William Henry Graham enjoyed history of all kinds, whether aboriginal, European, Biblical, or it may be some other kind. His children enjoy history somewhat less, and, when they were young, they hardly enjoyed it at all. When Stephanie had finished typing this poem, she had this to say...
"Having studied a bit of English history lately and read about the Battle of Hastings and what came before and after, I now realise that Dad's poem about it is an absolute fantastic epic. Before, I have to admit, it was just a lot of rhyming words. It's really great that he left these behind for us."
THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS - AD 1066
On Senlac Hill near Hastings (south coast of England) the English, sorely outnumbered, were defeated by the Norman invaders under William the Conqueror, Duke of Normandy.
THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS
Bright on Senlac's breast,
Flying from the west,
Fell the rays of sunset: day was well-nigh done.
On that fateful hill,
Fighting bravely still,
England's best were dying with the dying sun.
Fallen heap on heap,
In death's ghastly sleep,
Round the Dragon standard Saxon heroes lie,
But, undaunted yet,
'Neath its folds are met,
The survivors shouting still their battle cry.
Steadfast all they stand,
'Gainst the Norman band,
Those invaders who full thrice their number are:
And for freedom fair,
Still they do and dare,
In the battle tempest raging near and far.
In the front of all,
Fights their leader tall,
With his double-headed war-axe in his hand.
Scorns in that dread hour,
Norman William's power,
He the king and leader of the Saxon land.
High his form he rears
Mid the Saxon spears,
"Tallest of the English, Harold Godwinson"
Thus men spake his praise
In King Edward's days,
When for that weak Monk-king many fights he won.
As in wrath he fought,
Came the tender thought,
Of his cousin-sweetheart, of the matchless maid,
Edith Swansneck fair,
Love betrothed the pair:
Yet if failed to wed them; that the Church forbade.
Bitter was the smart
Left in Harold's heart,
Comfortless the marriage policy had framed.
Tied by Church and State
To a loveless mate,
Henceforth England only all his passion claimed.
And he thought with rage
Of the prison cage,
Where a ship wrecked captive on the Norman shore
Forced by mental pain,
Worse than iron chain,
On the dead saint's relics solemn oath he swore.
He with scornful smile,
Thought of William's guile
Who with threats required him England's crown to yield.
"Choose", said he, "to dwell
Blind in dungeon cell,
Or on saintly relics be thy promise sealed".
Homeward Harold fled,
Found King Edward dead,
And by England's choosing was her monarch named.
Then the clouds of war,
Gathered from afar
William, Edward's cousin, crown and scepter claimed.
Nor did Harold quail,
Nor his spirit fail,
Though the danger threatened from both south and north.
England's sons again,
Angle, Saxon, Dane,
Kindred all, he mustered, and he led them forth.
Came the Viking bands,
Wasting English lands,
Led by Harold Hardrede Norway's giant king.
Saxon Harold's might
Put their force to flight,
And their Raven banner in the dust did fling.
In the battle's swell,
Mighty Hardrede fell,
O'er the bridge of Stamford, rolling back each wave
Of the Northmen's flood,
Wading in its blood,
Swept the Saxon victors, lands and homes to save.
Harold's generous heart,
Bade the Norse depart,
All in peace and freedom: and young Olaf swore,
(Hardrede's son), "Let peace
Reign and warfare cease,
'Twixt thy land and Norway, true Harold, evermore".
Little rest had then
England's weary men,
Southward they must hasten with their wounds unhealed:
For the tidings came
How the Norman flame
Swept the coast by Hastings, burning town and field.
Speeding south in haste,
Soon the foe they faced,
And, from Senlac's hillside, saw in wide array,
Norman, Breton, Frank
Standing rank on rank,
Hungry all for plunder, furious for fray.
Many flags are there,
Flutt'ring in the air;
And the Papal banner o'er the Norman host
Hangs to bless the hands
Of those robber bands,
"Holy Church's children", (such their idle boast.)
Fell the curse of Rome
On each English home,
On the young and aged, on the child unborn:
And its flag was lent
To the Normans sent
By the Church to punish Harold the forsworn.
Loud rings Harold's cry
As the foe draws nigh,
"Hurl the proud invader from our Saxon soil.
Vain are priest and knight
'Gainst our England's right
Let their Pope's dark curses on their heads recoil".
In the swelling veins
Of the Anglo-Danes,
As in Harold's also, blood of Vikings flows.
These by Harold stand,
Men from Norfolk's strand
And the Lincoln fenlands, bulwarks 'gainst the foes.
They as men free-born
Rome's proud curses scorn,
Hoping still half-heathen, if in fight they fall,
Valkyr maidens fair
Will their spirits bear
Home to high Valkhalla, into Odin's hall.
Like a ghost-steed white,
On the English right,
Waves the White Horse banner o'er the Kentish band,
Flag of Hengist bold,
He who led of old
Saxon sea-kings hither from the German strand.
From their line around,
Stakes defend the ground,
Backed by yeoman warriors of old England's race,
Who from mighty Thor
And from Woden hoar,
All their god-descended heroes proudly trace.
Rings the cry "Ha Rou!"
William's army through,
As upon the English furiously they ride.
