Their riven ranks reform'd, the Saxons move 48 In curving crescent, close, compact, and slow Behind the earl; who feels a hero's love Fill his large heart for that great hero foe: Murmuring, "May Harold, thus confronting all, Pass from the spear-storm to The Golden Hall!"[1] Then to his band--"If prophecy and sign 49 Paling men's cheeks, and read by wizard seers, Had not declared that Odin's threatened line, And the large birthright of the Saxon spears, Were cross'd by SKULDA,[2] in the baleful skein Of him who dares 'The Choosers of the Slain.'[3] "If not forbid against his single arm 50 Singly to try the even-sworded strife, Since his new gods, or Merlin's mighty charm, Hath made a host, the were-geld of his life-- Not ours this shame!--here one, and there a field, But men are waxen when the Fates are steel'd. "Seize we our captive, so the gods command-- 51 But ye are men, let manhood guide the blow; Spare life, or but with life-defending hand Strike--and Walhalla take that noble foe! Sound trump, speed truce."--Sedately from the rest Rode out the earl, and Cymri thus address'd:-- "Our steels have cross'd: hate shivers on the shield; 52 If the speech gall'd, the lance atones the word; Yield, for thy valour wins the right to yield; Unstain'd the scutcheon, though resign'd the sword. Grant us the grace, which chance (not arms) hath won Why strike the many who would save the one?" "Fair foe, and courteous," answered Arthur, moved 53 By that chivalric speech, "too well the might Of Mercia's famous Harold have I proved, To deem it shame to yield as knight to knight; But a king's sword is by a nation given; Who guards a people holds his post from heaven. "This freedom which thou ask'st me to resign 54 Than life is dearer; were it but to show That with my people thinks their King!--divine Through me all Cymri!--Streams shall cease to flow, Yon sun to shine, before to Saxon strife One Cymrian yields his freedom save with life. "And so the saints assoil ye of my blood; 55 Return;--the rest we leave unto our cause And the just Heavens!" All silent, Harold stood And his heart smote him. Now, amidst that pause, Arthur look'd up, and in the calm above Behold a falcon wheeling round the dove! For thus it chanced; the bird which Harold bore 56 (As was the Saxon wont), whate'er his way, Had, in the woodland, slipp'd the hood it wore, Unmark'd; and, when the bloodhounds bark'd at bay, Lured by the sound, had risen on the wing, Over the conflict vaguely hovering--