Harold (with dignity). Earl of Mercia !
I pray you, weigh the matter of my speech ;
The manner was too light in such a cause,
And used in freedom of the love that bound us
I thought that bond was stronger than it seems.

Leofric. A coward's tongue grows bold in a king's service.
Harold. And a friend's cold.

Affection has no place
When duty bars the door and guards the threshold.

Harold. Look you, Earl Leofric, a poor scholar am I,
And having never passed to foreign courts,
Nor listed Norman poets, or sage men,
I'm deaf to figures of speech, and never can tell
Whether a fiddle be in tune or not ;
But this I know; that if this realm of England
Claims for its king, the man that fits her best.-
Whoe'er he be-knight, peasant, prince or earl,
This sword shall be his fence 'gainst all the world,
And shall break down the gate that duty bars,
And cross the threshold it pretends to guard.

Leofric. There may be swords as true of steel as your's,
And arms as strong—I've cleft a Norseman's helm
As deep as Harold.

"Twas of softer metal
Than Harold's helmet if the sword you vaunt
Cleft it an inch o' the crest.

Harold—for shame-
Leofric—my sons—I think I've called you so
Ere pow; and Leofric smiled to hear the word.
What !—foolish boys,-if Edith heard the brawl,
'Twould bring a frown on her fair brow, for both
Are very dear to her ; aye, and to me
Come, come, shake hands, shake hands !

From a true heart
Comes this true grasp, my brother-

Godwin ! Godwin !
To the throne Godwin! to the throne, to the throne.

[drops Harold's hand.
I cannot strain your hand, since from its clasp
Comes music so ill omen'd.

'Tis a tune
To dance to tho' the floor were wrapt in fire-
But keep your grasp till on some other field
I answer it with mine!

Chafe not, son Harold,
Ile who would bend the bow must hold his breath-
Go, Leofric, go in peace. Leave as unsaid
What has been said, unheard what has been heard-
Find Edith in the garden bower she raised

When summer brought the flowers, and you gave help
To train the honeysuckle round it-go.-

Harold. And tell her she is Harold's sister, earl,
And Godwin's daughter.

More than all to me
Pure soul'd and true of heart to land and king.

Godwin. Earls ! Franklins, and true friends! if we have wou
By honest toil and a stout English spirit
A foremost place in your brave English breasts,
I pray you give your love some breathing space
Nor urge it hotly into untried ways,
Like slot-hounds that outrun the game they'd follow,
Call back your words, till, in a mounting tide
They clasp the shore, back'd by innumerous waves
Sent landward by the great and rous'd up sea ;-
Then if old Godwin's name has the home clang
Of a well-known sweet tune,—why, sing it sirs,
And one rough voice shall join you in the chorus.
Adherents. Godwin! Godwin!—We shall be true to Godwin!

Enter an Attendant.
Attendant. Edward the son of Ethelred makes request
To see Earl Godwin.

Comes he mounted ? arm'd ?
Attended ? follow'd ?

Singly, on foot he comes
With but one holy priest to be his guard.

Thurkell. 'Gainst witchcraft, and the evil eye, and the spit
Of toads ; and to exorce him of the fiend,
An excellent body guard, a holy priest.

Godwin. Hush Thurkell, there's a corner of your heart
Where Thor still swings his hammer. Leave me, friends,
I'd see this youth alone. [Exeunt Adherents.] Bid him approach
And leave that holy priest outside the gate. [Exit Attendant
His reverence has a trick to raise the devil
As well as lay him.

Enter Edward.

You will save my life,
Godwin, I know you will ; for tho' your eye
Glows sometimes with hot fire, it soon subsides
Into the gentle warmth of kindliness.

Godwin. Who threats your life, Prince Edward ?

Oh ! not so
Call me not prince, 'tis that which brings the peril,
It is no fault of mine I'm Ethelred's son,
And on my knee I pray you to your guard
Take me Earl Godwin! Godwin, like the cry
Of sentinels on a beleaguer'd wall
Is on all tongues; so let me lead the life
I've led so long, ere Hardicanute died,

Godwin. What life was that? I thought that royal blood
Gave mounting thoughts.


