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vertheless the song was as blythe, and the boughs were as green, as if king and ealderman had walked in the train.'

Passing over the portrait of Hilda the Prophetess, who, being an elderly, and not very interesting female, and introduced for the purpose of making the reader acquainted with some of the curious superstitions of our forefathers, we shall now present to the notice of our readers the graceful portrait of Edith the Fair; and if the author has committed" a departure" from the details of history, in regard of her connexion with Harold, he has unquestionably, by so doing, rendered his story infinitely more touching, in the deeper interest, and plaintive sadness, with which the character of his heroine is invested. In attaining his avowed object, of rendering the work "more fitting for a general perusal, and one that might be entrusted fearlessly to the young," he has, at the same time, achieved the double purpose of gaining a larger field for the display of the artistic skill, which he so largely possesses, in elaborating from the elements of the affections those beautiful results which can only be drawn from a pure and loving female heart :

"Near the window sat a woman, advanced in years, and of a mien and aspect singularly majestic. Upon a small tripod before her was a Runic manuscript, and an inkstand of elegant form, with a silver graphium or pen. At her feet reclined a girl somewhat about the age of sixteen; her long, fair hair parted across her forehead, and falling far down her shoulders. Her dress was a linen under-tunic, with long sleeves, rising high to the throat, and without one of the modern artificial restraints of the shape; the simple belt sufficed to show the slender proportions and delicate outline of the wearer.

"The colour of the dress was of the purest white; but its hems or borders were richly embroidered. This girl's beauty was something marvellous. In a land proverbial for fair women, it had already obtained her the name of the fair. In that beauty were blended, not as yet without a struggle for mastery, the two expressions seldom united in one countenance-the soft and the noble; indeed in the whole aspect there was he evidence of some internal struggle. The intelligence was not yet complete; the soul and heart were not yet united; and Edith, the Christian maid, dwelt in

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My May is not the blossom bough,
The music in the sky;
My May was in the winter frost,

When one was smiling by.'"

Whoever looks into the poetry of our Anglo-Saxon forefathers, will soon see the marked difference which the sweet and simple style of this exquisite little ballad presents to the striking metaphors and frequent periphrases in which their rude conceptions abound. It is difficult to conceive anything more barbarous than the abrupt and imperfect reliques that have been handed down to us as specimens of the AngloSaxon poetry.

The main object of the bards seems to have been to create obscurity, not by a redundance of epithets, but by endeavouring to express their ideas in as few words as it was possible. In the historical songs of our ances tors, selected by Sharon Turner, abun dant specimens may be found. The Song of Canute, the poems of Adhelm, and the translation by Alfred of Boë thius, and of the Song of Cadmon, abound in these peculiarities so inte resting to those who are desirous of tracing the progress of song from those remote and quaint originals. "The characteristics of Anglo-Saxon song, says Mr. Turner, in his valuable work, "seem to be these-it consists chiefly of periphrases and metaphors, express

ed in a metrical but simple arrangement of words, with some alliteration. The usual particles are most frequently omitted, and the intended meaning is conveyed in short and contracted phrase, multiplied by the periphrasis and metaphor. The position of the words is forced out of the natural arrangement, by a wilful inversion, and the regular course of the subject is frequently interrupted by violent and abrupt transitions. By these peculiarities, which seem to be quite artificial, the Saxon poetry is distinguished from prose." But to return to our author. Possibly, few of the portraits, which stand out so fresh and living from his canvas, are exceeded in accuracy, as well as depth of colouring, by that of William the Conqueror. The lights and deep shadows of his character are truly touched by a master-hand, and a more exquisite representation of that extraordinary man, or a more skilful development of the qualities of his powerful and crafty mind, it is difficult to conceive. Nothing can be finer than the contrast which it presents to the portrait of the chivalrous and simple nature of the illustrious Saxon; and throughout the many passages in the book before us which bear the broad mark of the master's hand-his delineation of the character of William the Conqueror can hardly be surpassed. He has attained at once the great ends of truth and effect, without omitting one of those delicate touches by which a character so mixed can only be indieated. But let us, without any further prefatory account, give our readers his portrait, as he appeared to the eyes of the Saxon maiden on that sweet May evening:

"Edith instinctively raised her eyes, and once fixed upon the knight, they seemed chained as by a spell. His vest, of a eramoisay so dark that it seemed black beside the snowy garb of the Confessor, was edged by a deep band of embroidered gold, leaving perfectly bare his firm, full throat-firm and full as a column of granite; a short jacket or mantaline of fur, pendant from the shoulders, left developed in all its breadth, a breast that seemed meet to stay the march of an army; and on the left arm, curved to support the falcon, the vast muscles rose round and gnarled through the close sleeve.

