. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. 40 If happier be to live; they both have lifeIn the large mouth of England, till her voiceDie with the world. Hail—hail !Morcar. May all invaders perish like Hardrada !All traitors fail like Tostig ! [All drink but Thy cup s full! Harold. I saw the hand of Tostig cover dear, dead traitor-brother, Tostig, himReverently we buried. Friends, had I been here,Without too large self-lauding I must holdThe sequel had been other than his league 50 With Norway, and this battle. Peace be with him !He was not of the worst. If
. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. 40 If happier be to live; they both have lifeIn the large mouth of England, till her voiceDie with the world. Hail—hail !Morcar. May all invaders perish like Hardrada !All traitors fail like Tostig ! [All drink but Thy cup s full! Harold. I saw the hand of Tostig cover dear, dead traitor-brother, Tostig, himReverently we buried. Friends, had I been here,Without too large self-lauding I must holdThe sequel had been other than his league 50 With Norway, and this battle. Peace be with him !He was not of the worst. If there be thoseAt banquet in this hall, and hearing me —For there be those, I fear, who prickd the lionTo make him spring, that sight of Danish bloodMight serve an end not English — peace with themLikewise, if they can be at peace with whatGod gave us to divide us from the wolf!Aldicyth {aside to Harold). Make not our Morcar sullen; it is not Hail to the living who fought, the dead who fell! 60Voices. Hail, hail! SCENE III HAROLD 803. Stamfoed Beidge First Thane. How ran that answerwhich King Harold gaveTo his dead namesake, when he askdfor England ?Lecfwin. Seven feet of Englishearth, or something more,Seeing he is a giant ! First Thane. Then for the bastardSix feet and nothing more ! Lecfwin. Ay, but belike Thou hast not learnt his measure. First Thane. By Saint Edmund I over-measure him. Sound sleep to the man Here by dead Norway without dream or dawn ! and Thane. What, is he bragging still that he will come, 70 To thrust our Harolds throne from under him ?My nurse would tell me of a molehill cryingTo a mountain, Stand aside and roomfor me ! First Thane. Let him come ! let him come ! Here s to him, sink 01 swim ! [Dri Second Thane. God sink him !First Thane. Cannot hands which had the strengthTo shove that stranded iceberg off our shores,And send the shatterd North again to sea,Scuttle his cockle-shell ? Whats Bru- nanburgTo Stamford-Bridge? a war-crash, a
Size: 1880px × 1329px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookpublisherbostonandnewyorkho
