ALDRED. Confuse her not; she hath begun Her life-long prayer for thee. ALDWYTH. O noble Harold, I would thou couldst have sworn. HAROLD. For thine own pleasure? ALDWYTH. No, but to please our dying king, and those Who make thy good their own--all England, Earl. ALDRED. _I_ would thou couldst have sworn. Our holy king Hath given his virgin lamb to Holy Church To save thee from the curse. HAROLD. Alas! poor man, _His_ promise brought it on me. ALDRED. O good son! That knowledge made him all the carefuller To find a means whereby the curse might glance From thee and England. HAROLD. Father, we so loved-- ALDRED. The more the love, the mightier is the prayer; The more the love, the more acceptable The sacrifice of both your loves to heaven. No sacrifice to heaven, no help from heaven; That runs thro' all the faiths of all the world. And sacrifice there must be, for the king Is holy, and hath talk'd with God, and seen A shadowing horror; there are signs in heaven-- HAROLD. Your comet came and went. ALDRED. And signs on earth! Knowest thou Senlac hill? HAROLD. I know all Sussex; A good entrenchment for a perilous hour! ALDRED. Pray God that come not suddenly! There is one Who passing by that hill three nights ago-- He shook so that he scarce could out with it-- Heard, heard-- HAROLD. The wind in his hair? ALDRED. A ghostly horn Blowing continually, and faint battle-hymns, And cries, and clashes, and the groans of men; And dreadful shadows strove upon the hill, And dreadful lights crept up from out the marsh-- Corpse-candles gliding over nameless graves-- HAROLD. At Senlac? ALDRED. Senlac. EDWARD (_waking_). Senlac! Sanguelac, The Lake of Blood! STIGAND. This lightning before death Plays on the word,--and Normanizes too! HAROLD. Hush, father, hush! EDWARD. Thou uncanonical fool, Wilt _thou_ play with the thunder? North and South Thunder together, showers of blood are blown Before a never-ending blast, and hiss Against the blaze they cannot quench--a lake, A sea of blood--we are drown'd in blood--for God Has fill'd the quiver, and Death has drawn the bow-- Sanguelac! Sanguelac! the arrow! the arrow! [_Dies_. STIGAND. It is the arrow of death in his own heart-- And our great Council wait to crown thee King. SCENE II.--IN THE GARDEN. THE KING'S HOUSE NEAR LONDON. EDITH. Crown'd, crown'd and lost, crown'd King--and lost to me! (_Singing_.) Two young lovers in winter weather, None to guide them, Walk'd at night on the misty heather; Night, as black as a raven's feather; Both were lost and found together, None beside them. That is the burthen of it--lost and found Together in the cruel river Swale A hundred years ago; and there's another, Lost, lost, the light of day,