Battle of Hastings Part 3 (Poem)
From The Battle of Hastings and Other Poems by Sydney Hodges.
From: 1066 C.E. To: 1066 C.E.
Location: Battle Abbey, Butter Cross, High Street, Battle, UK
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
From The Battle of Hastings and Other Poems by Sydney Hodges.
Part III.
The Battle.
Up sprang the sun in glory,
Across the burning sky;
And straight the broad, bright world awoke,
Beneath his regnant eye.
And fast the mists of morning
Before his steps were driven.
As, flashing fax, his golden wheels
Rolled up the hill of heaven.
And when the clouds had risen.
From stream, and wold, and wood,
Far glittering in the light of day.
The two great armies stood.
2.
Beneath the royal banner,
The London Burghers stand;
And closely round are pressing,
The noblest of the land.
One broad, bright lake of silver sheen
Seemed all that great array,—
It was a regal sight to see
King Harold's flag that day.
The figure of a fighting man,
In combat fierce and bold.
Was woven in its crimson woof
With precious gems and gold.
And where it waved stood Harold,
'Mid warriors true and tried;
The broad axe gleamed within his hand,
The targe was by his side.
From his red steed dismounted,
He bravely stands in front.
To share with all his gallant men,
The glory and the brunt.
3.
Now from the Norman centre
Duke William forward sprang;
Beneath his war-steed's iron hoof
The earth like thunder rang.
The great, undaunted war-steed,
Coal black from heel to mane.
Brought, by the noble pilgrim,
From the fair lands of Spain.
4.
High rode the noble Norman,
In armour cap-a-pie;
In all the realms of Christendom,
No fairer knight than he.
No fairer knight to outward sight
That day to battle came;
But from his neck the relics hung,
That told of fraud and shame.
5.
The snow-white ducal banner
Waved proudly in the air;
Borne at his side, with eye of pride,
By Toustain called the fair.
By Toustain brave, who bore it
High o'er his dauntless head,
When Guiffart stern, and Raoul de Conche
Shrunk from the task in dread.
6.
High spoke the noble Norman,
His voice was like a spell;
O'er all the glittering ranks of men,
A breathless silence fell.
"Sons of the mighty Rollo,
Ere yon bright orb is set,
A richer conquest shall be ours,
Than ever crowned us yet.
The life blood in your bosoms.
Still bounds as high and bold,
As that which led our others on
To matchless deeds of old.
As flowed our swamps of Normandy,
With blood of slaughtered Franks,
With blood shall flow this field to-day.
From yonder haughty ranks.
By all your glories gained before,
By all that yet shall be;
Now, now ye Normans, charge amain.
For God and Chivalry!"
7.
While yet the Duke was speaking.
Each warlike heart beat high;
And with a shout the foremost line
Swept; like a storm-blast by.
And out sprang bloody Taillefer,
As fleet as steed could go;
And craved permission from the Duke
To strike the leading blow.
8.
On, on he spurred like lightning,
Singing a warlike strain;
The chosen song of chivalry,
Of Roland and Charlemagne.
He struck the foremost Saxon,
With his war-horse on the bound;
And the good standard-bearer,
Rolled dead upon the ground.
9.
The next flung high his pole-axe,
To beat the minstrel back;
But Taillefar struck a quicker blow,
And left him in his track.
The third upon his target,
Right fairly met the blow,
And cleft in turn the minstrel's helm.
And bared his skull below.
Down from his steed he toppled.
Like stout limb from stout oak.
And with a bloody track behind.
And wild as wolf upon the wind.
Away the charger broke.
10.
Fitz-Osborne and Montgomery,
They lead the foremost line;
Fitz-Osborne whose great deeds of. fame
Bright as his hauberk shine.
Fast, fast his light-armed bowmen
Press o'er the open ground,
And far along the gathering line
The battle cries resound.
11.
As drives the hail in winter
Across the darkened sky,
From those bold Norman archers,
A thousand arrows fly.
But firm stood every Saxon,
Beneath his shining shield,
And harmless fell a thousand shafts.
Upon the battle field.
12.
Forth leaping high in heaven,
The Duke's good broadsword shines;
And at his word the leaders.
Went thundering down the lines.
Fast came the Norman squadrons,
On war-steeds prancing wild,
But fast the Saxons met their charge,
And sternly on them smiled.
Now darker grew the battle,
The Saxon smiled no more.
But, limb to limb, with visage grim,
Struck out 'mid dust and gore.
The deadly axe descended,
The lance was thrown aside;
And many a warlike visage
With spouting blood was dyed.
And madly reared the horses,
And snorted loud and fell;
And o'er the heaps of slaughtered men,
The fight raged like a hell.
And thousands lay death-stricken,
'Neath that dark field of gore.
By the red whirlpool of the war,
Dragged down to rise no more.
13.
Throughout the Norman centre,
The battle still raged hot;
But far along the outer line,
A sudden panic shot.
It seized upon the horsemen.
The horsemen of Bretagne,
For wide was there the slaughter,
And wide the heaps of slain.
