IV.

The grateful Page made no reply,
But turn'd to Heaven his gentle eye,
And clasp'd his hands, as one who said,
"My toils-my wanderings are o'er-
paid!'

Then in a gayer, lighter strain,
Compell'd himself to speech again;
And, as they flow'd along,
His words took cadence soft and slow,
And liquid, like dissolving snow,
They melted into song.

V.

"What though through fields of carnage wide

I may not follow Harold's stride,
Yet who with faithful Gunnar's pride
Lord Harold's feats can see?
And dearer than the couch of pride,
He loves the bed of grey wolf's hide,
When slumbering by Lord Harold's
side

In forest, field, or lea.'

VI.

"Break off!" said Harold, in a tone Where hurry and surprise were shown,

With some slight touch of fear,— "Break off, we are not here alone; A Palmer form comes slowly on! By cowl, and staff, and mantle known,

My monitor is near.

Now mark him, Gunnar, heedfully; He pauses by the blighted treeDost see him, youth?-Thou couldst

not see

When in the vale of Galilee

I first beheld his form,
Nor when we met that other while
In Cephalonia's rocky isle,

Before the fearful storm,Dost see him now?"-The Page, distraught

With terror, answer'd, "I see nought,
And there is nought to see,
Save that the oak's scathed boughs fling
down

Upon the path a shadow brown,
That, like a pilgrim's dusky gown,

Waves with the waving tree."

VII.

Count Harold gazed upon the oak
As if his eyestrings would have broke,
And then resolvedly said,—
"Be what it will yon phantom gray—
Nor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say
That for their shadows from his way

Count Harold turn'd dismay'd: I'll speak him, though his accents fill My heart with that unwonted thrill

Which vulgar minds call fear.
I will subdue it !"-Forth he strode,
Paused where the blighted oak-tree
show'd

Its sable shadow on the road,
And, folding on his bosom broad
His arms, said, “Speak-I hear.”

VIII.

The Deep Voice said, “O wild of will,
Furious thy purpose to fulfil –
Heart-sear'd and unrepentant still,
How long, O Harold, shall thy tread
Disturb the slumbers of the dead?
Each step in thy wild way thou makest,
The ashes of the dead thou wakest;
And shout in triumph o'er thy path
The fiends of bloodshed and of wrath.
In this thine hour, yet turn and hear!
For life is brief and judgment near.

IX.

Then ceased The Voice.-The Dane
replied

In tones where awe and inborn pride
For mastery strove, -"In vain ye chide
The wolf for ravaging the flock,
Or with its hardness taunt the rock,-
I am as they-my Danish strain
Sends streams of fire through ev'ry
vein.

Amid thy realms of goule and ghost,
Say, is the fame of Eric lost,
Or Witikind's the Waster, known
Where fame or spoil was to be won;
Whose galleys ne'er bore off a shore

They left not black with flame?He was my sire,-and, sprung of him, That rover merciless and grim,

Can I be soft and tame? Part hence, and with my crimes no more upbraid me,

I am that Waster's son, and am but what he made me."

XIII.

Joy shook his torch above the band,
By many a various passion fann'd ;-
As elemental sparks can feed
On essence pure and coarsest weed,
Gentle, or stormy, or refined,
Joy takes the colours of the mind.
Lightsome and pure, but unrepress'd,
He fired the bridegroom's gallant
breast;

More feebly strove with maiden fear,
Yet still joy glimmer'd through the tear
On the bride's blushing cheek, that
shows

Like dewdrop on the budding rose; While Wulfstane's gloomy smile declared

The glee that selfish avarice shared,
And pleased revenge and malice high
Joy's semblance took in Jutta's eye.
On dangerous adventure sped,
The witch deem'd Harold with the
dead,

Thus found that bridal band their path
Beset by Harold in his wrath.
Trembling beneath his maddening
mood,

High on a rock the giant stood;
His shout was like the doom of death
Spoke o'er their heads that pass'd
beneath.

His destined victims might not spy
The reddening terrors of his eye-
The frown of rage that writhed his
face,-

The lip that foam'd like boar's in chase ;

But all could see-and, seeing, all Bore back to shun the threaten'd fallThe fragment which their giant foe Rent from the cliff and heaved to throw.

XV.

Backward they bore;-yet are there

two

For battle who prepare : No pause of dread Lord William knew Ere his good blade was bare; And Wulfstane bent his fatal yew, But ere the silken cord he drew, As hurl'd from Hecla's thunder, flew

That ruin through the air! Full on the outlaw's front it came, And all that late had human name, And human face, and human frame, That lived, and moved, and had free will

To choose the path of good or ill,

Is to its reckoning gone; And nought of Wulfstane rests behind, Save that beneath that stone, Half-buried in the dinted clay, A red and shapeless mass there lay Of mingled flesh and bone!

XVI.

As from the bosom of the sky
The eagle darts amain,
Three bounds from yondersummit high
Placed Harold on the plain.
As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly,
So fled the bridal train;
As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might
The noble falcon dares the fight,

But dares the fight in vain,

So fought the bridegroom; from his hand

The Dane's rude mace has struck his brand,

Its glittering fragments strew the sand,
Its lord lies on the plain.
Now, Heaven! take noble William's
part,

And melt that yet unmelted heart,
Or, ere his bridal hour depart,

The hapless bridegroom's slain !

XVII.

Count Harold's frenzied rage is high,
There is a death-fire in his eye,
Deep furrows on his brow are trench'd,
His teeth are set, his hand is clench'd,
The foam upon his lip is white,
His deadly arm is up to smite!
But, as the mace aloft he swung,
Tostop the blow young Gunnar sprung,
Around his master's knees he clung,

And cried, "In mercy spare!
O, think upon the words of fear
Spoke by that visionary Seer,
The crisis he foretold is here,

Grant mercy, or despair!" This word suspended Harold's mood, Yet still with arm upraised he stood, And visage like the headsman's rude

That pauses for the sign. "O mark thee with the blessed rood,' The Page implored; "Speak word of good,

Resist the fiend, or be subdued !"

He sign'd the cross divineInstant his eye hath human light, Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright; His brow relax'd the obdurate frown, The fatal mace sinks gently down,

He turns and strides away; Yet oft, like revellers who leave Unfinish'd feast, looks back to grieve, As if repenting the reprieve

He granted to his prey. Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he given,

And fierce Witikind's son made one step towards heaven.

XVIII.

But though his dreaded footsteps part,

Death is behind and shakes his dart; Lord William on the plain is lying, Beside him Metelill seems dying!— Bring odours-essences in hasteAnd lo! a flasket richly chased,But Jutta the elixir proves

Ere pouring it for those she lovesThen Walwayn's potion was not wasted,

For when three drops the hag had tasted,

So dismal was her yell, Each bird of evil omen woke, The raven gave his fatal croak, And shriek'd the night-crow from the oak,

The screech-owl from the thicket broke,

And flutter'd down the dell ! So fearful was the sound and stern, The slumbers of the full-gorged erne Were startled, and from furze and fern

Of forest and of fell,

The fox and famish'd wolf replied, (For wolves then prowl'd the Cheviot side,)

From mountain head to mountain head The unhallow'd sounds around were

sped;

But when their latest echo fled,
The sorceress on the ground lay dead.

XIX.

Such was the scene of blood and woes, With which the bridal morn arose

Of William and of Metelill; But oft, when dawning 'gins to spread, The summer morn peeps dim and red Above the eastern hill, Ere, bright and fair, upon his road The King of Splendour walks abroad; So, when this cloud had pass'd away, Bright was the noontide of their day, And all serene its setting ray.