Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. | BOOK VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
 | Alfred |  |
116
BOOK VIII.
ARGUMENT.
Alfred's interview with a Hermit—Sigbert returns—His narration.
Ere yet the east told of approaching morn,
Alfred arose, disturb'd with many a care.
He knew the wrath of Ivar, and the deeds
His hand might do, ere Saxon stemm'd his course.
He thought upon Alswitha. Stillness mark'd
The scene around him, when he left the fort,
And wandered through the forest, till he came
To a green plat, o'ercanopied with trees,
Whose thick umbrageous limbs half hid the light,
Unfolding slow. ‘This,’ said the troubled king,
‘Shall be my altar.’ When he pour'd the prayer.
Alfred arose, disturb'd with many a care.
He knew the wrath of Ivar, and the deeds
His hand might do, ere Saxon stemm'd his course.
He thought upon Alswitha. Stillness mark'd
The scene around him, when he left the fort,
And wandered through the forest, till he came
To a green plat, o'ercanopied with trees,
Whose thick umbrageous limbs half hid the light,
Unfolding slow. ‘This,’ said the troubled king,
‘Shall be my altar.’ When he pour'd the prayer.
‘Maker of all around! of heaven and earth!
‘Altho' th' angelic host may not endure
‘Thy majesty, each suppliant thou wilt hear
‘Who with a contrite heart approacheth thee.
‘In this last struggle for my country's rights,
‘Grant me success’ But as thine eye, beneath
‘Futurity's dark veil, pierces and sees
‘The end from the beginning, Thou alone
‘Know'st what is best, and let thy will be done!
‘Thou art my only trust. I hasten now
‘To raise the sword, and may I never raise
‘That scourge of human kind, but in the cause
‘Of life and liberty, when I can ask,
‘As I this moment do, Thy blessing on it.
‘And if hereafter, in some happier time,
‘These gathering tempests over, Thou should'st fix
‘My throne in steadfastness—may royalty
‘Change not my heart, my gratitude to Thee,
‘Nor blind my mind to truth. May life appear
‘What now it does, a shadow, a brief tale,
‘The dream of morn, a fleeting summer cloud,
‘Fair to behold, but whose stability
‘Changes beneath the sight. May I aspire
‘E'en then, to serve my Maker, to promote
‘That cause transcendent, which to fallen man
‘Breathes solace to the spirit, whisp'ring peace,
‘Thro' the Great Sacrifice of Calvary!—
‘Our joy in life, our only hope in death!
‘If call'd, erelong, to wear the diadem
‘In peace and quietness, O, grant thine aid!
‘Be mine the great example! May I learn—
‘To love my subjects—love my fellow-kind—
‘To do all good, and know that I was made,
‘Not for parade and ornament, a king,
‘But to advance all virtues, so shall years
‘Far distant bless me, and thy smiles at last
‘Crown this my mortal life.’
‘Altho' th' angelic host may not endure
‘Thy majesty, each suppliant thou wilt hear
‘Who with a contrite heart approacheth thee.
‘In this last struggle for my country's rights,
‘Grant me success’ But as thine eye, beneath
‘Futurity's dark veil, pierces and sees
117
‘Know'st what is best, and let thy will be done!
‘Thou art my only trust. I hasten now
‘To raise the sword, and may I never raise
‘That scourge of human kind, but in the cause
‘Of life and liberty, when I can ask,
‘As I this moment do, Thy blessing on it.
‘And if hereafter, in some happier time,
‘These gathering tempests over, Thou should'st fix
‘My throne in steadfastness—may royalty
‘Change not my heart, my gratitude to Thee,
‘Nor blind my mind to truth. May life appear
‘What now it does, a shadow, a brief tale,
‘The dream of morn, a fleeting summer cloud,
‘Fair to behold, but whose stability
‘Changes beneath the sight. May I aspire
‘E'en then, to serve my Maker, to promote
‘That cause transcendent, which to fallen man
‘Breathes solace to the spirit, whisp'ring peace,
‘Thro' the Great Sacrifice of Calvary!—
‘Our joy in life, our only hope in death!
‘If call'd, erelong, to wear the diadem
‘In peace and quietness, O, grant thine aid!