It seized upon the footmen,
For sorely had they bled;
They dropped their arms in terror,
And turned about and fled.
14.
Concealed by earth and brushwood,
A hidden trench lay near;
Across the deadly brink they came
Spurred on by deadly fear:
And downward like doomed spirits
Into the pit of hell,
Man over man and horse on horse,
In shapeless masses fell.
15.
Then rose up to the heavens
A cry of wild despair;
And all who heard it turned about
To see the havoc there.
And with an answering outcry,
Of terror and dismay,
Whole troops in wild confusion tossed,
Turned round and fled away:
And yet a greater panic
Spread o'er the battle plain,
When a low murmur passed about.
Burst forth in one tumultuous shout,
"The Duke, the Duke is slain."
16.
Forth to the fight sprang William,
With eye of fury's fire.
His helm was gone, his head was bare.
His cheek was white with ire.
His steed sprang like a lion
Forth from its forest lair,
The yellow foam was on his flank,
His bloody eye-ball bare.
His steed sprang like a lion,
Over the clotted dead;
Eight down upon the scattered host,
Like a holt from heaven he sped.
Before the flying legions
His giant form uprose;
The boldest quailed beneath his glance,
The boldest feared his blows.
" Back! back! ye trembling cowards.
Back cravens, back or die;
Blood of St. Denis, have I lived
To see a Norman fly?
The spirit of my father
Has lit my breast with flame;
Robert the Devil lives again
To see this day your shame.
And by yon holy banner
He'll find fit cause for fear.
Who dares while this good broadsword waves,
To play the coward here!"
17.
Swift at the word they rally,
And turn again to fight;
And foremost sped Duke William,
With blade and arm of might.
And from his reeking broadsword,
Rolled many a grisly head:
And fast around his passage rose
Great heaps of quivering dead.
18.
Amid the hot pursuers
A stalwart Saxon rode;
Upon his crest a golden star
In dazzling sunlight glowed.
Upon a dark red war-horse.
Heavy and strong of tread,—
Above all other knights he rode
Higher by half a head.
With both hands on his pole-axe,
High o'er the field his form
Swayed like the arms of some tall pine.
Rocked in a midnight storm.
And nought could meet the fury,
Of that great warrior's blow;
And from his path shrunk back in dread.
The boldest of the foe.
19.
The fiery Duke espied him,
And spurred his steed with ire;
The steed that 'neath his master's touch,
Shrunk not from flood or fire.
To where the Saxon battled,
He carved a bloody way;
And struck him full the hardest stroke,
That knight had struck that day.
20.
It fell upon his helmet.
The helm was tightly laced;
In shining steel from head to heel
The Saxon was encased.
He swung aloft his pole-axe,
And struck with matchless might;
It glanced from off the Norman's crest,
Like a meteor in its flight.
Again the axe descended,
And not again had missed.
But a backward blow struck off his hand,
A sword-breadth from the wrist.
Another stroke descended.
And split his casque and skull;
One moment flashed is eye with fire,
The next 'twas glazed and dull.
The bleeding stump hung lifeless.
He drooped his lofty head.
And like a crag from mountain side,
Fell from his charger dead.
21.
Now had the fight been raging
For six long hours and more;
And every hour the slaughter
Grew deadlier than before:
When on a rising hillock.
Hard by the Norman right,
Duke William drew his charger's rein.
And gazed far o'er the fight.
22.
“A blight upon these Saxons,"
With baffled rage he cried;
"Not all the fiercest ranks of hell
Could quell their stubborn pride.
I swear by this good broadsword,
I’d forfeit half my right.
To see that tinseled banner
Torn down from yonder height."
23.
No word spake Robert Tesser,
But slowly turned his steed;
Then galloped lightly to the rear.
And dashed across the mead:
Beneath the westward hill he rode
Towards a distant wood,
That stretching from the Saxon flank,
In quiet beauty stood.
24.
No word spake Robert Tesser,
But he vowed a secret vow:
And courage gleamed within his eye,
And strength was on his brow.
There was not in all Normandy
A youth of fairer name,
And a noble mother watched at home,
For tidings of his fame.
25.
He breathed his charger in the wood,
Where softly stole the wind;
The dry leaves rustled as he passed,
Like stealthy feet behind.
A few faint flowers were there, whose sweets
Outlived the summer days;
And they spoke to him of youth and home,
Of his home by fair Falaise.
26.
He led his charger up the wood
With stealthy steps and slow,
O'er looking from the topmost height
The glittering host helow.
And as the red-winged lightning
Shoots down some mountain crag.
Broke wildly from the wooded height
And rushed upon the flag.
27.
And when the eager Normans
Beheld him from afar,
A deafening shout of triumph
Rose o'er the din of war.
"Now by my faith," cried William,
"If this tough day is mine.
The fairest lands in England,
Brave champion shall be thine.”
28.
Before the Saxon banner
Stood warrior stout and true.
But fast came Robert Tesser,
And pierced him through and through.
Against another target
His lance split like a reed,
And straight he drew his falchion true,
Stout friend in sternest need.