These with broad-axe blades
Man the palisades
Stretched about the hilltop firm on every side.
And the Saxons shout
"Holy Rood! Out, out!"
See these sons of Hengist, children of the free,
Heaping blow on blow
Batter back the foe,
Like the cliffs of England beating back the sea.
Firm the breast-work stands:
Still stout English hands
Ward the Wessex banner, guard the Dragon flag.
And that wall of steel
Makes the Normans feel
England's heart will fail not, nor her spirit lag.
Norman shafts like hail
Glance from Saxon mail,
Or they break in slivers on the palisade.
William's eagle eye
Marks how vain they fly:
In his brain like light'ning better plans are made.
Lifting then his hand
To the bowmen's band
Shouts he, "Shooting upward let your bows be bent.
Let your arrows fall
On yon human wall,
Like to heaven's vengeance down on England sent."
Down the arrows pour
Drinking English gore:
England has no bowmen: helpless must she lie,
While the Anglo-Danes,
Maddened by their pains,
Stung to berserk fury, o'er the breastwork fly.
Rushing on the foe,
Shouting as they go,
Loud the Viking war-cry, wild the Norse "Ahoy",
To the earth they smite
Archer, steed, and knight
With their axes, laughing in their battle joy.
Yet they are so few
Though their hearts be true,
Soon the Norman horsemen their small force surround.
Nothing now can save,
England's Danesmen brave,
Trampled by the horses, smitten to the ground.
And the English all
See their kinsmen fall,
Grieving for the ruin of their comrade band.
Danes who erstwhile came
Foes with sword and flame
Left their sons as children of the Saxon land.
Loud rings Harold's cry
"Stand fast! Do or die!
So unending glory shall to us belong,
When, in coming days,
Saxon gleemen praise
This our stand on Senlac in their saga song".
Like a faithful hound
To his master bound,
Harold's nephew Haco sword nor axe doth wield
By the king he stands,
With devoted hands,
Shelt'ring Harold's body with uplifted shield.
'Neath the arrowy rain
Fall the English slain!
Through the broken breastwork charging Normans ride.
Furious knight and horse
Keep their headlong course:
Towards the Saxon banner rolls the billowing tide.
Many a Norman knight
Falls before the bright
Keen edged axe of Harold ceaseless in its swing.
Haco's shield raised high
Catches as they fly
Downward darting arrows, sheltering the king.
Close the Normans press:
From their iron dress
Turn the blunted axes of their wearied foe.
Fast the English fall
Yet still over all
Gleams their gilded banner in the sunset glow.
Loud Duke William cheers
On his chevaliers,
Onward to the standard, now so near at hand,
Where the Saxon king,
In the narrowing ring,
Of his stalwart housecarles, and his brothers stand.
See! The Norman Lord
With his sweeping sword
Cleaves the shield of Haco, slays him with a blow:
Yet, King Harold still,
With unerring skill,
Wields amain his war-axe, felling many a foe.
Harold's helmet gleams
In the sun's last beams
Swiftly downwards hissing speeds the shaft of death.
Through the kingly eye
Doth the arrow fly,
And the king falls, crying with his parting breath.
"Gurth, my brother dear,
Kneel and listen here,
Keep the flag above me, thou so true to me,
Though the foe prevail,
And our weak strength fail,
Still abides God's mercy: England shall be free".
Williams's band is stayed;
Checked his swinging blade:
There with godlike bearing standing 'gainst them all,
Still one Saxon bold,
Doth the flag uphold,
Like a son of Woden from Walhalla's hall.
Blood from many a wound
Trickling to the ground
Stains his piercéd armour and his dinted helm.
Gurth, Earl Godwin's son
Knows his strength is done,
Knows his foes on all sides must him overwhelm.
Shouts Duke William, "Stay,
Though the stag at bay
By the hounds tormented may unpitied moan
Let us Normans be
Flower of chivalry:
Leave yon English hero to my sword alone."
All the fiery flood
Of the Viking blood
Of his fierce forefather, Rolf the Norman, burns
Hot in William's brow
And dismounting now,
Shield and sword uplifted, swift on Gurth he turns.
Wounded nigh to death,
Spent, with labouring breath,
Gurth, in last brave effort, swings his axe around,
Drops it, falls, and dies
Where his brother lies
'Neath the fallen banner on the Saxon ground.
Saxon widows weep
For their men who sleep
In their ghastly slumber on dark Senlac's side.
Saxon maidens' fears,
Saxon mothers' tears,
Haunt it, or anoint it, on this eventide.
As the night sinks low
On that hill of woe,
Monks and nuns from Waltham wander o'er the field,
Seeking for the king;
For their memories cling
To the kindly Harold aye their stay and shield.
From the band of nuns
One all weeping runs
Round yon fallen warrior wasted arms to throw.
Edith Swansneck named,
Once for beauty famed,
Harold's cousin-sweetheart of the long ago.
On the ruined face
Love's keen eyes can trace
Still the kingly features, all the bitter pain
Of her life is past
She hath found at last
Peace in death with Harold; he is hers again.
To the Saxon songs
Still that tale belongs;
In the Saxon language chroniclers still tell,
How at Senlac Fight
For his homeland's right
By the Dragon Banner, English Harold fell.