Call Henry hither. To cross to England and to seize the Crown. William. The Crown! and I alive? Why come you not, and stand before my sight? Attendant. Sire, all have left you all but only I. William. I could have borne it all-but my two sons! If they had left my side in battle thus, The Headsman had unspurred them with his axe! This Death, whose icy hand is on my throat, And none comes to the rescue.-Arms! Sir Knave, Yield me to ransom? Ha! my arm is chilled,— I yield not Rich with deep prayer from Gervas inner shrine. William. Why came you not ere this? Your solemn presence Might have dispelled these shadows, like the sun. Wolfstan. They are not shadows. Wolfstan. How know you that I hate ? William. All hate me- -all; the ruddy cheeked young child That lisps its broken words, the grey haired man That staggers in his speech from weary age, Who love all else by the compelling force Of sixteen summers mellowing all their thoughts Wolfstan. Whose soul is sick to death, and needs your help; Not that you sting him with those maddening eyes! Wolfstan. What! you'd have soothing words to clear your path To heaven, as heralds to your kingly state ? Think, king! now reft of crown! Think, bloody man, Of what a naked grovelling thing you are! And ask no pardon till you've purchased peace. William. I have enriched our holy mother church, With wealth so vast that gold fills every shrine. Wolfstan. Blasphemous gold, that fills the shrine with curses. William. There's not a plain in all our English realm But shall be studded with majestic towers, To watch upon its peace. Chantries shall rise In every dell; I've poured my guarded wealth In a rich flood, at shrine of every saint Whoe'er drew English breath. Wolfstan. They'll spurn the wealth From a lone cottage in a forest dell, And lust and murder held their revelry. William. I would that Forest ne'er had stretched its bounds, Nor trenched upon the homes of living men. Wolfstan. Have you forgot that pleasant eve in June, When your array burst in with jubilant cries On the small circle, cleared from bush and tree, Where stood a cottage near a babbling brook? William. There were so many-and I fired them all. Wolfstan. But this the blackest of your deeds of shame. By pityless stabs in that old grandsire's breast. William. Pardon-oh! pardon-let me die in silence. In lonely vigils. And my sister's voice, Her's-that lone girl's—was mingled with its words. Wolfstan. No! 'Tis for this I've waited; here we stand In preseuce, as we stood, a stripling I, You a great king, gorged with success and blood ; You spurned me, you denied the pity I claimed. Once more we are together, a foul thing, Let that peace I clutch my fingers thus, And keep that blessing in my sinewy grasp. SCENE THIRD. [Dies. Burial Ground at Caen. A Coffin lying beside an open Grave. Enter Friar Eustace and four Peasants. Friar. Death sheds no holiness around this man, I fear to touch them, They say the dead man was a murderer. Friar. He was the mightiest Conqueror earth e'er saw, And ruled the greatest kingdoms of the world. Peasant. Howbeit he was a murderer I've heard tell And little good his conquests do him now. Friar. The Holy Abbot promised to be here At noon-to bless the grave. Draw near, my friends, Asselyn. Enter Asselyn. Woe! woe to all! forbear! Peasant. 'Tis Asselyn Fitzarthur crazed and poor, Speak to him, father. Asselyn. Look where curls the smoke Down in the dell,-see how in snaky folds It coils around the hamlet, pushing forth A lapping tongue of flame from roof and window. Peasant. Tis truth he speaks, there's fire o'er all the town. [An alarum bell is rung. Asselyn. Aye, ring the alarum, 'tis a jubilee day, And flames are but the ministers of heaven, To purify the air from so much woe, As this foul murderer brings,-burst forth, ye fires, In scorching ruin on the blackened sky! Come vultures, sit upon his breast and croon Your songs of rapine! Leave the bloated corpse Fly! for your dwellings burn,-roof, wall, and floor, And gaze upon the dead? Friar. May I lift the lid [Exeunt Peasants. The bell tolls continually. No-back a space,- Abbot. Quick! brother Eustace, into sacred carth Lay the deserted body of the king. Death has assoiled him of the darkening crimes, That barred the Church's blessing while he breathed. Asselyn. Stop! I command you. Here I plant my foot On soil that was my own,-it held my cradle, It held my fathers' graves; but swollen in pride, I claim it-I debar you from the grave, Abbot. This is no time for bargain and for sale, Asselyn. 'Tis but these narrow feet of burial soil Abbot. After long tempest let him rest at last, And Heaven in mercy look upon his sins. [They put the coffin hurriedly into the grave and disperse. 42.-CHARACTER OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. From the Penny Cyclopædia.' The character of the Conqueror has been graphically sketched by the Saxon chronicler from personal knowledge' For we looked on him,' says the writer, ' and some while lived in his herd (on his hirede).' The feature that had chiefly impressed itself upon this close observer was what he calls his starkness, by which he seems to mean his unbending strength of will and firmness or tenacity of purpose. Three times in the course of his description he remarks this. But while he was stark beyond all measure, and very savage to those who withstood him, the honest chronicler states, on the other hand, that he was mild to good men who loved God, and that he was a very wise man, as well as very rich, and more worthful and strong than any of his ancestors. William indeed was far from being all devil, any more than his father (Robert le Diable), whom he seems to have a good deal resembled, and who was complimented by his contemporaries with the epithet of the Magnificent, as well as with the other expressive surname by which he is commonly remembered. With all his ferocity, William evinced throughout his life a reverence both for the ordinances and the ministers of religion; and, although he would not suffer either his clergy or the pope to erect within his kingdom an ecclesiastical dominion separate from and independent of that of the crown, he showed himself anxious on all occasions to maintain the respectability of the church by promoting able men to the chief places in it, as well as by upholding it in its legal rights and powers. That he was eminently endowed with the qualities, both moral and intellectual, that raise men above their fellows, is abundantly proved by what he did. Few men have projected the influence of their genius across so wide an expanse both of time and space as the founder of the Norman dynasty in England. In moral disposition William was passionate and ruthless; but he does not appear to have been vindictive, nor even, properly speaking, cruel or bloodthirsty, notwithstanding the destructive character of some of his military operations. There was nothing weak, nothing little about this great king. In his latter |