University of Virginia Library

BOOK XVIII.

O'ER all the Saxon camp no man forgot
The conflict of the morrow. Thro' the night,
Sleep soothed them not, while martial images,—
The routed squadron, and the flying Dane—
Helmet, loud-sounding, and the clashing shield,
Ranged thro' their minds, and made the hour of rest
The scene of strife, a mimic battle-field!
Now morn appears. Impatient for the fight
The Saxon hosts await the conflict near—
Portentous!—in its copious streams, to shed
Blessings on Albion to remotest times,
Or—curses limitless!
At length the sun
Rose in his richest splendors.—Alfred thus
Cheer'd on his veteran warriors, crowding round—
‘Brave men! the hope of Britain, and her pride!
‘On yonder hill, behold that enemy
‘Whose wasting swords have left you now to boast
‘Nought but your courage. That alone remains,—
‘The fix'd, imperishable gift of Heaven!
‘Base is the heart that in a wanton cause
‘Raises this weapon, but, to save our lives,
‘To guard from ruin all that man holds dear,
‘Sanctions the deed! Who, 'mid this list'ning throng,
‘That mourns not, (by yon wasters,) home destroy'd,
‘Friends massacred, or wife, or children, slain?
‘Long have the louring clouds our prospect dimm'd,
‘And Heaven seem'd adverse; doubtless to correct
‘Some public vice, some confidence, in aught
‘Save Him who made us; but, the mists retire!
‘The dawn of hope is come! the sun is risen!
‘And we are now to combat. Yonder host
‘Have dar'd the Lord Almighty! Yonder host
‘Our God have dared defy, and now, His arm
‘Rises to vengeance. In the Lord of Hosts
‘We trust, our father's God; and in the hour,
‘Fast coming, He will be our friend. Arise!
‘Go forth to conquer! for this day shall Heaven
‘Fight on our side.—‘Think, brave and gallant men!
‘What cause is yours. You, for your freedom, rights,
‘Your native homes, your faithful friends, the race
‘Who call you father, and the wife beloved,
‘Now lift the spear, and brandish pitiless
‘These slaughter-weapons. What, in life, can man
‘Seek, after slav'ry? What can charm the heart
‘Of prostrate slave? Yet e'en this wretched state
‘You are denied, for yonder Danes have sworn,
‘Full confident of victory, to spare,
‘When this day's strife is o'er, not one who lives,
‘Subject or Monarch.
Saxons! do I now
‘Declare of dangers you yourselves may feel
‘To fire your spirits? Well I know your hearts
‘Far nobler, than, at time like this, to pore
‘O'er selfish ills; you cast your ardent eyes
‘To days far distant! You with bitterness
‘Think of your future race, your sons unborn,
‘The generations, who, if we succeed
‘Against this raging foe, from us will date
‘Their every blessing, and in after times,
‘When you are low and silent, look to Heaven,
‘And pray, its fairest garlands you may bind,
‘Its highest seats reward you. They shall sit,
‘Beneath the fig-tree and the clustering vine,
‘Contented, and look back on you, brave men!
‘Who fought, perchance who bled, to buy for them
‘Their every joy. The flower of Christendom,
‘Martel, that gallant chief! who nobly met
‘The conquering Saracen, and six long days
‘Fought, sword to sword; a conflict fitly named,
‘Man's batttle, rescuing earth from thraldom vile,
‘Scarce drew his sword in more stupendous cause
‘Than Saxons at this moment. Let us strive—
‘In one bold effort, worthy of our name,
‘Our foes to vanquish. Should you, patriots brave!
‘(Some round me now, with courage on their brow,)
‘Fall for the land you love, the God you serve,
‘E'en welcome death. Start not at name so dread;
‘For death will come, and many a gallant man,
‘Now round me, prove ere long a breathless corse!
‘Myself may fall! the tongue that speaks, this heart
‘That throbs for action, soon upon the ground,
‘Expos'd, and still, may lie. Sigh not at this,
‘But rather let our hearts, both yours and mine,
‘Exultant leap, and thank the God of Heaven,
‘That in his sight deserving we appear
‘To fight our country's battles, and receive
‘The tear of gratitude from those behind.
‘Smile then at death! fear only to depart,
‘Unconscious of discharging as you ought
‘Your trying duties, which perform'd, let pain,
‘Let anguish seize us—let soul-harrowing pangs
‘Rage their brief moment, the tempestuous scene
‘Soon will be o'er, and then awaits us all
‘Pleasures on earth, or blessedness in heaven.
‘Now, down the hill, advance to meet the foe!’
Tumult within the Danish camp prevails!
Ivar, upon th' opposing hill beholds,
Eager for war, the Saxons! High in air
Their banners wave! and far as eye may reach
Ranks crowd on ranks, when thus in wrath he cried.—
‘Hubba! away. Thy counsels I disdain!
‘Thou hast deceived me! Where was yonder host,
‘When in thy pride thou vaunted'st, and didst call
‘This isle our own, by conquest nobly won?
‘Whence then is yonder host?—shouting aloud
‘Frantic defiance! Where their vanquish'd Prince?