‘Be mine the great example! May I learn—
‘To love my subjects—love my fellow-kind—
‘To do all good, and know that I was made,
‘Not for parade and ornament, a king,
‘But to advance all virtues, so shall years
‘Far distant bless me, and thy smiles at last
‘Crown this my mortal life.’
The king now roam'd
Far through the tangled trees; for images,
Succeeding fast, had with their rapid speed
So fill'd his mind, that he had wander'd on
To the far distant portion of the wood,
Unknowing, when he stopp'd, and, looking round,
Beheld a man, who in the vale of years—
Far on had travelled. A long beard he had;
A garment loose about his shoulders hung,
And in his hand, feebly he held a staff.
A look more free from all created care
No eye had seen.
Far through the tangled trees; for images,
Succeeding fast, had with their rapid speed
So fill'd his mind, that he had wander'd on
To the far distant portion of the wood,
Unknowing, when he stopp'd, and, looking round,
118
Far on had travelled. A long beard he had;
A garment loose about his shoulders hung,
And in his hand, feebly he held a staff.
A look more free from all created care
No eye had seen.
Alfred drew near and said,
‘Pardon me, father! whither art thou bound,
‘Thus early? ‘Son,’ the old man cried, ‘thy words
‘Come from an honest tongue, tho' my dim sight
‘But half perceives thee. Whither art thou bound?
‘For this lone track along the forest's verge
‘My feet have worn, and I have seldom seen
‘The welcome stranger. May I ask the cause
‘Of thine appearance, at this early hour,
‘When the first beam scarce glimmers in the sky?’
Alfred replied: ‘Good father, I am one
‘Whose heart is sad, and I have hither stray'd,
‘To ease perchance the melancholy pang
‘That goads my bosom. May I now inquire
‘Who thou art, with a countenance so mild,
‘And so commanding in a place like this?’
‘Pardon me, father! whither art thou bound,
‘Thus early? ‘Son,’ the old man cried, ‘thy words
‘Come from an honest tongue, tho' my dim sight
‘But half perceives thee. Whither art thou bound?
‘For this lone track along the forest's verge
‘My feet have worn, and I have seldom seen
‘The welcome stranger. May I ask the cause
‘Of thine appearance, at this early hour,
‘When the first beam scarce glimmers in the sky?’
Alfred replied: ‘Good father, I am one
‘Whose heart is sad, and I have hither stray'd,
‘To ease perchance the melancholy pang
‘That goads my bosom. May I now inquire
‘Who thou art, with a countenance so mild,
‘And so commanding in a place like this?’
The old man answered, ‘I a hermit am,
‘Whose path this is at night and early morn,
‘When birds in concert sing, and I can feel
‘That there is life abroad, tho' in my heart
‘I feel it for another; for I now
‘Creep where I once have bounded, and shall soon
‘Cease e'en to creep, for old age comes apace,
‘And I with this good staff move feebly, yet
‘I dread it not, for in my early days
‘I walk'd with wisdom.’ ‘Father,’ Alfred cried,
‘It is a goodly thing to walk, like thee,
‘With wisdom, but to know what wisdom is,
‘Sometimes is hard. What guide is thine, old man?
‘Whose path this is at night and early morn,
‘When birds in concert sing, and I can feel
‘That there is life abroad, tho' in my heart
‘I feel it for another; for I now
‘Creep where I once have bounded, and shall soon
‘Cease e'en to creep, for old age comes apace,
‘And I with this good staff move feebly, yet
‘I dread it not, for in my early days
‘I walk'd with wisdom.’ ‘Father,’ Alfred cried,
‘It is a goodly thing to walk, like thee,
‘With wisdom, but to know what wisdom is,
‘Sometimes is hard. What guide is thine, old man?
119
The hermit answered, ‘Son, I love to hear
‘Such questions asked, for to inquire the way
‘That leads to truth, in this our erring world,
‘Shews a right spirit. Son my guide was this—
‘The Word of God, which understood and felt,
‘Both in the head and in the heart, promotes
‘That quiet contemplation of all round,
‘Wisdom loves best—that first of earthly gifts—
‘A peaceful conscience. I have oft sustain'd
‘Sore troubles, and endured such cares, as seem'd
‘Too hard for man; but, I o'ercame them all
‘By faith in Heaven; and here at length I am,
‘Still hoping, not forgotten, and about
‘To change my earthly dwelling, I would hope
‘For an inheritance beyond the skies.’
