Here
          Athelstan king,
          of earls the lord,
          rewarder of heroes,
          and his brother eke,
          Edmund atheling,
          elder of ancient race,
          slew in the fight,
          with the edge of their swords,
          the foe at Brumby!
          The sons of Edward
          their board-walls clove,
          and hewed their banners,
          with the wrecks of their hammers.
          So were they taught
          by kindred zeal,
          that they at camp oft
          ’gainst any robber
          their land should defend,
          their hoards and homes.
          Pursuing fell
          the Scottish clans;
          the men of the fleet
          in numbers fell;
          ’midst the din of the field
          the warrior swate.
          Since the sun was up
          in morning-tide,
          gigantic light!
          glad over grounds,
          God’s candle bright,
          eternal Lord! --
          ’till the noble creature
          sat in the western main:
          there lay many
          of the Northern heroes
          under a shower of arrows,
          shot over shields;
          and Scotland’s boast,
          a Scythian race,
          the mighty seed of Mars!
          With chosen troops,
          throughout the day,
          the West-Saxons fierce
          press’d on the loathed bands;
          hew’d down the fugitives,
          and scatter’d the rear,
          with strong mill-sharpen’d blades,
          The Mercians too
          the hard hand-play
          spared not to any
          of those that with Anlaf
          over the briny deep
          in the ship’s bosom
          sought this land
          for the hardy fight.
          Five kings lay
          on the field of battle,
          in bloom of youth,
          pierced with swords.
          So seven eke
          of the earls of Anlaf;
          and of the ship’s-crew
          unnumber’d crowds.
          There was dispersed
          the little band
          of hardy Scots,
          the dread of northern hordes;
          urged to the noisy deep
          by unrelenting fate!
          The king of the fleet
          with his slender craft
          escaped with his life
          on the felon flood; --
          and so too Constantine,
          the valiant chief,
          returned to the north
          in hasty flight.
          The hoary Hildrinc
          cared not to boast
          among his kindred.
          Here was his remnant
          of relations and friends
          slain with the sword
          in the crowded fight.
          His son too he left
          on the field of battle,
          mangled with wounds,
          young at the fight.
          The fair-hair’d youth
          had no reason to boast
          of the slaughtering strife.
          Nor old Inwood
          and Anlaf the more
          with the wrecks of their army
          could laugh and say,
          that they on the field
          of stern command
          better workmen were,
          in the conflict of banners,
          the clash of spears,
          the meeting of heroes,
          and the rustling of weapons,
          which they on the field
          of slaughter played
          with the sons of Edward.
          The northmen sail’d
          in their nailed ships,
          a dreary remnant,
          on the roaring sea;
          over deep water
          Dublin they sought,
          and Ireland’s shores,
          in great disgrace.
          Such then the brothers
          both together
          king and atheling,
          sought their country,
          West-Saxon land,
          in right triumphant.
          They left behind them
          raw to devour,
          the sallow kite,
          the swarthy raven
          with horny nib,
          and the hoarse vultur,
          with the eagle swift
          to consume his prey;
          the greedy gos-hawk,
          and that grey beast
          the wolf of the weald.
          No slaughter yet
          was greater made
          e’er in this island,
          of people slain,
          before this same,
          with the edge of the sword;
          as the books inform us
          of the old historians;
          since hither came
          from the eastern shores
          the Angles and Saxons,
          over the broad sea,
          and Britain sought, --
          fierce battle-smiths,
          o’ercame the Welsh,
          most valiant earls,
          and gained the land.

          Here
          Edmund king,
          of Angles lord,
          protector of friends,
          author and framer
          of direful deeds.
          o’erran with speed
          the Mercian land.
          whete’er the course
          of Whitwell-spring,
          or Humber deep,
          The broad brim-stream,
          divides five towns.
          Leicester and Lincoln.
          Nottingham and Stamford,
          and Derby eke.
          In thraldom long
          to Norman Danes
          they bowed through need,
          and dragged the chains
          of heathen men;
          till, to his glory,
          great Edward’s heir,
          Edmund the king,
          refuge of warriors,
          their fetters broke.