I led a peaceful life ;
I pray'd i. cells whene'er the abbot gave leave;
And dress'd me in the robes of holy church ;
And counted beads; and knelt at every shrine ;
And hoped one day, if I were worthy found
To rise to be a monk.

And knew, the while,
That o'er your head hung by the golden chain
Of right and law this glorious English crown?

Edward. Aye; but no right nor law, the abbot said
Could make it mine, for that all earthly crowns
Lay on St. Peter's holy shrine at Rome,
To be thence lifted on the anointed brows
Of such as Peter loved.
Godwin (apart.)

A crowned monk
Would poorly fill the Bretwald's rocky throne
Or hold King Offa's sword in priestly hand.
Have you seen Mercian Leofric ?

No, my lord;
He flew his hawks last year on sackcloth day,
And grudges ransom to the abbey at York.
I shun him till he soothes our angry mother.

Godwin (apart.) Why, though he carried in effeminate hand
The sceptre ; and on feeble brow the crown,
He might be like the image, gilt and jewell'd,
That decks the vessel's prow, looking in pride
On its reflected form when waves are smooth,
But following lightest touch of steersman's hand
When tempest breaks its mirror,

If ought else
You'd have me do, say but the word I'll do it;
Name what you'd have me be, I'll be it.

Godwin (suddenly taking his resolution.) King!
You shall be king !

You mock me! you have power:
They love you ; you have fought and conquer'd ever,
Oh taunt me not that I am weak !

Dread Prince !
For when I named that word there fell on you
An awe that bends the knee and shakes the heart;
If round my name has gathered reverence,
From thirty years of council and of war
And 'neath the aweful purple of your State
You'd wear around your heart the close knit mail
Of Godwin's love,—there may be snowy hands
To twist that steel into a pierceless guard
As easily as if the links were flowers.

Edward. Oh sir,-if Godwin is my shield.

I said the hands were snowy, to whose art
Your breast should owe its safety. In my home
Has waxed to womanhood—and, tho' my tongue

Not so ;

Steals from my heart the word—to loveliness
A daughter,—you have mark'd her ?

As a form
Such as to holy saints in the old time
Has been vouchsafed in trances, to foreshew
The ecstasies of Heaven. To Leofric's arms
As to some haven girt with sheltering hills,
The glorious bark with all its priceless freight
Glides stately on; and I but mark'd its course
With wonder at its beauty.

In her heart
Dwells nobleness, and if at Leofrie's word
She's scanted of the blood that fills a king,
She shall give king's blood to a race of kings,
And Godwin's grandchild, claim his grandsire's knee

Edward. But Leofric, sir,

I'll deal with him myself,
Give me your hand. You shall not see a frown
On Edith's brow when at her feet you place
The majesty of England. Let us go,
Leofric has gain'd his answer.—(gives place to Edward)--Humbly, sir.



Dr. LAPPENBERG. Edward had spent not only his youthful years, which are wont to give a fixed direction to the inclinations and the character, but also those of his maturer age, in which the indissoluble bonds of love and habit hold us even till death, in a country widely differing in climate, manners and language, from the land of his birth. The higher those intellectual enjoyments raised him, to which he could devote himself in the leisure of his powerful position, so much the more excusable and powerful must be his conviction, that the participators in the sentiments which made him happy had a claim to his entire confidence, and to the support of the whole power committed to him by the Almighty. On leaving the soil of his education and his joys, the hearty greeting of the West Saxop peasant sounded strange to his ear, and spoke not to his heart. The rugged manners of the Anglo-Danish nobles, from intercourse with whom he could no longer take refuge under the peaceful arches of a cloister, filled him with disgust, while the independent spirit of the Anglo-Saxon clergy, who in language and through ancient tradition had ever been divided from the church of Rome, appeared to the orthodox Catholic little better than damnable heresy. Above all things, Edward was anxious to introduce Norman ecclesiastics into his kingdom, and through them to bring it into closer relationship with the papal chair. Soon after his accession, the see of London becoming vacant by the death of Bishop Ælfweard, he bestowed it on Robert the Frank, a monk of Jumièges, who is said to have shown particular kindness to Edward in his days of need. A few years afterwards Robert succeeded Eadseye in the dignity of Archbishop of Canterbury and primate of all England, Other French ecclesiastics were appointed chaplains to the king, which post in this as in other countries inay be regarded as the nursery of its future bishops. On one of them, - named William, at the instance of Robert and command of the pope, the see of London was bestowed, although the king bad already conferred it under his writ