‘Such questions asked, for to inquire the way
‘That leads to truth, in this our erring world,
‘Shews a right spirit. Son my guide was this—
‘The Word of God, which understood and felt,
‘Both in the head and in the heart, promotes
‘That quiet contemplation of all round,
‘Wisdom loves best—that first of earthly gifts—
‘A peaceful conscience. I have oft sustain'd
‘Sore troubles, and endured such cares, as seem'd
‘Too hard for man; but, I o'ercame them all
‘By faith in Heaven; and here at length I am,
‘Still hoping, not forgotten, and about
‘To change my earthly dwelling, I would hope
‘For an inheritance beyond the skies.’
‘Father!’ the king replied, ‘no common words
‘Seem thine, and, of experience, thou hast gain'd
‘By deep researches, and communing oft
‘With heavenly influence, I would fain partake.’
The hermit thus. ‘Thy wish, I willing grant,
‘And may my humble words hereafter rise,
‘In some still moment, and bestow on thee
‘A portion of that joy which I have felt,
‘From the same recollection.—This the sum
‘Of fourscore years, and this the best advice
‘An aged man can give.—A prize is thine,
‘Known chiefly by its want, for thou hast youth
‘And health before thee, let it not pass by,
‘Unwelcom'd, unimproved. I tell thee, son!
‘This is true wisdom; God, to love and serve,—
‘In the one way, alone acceptable,—
‘By faith in him who died that we might live!—
‘There is a secret energy in faith. Its power
‘Gives strength to feebleness:—the natural man,
‘Though humble in the scale of intellect,
‘It lifts beyond his level. It confers
‘A character of dignity;—a rank
‘Felt by the loftiest;—'bove all contumely.
‘Its countenance—great in humility,
‘Presents credentials of its higher birth;—
‘Springing from truth, integrity,—a mind
‘Whose principles are drawn exclusively
‘From Heaven's pure law.
‘Seem thine, and, of experience, thou hast gain'd
‘By deep researches, and communing oft
‘With heavenly influence, I would fain partake.’
The hermit thus. ‘Thy wish, I willing grant,
‘And may my humble words hereafter rise,
‘In some still moment, and bestow on thee
‘A portion of that joy which I have felt,
‘From the same recollection.—This the sum
‘Of fourscore years, and this the best advice
‘An aged man can give.—A prize is thine,
‘Known chiefly by its want, for thou hast youth
‘And health before thee, let it not pass by,
‘Unwelcom'd, unimproved. I tell thee, son!
‘This is true wisdom; God, to love and serve,—
‘In the one way, alone acceptable,—
‘By faith in him who died that we might live!—
‘There is a secret energy in faith. Its power
‘Gives strength to feebleness:—the natural man,
‘Though humble in the scale of intellect,
120
‘A character of dignity;—a rank
‘Felt by the loftiest;—'bove all contumely.
‘Its countenance—great in humility,
‘Presents credentials of its higher birth;—
‘Springing from truth, integrity,—a mind
‘Whose principles are drawn exclusively
‘From Heaven's pure law.
‘An elevation this
‘Steadfast,—amid the perishable things
‘That sway earth's vassals. Still let infidels,
‘Scoffers and tainted spirits, phantoms chase,
‘Worship their idols, and, in enmity,
‘Heap loud reproach on wisdom's votaries,—
‘Their triumph will be brief. This truth is stamp'd
‘Indelible, in the celestial archives.—None!—
‘None but the pure in heart to Heaven ascend.
‘Subjects of Faith, the friends of Calvary.
‘These are the truly great, who will be found
‘Acquitted, welcomed to the seraph throng,
‘In that dread moment, when the sons of men—
‘The small, the mighty,—all alike to Him,—
‘Who tries the heart and reins, shall hear their doom!
‘The meanest in the family of faith,
‘Renew'd and sanctified, God will confess,
‘And honour, when earth's pomp and pageantry—
‘Scroll-like, have pass'd away.
‘Steadfast,—amid the perishable things
‘That sway earth's vassals. Still let infidels,
‘Scoffers and tainted spirits, phantoms chase,
‘Worship their idols, and, in enmity,
‘Heap loud reproach on wisdom's votaries,—
‘Their triumph will be brief. This truth is stamp'd
‘Indelible, in the celestial archives.—None!—
‘None but the pure in heart to Heaven ascend.
