Harold : the Last of the Saxon Kings — Volume 07 by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton
page 6 of 42 (14%)
page 6 of 42 (14%)
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nature, to be great. Shield my child with thy might; lead him forth
from the prison-house by thy serene right hand! I ask not for lordships and earldoms, as the appanage of his father; train him not to be rival to thee:--I ask but for freedom, and English air! So counting on thee, O Harold, I turn my face to the wall, and hush my wild heart to peace!" The scroll dropped noiseless from Harold's hand. "Thus," said he, mournfully, "hath passed away less a life than a dream! Yet of Sweyn, in our childhood, was Godwin most proud; who so lovely in peace, and so terrible in wrath? My mother taught him the songs of the Baltic, and Hilda led his steps through the woodland with tales of hero and scald. Alone of our House, he had the gift of the Dane in the flow of fierce song, and for him things lifeless had being. Stately tree, from which all the birds of heaven sent their carol; where the falcon took roost, whence the mavis flew forth in its glee,--how art thou blasted and seared, bough and core!--smit by the lightning and consumed by the worm!" He paused, and, though none were by, he long shaded his brow with his hand. "Now," thought he, as he rose and slowly paced the chamber, "now to what lives yet on earth--his son! Often hath my mother urged me in behalf of these hostages; and often have I sent to reclaim them. Smooth and false pretexts have met my own demand, and even the remonstrance of Edward himself. But, surely, now that William hath permitted this Norman to bring over the letter, he will assent to what it hath become a wrong and an insult to refuse; and Haco will return |
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