Harold : the Last of the Saxon Kings — Complete

by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton

“From the East I allure him,
At the West I secure him;
In the feast I foresee
Rare the relics for me;
Red the drink, white the bones.
The ravens sit greeding,
And watching, and heeding;
Thoro’ wind, over water,
Comes scent of the slaughter,
And ravens sit greeding
Their share of the bones.
Thoro’ wind, thoro’ weather,
We’re sailing together;
I sail with the ravens;
I watch with the ravens;
I snatch from the ravens
My share of the bones.”

There was also a man called Thord [241], in a ship that lay near the King’s; and he too dreamed a dream. He saw the fleet nearing land, and that land was England. And on the land was a battle-array two-fold, and many banners were flapping on both sides. And before the army of the landfolk was riding a huge witch-wife upon a wolf; the wolf had a man’s carcase in his mouth, and the blood was dripping and dropping from his jaws; and when the wolf had eaten up that carcase, the witch-wife threw another into his jaws; and so, one after another; and the wolf cranched and swallowed them all. And the witch-wife sang this song:

“The green waving fields
Are hidden behind
The flash of the shields,
And the rush of the banners
That toss in the wind.
But Skade’s eagle eyes
Pierce the wall of the steel,
And behold from the skies
What the earth would conceal;
O’er the rush of the banners
She poises her wing,
And marks with a shadow
The brow of the King.
And, in bode of his doom,
Jaw of Wolf, be the tomb
Of the bones and the flesh,
Gore-bedabbled and fresh,
That cranch and that drip
Under fang and from lip.
As I ride in the van
Of the feasters on man,
With the King!
Grim wolf, sate my maw,
Full enow shall there be.
Hairy jaw, hungry maw,
Both for ye and for me!
Meaner food be the feast
Of the fowl and the beast;
But the witch, for her share,
Takes the best of the fare
And the witch shall be fed
With the king of the dead,
When she rides in the van
Of the slayers of man,
With the King.”

And King Harold dreamed a dream. And he saw before him his brother, St. Olave. And the dead, to the Scald-King sang this song:

“Bold as thou in the fight,
Blithe as thou in the hall,
Shone the noon of my might,
Ere the night of my fall!
How humble is death,
And how haughty is life;
And how fleeting the breath
Between slumber and strife!
All the earth is too narrow,
O life, for thy tread!
Two strides o’er the barrow
Can measure the dead.
Yet mighty that space is
Which seemeth so small;
The realm of all races,
With room for them all!”

But Harold Hardrada scorned witch-wife and dream; and his fleets sailed on. Tostig joined him off the Orkney Isles, and this great armament soon came in sight of the shores of England. They landed at Cleveland [242], and at the dread of the terrible Norsemen, the coastmen fled or submitted. With booty and plunder they sailed on to Scarborough, but there the townsfolk were brave, and the walls were strong.

The Norsemen ascended a hill above the town, lit a huge pile of wood, and tossed the burning piles down on the roofs. House after house caught the flame, and through the glare and the crash rushed the men of Hardrada. Great was the slaughter, and ample the plunder; and the town, awed and depeopled, submitted to flame and to sword.

Then the fleet sailed up the Humber and Ouse, and landed at Richall, not far from York; but Morcar, the Earl of Northumbria, came out with all his forces,—all the stout men and tall of the great race of the Anglo-Dane.

Then Hardrada advanced his flag, called Land-Eyda, the “Ravager of the World,” [243] and, chaunting a war-stave,—led his men to the onslaught.

The battle was fierce, but short. The English troops were defeated, they fled into York; and the Ravager of the World was borne in triumph to the gates of the town. An exiled chief, however tyrannous and hateful, hath ever some friends among the desperate and lawless; and success ever finds allies among the weak and the craven,—so many Northumbrians now came to the side of Tostig. Dissension and mutiny broke out amidst the garrison within; Morcar, unable to control the townsfolk, was driven forth with those still true to their country and King, and York agreed to open its gates to the conquering invader.