‘Subjects of Faith, the friends of Calvary.
‘These are the truly great, who will be found
‘Acquitted, welcomed to the seraph throng,
‘In that dread moment, when the sons of men—
‘The small, the mighty,—all alike to Him,—
‘Who tries the heart and reins, shall hear their doom!
‘The meanest in the family of faith,
‘Renew'd and sanctified, God will confess,
‘And honour, when earth's pomp and pageantry—
‘Scroll-like, have pass'd away.
‘Let the vain world
‘Erect their Babels!—nobler hopes be thine!—
‘Reaching beyond earth's low solicitudes.—
‘The sovereign ruler own, and supplicate:
‘His favour seek;—his guidance, not thine own—
‘Confide in, and tho' rough the road be found,
‘The end will well repay thee, and become
‘Prelude to peace on earth, and bliss in Heaven.
‘That vast profound,—unfathomably deep!
‘The human mind—the spark of Deity,
‘On purity, alone, can rest itself—
‘Contented, conscious of its origin,
‘Which mocks the lofty things that man calls great,
‘Soaring above them. Where is he, whose heart,
‘Blest with created good, can calmly say,
‘I ask no more?’ Can wealth or honors yield
‘Abiding happiness? Can splendour soothe
‘The craving appetite that asks for bread
‘Earth never granted? Can the scepter'd King,
‘Stretch'd on the couch of state, whose anxious brow
‘Laurels entwine, while all soft melodies
‘Glide through the air—can he this blessing boast?
‘Can these low objects fill th' immortal mind,—
‘E'en bless'd with health? But when the Foe draws near,
‘So fast approaching!—with his Sable Train,
‘Langour, Disease, and Death, earth's proudest gifts
‘Will vanish, lost in littleness and night!’
‘Erect their Babels!—nobler hopes be thine!—
‘Reaching beyond earth's low solicitudes.—
‘The sovereign ruler own, and supplicate:
‘His favour seek;—his guidance, not thine own—
‘Confide in, and tho' rough the road be found,
‘The end will well repay thee, and become
‘Prelude to peace on earth, and bliss in Heaven.
‘That vast profound,—unfathomably deep!
121
‘On purity, alone, can rest itself—
‘Contented, conscious of its origin,
‘Which mocks the lofty things that man calls great,
‘Soaring above them. Where is he, whose heart,
‘Blest with created good, can calmly say,
‘I ask no more?’ Can wealth or honors yield
‘Abiding happiness? Can splendour soothe
‘The craving appetite that asks for bread
‘Earth never granted? Can the scepter'd King,
‘Stretch'd on the couch of state, whose anxious brow
‘Laurels entwine, while all soft melodies
‘Glide through the air—can he this blessing boast?
‘Can these low objects fill th' immortal mind,—
‘E'en bless'd with health? But when the Foe draws near,
‘So fast approaching!—with his Sable Train,
‘Langour, Disease, and Death, earth's proudest gifts
‘Will vanish, lost in littleness and night!’
The hermit thus continued. ‘Hear me, son!
‘If the long catalogue of earthly joys
‘Fail to support the breast, which toils beneath
‘Their proudest blessings, and endures them all
‘Rather than owns their worth; what is there here,
‘Wisdom may covet, and the deathless mind
‘Esteem its greatest good?—Virtue alone!
‘The offspring of Religion.—Love to man—
‘To God, and, Faith in His Adored Son.
‘This is the pearl of price unspeakable!
‘Let those declare th' extent of earthly power
‘To stay the mind, whose restless hearts have sought
‘Tranquillity in all created things,
‘But found it not: tho' disappointed, still
‘Grasping at shadows, vainly seeking rest,
‘Yet, like the troubled ocean, to and fro
‘Toss'd by perpetual storms; striving to fill
‘That aching void within, which baffles them,—
‘Whate'er their boast of potent antidotes,
‘Till they have tasted of the Word of Life,
‘And learn'd to say, (My Father, and My God!)
‘Then shall the hour, that calls them hence, be peace.
