|
No paler a star than Luna herself |
|
Arose beside Venus when night settled in; |
|
The eye of the heavens o'er Hastings beholds |
|
The Norman and the Saxon lying side by side, |
|
Drenched in red blood, still clinging to their swords, |
|
They fought for the dominion of Albion's lands. |
|
Yet who proved the strongest, hardly a man can tell; |
|
Whose God prevailed? Christ or the Old Faith? |
|
The days shall come, the nights shall pass |
|
And the grass will grow on the mounds, alas! |
|
The wind laments across Hastings' vale, |
|
It still remembers the sound of swords being crossed, |
|
The poignant yells the sound of fury, the fire and the blood! |
|
And though centuries may pass, |
|
And tall on Hastings grow the grass, |
|
Remember that terrible day of swords, |
|
Remember the warriors whose lives were lost - |
|
Remember Hastings and shed a tear for it's ghost! |