_Rome's gonfanon_; The consecrated banner, sent to William from Rome.

_The fierce standards_; These were planted on the spot chosen by the Conqueror for the high-altar of the Abbey of Battle. The _Warrior_ was Harold's 'personal ensign.'

_In a summer to be_; June 18, 1815.

_The ventayle_; Used here for the _nasale_ or nose-piece shown in the Bayeux Tapestry.

DEATH IN THE FOREST

August 2: 1100

Where the greenwood is greenest At gloaming of day, Where the twelve-antler'd stag Faces boldest at bay; Where the solitude deepens, Till almost you hear The blood-beat of the heart As the quarry slips near; His comrades outridden With scorn in the race, The Red King is hallooing His bounds to the chase.

What though the Wild Hunt Like a whirlwind of h.e.l.l Yestereve ran the forest, With baying and yell:-- In his cups the Red heathen Mocks G.o.d to the face; --'In the devil's name, shoot; Tyrrell, ho!--to the chase!'

--Now with worms for his courtiers He lies in the narrow Cold couch of the chancel!

--But whence was the arrow?

The dread vision of Serlo That call'd him to die, The weird sacrilege terror Of sleep, have gone by.

The blood of young Richard Cries on him in vain, In the heart of the Lindwood By arbalest slain.

And he plunges alone In the Serpent-glade gloom, As one whom the Furies Hound headlong to doom.

His sin goes before him, The l.u.s.t and the pride; And the curses of England Breathe hot at his side.

And the desecrate walls Of the Evil-wood shrine Lo, he pa.s.ses--unheeding Dark vision and sign:--

--Now with worms for his courtiers He lies in the narrow Cold couch of the chancel: --But whence was the arrow?

Then a shudder of death Flicker'd fast through the wood:-- And they found the Red King Red-gilt in his blood.

What wells up in his throat?

Is it cursing, or prayer?

Was it Henry, or Tyrrell, Or demon, who there Has dyed the fell tyrant Twice crimson in gore, While the soul disincarnate Hunts on to h.e.l.l-door?

--Ah! friendless in death!

Rude forest-hands fling On the charcoaler's wain What but now was the king!

And through the long Minster The carca.s.s they bear, And huddle it down Without priest, without prayer:--

Now with worms for his courtiers He lies in the narrow Cold couch of the chancel: --But whence was the arrow?

_In his cups_; Rufus, it is said, was 'fey,' as the old phrase has it, on the day of his death. He feasted long and high, and then chose out two cross-bow shafts, presenting them to Tyrrell with the exclamation given above.

_Serlo_; He was Abbot of Gloucester, and had sent to Rufus the narrative of an ominous dream, reported in the Monastery.

_The true dreams_; On his last night Rufus 'laid himself down to sleep, but not in peace; the attendants were startled by the King's voice--a bitter cry--a cry for help--a cry for deliverance--he had been suddenly awakened by a dreadful dream, as of exquisite anguish befalling him in that ruined church, at the foot of the Malwood rampart.' Palgrave: _Hist. of Normandy and of England_, B. IV: ch. xii.

_Young Richard_; Son to Robert Courthose, and hunting, as his uncle's guest, in the New Forest in May 1100, was mysteriously slain by a heavy bolt from a Norman Arbalest.

_The Evil-wood walls_; 'Amongst the sixty churches which had been 'ruined,' my Father remarks, in his notice of the New Forest, 'the sanctuary below the mystic Malwood was peculiarly remarkable. . . . You reach the Malwood easily from the Leafy Lodge in the favourite deer-walk, the Lind-hurst, the Dragon's wood.'

_Through the long Minster_; Winchester. Rufus, with much hesitation, was buried in the chancel as a king; but no religious service or ceremonial was celebrated:--'All men thought that prayers were hopeless.'

EDITH OF ENGLAND

1100

Through sapling shades of summer green, By glade and height and hollow, Where Rufus rode the stag to bay, King Henry spurs a jocund way, Another chase to follow.

But when he came to Romsey gate The doors are open'd free, And through the gate like sunshine streams A maiden company:-- One girdled with the vervain-red, And three in sendal gray, And touch the trembling rebeck-strings To their soft roundelay;--

--The bravest knight may fail in fight; The red rust edge the sword; The king his crown in dust lay down; But Love is always Lord!

King Henry at her feet flings down, His helmet ringing loudly:-- His kisses worship Edith's hand; 'Wilt thou be Queen of all the land?'

--O red she blush'd and proudly!

Red as the crimson girdle bound Beneath her gracious breast; Red as the silken scarf that flames Above his lion-crest.

She lifts and casts the cloister-veil All on the cloister-floor:-- The novice maids of Romsey smile, And think of love once more.

'Well, well, to blush!' the Abbess cried, 'The veil and vow deriding That rescued thee, in baby days, From insolence of Norman gaze, In pure and holy hiding.

--O royal child of South and North, Malcolm and Margaret, The promised bride of Heaven art thou, And Heaven will not forget!

What recks it, if an alien King Encoronet thy brow, Or if the false Italian priest Pretend to loose the vow?'

O then to white the red rose went On Edith's cheek abiding!

With even glance she answer'd meek 'I leave the life I did not seek, In holy Church confiding':-- Then Love smiled true on Henry's face, And Anselm join'd the hands That in one race two races bound By everlasting bands.

So Love is Lord, and Alfred's blood Returns the land to sway; And all her joyous maidens join In their soft roundelay:

--For though the knight may fail in fight, The red rust edge the sword, The king his crown in dust lay down, Yet Love is always Lord!

Edith, (who, after marriage, took the name Matilda in compliment to Henry's mother), daughter to Malcolm King of Scotland by Margaret, granddaughter of Edmund Ironside, had been brought up by her aunt Christina, and placed in Romsey Abbey for security against Norman violence. But she had always refused to take the vows, and was hence, in opposition to her aunt's wish, declared canonically free to marry by Anselm; called here an _Italian priest_, as born at Aosta. Henry had been long attached to the Princess, and married her shortly after his accession.

A CRUSADER'S TOMB

1230

Unnamed, unknown:--his hands across his breast Set in sepulchral rest, In yon low cave-like niche the warrior lies, --A shrine within a shrine,-- Full of gray peace, while day to darkness dies.

Then the forgotten dead at midnight come And throng their chieftain's tomb, Murmuring the toils o'er which they toil'd, alive, The feats of sword and love; And all the air thrills like a summer hive.

--How so, thou say'st!--This is the poet's right!

He looks with larger sight Than they who hedge their view by present things, The small, parochial world Of sight and touch: and what he sees, he sings.

The steel-sh.e.l.l'd host, that, gleaming as it turns, Like autumn lightning burns, A moment's azure, the fresh flags that glance As cornflowers o'er the corn, Till war's stern step show like a gala dance,

He also sees; and pierces to the heart, Scanning the genuine part Each Red-Cross pilgrim plays: Some, gold-enticed; By love or l.u.s.t or fame Urged; or who yearn to kiss the grave of Christ