‘A very bitter thing it is, to view
‘In Death an enemy, to feel disease,
‘Incurable, advancing, or old age
‘Creep on, and find no consolations kind,
‘Smooth the rough way, when at life's precipice!
‘Mind not thy cares, if cares thou hast, young man!
‘They are the lot of mortals, and approach
‘Not of themselves, but are the ministers
‘Of Him who loves His creatures, and appoints
‘These his best means to do them benefit;
‘Yet, one thing heed! Grieve not that God, who made
‘Man in His image, and appointed him,
‘But for his own perverseness, to possess,
‘In Heaven above, 'mid saints and seraphim
‘Pure and eternal joys. This ever fear!
‘For there shall come a time, to him who sins
‘Against the light within him, when his heart
‘Shall loath all good, and with abhorrence view
‘The flower he may not touch, which to his mind
‘Brings hateful recollections.—Once again,
‘As I may never more behold thy face,
‘In this uncertain, shadowy, fleeting state,
‘Let me, my son! conjure thee, to esteem,
‘'Bove all created things, that Precious Book!
‘That anchor of all hope! that Treasury
‘Of holy knowledge, which, in boundless love,
‘God hath bestow'd on man. There, mortals hear
‘Of a diviner heritage; a land
‘Where Patriarchs and Prophets now enjoy,
‘With all th' assembled Worth of years pass'd by,
‘Felicities supreme,—e'en in that world
‘Where dwells alone, 'mid the vast Universe,
‘Pure Righteousness—the brightest Gem of Heaven!’
‘If the long catalogue of earthly joys
‘Fail to support the breast, which toils beneath
‘Their proudest blessings, and endures them all
‘Rather than owns their worth; what is there here,
‘Wisdom may covet, and the deathless mind
‘Esteem its greatest good?—Virtue alone!
‘The offspring of Religion.—Love to man—
‘To God, and, Faith in His Adored Son.
‘This is the pearl of price unspeakable!
‘Let those declare th' extent of earthly power
‘To stay the mind, whose restless hearts have sought
‘Tranquillity in all created things,
‘But found it not: tho' disappointed, still
‘Grasping at shadows, vainly seeking rest,
‘Yet, like the troubled ocean, to and fro
‘Toss'd by perpetual storms; striving to fill
122
‘Whate'er their boast of potent antidotes,
‘Till they have tasted of the Word of Life,
‘And learn'd to say, (My Father, and My God!)
‘Then shall the hour, that calls them hence, be peace.
‘A very bitter thing it is, to view
‘In Death an enemy, to feel disease,
‘Incurable, advancing, or old age
‘Creep on, and find no consolations kind,
‘Smooth the rough way, when at life's precipice!
‘Mind not thy cares, if cares thou hast, young man!
‘They are the lot of mortals, and approach
‘Not of themselves, but are the ministers
‘Of Him who loves His creatures, and appoints
‘These his best means to do them benefit;
‘Yet, one thing heed! Grieve not that God, who made
‘Man in His image, and appointed him,
‘But for his own perverseness, to possess,
‘In Heaven above, 'mid saints and seraphim
‘Pure and eternal joys. This ever fear!
‘For there shall come a time, to him who sins
‘Against the light within him, when his heart
‘Shall loath all good, and with abhorrence view
‘The flower he may not touch, which to his mind
‘Brings hateful recollections.—Once again,
‘As I may never more behold thy face,
‘In this uncertain, shadowy, fleeting state,
‘Let me, my son! conjure thee, to esteem,
‘'Bove all created things, that Precious Book!
‘That anchor of all hope! that Treasury
‘Of holy knowledge, which, in boundless love,
‘God hath bestow'd on man. There, mortals hear
‘Of a diviner heritage; a land
‘Where Patriarchs and Prophets now enjoy,
‘With all th' assembled Worth of years pass'd by,
‘Felicities supreme,—e'en in that world
123
‘Pure Righteousness—the brightest Gem of Heaven!’
Thus Alfred, with unwonted earnestness.
‘Father! I fain would know the precious source
‘Whence this thy wisdom flows; the avenue
‘Thro' which thy mind possess'd, thy heart acquired,
‘This fund and plenitude of Sacred Truths.’
The Hermit answer'd thus.