‘A wand'rer, as thou told'st me in the woods,
‘And caves, and mountains; now, too late, perceived,
‘Hatching revenge. ‘How hast thou spent thy time?
‘Where slept thy valour, whilst the Saxon King,
‘In secret plann'd his vengeance?’
Like the Bull
Goaded to madness, yet with bars confin'd,
Hubba appear'd, 'till Ivar ceas'd; he then
Cried vaunting: ‘To thy native shores, again!
‘I heed thee not! I need not thy support?
‘Vain mortal, flee! and Guthrum, let him flee!
‘Flee all! myself shall meet the Saxons! this—
‘This arm shall meet them, and the gods record
‘Hubba's proud conquest! I such force will shew
‘As when the Ocean lays his monstrous hand
‘On some great continent. Or winter's kind—
‘Dark Frost, upon the whirlwind, when he rides—
‘Triumphant, and with potent word, arrests,
‘While in 'mid course, plunging o'er hideous rocks,
‘The thundering cataract. What are my deeds,
‘Ask'st thou? Oh Ivar? Let the Cambrian shore
‘Answer thy question! Let the wasted towns,
‘Britain beholds, her villages destroy'd,
‘Her cots consum'd, her sons and daughters slain:
‘These are the deeds of Hubba, ere thou cam'st
‘A tame spectator to look on, and now,
‘Danger awaits thee, shrinkest at thy heart;
‘Unworthy of thy father and thy race.’
Ivar indignant cried, ‘Spirit abhorr'd!
‘Take back thy rage! Reserve it to withstand
‘The adder's venom, checking kind with kind.
‘Scourge of my fortunes! Have I not the right,
‘The leader of the Danes, the elder far,
‘To ask thy ways, and, if I deem it well,
‘Check thee for evils, such as I behold
‘Thy inexperienced rashness hath brought down?
‘I know I have! And if thou question it,
‘This sword shall teach thine error!’
‘Death be thine!’
Cried Hubba; and, his sword upraising, aim'd
The fatal blow, that on the chieftain's shield
Woke thunders, and as Ivar rais'd his sword,
That never fell but death attended it,
Guthrum his huge arm seized and cried, ‘Forbear!
‘Chieftains, forbear! Distracting fears are mine!
‘Is this your vaunted zeal? Danes, stay your wrath!
‘Mark yonder Saxons! see their shining ranks!
‘Hear their loud shouts! their mad defiance, hear!
‘And from destruction save the Danish host!’
Ivar and Hubba paused. Both sheathed their swords.
When Ivar thus exclaim'd to Guthrum near:
‘Chieftain, depart! Prepare the ranks, and swift,
‘If thou behold the Saxons! from yon hill,
‘In proud array, descending to the plain,
‘Approach and warn us!’ Guthrum leaves the tent;
When Ivar to his brother thus again.
‘Hubba, regard my words! Thy confidence
‘Hath sprung a trap so fatal, that to burst
‘Its fangs of iron, well might puzzle now
‘Valfthrudinis' self. For this I Britain left!
‘For this I sought my native land, and roused
‘(Breathing revenge,) fresh bands to follow me;
‘Called up each dormant passion, made them feel
‘Unquenchable desires, to spoil the race
‘That slew our father, now at length to see
‘The Saxon king, whom we so oft have driven
‘Before our might, unconquer'd, and about
‘With yon innumerable host, to dare
‘Our highest valour. Not that I perceive,
‘Fear at my heart. This breast must learn from thee
‘What fear means, if it sought to know, for gods
‘Fear not the giants, less than I the foe.
‘With such resistless forces as we boast,—
‘Spirits inured to conquest, I might march
‘Thro' earth triumphant, yet, that thou may'st see,
‘In after times, what best may serve our cause,
‘Ivar's experience hear.—Inferior ills,
‘Leisure may combat, but to those alone,
‘The mightiest, every chief, whom wisdom guides,
‘At first directs his efforts, and subdues
‘The cubless Bear, loud howling, ere he seek
‘The timid Ermine, since I left this isle,
‘Thee the sole leader, why didst thou forget,
‘Britain that Bear, and on the Cambrian Ermine
‘Waste thy best strength? Behold the bitter fruit!
‘I knew not better than thyself, the force—
‘The living-spring resources of his mind,
The Saxon king; the valour he hath shewn,
‘The unconquerable firmness of his breast,
‘Who in his youthful days, our ablest chiefs
‘Laugh'd at, and worsted, making even Danes
‘For a brief season, now to terminate,
‘Behold their equal. Why didst thou pursue
‘So mean a foe, ere on our mother earth
‘Lay Alfred? See him on yon hill! Again
‘I ask thee, with imperious tone, how came
‘Oddune, that haughty foe, from Kenwith's walls
‘To baffle thee, surrounding, and escape,
‘When to that special point, our confidence
‘Rested on thee?’
Hubba thus answer'd, ‘Man!
‘I scorn to call thee brother! Thou art one,
‘A stranger, whom I hate with most deep hate!
