The Rowley Poems Part 51

Alrick his brother, when hee this perceevd, He drewe his swerde, his lefte hande helde a speere, Towards the duke he turnd his prauncyng steede, And to the G.o.dde of heaven he sent a prayre; Then sent his lethale javlyn in the ayre, 295 On Hue de Beaumontes backe the javelyn came, Thro his redde armour to hys harte it tare, He felle and thondred on the place of fame; Next with his swerde he 'sayld the Seiur de Roe, And braste his sylver helme, so furyous was the blowe. 300

But w.i.l.l.yam, who had seen hys prowesse great, And feered muche how farre his bronde might goe, Tooke a strong arblaster, and bigge with fate From tw.a.n.gynge iron sente the fleetynge floe.

As Alric hoistes hys arme for dedlie blowe, 305 Which, han it came, had been Du Roees laste, The swyfte-wyngd messenger from w.i.l.l.yams bowe Quite throwe his arme into his syde ypaste; His eyne shotte fyre, lyke blazyng starre at nyghte, He grypd his swerde, and felle upon the place of fyghte. 310

O Alfwolde, saie, how shalle I synge of thee Or telle how manie dyd benethe thee falle; Not Haroldes self more Normanne knyghtes did slee, Not Haroldes self did for more praises call; How shall a penne like myne then shew it all? 315 Lyke thee their leader, eche Bristowyanne foughte; Lyke thee, their blaze must be canonical, Fore theie, like thee, that daie bewrecke yroughte: Did thirtie Normannes fall upon the grounde, Full half a score from thee and theie receive their fatale wounde. 320

First Fytz Chivelloys felt thie direful force; Nete did hys helde out brazen sheelde availe; Eftsoones throwe that thie drivynge speare did peerce Nor was ytte stopped by his coate of mayle; Into his breaste it quicklie did a.s.sayle; 325 Out ran the bloude, like hygra of the tyde; With purple stayned all hys adventayle; In scarlet was his cuishe of sylver dyde: Upon the bloudie carnage house he laie, Whylst hys longe sheelde dyd gleem with the sun's rysing ray. 330

Next Fescampe felle; O Chrieste, howe harde his fate To die the leckedst knyghte of all the thronge!

His sprite was made of malice deslavate, Ne shoulden find a place in anie songe.

The broch'd keene javlyn hurld from honde so stronge 335 As thine came thundrynge on his crysted beave; Ah! neete avayld the bra.s.s or iron thonge, With mightie force his skulle in twoe dyd cleave; Fallyng he shooken out his smokyng braine, As witherd oakes or elmes are hewne from off the playne. 340

For, Norcie, could thie myghte and skilfulle lore Preserve thee from the doom of Alfwold's speere; Couldste thou not kenne, most skyll'd Astrelagoure.

How in the battle it would wythe thee fare?

When Alfwolds javelyn, rattlynge in the ayre, 345 From hande dyvine on thie habergeon came, Oute at thy backe it dyd thie hartes bloude bear, It gave thee death and everlastynge fame; Thy deathe could onlie come from Alfwolde arme, As diamondes onlie can its fellow diamonds harme. 350

Next Sire du Mouline fell upon the grounde, Quite throughe his throte the lethal javlyn preste, His soule and bloude came roushynge from the wounde; He closd his eyen, and opd them with the blest.

It can ne be I should behight the rest, 355 That by the myghtie arme of Alfwolde felle, Paste bie a penne to be counte or expreste, How manie Alfwolde sent to heaven or h.e.l.le; As leaves from trees shook by derne Autumns hand, So laie the Normannes slain by Alfwold on the strand. 360

As when a drove of wolves withe dreary yelles a.s.sayle some flocke, ne care if shepster ken't, Besprenge destructione oer the woodes and delles; The shepster swaynes in vayne theyr lees lement; So foughte the Brystowe menne; ne one crevent, 365 Ne onne abashd enthoughten for to flee; With fallen Normans all the playne besprent, And like theyr leaders every man did flee; In vayne on every syde the arrowes fled; The Brystowe menne styll ragd, for Alfwold was not dead. 370

Manie meanwhile by Haroldes arm did falle, And Leofwyne and Gyrthe encreasd the slayne; 'Twould take a Nestor's age to synge them all, Or telle how manie Normannes preste the playne; But of the erles, whom recorde nete hath slayne, 375 O Truthe! for good of after-tymes relate, That, thowe they're deade, theyr names may lyve agayne, And be in deathe, as they in life were, greate; So after-ages maie theyr actions see, And like to them aeternal alwaie stryve to be. 380

Adhelm, a knyghte, whose holie deathless fire For ever bended to St. Cuthbert's shryne, Whose breast for ever burnd with sacred fyre.

