power now from Harold to command thee hence
And see thee safe from Senlac.
EDITH. I remain!
STIGAND. Yea, so will I, daughter, until I find
Which way the battle balance. I can see it
From where we stand: and, live or die, I would
I were among them!
CANONS from Waltham (singing without).
Salva patriam
Sancte Pater,
Salva Fili,
Salva Spiritus,
Salva patriam,
Sancta Mater [1]
[Footnote 1: The a throughout these Latin hymns should be
sounded broad, as in 'father.']
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
Firm as thy cliffs, strengthen their palisades!
What is that whirring sound?
STIGAND. The Norman arrow!
EDITH. Look out upon the battle—is he safe?
STIGAND. The king of England stands between his banners.
He glitters on the crowning of the hill.
God save King Harold!
EDITH. —chosen by his people
And fighting for his people!
STIGAND. There is one
Come as Goliath came of yore—he flings
His brand in air and catches it again,
He is chanting some old warsong.
EDITH. And no David
To meet him?
STIGAND. Ay, there springs a Saxon on him,
Falls—and another falls.
EDITH. Have mercy on us!
STIGAND. Lo! our good Gurth hath smitten him to the death.
EDITH. So perish all the enemies of Harold!
CANONS (singing).
Hostis in Angliam
Ruit praedator,
Illorum, Domine,
Scutum scindatur!
Hostis per Angliae
Plagas bacchatur;
Casa crematur,
Pastor fugatur
Grex trucidatur—
STIGAND. Illos trucida, Domine.
EDITH. Ay, good father.
CANONS (singing).
Illorum scelera
Poena sequatur!
ENGLISH CRIES. Harold and Holy Cross! Out! out!
STIGAND. Our javelins
Answer their arrows. All the Norman foot
Are storming up the hill. The range of knights
Sit, each a statue on his horse, and wait.
ENGLISH CRIES. Harold and God Almighty!
NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou! Ha Rou!
CANONS (singing).
Eques cum pedite
Praepediatur!
Illorum in lacrymas
Cruor fundatur!
Pereant, pereant,
Anglia precatur.
STIGAND. Look, daughter, look.
EDITH. Nay, father, look for me!
STIGAND. Our axes lighten with a single flash
About the summit of the hill, and heads
And arms are sliver'd off and splinter'd by
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. The Norman Count is down.
EDITH. So perish all the enemies of England!
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.
EDITH. O God of battles, make his battle-axe keen
As thine own sharp-dividing justice, heavy
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!
EDITH. O God of battles, they are three to one,
Make thou one man as three to roll them down!
CANONS (singing).
Equus cum equite
Dejiciatur!
Acies, Acies
Prona sternatur!
Illorum lanceas
Frange Creator!
STIGAND. Yea, yea, for how their lances snap and shiver
Against the shifting blaze of Harold's axe!
War-woodman of old Woden, how he fells
The mortal copse of faces! There! And there!
The horse and horseman cannot meet the shield,
The blow that brains the horseman cleaves the horse,
The horse and horseman roll along the hill,
They fly once more, they fly, the Norman flies!
Equus cum equite
Praecipitatur.
EDITH. O God, the God of truth hath heard my cry.
Follow them, follow them, drive them to the sea!
Illorum scelera
Poena sequatur!
STIGAND. Truth! no; a lie; a trick, a Norman trick!
They turn on the pursuer, horse against foot,
They murder all that follow.
EDITH. 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 Norman Saints,
Ye that are now of heaven, and see beyond
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 thunder again upon the barricades.
My sight is eagle, but the strife so thick—
This is the hottest of it: hold, ash! hold, willow!
ENGLISH CRIES. Out, out!
NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou!
STIGAND. Ha! Gurth hath leapt upon him
And slain him: he hath fallen.
EDITH. And I am heard.
Glory to God in the Highest! fallen, fallen!
STIGAND. No, no, his horse—he mounts another—wields
His war-club, dashes it on Gurth, and Gurth,
Our noble Gurth, is down!
EDITH. Have mercy on us!
STIGAND. And Leofwin is down!
EDITH. Have mercy on us!
O Thou that knowest, let not my strong prayer
Be weaken'd in thy sight, because I love
The husband of another!
NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou! Ha Rou!
EDITH. I do not hear our English war-cry.
STIGAND. No.
EDITH. Look out upon the battle—is he safe?
STIGAND. He stands between the banners with the dead
So piled about him he can hardly move.
EDITH (takes up the war-cry).
Out! out!
NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou!
EDITH (cries out). Harold and Holy Cross!
NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou! Ha Rou!
EDITH. What is that whirring sound?
STIGAND. The Norman sends his arrows up to Heaven,
They fall on those within the palisade!
EDITH. Look out upon the hill—is Harold there?
STIGAND. Sanguelac—Sanguelac—the arrow—the arrow!—away!