Harold, Book 12. The Last Of The Saxon Kings

r that, in truth, was to them the parting interview. The King had resolved, after completing all his martial preparations, to pass the night in the Abbey of Waltham; an

ad over the weeping face of the young bride that for the last time nestled to his bosom. There, with a smiling lip, but tremulous voice, the gay Leofwine soothed

nd with something of disdain, and of bitter remembrance of a nobler

y sake. Without thee, what am I? Is it even safe for me to rest here? W

hy brothers will be in London. Abide by their counsel; a

lord. "Think not of me, beloved; thy whole heart now be England's. And if-if"-her voice failed a mom

fe's side, and kisse

hee for our wives and mothers, England cou

She threw her arms over his b

lord. I have deemed thee ever right and just; now let me not lose thee, too. They go with thee, all my surviving so

ch man's first duty enjoined. Murmur not that that duty commands us still. We are the sons, through thee, of royal heroes; through my father, of Saxon freemen. Rejoi

ips apart and marble cheeks, could keep down no longer her human woman's heart; she rushed to Harold

iness and fame to come,-when, loving thee methought too well, too much as weak mothers may love a mortal son, I prayed God to detach my heart from earth!-Oh, Harold! now forgive me all my coldness. I shudder at thy resolve. I dread that thou should meet this man, whom an oath hath bound thee to obey. Nay, frown not-I bow to

Aldyth, ennobled by the contagion of the sublime emotion,-all clustered round Githa the mother of the three guardians of the fated land, and all knelt before her, by the side

cle, the eternity of Good. 'Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.' If, O Disposer of events, our human prayers are not adverse to thy pre-judged decrees, protect these lives, the bulwarks of our homes and altars, sons whom the land offers as a sacrifice. May thine angel turn