that the giant reeled, dropped his sword, and staggered back; his
Scalds and his chiefs rushed around him. That gallant stand of King
Harold saved his English from flight; and now, as they saw him almost
lost in the throng, yet still cleaving his way--on, on--to the raven
standard, they rallied with one heart, and shouting forth, "Out, out!
Holy Crosse!" forced their way to his side, and the fight now waged
hot and equal, hand to hand. Meanwhile Hardrada, borne a little
apart, and relieved from his dinted helmet, recovered the shock of the
weightiest blow that had ever dimmed his eye and numbed his hand.
Tossing the helmet on the ground, his bright locks glittering like
sun-beams, he rushed back to the melee. Again helm and mail went down
before him; again through the crowd he saw the arm that had smitten
him; again he sprang forwards to finish the war with a blow,--when a
shaft from some distant bow pierced the throat which the casque now
left bare; a sound like the wail of a death-song murmured brokenly
from his lips, which then gushed out with blood, and tossing up his
arms wildly, he fell to the ground, a corpse. At that sight, a yell
of such terror, and woe, and wrath all commingled, broke from the
Norsemen, that it hushed the very war for the moment!

"On!" cried the Saxon King; "let our earth take its spoiler! On to
the standard, and the day is our own!"

"On to the standard!" cried Haco, who, his horse slain under him, all
bloody with wounds not his own, now came to the King's side. Grim and
tall rose the standard, and the streamer shrieked and flapped in the
wind as if the raven had voice, when, right before Harold, right
between him and the banner, stood Tostig his brother, known by the
splendour of his mail, the gold work on his mantle--known by the
fierce laugh, and the defying voice.