Leaves, was the composer of the
_popular_ melody; but there is an old Scotch tune, to which the words
were originally adapted. By melody, I mean the music to the words.]

[Footnote 84: Miss Stephens, now the Countess Dowager of Essex.]

[Footnote 85: "She looked in my face, till my heart was like to
break."--_Auld Robin Gray._ Nothing can exceed the pathos with which
Miss Stephens sings these words.]

[Footnote 86: This song, set to music by the author, was originally
written for an oratorio.]

[Footnote 87: Banwell church is eminently beautiful, as are all the
churches in Somersetshire. Dr Randolph has lately added improvements to
the altar-piece.]

THE

GRAVE OF THE LAST SAXON;

OR,

THE LEGEND OF THE CURFEW.

INTRODUCTION.

The circumstance of the late critical controversy with Lord Byron
having recalled my attention to a poem, sketched some years ago, on
a subject of national history, I have been induced to revise and
correct, and now venture to offer it to the public.

The subject, though taken from an early period of our history, is,
so far as relates to the grave of Harold, purely imaginary, as are
all the characters, except those of the Conqueror, and of Edgar
Atheling. History, I think, justifies me in representing William as
acting constantly under strong religious impressions. A few
circumstances in his life will clearly show this. When Harold was
with him in Normandy, he took an oath of him on two altars, within
which were concealed miraculous relics.[88] His banner was sent
from Rome, consecrated by the Pope, for the especial purpose of the
invasion of England. Without adverting to the night spent in prayer
before the battle of Hastings, was not this impression more
decidedly shown when he pitched his tent among the dead on that
night, and vowed to build an abbey on the spot? The event of the
battle was so much against all human probability, that his
undertaking it, at the place and time, can only be reconciled by
supposing that he acted under some extraordinary impression.

When the battle was gained, he knew not on what course to
determine: instead of marching to London, he retired towards Dover.
When he was met by the Kentish men, with green boughs, the quaint
historian says, "He was _daunted_." These and many other incidental
circumstance