CHAPTER II.
On re-entering the room, Harold drew the large bolt across the door,
opened the case, and took forth the distained and tattered scroll:
"When this comes to thee, Harold, the brother of thy childish days
will sleep in the flesh, and be lost to men's judgment and earth's woe
in the spirit. I have knelt at the Tomb; but no dove hath come forth
from the cloud,--no stream of grace hath re-baptised the child of
wrath! They tell me now--monk and priest tell me--that I have atoned
all my sins; that the dread weregeld is paid; that I may enter the
world of men with a spirit free from the load, and a name redeemed
from the stain. Think so, O brother!--Bid my father (if he still
lives, the dear old man!) think so;--tell Githa to think it; and oh,
teach Haco, my son, to hold the belief as a truth! Harold, again I
commend to thee my son; be to him as a father! My death surely
releases him as a hostage. Let him not grow up in the court of the
stranger, in the land of our foes. Let his feet, in his youth, climb
the green holts of England;--let his eyes, resin dims them, drink the
blue of her skies! When this shall reach thee, thou in thy calm,
effortless strength, wilt be more great than Godwin our father. Power
came to him with travail and through toil, the geld of craft and of
force. Power is born to thee as strength to the strong man; it
gathers around thee as thou movest; it is not thine aim, it is thy
nature, to be great. Shield my child with thy might; lead him forth
from the prison-house by thy serene right hand! I ask not for
lordships and earldoms, as the appanage of his father; train him not
to be rival to thee:--I ask but for freedom, and English air! So
counting on thee, O Harold, I turn my face to the wall, and hush my
wild heart to peace!"
The scroll dropped noiseless from Harold's hand.
"Thus," said he, mournfully, "hath passed away less a life than a
dream! Yet of Sweyn, in our childhood, was Godwin most proud; who so
lovely in peace, and so terrible in wrath? My mother taught him the
songs of the Baltic, and Hilda led his steps through the woodland with
tales of hero and scald. Alone of our House, he had the gift of the
Dane in the flow of fierce song, and for him things lifeless had
being. Stately tree, from which all the birds of heaven sent their
carol; where the falcon took roost, whence the mavis flew forth in its
glee,--how art thou blasted and seared, bough and core!--smit by the
lightning and consumed by the worm!"
He paused, and, though none were by, he long shaded his brow with his
hand.
"Now," thought he, as he rose and slowly paced the chamber, "now to
what lives yet on earth--his son! Often hath my mother urged me in
behalf of these hostages; and often have I sent to reclaim them.
Smooth and false pretexts have met my own demand, and even the
remonstrance of Edward himself. But, surely, now that William hath
permitted this Norman to bring over the letter, he will assent to what
it hath become a wrong and an insult to refuse; and Haco will return
to his father's land, and Wolnoth to his mother's arms."