And een on erthe he myghte be calld dyvine; To Cuthbert's church he dyd his goodes resygne, 385 And lefte hys son his G.o.d's and fortunes knyghte; His son the Saincte behelde with looke adigne, Made him in gemot wyse, and greate in fyghte; Saincte Cuthberte dyd him ayde in all hys deedes, His friends he lets to live, and all his fomen bleedes. 390

He married was to Kenewalchae faire, The fynest dame the sun or moone adave; She was the myghtie Aderedus heyre, Who was alreadie hastynge to the grave; As the blue Bruton, rysinge from the wave, 395 Like sea-G.o.ds seeme in most majestic guise.

And rounde aboute the risynge waters lave, And their longe hayre arounde their bodie flies, Such majestic was in her porte displaid, To be excelld bie none but Homer's martial maid. 400

White as the chaulkie clyffes of Brittaines isle, Red as the highest colour'd Gallic wine, Gaie as all nature at the mornynge smile, Those hues with pleasaunce on her lippes combine, Her lippes more redde than summer evenynge skyne, 405 Or Phoebus rysinge in a frostie morne, Her breste more white than snow in feeldes that lyene, Or lillie lambes that never have been shorne, Swellynge like bubbles in a boillynge welle, Or new-braste brooklettes gently whyspringe in the delle. 410

Browne as the fylberte droppyng from the sh.e.l.le, Browne as the nappy ale at Hocktyde game, So browne the crokyde rynges, that featlie fell Over the neck of the all-beauteous dame.

Greie as the morne before the ruddie flame 415 Of Phoebus charyotte rollynge thro the skie, Greie as the steel-horn'd goats Conyan made tame, So greie appeard her featly sparklyng eye; Those eyne, that did oft mickle pleased look On Adhelm valyaunt man, the virtues doomsday book. 420

Majestic as the grove of okes that stoode Before the abbie buylt by Oswald kynge; Majestic as Hybernies holie woode, Where sainctes and soules departed ma.s.ses synge; Such awe from her sweete looke forth issuynge 425 At once for reveraunce and love did calle; Sweet as the voice of thraslarkes in the Spring, So sweet the wordes that from her lippes did falle; None fell in vayne; all shewed some entent; Her wordies did displaie her great entendement. 430

Tapre as candles layde at Cuthberts shryne, Tapre as elmes that Goodrickes abbie shrove, Tapre as silver chalices for wine, So tapre was her armes and shape ygrove.

As skyllful mynemenne by the stones above 435 Can ken what metalle is ylach'd belowe, So Kennewalcha's face, ymade for love, The lovelie ymage of her soule did shewe; Thus was she outward form'd; the sun her mind Did guilde her mortal shape and all her charms refin'd. 440

What blazours then, what glorie shall he clayme, What doughtie Homere shall hys praises synge, That lefte the bosome of so fayre a dame Uncall'd, unaskt, to serve his lorde the kynge?

To his fayre shrine goode subjects oughte to bringe 445 The armes, the helmets, all the spoyles of warre, Throwe everie reaulm the poets blaze the thynge, And travelling merchants spredde hys name to farre; The stoute Norwegians had his anlace felte, And nowe amonge his foes dethe-doynge blowes he delte. 450

As when a wolfyn gettynge in the meedes He rageth sore, and doth about hym slee, Nowe here a talbot, there a lambkin bleeds, And alle the gra.s.se with clotted gore doth stree; As when a rivlette rolles impetuouslie, 455 And breaks the bankes that would its force restrayne, Alonge the playne in fomynge rynges doth flee, Gaynste walles and hedges doth its course maintayne; As when a manne doth in a corn-fielde mowe, With ease at one felle stroke full manie is laide lowe. 460

So manie, with such force, and with such ease, Did Adhelm slaughtre on the bloudie playne; Before hym manie dyd theyr hearts bloude lease, Ofttymes he foughte on towres of smokynge slayne.

Angillian felte his force, nor felte in vayne; 465 He cutte hym with his swerde athur the breaste; Out ran the bloude, and did hys armoure stayne, He clos'd his eyen in aeternal reste; Lyke a tall oke by tempeste borne awaie, Stretchd in the armes of dethe upon the plaine he laie. 470

Next thro the ayre he sent his javlyn feerce, That on De Clearmoundes buckler did alyghte, Throwe the vaste orbe the sharpe pheone did peerce, Rang on his coate of mayle and spente its mighte.