‘Father! I fain would know the precious source
‘Whence this thy wisdom flows; the avenue
‘Thro' which thy mind possess'd, thy heart acquired,
‘This fund and plenitude of Sacred Truths.’
The Hermit answer'd thus.
‘Stranger! two springs
‘Have pour'd their healing waters on my soul.
‘First, portions of the Sacred Oracles,
‘To my own tongue transferr'd, by Wessex' King,
‘Alfred, whom God preserve! A treasure this,
‘Conferr'd on me, and thousands, which will shower
‘Blessings and benedictions on his head—
‘From age to age,—yea, through Eternity!
‘Next, and not least,—the teachings of God's Spirit,
‘(Without whose aid all human help were vain)
‘So freely given, to all who supplicate
‘In the prevailing name of Him, whose blood,
‘For guilty man, once flow'd upon the Cross.
‘If e'er I Alfred meet, (presumptuous thought!)
‘How would I urge, intreat, conjure, implore,
‘That he would perfect,—give, munificent,
‘To Saxons, hungering for the Bread of Life,
‘The Scriptures, in their full and amplest form.
‘His fragments come like nectar to the soul!
‘What then must be the whole?—the Government
‘Of twice two-thousand years of God to man,—
‘His dealings, warnings, revelations, laws,
‘All given to fit a People for the skies?
‘Stranger, these Scriptures are the balm of woe.
‘Drink of their words; bind them about thy heart;
‘Make them thy daily thought, thy nightly prayer!
‘They open, when this transient life shall end,
‘Rich and stupendous views, such as o'erwhelm,
‘(When for a moment earthly things retire)
‘The soul with ecstasy. They cast a beam,
‘Cheering, o'er death's dark vale, and with their hopes,
‘Stable as Heaven, 'mid prospects infinite,
‘Conquer the Mighty Conqueror of mankind!
‘Whilst reading of that glorious company
‘Who shout Hosannas to their Lord, my heart
‘Glows as I read, for there I hope to dwell!
‘(Th' imperfect left behind) to meet again
‘Each friend departed, destin'd there to form
‘Superior friendships, and mature those flowers
‘Which budded here below. Oh, joyous thought!
‘The Weeping, and the Wept, how soon to meet,
‘(A point between) never to part again!
‘There, in the regions of beatitude,
‘Our souls shall welcome countless spirits pure,
‘Lights of past ages, thro' th' eternal year,
‘To bask in light and love. T'indulge the thought
‘That I, erelong, shall taste this happiness,
‘Thro' Him who is the Way, the Truth, the Life,
‘Makes me o'er Earth's wide wilderness pass on,
‘Regardless of its thorns, remembering well,
‘When these low, momentary pangs are o'er,
‘I have a better rest.—There, may we meet,
‘When time shall be no more!’
‘Have pour'd their healing waters on my soul.
‘First, portions of the Sacred Oracles,
‘To my own tongue transferr'd, by Wessex' King,
‘Alfred, whom God preserve! A treasure this,
‘Conferr'd on me, and thousands, which will shower
‘Blessings and benedictions on his head—
‘From age to age,—yea, through Eternity!
‘Next, and not least,—the teachings of God's Spirit,
‘(Without whose aid all human help were vain)
‘So freely given, to all who supplicate
‘In the prevailing name of Him, whose blood,
‘For guilty man, once flow'd upon the Cross.
‘If e'er I Alfred meet, (presumptuous thought!)
‘How would I urge, intreat, conjure, implore,
‘That he would perfect,—give, munificent,
‘To Saxons, hungering for the Bread of Life,
‘The Scriptures, in their full and amplest form.
‘His fragments come like nectar to the soul!
‘What then must be the whole?—the Government
‘Of twice two-thousand years of God to man,—
‘His dealings, warnings, revelations, laws,
‘All given to fit a People for the skies?
‘Stranger, these Scriptures are the balm of woe.
‘Drink of their words; bind them about thy heart;
‘Make them thy daily thought, thy nightly prayer!
‘They open, when this transient life shall end,
124
‘(When for a moment earthly things retire)
‘The soul with ecstasy. They cast a beam,
‘Cheering, o'er death's dark vale, and with their hopes,
‘Stable as Heaven, 'mid prospects infinite,
‘Conquer the Mighty Conqueror of mankind!
