“Now, brethren, go to this woman straight, “And bid her return with you quickly “To Hastings; her eye will discover the king “‘Mid the corpses scatter’d so thickly. “And when you have found his body, with speed “To Waltham Abbey transfer him, “That we for his soul due masses may sing, “And like a Christian inter him.” At midnight’s hour the messengers reach’d The hut in the forest, saying: “Awake, O Edith the Swanneck, awake, “And follow without delaying. “The Duke of the Normans as victor hath come, “And the routed Saxons are flying, “And on the field of Hastings the corpse “Of Harold the King is lying. “Come with us to Hastings, we’re seeking there “The body beneath the dead hidden, “To bring it to Waltham Abbey with care, “As we by the Abbot are bidden.” Then Edith the Swanneck girded herself, And not one word she utter’d, But follow’d the monks, while her grizzly hair In the wind all wildly flutter’d. The poor woman follow’d with naked feet, And through marsh, wood, and briar on hied they, Till the chalky cliffs on the Hastings coast At the dawning of day descried they. The mist, which like a snowy veil, The battle-field was cloaking, Dispersed by degrees; the noisy daws Were flapping their wings and croaking. Many thousand corpses were lying there On the earth with blood bespatter’d, Stripp’d naked, and mangled, with many a steed Among the carcases scatter’d. Poor Edith the Swanneck in the blood With naked feet now waded; No single spot the searching glance Of her piercing eye evaded. Both here and there she sought, and she oft Had to scare away the devouring Black troop of ravens that prey’d on the dead; The monks behind her were cowering. She sought throughout the livelong day, Till the shades of the evening were falling; When out of the poor woman’s breast there burst A shriek both wild and appalling. For Edith the Swanneck had found at last The corpse of the king, poor creature! No word she utter’d, no tear she wept, She kiss’d each pallid feature. She kiss’d his forehead, she kiss’d his mouth, Her arms encircled him tightly; She kiss’d the bloody breast of the king, Disfigured by wounds unsightly. Upon his shoulder she likewise spied,-- And cover’d them over with kisses,-- Three little scars that her teeth had made, The signs of their former blisses. And in the meantime the pair of monks Some branches of trees collected; These form’d the bier, on which they bore The body, with hearts dejected. To Waltham Abbey the body they took, To bury it rightly and duly, And Edith the Swanneck follow’d the corpse Of him she had loved so truly.