"In height, he was really but little

above the stature of many of those present; nevertheless, so did his port, his air, the nobility of his large proportions fill the eye, that he seemed to tower immeasurably above the rest. His countenance was yet more remarkable than his form. Still in the prime of youth, he seemed at the first glance younger, at the second older than he was. At the first glance younger, for his face was perfectly shaven, without even the moustache which the Saxon courtier, in imitating the Norman, still declined to surrender, and the smooth visage and bare throat sufficed in themselves to give the air of youth to that dominant and imperious presence, His small skull-cap left unconcealed his forehead, shaded with short, thick hair, uncurled but black and glossy as the wings of a raven. It was on that forehead that time had set its traces; it was knit into a frown over the eyebrows; lines deep as furrows crossed its broad but not elevated expanse. frown spoke of hasty ire, and the habit of stern command. Those furrows spoke of deep thought and plotting scheme; the one betrayed but temper and circumstance the other, more noble, spoke of the character and the intellect. face was square, and the regard lionlike; the mouth, small and even beautiful in outline, had a sinister expression in its exceeding firmness; and the jaw, vast, solid, as if bound in iron, showed obstinate, ruthless, determined willsuch a jaw as belongs to the tiger amongst beasts, and the conqueror amongst men-such as it is seen in the effigies of Cæsar, of Cortes, of Napoleon.

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"That presence was well calculated to command the admiration of women, not less than the awe of men. But no admiration mingled with the terror that seized the girl, as she gazed long and wistful upon the knight. The fascination of the serpent on the bird held her mute and frozen. Never was that face forgotten; often, in after life, it haunted her in the noonday-it frowned upon her dreams."

In order to connect the extracts which we intend to quote, it may be as well to give our readers a short abstract of the story upon which they are grafted; and in doing so we shall not occupy their time further than is absolutely necessary, in order to recall to their recollection that portion of our national history which this work is intended to illustrate.

The banishment of the great Earl Godwin, with his sons, Sweyn, Tostig, and Gurth, from the shores of Eng

land, was caused by his resistance to the predatory invasion of Eustache of Boulogne, a Norman count, who ravaged the town of Dover, which was situated within the government of the English earl. He retired to his native country about the year 1052, and the questions at issue between him and Edward the Confessor having been referred to the arbitration of the English chiefs under the presidency of Stigand, Bishop of East Anglia, it was decided by them that the king should accept of their oath of peace, retaining as hostages the earl's son and grandson, who were afterwards committed to the care of William the Norman. A complete reconciliation between the king and Godwin was the result, and the Norman adventurers, with which the kingdom then swarmed, speedily fled from England.

"It is difficult," say the old chroniclers, "to estimate exactly the degree of the sincerity of King Edward, in his return to the national interest, and his reconciliation with the family of Godwin. Surrounded by his countrymen, he perhaps thought himself enslaved, and regarded his obedience to the wishes of the nation that had made him king, as a constraint. His ulterior relations with the Duke of Normandy -his private conferences with the Normans who remained about his person, are the secrets of history. All we know is, that an apparent friendship existed between the king and his fatherin-law, and that, at the same time, Godwin was utterly detested in Normandy. The foreigners whom his return had deprived of their places and honours, those to whom the facile and brilliant career of courtiers to the king of England was now closed, never named Godwin without calling him traitor, enemy of his king, murderer of the young Alfred. To the crime, of which his enemies thus accused him, is attributed, by Norman historians, the death of Godwin. We are told by the chroniclers, that upon his saying, at the table of Edward, "If I contributed even indirectly to his death, may this piece of bread choke me," he put the bread to his mouth, fell down, and shortly afterwards expired. But the accounts of the circumstance vary, ac

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cording to the national tendencies of the respective relators. "I ever see before me," says William of Malmsbury, "two roads-two opposite versionsand I warn my readers of the peril in which I find myself."

