and earth,
All is beneath Thine eye! 'Tis ours to bend
In silence. Children of misfortune, loved,
Revered--children of him who raised these roofs,
No home is found for you in this sad land;
And none, perhaps, may know the spot, or shed
A tear upon the earth where ye are laid! 530
So saying, on their heads he placed his hands,
And blessed them all; but, after pause, rejoined:
'Tis dangerous lingering here--the fire-eyed lynx
Would lap your blood! Westward, beyond the Lea,
There is a cell where ye may rest to-night.
The portal opened; on the battlements
The moonlight shone, silent and beautiful!
Before them lay their path through the wide world-- 538
The nightingales were singing as they passed;
And, looking back upon the glimmering towers,
They, led by Ailric, and with thoughts on heaven,
Through the lone forest held their pensive way.

CONCLUSION.

William, on his imperial throne, at York
Is seated, clad in steel, all but his face,
From casque to spur. His brow yet wears a frown,
And his eyes show the unextinguished fire
Of steadfast vengeance, as his inmost heart
Yet labours, like the ocean after storm.
His sword unsheathed appears, which none besides
Can wield; his sable beard, full and diffused, 550
Below the casque is spread; the lion ramps
Upon his mailed breast, engrailed with gold.
Behind him stand his barons, in dark file[109]
Ranged, and each feature hid beneath the helms;
Spears, with escutcheoned banners on their points,
Above their heads are raised. Though all alike
Are cased in armour, know ye not that knight
Who next, behind the king, seems more intent
To listen, and a loftier stature bears?
'Tis bold Montgomerie; and he who kneels 560
Before the seat, his armour all with gules
Chequered, and chequered his small banneret,
Is Lord Fitzalain. William holds a scroll
In his right hand, and to Fitzalain speaks:
All these, the forfeited domains and land 565
Of Edwin and of Morcar, traitor-lords,
From Ely to the banks of Trent, I give
To thee and thine!
Fitzalian lowly knelt,
And kissed his iron hand; then slowly rose, 570
Whilst all the barons shouted, Live the king!

This is thy song, William the C