aloud, "Faith and friendship with thee and England evermore."

Then all the chiefs rising, they gathered round the bier, but no hand,
in the sight of the conquering foe, lifted the cloth of gold that
covered the corpse of the famous King. The bearers of the bier moved
on slowly towards the boat; the Norwegians followed with measured
funereal steps. And not till the bier was placed on board the royal
galley was there heard the wail of woe; but then it came, loud, and
deep, and dismal, and was followed by a burst of wild song from a
surviving Scald.

The Norwegian preparations for departure were soon made, and the ships
vouchsafed to their convoy raised anchor, and sailed down the stream.
Harold's eye watched the ships from the river banks.

"And there," said he, at last, "there glide the last sails that shall
ever bear the devastating raven to the shores of England."

Truly, in that field had been the most signal defeat those warriors,
hitherto almost invincible, had known. On that bier lay the last son
of Berserker and sea-king: and be it, O Harold, remembered in thine
honour, that not by the Norman, but by thee, true-hearted Saxon, was
trampled on the English soil the Ravager of the World! [251]

"So be it," said Haco, "and so, methinks, will it be. But forget not
the descendant of the Norsemen, the Count of Rouen!"

Harold started, and turned to his chiefs. "Sound trumpet, and fall
in. To York we march. There re-settle the earldom, collect the
spoil, and then back, my men, to the southern shores. Yet first kneel