The Visions of England | Page 7

by the chronicler, Henry of Huntingdon.
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 hell?Yestereve ran the forest,?With baying and yell:--?In his cups the Red heathen?Mocks God 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 lust and the pride;?And the curses of England?Breathe hot at his side.?And the desecrate walls?Of the Evil-wood shrine?Lo, he passes--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 hell-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 carcass 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