But soon another wingd its aiery flyghte, 475 The keen broad pheon to his lungs did goe; He felle, and groand upon the place of fighte, Whilst lyfe and bloude came issuynge from the blowe.

Like a tall pyne upon his native playne, So fell the mightie sire and mingled with the slaine. 480

Hue de Longeville, a force doughtre mere, Advauncyd forwarde to provoke the darte, When soone he founde that Adhelmes poynted speere Had founde an easie pa.s.sage to his hearte.

He drewe his bowe, nor was of dethe astarte, 485 Then fell down brethlesse to encrease the corse; But as he drewe hys bowe devoid of arte, So it came down upon Troyvillains horse; Deep thro hys hatchments wente the pointed floe; Now here, now there, with rage bleedyng he rounde doth goe. 490

Nor does he hede his mastres known commands, Tyll, growen furiouse by his bloudie wounde, Erect upon his hynder feete he staundes, And throwes hys mastre far off to the grounde.

Near Adhelms feete the Normanne laie astounde, 495 Besprengd his arrowes, loosend was his sheelde, Thro his redde armoure, as he laie ensoond, He peercd his swerde, and out upon the feelde The Normannes bowels steemd, a dedlie syghte!

He opd and closd hys eyen in everlastynge nyghte. 500

Caverd, a Scot, who for the Normannes foughte, A man well skilld in swerde and soundynge strynge, Who fled his country for a crime enstrote, For darynge with bolde worde hys loiaule kynge, He at Erie Aldhelme with grete force did flynge 505 An heavie javlyn, made for bloudie wounde, Alonge his sheelde askaunte the same did ringe, Peered thro the corner, then stuck in the grounde; So when the thonder rauttles in the skie, Thro some tall spyre the shaftes in a torn clevis flie. 510

Then Addhelm hurld a croched javlyn stronge, With mighte that none but such grete championes know; Swifter than thoughte the javlyn past alonge, Ande hytte the Scot most feirclie on the prowe; His helmet brasted at the thondring blowe, 515 Into his brain the tremblyn javlyn steck; From eyther syde the bloude began to flow, And run in circling ringlets rounde his neck; Down fell the warriour on the lethal strande, Lyke some tall vessel wreckt upon the tragick sande. 520

CONTINUED.

Where fruytlefs heathes and meadowes cladde in greie, Save where derne hawthornes reare theyr humble heade, The hungrie traveller upon his waie Sees a huge desarte alle arounde hym spredde, The distaunte citie scantlie to be spedde, 525 The curlynge force of smoke he sees in vayne, Tis too far distaunte, and hys onlie bedde Iwimpled in hys cloke ys on the playne, Whylste rattlynge thonder forrey oer his hedde, And raines come down to wette hys harde uncouthlie bedde. 530

A wondrous pyle of rugged mountaynes standes, Placd on eche other in a dreare arraie, It ne could be the worke of human handes, It ne was reared up bie menne of claie.

Here did the Brutons adoration paye 535 To the false G.o.d whom they did Tauran name, Dightynge hys altarre with greete fyres in Maie, Roastynge theyr vyctimes round aboute the flame, 'Twas here that Hengyst did the Brytons slee, As they were mette in council for to bee. 540

Neere on a loftie hylle a citie standes, That lyftes yts scheafted heade ynto the skies, And kynglie lookes arounde on lower landes, And the longe browne playne that before itte lies.

Herewarde, borne of parentes brave and wyse, 545 Within this vylle fyrste adrewe the ayre, A blessynge to the erthe sente from the skies, In anie kyngdom nee coulde fynde his pheer; Now rybbd in steele he rages yn the fyghte, And sweeps whole armies to the reaulmes of nyghte. 550

So when derne Autumne wyth hys sallowe hande Tares the green mantle from the lymed trees, The leaves besprenged on the yellow strande Flie in whole armies from the blataunte breeze; Alle the whole fielde a carnage-howse he sees, 555 And sowles unknelled hover'd oer the bloude; From place to place on either hand he slees, And sweepes alle neere hym lyke a bronded floude; Dethe honge upon his arme; he sleed so maynt, 'Tis paste the pointel of a man to paynte. 560

Bryghte sonne in haste han drove hys fierie wayne A three howres course alonge the whited skyen, Vewynge the swarthless bodies on the playne, And longed greetlie to plonce in the bryne.

