Galloping o’er the drawbridge as if foes
Pressed close behind; the trembling messenger
Spent with hard riding, cold, and white with fear;
The steaming flanks and withers of the horse;
The soldiers pressing close to hear the news;
Sigebert, with his knotted veins, and hands
Fast-clenched, and anger flaming in his eyes,
As Galswith’s servant cried aloud to us:
‘Galswith is slain; Galswith, the Queen, is slain!’
And then, confusedly, as of a dream