          In his days
          it prosper’d well;
          and God him gave,
          that he dwelt in peace
          the while that he lived.
          Whate’er he did,
          whate’er he plan’d,
          he earn’d his thrift.
          He also rear’d
          God’s glory wide,
          and God’s law lov’d,
          with peace to man,
          above the kings
          that went before
          in man’s remembrance.
          God so him sped,
          that kings and earls
          to all his claims
          submissive bow’d;
          and to his will
          without a blow
          he wielded all
          as pleased himself.
          Esteem’d he was
          both far and wide
          in distant lands;
          because he prized
          the name of God,
          and God’s law traced,
          God’s glory rear’d,
          both far and wide,
          on every side.
          Wisely he sought
          in council oft
          his people’s good,
          before his God,
          before the world.
          One misdeed he did,
          too much however,
          that foreign tastes
          he loved too much;
          and heathen modes
          into this land
          he brought too fast;
          outlandish men
          hither enticed;
          and to this earth
          attracted crowds
          of vicious men.
          But God him grant,
          that his good deeds
          be weightier far
          than his misdeeds,
          to his soul’s redemption
          on the judgment-day.

          Here was Edgar,
          of Angles lord,
          with courtly pomp
          hallow’d to king
          at Akemancester,
          the ancient city;
          whose modern sons,
          dwelling therein,
          have named her BATH.
          Much bliss was there
          by all enjoyed
          on that happy day,
          named Pentecost
          by men below.
          A crowd of priests,
          a throng of monks,
          I understand,
          in counsel sage,
          were gather’d there.
          Then were agone
          ten hundred winters
          of number’d years
          from the birth of Christ,
          the lofty king,
          guardian of light,
          save that thereto
          there yet was left
          of winter-tale,
          as writings say,
          seven and twenty.
          So near had run
          of the lord of triumphs
          a thousand years,
          when this was done.
          Nine and twenty
          hard winters there
          of irksome deeds
          had Edmund’s son
          seen in the world,
          when this took place,
          and on the thirtieth
          was hallow’d king. 44

          Here ended
          his earthly dreams
          Edgar, of Angles king;
          chose him other light,
          serene and lovely,
          spurning this frail abode,
          a life that mortals
          here call lean
          he quitted with disdain.
          July the month,
          by all agreed
          in this our land,
          whoever were
          in chronic lore
          correctly taught;
          the day the eighth,
          when Edgar young,
          rewarder of heroes,
          his life -- his throne -- resigned.
          Edward his son,
          unwaxen child,
          of earls the prince,
          succeeded then
          to England’s throne.
          Of royal race
          ten nights before
          departed hence
          Cyneward the good --
          prelate of manners mild.
          Well known to me
          in Mercia then,
          how low on earth
          God’s glory fell
          on every side:
          chaced from the land,
          his servants fled, --
          their wisdom scorned;
          much grief to him
          whose bosom glow’d
          with fervent love
          of great Creation’s Lord!
          Neglected then
          the God of wonders,
          victor of victors,
          monarch of heaven, --
          his laws by man transgressed!
          Then too was driv’n
          Oslac beloved
          an exile far
          from his native land
          over the rolling waves, --
          over the ganet-bath,
          over the water-throng,
          the abode of the whale, --
          fair-hair’d hero,
          wise and eloquent,
          of home bereft!
          Then too was seen,
          high in the heavens,
          the star on his station,
          that far and wide
          wise men call --
          lovers of truth
          and heav’nly lore --
          "cometa" by name.
          Widely was spread
          God’s vengeance then
          throughout the land,
          and famine scour’d the hills.
          May heaven’s guardian,
          the glory of angels,
          avert these ills,
          and give us bliss again;
          that bliss to all
          abundance yields
          from earth’s choice fruits,
          throughout this happy isle.45

          Here Edgar died,
          ruler of Angles,
          West-Saxons’ joy,
          and Mercians’ protector.
          Known was it widely
          throughout many nations.
          "Thaet" offspring of Edmund,
          o’er the ganet’s-bath,
               honoured far,
          Kings him widely
          bowed to the king,
          as was his due by kind.
          No fleet was so daring,
          nor army so strong,
          that ’mid the English nation
          took from him aught,
          the while that the noble king
          ruled on his throne.

