No More Learning

Illorum scelera
Poena sequatur!

ENGLISH CRIES. Harold and Holy Cross! Out! out!

STIGAND. Our javelins
Answer their arrows. All the Norman foot
Are storming up the hill. The range of knights
Sit, each a statue on his horse, and wait.

ENGLISH CRIES. Harold and God Almighty!

NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou! Ha Rou!

CANONS (_singing_).
Eques cum pedite
Praepediatur!
Illorum in lacrymas
Cruor fundatur!
Pereant, pereant,
Anglia precatur.

STIGAND. Look, daughter, look.

EDITH. Nay, father, look for me!

STIGAND. Our axes lighten with a single flash
About the summit of the hill, and heads
And arms are sliver'd off and splinter'd by
Their lightning--and they fly--the Norman flies.

EDITH. Stigand, O father, have we won the day?

STIGAND. No, daughter, no--they fall behind the horse--
Their horse are thronging to the barricades;
I see the gonfanon of Holy Peter
Floating above their helmets--ha! he is down!

EDITH. He down!