Full on the Saxon's shield the sword descends;70
The strong shield clattering shivers at the stroke,
And the bright crest with all its plumage bends
As to the blast with all its boughs an oak:
As from the blast an oak with all its boughs,
Retowering slow, the crest sublime arose.
Grasp'd with both hands, above the Cymrian swung71
The axe that Odin taught his sons to wield,
Thrice through the air the circling iron sung,
Then crash'd resounding:—horse and horseman recl'd,
Though slant from sword and casque the weapon shore,
Down sword and casque the weight resistless bore.
The bright plume mingles with the charger's mane;72
Light leaves the heaven, and sense forsakes the breath;
Aloft the axe impatient whirrs again,—
The steed wild-snorting bounds and foils the death;
While on its neck the reins unheeded flow,
It shames and saves its Lord, and flies the foe.
"Lo, Saxons, lo, what chiefs these Walloons[7] lead!"73
Laugh'd hollow from his helm the scornful Thane.
Then towards the Christian knights he spurr'd his steed,
When midway in his rush—rushes again
The foe that rallied while he seem'd to fly,
As wheels the falcon ere it swoops from high;—
And as the falcon, while its talons dart74
Into the crane's broad bosom, splits its own
On the sharp beak, and, clinging heart to heart,
Both in one plumage blent, spin whirling down,—
So in that shock each found, and dealt the blow;
Horse roll'd on horse, fell grappling foe on foe.
First to his feet the slighter Cymrian leapt,75
And on the Saxon's breast set firm his knee;
Then o'er the heathen host a shudder crept,
Rose all their voices,—wild and wailingly;
"Woe, Harold, woe!" as from one bosom came,
The groan of thousands, and the mighty name.
The Cymrian starts, and stays his lifted hand,76
For at that name from Harold's vizor shone
Genevra's eyes! Back in its sheath the brand
He plunged:—sprang Harold—and the foe was gone,—
Lost where the Saxons rush'd along the plain,
To save the living or avenge the slain.
Spurr'd to the rescue every Cymrian knight,77
Again confused, the onslaught raged on high;
Again the war-shout swell'd above the fight,
Again the chant "for Christ and Liberty,"
When with fresh hosts unbreath'd, the Saxon king
Forth from the wall of shields leapt thundering.
Behind the chief the dreadful gonfanon78
Spread;—the Pale Horse went rushing down the wind.—
"On where the Valkyrs point to Carduel, on!
On o'er the corpses to the wolf consign'd!
On, that the Pale Horse, ere the night be o'er
Stall'd in yon tower, may rest his hoofs of gore!"
Thus spoke the king, and all his hosts replied;79
Fill'd by his word and kindled by his look—
(For helmless with his grey hair streaming wide,
He strided through the spears)—the mountains shook—
Shook the dim city—as that answer rang!
The fierce shout chiming to the buckler's clang!