For as hys beemes and far-stretchynge eyne 565 Did view the pooles of gore yn purple sheene, The wolsomme vapours rounde hys lockes dyd twyne, And dyd disfygure all hys femmlikeen; Then to harde actyon he hys wayne dyd rowse, In hyssynge ocean to make glair hys browes. 570

Duke Wyllyam gave commaunde, eche Norman knyghte, That been war-token in a s.h.i.+elde so fyne, Shoulde onward goe, and dare to closer fyghte The Saxonne warryor, that dyd so entwyne, Lyke the neshe bryon and the eglantine, 575 Orre Cornysh wrastlers at a Hocktyde game.

The Normannes, all emarchialld in a lyne, To the ourt arraie of the thight Saxonnes came; There 'twas the whaped Normannes on a parre Dyd know that Saxonnes were the sonnes of warre. 580

Oh Turgotte, wheresoeer thie spryte dothe haunte, Whither wyth thie lovd Adhelme by thie syde, Where thou mayste heare the swotie nyghte larke chaunte, Orre wyth some mokynge brooklette swetelie glide, Or rowle in ferselie wythe ferse Severnes tyde, 585 Whereer thou art, come and my mynde enleme Wyth such greete thoughtes as dyd with thee abyde, Thou sonne, of whom I ofte have caught a beeme, Send mee agayne a drybblette of thie lyghte, That I the deeds of Englyshmenne maie wryte. 590

Harold, who saw the Normannes to advaunce, Seizd a huge byll, and layd hym down hys spere; Soe dyd ech wite laie downe the broched launce, And groves of bylles did glitter in the ayre.

Wyth showtes the Normannes did to battel steere; 595 Campynon famous for his stature highe, Fyrey wythe bra.s.se, benethe a shyrte of lere, In cloudie daie he reechd into the skie; Neere to Kyng Harolde dyd he come alonge, And drewe hys steele Morglaien sworde so stronge. 600

Thryce rounde hys heade hee swung hys anlace wyde, On whyche the sunne his visage did agleeme, Then straynynge, as hys membres would dyvyde, Hee stroke on Haroldes sheelde yn manner breme; Alonge the field it made an horrid cleembe, 605 Coupeynge Kyng Harolds payncted sheeld in twayne, Then yn the bloude the fierie swerde dyd steeme, And then dyd drive ynto the bloudie playne; So when in ayre the vapours do abounde, Some thunderbolte tares trees and dryves ynto the grounde. 610

Harolde upreer'd hys bylle, and furious sente A stroke, lyke thondre, at the Normannes syde; Upon the playne the broken bra.s.se besprente Dyd ne hys bodie from dethe-doeynge hyde; He tournyd backe, and dyd not there abyde; 615 With straught oute sheelde hee ayenwarde did goe, Threwe downe the Normannes, did their rankes divide, To save himselfe lefte them unto the foe; So olyphauntes, in kingdomme of the sunne, When once provok'd doth throwe theyr owne troopes runne. 620

Harolde, who ken'd hee was his armies staie, Nedeynge the rede of generaul so wyse, Byd Alfwoulde to Campynon haste awaie, As thro the armie ayenwarde he hies, Swyfte as a feether'd takel Alfwoulde flies, 625 The steele bylle blushynge oer wyth lukewarm bloude; Ten Kenters, ten Bristowans for th' emprize Hasted wyth Alfwoulde where Campynon stood, Who aynewarde went, whylste everie Normanne knyghte Dyd blush to see their champyon put to flyghte. 630

As painctyd Bruton, when a wolfyn wylde, When yt is cale and bl.u.s.trynge wyndes do blowe, Enters hys bordelle, taketh hys yonge chylde, And wyth his bloude bestreynts the lillie snowe, He thoroughe mountayne hie and dale doth goe, 635 Throwe the quyck torrent of the bollen ave, Throwe Severne rollynge oer the sandes belowe He skyms alofe, and blents the beatynge wave, Ne stynts, ne lagges the chace, tylle for hys eyne In peecies hee the morthering theef doth chyne. 640

So Alfwoulde he dyd to Campynon haste; Hys bloudie bylle awhap'd the Normannes eyne; Hee fled, as wolfes when bie the talbots chac'd, To bloudie byker he dyd ne enclyne.

Duke Wyllyam stroke hym on hys brigandyne, 645 And sayd; Campynon, is it thee I see?