STIGAND. Power now from Harold to command thee hence And see thee safe from Senlac. EDITH. I remain! STIGAND. Yea, so will I, daughter, until I find Which way the battle balance. I can see it From where we stand: and, live or die, I would I were among them! CANONS _from Waltham (singing without)_. Salva patriam Sancte Pater, Salva Fili, Salva Spiritus, Salva patriam, Sancta Mater.[1] [Footnote 1: The _a_ throughout these Latin hymns should be sounded broad, as in 'father.'] EDITH. Are those the blessed angels quiring, father? STIGAND. No, daughter, but the canons out of Waltham, The king's foundation, that have follow'd him. EDITH. O God of battles, make their wall of shields Firm as thy cliffs, strengthen their palisades! What is that whirring sound? STIGAND. The Norman arrow! EDITH. Look out upon the battle--is he safe? STIGAND. The king of England stands between his banners. He glitters on the crowning of the hill. God save King Harold! EDITH. --chosen by his people And fighting for his people! STIGAND. There is one Come as Goliath came of yore--he flings His brand in air and catches it again, He is chanting some old warsong. EDITH. And no David To meet him? STIGAND. Ay, there springs a Saxon on him, Falls--and another falls. EDITH. Have mercy on us! STIGAND. Lo! our good Gurth hath smitten him to the death. EDITH. So perish all the enemies of Harold! CANONS (_singing_). Hostis in Angliam Ruit praedator, Illorum, Domine, Scutum scindatur! Hostis per Angliae Plagas bacchatur; Casa crematur, Pastor fugatur Grex trucidatur-- STIGAND. Illos trucida, Domine. EDITH. Ay, good father. CANONS (_singing_). Illorum scelera Poena sequatur! ENGLISH CRIES. Harold and Holy Cross! Out! out! STIGAND. Our javelins Answer their arrows. All the Norman foot Are storming up the hill. The range of knights Sit, each a statue on his horse, and wait. ENGLISH CRIES. Harold and God Almighty! NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou! Ha Rou! CANONS (_singing_). Eques cum pedite Praepediatur! Illorum in lacrymas Cruor fundatur! Pereant, pereant, Anglia precatur. STIGAND. Look, daughter, look. EDITH. Nay, father, look for me! STIGAND. Our axes lighten with a single flash About the summit of the hill, and heads And arms are sliver'd off and splinter'd by Their lightning--and they fly--the Norman flies. EDITH. Stigand, O father, have we won the day? STIGAND. No, daughter, no--they fall behind the horse-- Their horse are thronging to the barricades; I see the gonfanon of Holy Peter Floating above their helmets--ha! he is down! EDITH. He down! Who down? STIGAND. The Norman Count is down.