and seal on Spearhafor (Sparrowhawk), and whose rich abbey of Abingdon had been given to Radulf, a relation of Edward. Another Norman, named Ulf

, received the bishopric of Dorchester, and thus all the best vacant benefices fell into the hands of foreigners, a state of things to which the English church had till then been a stranger.

The nation, nevertheless, would hardly have noticed these innovations, and would probably have endured the gradual installation of foreign prelates, had not the powerful temporal lords of the land found themselves aggrieved by the strangers. Of these Radulf, a nephew of the king, who had attended him on his return from exile to England, had been (probably after the banishment of Sweyn) invested with the earldom of Hereford. Many French knights had also attached themselves to Radulf, and resided in his castles, and some had their own castles, as Osbern, surnamed Pentecost, and Hugo. Mention is also made of the castle of another French knight, Robert, son of Wincare, situated to the north of London. The influence of Radulf was considered all powerful at the court of Edward : the weak courted his favour, and presumed not to withstand any of his pretensions; and even the influential abbot of Ramsey, prompted by the conviction of his power, was induced to surrender to him certain lands, the possession of which he coveted. The powerful looked on him only with ill-concealed rancour. The refusal of Archbishop Robert to consecrate Spearhafor to the see of London had just excited the minds of the people anew against the Franks, and they looked with jealousy on the marriage, which shortly after took place, of Goda, the sister of Edward and mother of Radulf, with Eustace count of Boulogne, called from his large moustaches 'Eustace aux Grenons,' when the unwelcome intelligence of a fresh arrival of Frankish visitors became public, and was received with mistrust and murmuring. The king's brotherin-law, Eustace, appeared at court with a stately retinue. On his return, having stopped for refreshment at Canterbury, he proceeded on the way to Dover. When within a mile or two of the town, it was observed that he and his men put on their hauberks, and no sooner had they arrived than they announced their intention to quarter themselves wherever it appeared agreeable to them. Against abuses in harbouring even the king and his followers, the townspeople could secure themselves; but to these Franks, who were regarded as a public nuisance, no one would act as host. One of them having wounded a householder, who resisted his attempt at entrance, was slain by the latter ; whereupon Eustace and his followers mounted their horses and made a general attack on the inhabitants, in which the householder above-mentioned and about twenty others were slain. Many of the French also fell by the hands of the townsmen, and many more were wounded. Eustace himself with a few of his people escaping with difficulty, went immediately to the king at Gloucester, who on hearing their version of what had taken place, in his anger despatched Godwin to punish the townsmen for their misconduct. But why should the proud and mighty earl, out of mere compliance with the will of his weak-minded son-in-law, be the instrument to punish his brave burghers for a deed which had called forth praise from every part of England, and thus degrade himself for the sake of the odious Franks? All the West Saxons shared in this hatred, for reckless insolence and rash violence had marked the career of every Frank in England. In the neighbourhood of one of their newly-built castles in Herefordshire, probably that of Pentecost, even the king's vassals were exposed to their insults and violence. Godwin hereupon, with his sons, Sweyn and Harold, resolved to lay their own and the nation's complaints before the king, who had appointed his witan to assemble at Gloucester about the second mass day of St. Mary, for the purpose of suppressing these dissensions. In the meantime Godwin and his sons had gathered around

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