‘Instant the battle ceases, we will meet,
‘Death on our swords, destruction in our eyes!—
‘One to the earth shall fall—Hubba, or thou!
‘When next thou sleepest, in thy dreams beware,
‘Lest thy dead father, breathing streams of fire,
‘Draw near thy tent, and Ivar's dastard soul
‘Hurl to th' infernal worlds! Didst thou inquire,
‘Proud mortal, why I rang'd the Cambrian hills
‘Heedless of Alfred? Know! I thought it right!
‘What would'st thou more? Upon the Saxon soil,
‘No hostile army stood—no foe appear'd!
‘'Mid woods and hills they wander'd; whom our swords
‘Spared but to fall on this more glorious day.
‘And didst thou too inquire why Oddune fled!
‘'Twas whilst I to the gods the victim blood,
‘Pour'd, as our fathers taught. The Saxons saw
‘And fled at midnight.
‘Now let Hubba ask
‘Of lordly Ivar. Why didst thou refuse
‘To slay the Saxon Captive? Why didst thou
‘When Hubba claim'd her blood, tell thy weak tale
‘Of former terrors, and oppose the vow
‘Gods heard me make? Soon shall her life appease
‘My vengeance, and the instant yonder foes
‘Have slept in death, tho' Odin from his clouds,
‘With thund'ring voice, implored my wrath to cease,
‘Yet would I answer, scornful, and thus swear,
‘Upon the coming morn her blood shall flow!
‘Ivar! thou blam'st my caution, and would'st fain
‘Make prudence thine alone: how was it proved,
‘When, having reach'd this shore, thou left'st thy fleet,
‘Unguarded, soon to blaze through heaven's wide vault
‘Thy matchless folly? When the hour arrives
‘That to the assembled worlds, shall tell, who best,
‘The warrior's part has acted, who has slain,
‘Most foes, and to the applauding gods, can shew
‘The greater host of skulls obtain'd in fight;
‘Then shall be seen whose sword, or mine, or thine,
‘Best serv'd the cause we fight for, and deserved
‘The noblest draughts of heaven's immortal mead.’
He ceased. When Ivar, calm, thus answer'd him.
He ceased, when both the brother Danes uprose,
And rushing like the war-horse to the fray,
Drew near their troops,—that silent stood, whose hearts
Boil'd with black hate and wrath unquenchable.
Soon as they saw their leaders, demon shouts
Sounded through all the air, and savage yells
Like of the lion's whelp, when pinch'd by hunger
‘He makes the forests roar,’ Ivar exclaim'd,—
Casting his eye upon the raven flag
That waved beside him, ‘Lo! it flaps its wings!
‘Subjects, rejoice! the raven flaps his wings!
‘Triumph is ours!’ Again the loud shout rang,
When Ivar thus:
‘Behold in yonder host
‘That enemy whom we so oft have fought,
‘So oft have vanquish'd, and who now shall meet
‘His final overthrow. Ye fearless hosts,
‘Ye vet'rans, whom my valiant father led
‘Through all the north, driving each foe, like chaff
‘Before the whirlwind, yet, to crown our toil,
‘One task remains. There are the Saxons! there
‘Our only foe, whom meet, and Britain yields!
‘Weak are their bucklers! weak their puny arms;
‘Their hearts are weak! Before our conquering sword,
‘Each Saxon's head must stoop, yet one request
‘Make I, Oh Danes! Their monarch, leave to me,
‘Touch not one hair of Alfred! Let this sword
‘Contend with his, and by th' immortal gods,
‘My might shall lay him low.’
Now through the air,
He rais'd his monstrous arm, that like the limb
Of some huge oak, appear'd, the forest's pride,
Slow waving to the fury of the blast.
Again he spake. ‘One word, and then for war.
‘When to the plain beneath I lead you down
‘It is enough to know that ye are Danes,
‘T' ensure our triumph, yet, let victory
‘Glut not your rage! nor stay the work of death
‘'Till all are slain! 'till in one common flood
‘Each Saxon with their king, has drench'd the ground.
‘Behold the hostile ranks! They court the fight!
‘Shall we be backward? Danes, behold your prey.’
Swift down the hill they rush, and in the plain
Meet the bold Saxon! Lo! the fight begins!
The battle rages! sword with sword hath met!
And hark the terrors of the sounding shield—
That, like two sheets of ice, meet, and thro' Heaven
Send their loud dissonance and horrid crash!
The snowy beard of some Norwegian crag,
High in the elements, which feels the blast
Shake its grey lock, and, to the subject earth,
At length rolls headlong, spreading, as it rolls,
One wide destruction, well displays the course
Of Alfred's sword, as through the Danish ranks
It breaks its way, strewing the plain with death;
Whilst Ivar, roused to madness, singly seeks
The Saxon king, scorning the mortal force
That dares oppose him. Like the mountain brook,
Choak'd with the summer weed, that, with the storm,
Swoln into fury, urges on its way
Bursting all barriers.
See! The chieftains meet!
Alfred and Ivar! Blow for blow is given!
Death-doing work is there! God aid the just!