          In his days,
          for his youth,
          God’s gainsayers
          God’s law broke;
          Eldfere, ealdorman,
          and others many;
          and rule monastic quashed,
          and minsters dissolved,
          and monks drove out,
          and God’s servants put down,
          whom Edgar, king, ordered erewhile
          the holy bishop
          Ethelwold to stablish;
          and widows they plundered,
          many times and oft:
          and many unrighteousnesses,
          and evil unjust-deeds
          arose up afterwards:
          and ever after that
          it greatly grew in evil.

          There has not been ’mid Angles
          a worse deed done
          than this was,
          since they first
          Britain-land sought.
          Men him murdered,
          but God him glorified.
          He was in life
          an earthly king;
          he is now after death
          a heavenly saint.
          Him would not his earthly
          kinsmen avenge,
          but him hath his heavenly Father
          greatly avenged.
          The earthly murderers
          would his memory
          on earth blot out,
          but the lofty Avenger
          hath his memory
          in the heavens
          and on earth wide-spread.
          They who would not erewhile
          to his living
          body bow down,
          they now humbly
          on knees bend
          to his dead bones.
          Now we may understand
          that men’s wisdom
          and their devices,
          and their councils,
          are like nought
          ’gainst God’s resolves.

         Then was a captive
          he who before was
          of England head
          and Christendom; --
          there might be seen
          great wretchedness,
          where oft before
          great bliss was seen,
          in the fated city,
          whence first to us
          came Christendom,
          and bliss ’fore God
          and ’fore the world.

          Him did Godwin let,
          and in prison set.
          His friends, who did not fly,
          they slew promiscuously.
          And those they did not sell,
          like slaughter’d cattle fell!
          Whilst some they spared to bind,
          only to wander blind!
          Some ham-strung, helpless stood,
          whilst others they pursued.
          A deed more dreary none
          in this our land was done,
          since Englishmen gave place
          to hordes of Danish race.
          But repose we must
          in God our trust,
          that blithe as day
          with Christ live they,
          who guiltless died --
          their country’s pride!
          The prince with courage met
          each cruel evil yet;
          till ’twas decreed,
          they should him lead,
          all bound, as he was then,
          to Ely-bury fen.
          But soon their royal prize
          bereft they of his eyes!
          Then to the monks they brought
          their captive; where he sought
          a refuge from his foes
          till life’s sad evening close.
          His body ordered then
          these good and holy men,
          according to his worth,
          low in the sacred earth,
          to the steeple full-nigh,
          in the south aile to lie
          of the transept west --
          his soul with Christ doth rest.

          Here Edward king,86
          of Angles lord,
          sent his stedfast
          soul to Christ.
          In the kingdom of God
          a holy spirit!
          He in the world here
          abode awhile,
          in the kingly throng
          of council sage.
          Four and twenty
          winters wielding
          the sceptre freely,
          wealth he dispensed.
          In the tide of health,
          the youthful monarch,
          offspring of Æthelred!
          ruled well his subjects;
          the Welsh and the Scots,
          and the Britons also,
          Angles and Saxons
          relations of old.
          So apprehend
          the first in rank,
          that to Edward all
          the noble king
          were firmly held
          high-seated men.
          Blithe-minded aye
          was the harmless king;
          though he long ere,
          of land bereft,
          abode in exile
          wide on the earth;
          when Knute o’ercame
          the kin of Æthelred,
          and the Danes wielded
          the dear kingdom
          of Engle-land.
          Eight and twenty
          winters’ rounds
          they wealth dispensed.
          Then came forth
          free in his chambers,
          in royal array,
          good, pure, and mild,
          Edward the noble;
          by his country defended --
          by land and people.
          Until suddenly came
          the bitter Death
          and this king so dear
          snatched from the earth.
          Angels carried
          his soul sincere
          into the light of heaven.
          But the prudent king
          had settled the realm
          on high-born men --
          on Harold himself,
          the noble earl;
          who in every season
          faithfully heard
          and obeyed his lord,
          in word and deed;
          nor gave to any
          what might be wanted
          by the nation’s king.

          There was that bride-ale
          The source of man’s bale.

          "The hedge abideth,
           that acres divideth."