29.
His blows fell quick and heavy.
Strong burghers licked the dust;
While from his shield and corselet
Glanced many a furious thrust.
Still onward plunged his charger,
The flag was in his grasp;
When one death-dealing blow behind
Unfixed his gorget clasp.
Another clove his helmet,
And head and neck lay bare;
And wildly from his youthful brow
Floated his long black hair.
Down, down sank Robert Tesser,
Like a ship beneath the flood;
While o'er him closed a sea of swords,
Red with his noble blood.
30.
But when the Normans saw him fall
One savage shout arose;
And swiftly to the fight they turned,
And fell upon the foes.
But ranged behind their trenches,
The Saxons bore the brunt;
And nought could shake their steady hearts,
And nought could break their front.
31.
"Infernal furies seize them,"
Duke William fiercely cried;
And summoned with a wrathful voice
His nobles to his side.
Now hasten Count Fitz-Eustace,
Put spurs into thy roan,
And choose a thousand horsemen,
From the ranks of brave Boulogne.
32.
"Bear down upon their trenches,
With all thy wonted might;
Then turn, as if in sudden fear,
And feign a hasty flight.
I, with the leading squadrons.
Will be in waiting near;
And if they dare attempt pursuit.
Attack them in the rear."
33.
As swift as flies the thunderbolt,
Count Eustace of Boulogne,
Fast followed by a thousand horse,
Adown the field hath flown,
And now with cunning cries of fear,
His troop hath swiftly wheeled;
And breaking up their ranks in haste.
Far fled across the field.
34.
The Saxons saw and followed.
Like falcons on the wind;
But William with a deafening shout,
Fell on them from behind.
And wheeling at the signal,
Fitz-Eustace charged again,
And hemmed between, the Saxons glared
Like lions in a den.
35.
Then rose once more the battle,
And ground was lost and won;
And now the bloody fight had raged
From morn 'till set of sun.
The combat still waxed hottest.
Where good King Harold fought;
Harold, who through the livelong day,
Such deeds of arms had wrought.
No man in all the battle.
Had fought with sword so keen;
In all the thickest of the fight,
That fatal blade was seen.
Where'er upon stout warrior,
Came down his deadly stroke.
It cleft in twain his helm and skull,
As lightning cleaves the oak.
36.
The sun was fast descending
Be the western hill,
But round the royal banner,
The fight was raging still.
And fast the Norman courage
Was changing into dread;
When from a bowman in the rear,
A random arrow sped.
Swift for an instant in its flight
It glanced across the sky.
Then on the fair haired Harold fell.
And pierced his princely eye.
37.
He reeled, and for a moment
Sank low upon his knee;
Then sprang up like the swift rebound
Of some tall storm-bent tree.
Beneath the crimson banner
He sternly took his stand;
The sharp wound rankled in his eye
But still he grasped his brand.
Fierce foes were pressing round him,
Quick came and went his breath;
He felt the life blood flowing fast,
But still fought on to death,
He saw the wild confusion,
The moist earth running red.
And friends and foes by thousands.
Far heaped around him dead.
He saw the banners streaming,
The squadrons rushing by.
The broken tumult of the fight.
The tossing plumes on high.
A dazzling beam of glory.
From out the fading west.
For one brief instant bathed his brow.
And tinged his golden crest.
And foremost in the battle.
His spirit soared for flight.
While closing o'er his lifeless corpse,
Rolled on the waves of fight.
38.
When that bright eve was ended,
When fell the gloom of night,
What fate had marked those dauntless hearts
That fought for England's right?
Where lay at night those glittering ranks.
That when the mom arose.
Fast flowing on in mailed might.
So nobly met their foes?
39.
Far stretched around their slaughtered king,
A mournful heap of slain.
How few of all that gallant host.
E'er saw the mom again.
Yet worse their fate who still lived on,
A broken scattered band.
While the proud Norman sat enthroned,
The conqueror of the land.
40.
O'er the red field of battle,
When years had passed away;
And ‘neath the soil great heaps of slain
Had mouldered to decay:
When rapine, sword, and slaughter,
All, all had passed and gone;
And peace across the fair green land,
Once more in beauty shone;
41.
Where stood the royal banner.
Where fiercest fought the foes,
Like a calm spirit from the dead,
A peaceful abbey rose.
At matins and at vespers
Rang out the deep-toned bell,
O’er the dark spot where years before
The good King Harold fell.
42.
Just where he fell in battle.
The sacred altar stood;
And there the monks were wont to pray,
Before the Holy Rood.
And mom and evening ever,
They holy chants would swell,
O'er the dark spot where years before,
The good King Harold fell.
43.
But now the very abbey
A hoary ruin stands;
And bean-fields, and rich yellow corn.
Wave o'er the smiling lands.
And peasants as they tum the soil,
Still point the spot and tell
Wild tales of that great fight of old,
When good King Harold fell
Hodges, Sydney. The Battle of Hastings and Other Poems. Simpkin, Marshall and Co., 1853.
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