During the absence of the Normans, the fame and popularity of Harold rapidly increased. He defeated, after a series of sanguinary encounters among their mountain fastnesses, the Welsh, headed by their king, Griffyth, and eventually became the first man in the kingdom. After two years of internal peace, the reconciliation of the king with the family of Godwin became so complete, that there seemed no longer any reason for the detention of the two hostages which had been sent to the Duke of Normandy, as guarantees for the conduct of Godwin. They had now been in captivity for upwards of ten years, and Harold, wrought upon by the entreaties of his mother, at length determined to go to the court of William, and demand their release. So he obtained the sanction of the king for this demand, who, however, at the same time, appeared greatly averse to the expedition of Harold in person into Normandy.

"I will not compel you to stay," said he; "but if you go, it will be without my consent; for your journey will certainly bring some evil upon yourself and your country. I know Duke William and his crafty mind; he hates you, and will grant you nothing unless he gain greatly by it. The only way safely to obtain the hostages from him, were to send some one else."*

Harold, disdaining this cautionary advice, set sail for Normandy, but suffered shipwreck upon the coast, near the mouth of the Somme, then the territory of Guy, the Count de Ponthiers, by whom he was seized as a sort of waif; and having been relieved of any personal property he happened to have, was cast, with all his retinue, into the fortress of Belrain, near Montreuil.

An immediate representation of this outrage having been forwarded to William, Harold was, after some negotiation, at length released. He proceeded

Chronique de Normandie, Rec. des. Hist. de France," quoted by Thierry.

to Rouen, where he was received by Duke William with the honours befitting his rank, and an apparent cordiality, under which was concealed his most treacherous designs. He was informed that the hostages should be released at his request, and that he might retire with them wherever it pleased him, but that he ought to remain in order to see the towns and festivals of the country. Harold remained, and accompanied his host in an expedition against the Bretons, in which he signalized himself by deeds of valour. He and William, saith the chronicler, as long as the war lasted, had but one tent and one table. Upon their return from this expedition, the duke availed himself of an early opportunity of imparting to his unsuspicious guest his designs upon the English crown, to which he alleged he was entitled by a former promise of the king.

"Edward and I," said he, "lived under the same roof like two brothers. He promised me, if ever he became king of England, to make me heir to his kingdom. Harold, if thou wouldst aid me in realizing this promise, be sure that if thou obtain the kingdom, whatever thou askest thou shalt have." Harold, completely taken off his guard, and feeling he had really placed himself in the Norman's power, gave some vague promise; upon which William succeeded in extracting from him a further promise, that he would give his sister in marriage to one of the Norman barons; that he would marry William's daughter, Adeliza, and that he would fortify Dover castle, and dig a well of fresh water there, for the convenience of the invaders. This promise, so rashly given, William afterwards caused him to confirm by an oath, in which the Saxon was completely taken by surprise.

All the nobles and barons of Normandy were assembled at the castle of Bayeux, whither William had previously ordered all the bones, relics, and even entire bodies of saints, taken from shrines in the neighbourhood, to be brought, and placed in the councilhall, in a large box covered with a cloth of gold. William, having seated himself upon his throne, and surrounded by the barons of Normandy, with drawn swords, ordered two reliquaries to be brought in, and placed

on the cloth of gold. He then required Harold to confirm by oath upon them the promise he had previously extracted from him. Harold, taken again by surprise, swore the required oath. The Norman barons exclaim, "God aid him;" the cloth of gold was then drawn aside, and for the first time the bones and ghastly remains of the dead saints being displayed to the Saxon's appalled gaze, showed him the awful nature of the oath he had taken.

This oath, thus sworn upon relics, however ridiculous it may appear in the present day, was one of the most terrible that could be taken, and its violation was, in those superstitious times, supposed to bring down the direct and dreadful vengeance of hea

ven.

William, having thus gained his object, allowed the Saxon to depart, and not long afterwards Edward the Confessor died, and Harold, by the unanimous voice of the people, as expressed by the writer, was chosen king. In the words of the AngloSaxon chronicler-" Comes Haroldus unanimi omnium consensu in regem eligitur, quia non erat eo prudentior in terra armis magis strenuus, legum terræ sagacior in omni genere probitatis cultior."

