ardrada. Accomplish this day the last triumph
of England; add to these hills a new mount of the conquered dead! And
when, in far times and strange lands, scald and scop shall praise the
brave man for some valiant deed wrought in some holy cause, they shall
say, 'He was brave as those who fought by the side of Harold, and swept
from the sward of England the hosts of the haughty Norman.'"

Scarcely had the rapturous hurrahs of the Saxons closed on this speech,
when full in sight, north-west of Hastings, came the first division of
the Invader.

Harold remained gazing at them, and not seeing the other sections in
movement, said to Gurth, "If these are all that they venture out, the day
is ours."

"Look yonder!" said the sombre Haco, and he pointed to the long array
that now gleamed from the wood through which the Saxon kinsmen had passed
the night before; and scarcely were these cohorts in view, than lo! from
a third quarter advanced the glittering knighthood under the Duke. All
three divisions came on in simultaneous assault, two on either wing of
the Saxon vanguard, the third (the Norman) towards the entrenchments.

In the midst of the Duke's cohort was the sacred gonfanon, and in front
of it and of the whole line, rode a strange warrior of gigantic height.
And as he rode, the warrior sang:

"Chaunting loud the lusty strain
Of Roland and of Charlemain,
And the dead, who, deathless all,
Fell at famous Roncesval." [270]

And the knights, no longer singing hymn and litany, swelled, hoarse
through their helmets, the martial chorus. This warrior, in front of the
Duke and the horsemen, seemed beside himself with the joy of battle. As
he rode, and as he chaunted, he threw up his sword in the air like a
gleeman, catching it nimbly as it fell [271], and flourishing it wildly,
till, as if unable to restrain his fierce exhilaration, he fairly put
spurs to his horse, and, dashing forward to the very front of a
detachment of Saxon riders, shouted:

"A Taillefer! a Taillefer!" and by voice and gesture challenged forth
some one to single combat.

A fiery young thegn who knew the Romance tongue, started forth and
crossed swords with the poet; but by what seemed rather a juggler's
sleight of hand than a knight's fair fence, Taillefer, again throwing up
and catching his sword with incredible rapidity, shore the unhappy Saxon
from the helm to the chine, and riding over his corpse, shouting and
laughing, he