he seemed scarcely human, but some war-chief of the farthest time,--
yea, of a time ere the deluge had shivered those rocks, and left beds
on the land for the realm of that icy sea. For Harold Hardrada was in
height above all the children of modern men. Five ells of Norway made
the height of Harold Hardrada [224]. Nor was this stature accompanied
by any of those imperfections in symmetry, nor by that heaviness of
aspect, which generally render any remarkable excess above human
stature and strength rather monstrous than commanding. On the
contrary, his proportions were just; his appearance noble; and the
sole defect that the chronicler remarks in his shape, was "that his
hands and feet were large, but these were well made." [225]

His face had all the fair beauty of the Norseman; his hair, parted in
locks of gold over a brow that bespoke the daring of the warrior and
the genius of the bard, fell in glittering profusion to his shoulders;
a short beard and long moustache of the same colour as the hair,
carefully trimmed, added to the grand and masculine beauty of the
countenance, in which the only blemish was the peculiarity of one
eyebrow being somewhat higher than the other [226], which gave
something more sinister to his frown, something more arch to his
smile. For, quick of impulse, the Poet-Titan smiled and frowned
often.

Harold Hardrada stood in the light of the moon, and gazing
thoughtfully on the luminous sea. Tostig marked him for some moments
where he sate in the porch, and then rose and joined him.

"Why should my words so disturb thee, O King of the Norseman?"

"Is glory, then, a drug that soothes to sleep?" returned the