It was thought necessary that the Saxon king should cement more strongly the foundations of his power by an alliance with Aldyth, the widow of Griffyth, the king of the Welsh. And thus a severance was effected of those ties which connected him with the gentle Edith. The pictures which Sir Edward Lytton has drawn of the fair Saxon's sorrow and resignation, under these trying circumstances, as well as of the noble fortitude of Harold, are full of the most beautiful and touching interest, and must prove irresistibly attractive to his readers of the softer sex. Indeed, we think that there cannot be produced, in the compass of the English language, anything more full of perfect beauty, than those passages, in which are narrated the strength of disappointed love, and the search, after the battle of Hastings, for the body of the murdered king.

The Duke of Normandy, we are told, was in the woods near Rouen, trying some new arrows, when the intelligence of Harold's accession to the throne of England reached him.

He was filled with indignation at what he considered so base a breach of faith, and commenced immediate preparations for the invasion of England. Experiencing considerable difficulty in raising the supplies necessary for the equipment of his armament, and was obliged to have recourse to one of those artifices, for which he was so remarkable, in order to secure either the consent or the assistance of his subjects.

In the meantime Tostig, a brother of Harold's, who had been expelled by his subjects, in consequence of his arbitrary and despotic measures in Northumbria, and who had taken a temporary refuge in Flanders, after some negotiations with William, went to Norway to secure the assistance of Harold, the son of Sigurd, one of the vikings or pirates of the northern seas, "the last of the Scandinavians who led the adventurous life, whose charm had vanished with the religion of Odin." The Norwegian allowed himself to be prevailed upon, and promised his assistance, with a fleet, as soon as the approach of spring should have freed the northern ocean from ice.

William had laid an accusation of sacrilege against the king of England before the court of Rome, and through the influence of the monk, Lanfranc, succeeded in obtaining sentence of excommunication against Harold.

The sentence, pronounced by the pope himself, was in terms that William should have permission to enter England, to bring that kingdom back to the obedience of the holy see, and to re-establish there for ever the tax of Peter's pence. A bull of excommunication, directed against Harold and all his adherents, was given to William's messenger, and to it was added a banner of the Roman Church, and a ring, containing one of the hairs of Saint Peter, set under a diamond of great price. This was the double emblem of military and ecclesiastical investiture. The consecrated banner, which was to consecrate the invasion of England by the Duke of Normandy, was the same which, a few years before, the Normans had planted, in the name of the church, upon the castles of Campania.

We have now presented to the notice of our readers a brief abstract of the history of those times, yet suffi.

cient, we trust, to enable them to understand the extracts from the book, by which we mean to accompany it. The remainder of the story we shall reserve, as we feel assured they are all thirsting for some of the brilliant pictures of the author.

The death of Godwin, the Earl, is described with most touching interest. Our readers will recollect the historical account of it, which we have just presented to them; that colour was doubtless given to it by the hostile pens of the Norman historians. Our author describes it as the result of natural decay; and the gradual breaking up of the earl's health is told with exceeding beauty. Hilda, the prophetess, pays him a visit in order once more to clasp his hand and gaze upon his brow; and, her mission done, she is about to wend her way homewards :

"That shalt thou not, Hilda,' said the hospitable earl: 'the meanest wayfarer hath a right to bed and board in this house for a night and a day, and thou wilt not disgrace us by leaving our threshold, the bread unbroken, and the couch unpressed. Old friend, we were young together, and thy face is welcome to me as the memory of former days.'

"Hilda shook her head, and one of those rare, and for that reason most touching, expressions of tenderness, of which the calm and rigid character of her features when in repose seemed scarcely susceptible, softened her eye, and relaxed the firm lines of her lips.

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"At sunset we part, at sunset we shall meet again; and behold! the star rises on the sunset, and the star, broader and brighter, shall rise on the sunset then! When thy hand draws the robe from the chest, think on Hilda, and know that at that hour she stands by the grave of the Saxon warrior, and that from the grave dawns the future. Farewell to thee.'

"Harold longed to speak to her of Edith, but a strange awe at his heart chained his lips, so he stood silent by the great wooden gates of the rude house. The torches flamed around him, and Hilda's face seemed lurid in the glare. There he stood musing long after torch and ceorl had passed away, nor did he wake from his reverie till Ġurth, springing from his panting horse, passed his arm round the earl's shoulder, and cried

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