‘Whilst reading of that glorious company
‘Who shout Hosannas to their Lord, my heart
‘Glows as I read, for there I hope to dwell!
‘(Th' imperfect left behind) to meet again
‘Each friend departed, destin'd there to form
‘Superior friendships, and mature those flowers
‘Which budded here below. Oh, joyous thought!
‘The Weeping, and the Wept, how soon to meet,
‘(A point between) never to part again!
‘There, in the regions of beatitude,
‘Our souls shall welcome countless spirits pure,
‘Lights of past ages, thro' th' eternal year,
‘To bask in light and love. T'indulge the thought
‘That I, erelong, shall taste this happiness,
‘Thro' Him who is the Way, the Truth, the Life,
‘Makes me o'er Earth's wide wilderness pass on,
‘Regardless of its thorns, remembering well,
‘When these low, momentary pangs are o'er,
‘I have a better rest.—There, may we meet,
‘When time shall be no more!’
Alfred thus spake.
‘The King, whose toils thou praisest, may he yet,—
‘Should favouring hour arrive, his work renew;
‘And, thro' the land, the heralds of Glad Tidings,—
‘The Scriptures, circulate, till every house
‘(If will could work a miracle so great)
‘Possess'd it, from the Cottage to the Throne.
‘Now father, fare thee well. Thy precepts rare
‘My spirit warm. They sink into my heart;
‘And on them I shall ponder fervently,
‘When far away. There are important calls
‘Which need my service, but again I trust
‘To see and hear thee. Father, now farewell!’
‘Farewell, my son!’ the Hermit said, when both
Turn'd, with a mutual prayer, to seek their homes.
‘The King, whose toils thou praisest, may he yet,—
‘Should favouring hour arrive, his work renew;
‘And, thro' the land, the heralds of Glad Tidings,—
‘The Scriptures, circulate, till every house
‘(If will could work a miracle so great)
‘Possess'd it, from the Cottage to the Throne.
‘Now father, fare thee well. Thy precepts rare
‘My spirit warm. They sink into my heart;
‘And on them I shall ponder fervently,
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‘Which need my service, but again I trust
‘To see and hear thee. Father, now farewell!’
‘Farewell, my son!’ the Hermit said, when both
Turn'd, with a mutual prayer, to seek their homes.
The King now hastens to the distant fort,
More confident and calm. He saw the gate,
And entering in, beheld each warrior's eye
Glisten with rapture; but a settled gloom
Mark'd his contemplant brow, or if he smiled,
His features quick return'd to their first state;
Like the tall reed upon the mountain top,
Which when the breeze sweeps over it, reclines,
To mount again. He thought of Sigbert now,
And his long absence. Every secret hope,
That yet Alswitha lived, forsook his heart;
And he was sad and silent! When a noise
Came from without, and as he rais'd his eye,
Sigbert, to his astonishment, appear'd!
More confident and calm. He saw the gate,
And entering in, beheld each warrior's eye
Glisten with rapture; but a settled gloom
Mark'd his contemplant brow, or if he smiled,
His features quick return'd to their first state;
Like the tall reed upon the mountain top,
Which when the breeze sweeps over it, reclines,
To mount again. He thought of Sigbert now,
And his long absence. Every secret hope,
That yet Alswitha lived, forsook his heart;
And he was sad and silent! When a noise
Came from without, and as he rais'd his eye,
Sigbert, to his astonishment, appear'd!
‘I need not ask the news,’ the King exclaim'd,
‘I see thy face! but, heaven endue my mind
‘With strength to bear its burden. Speak thou on!
‘And tell thy tale howe'er calamitous.’
Sigbert replied, ‘Oh, best of kings, I bring
‘Poor tidings for thee. Would that I were dead,
‘For to behold thy countenance, to me,
‘Is worse than death.’—
‘I see thy face! but, heaven endue my mind
‘With strength to bear its burden. Speak thou on!
‘And tell thy tale howe'er calamitous.’
Sigbert replied, ‘Oh, best of kings, I bring
‘Poor tidings for thee. Would that I were dead,
‘For to behold thy countenance, to me,
‘Is worse than death.’—
Alfred look'd up and said;
‘Thou dost mistake me, Sigbert! I can bear
‘All that thou hast to say. Now let me know
‘The worst! for, not to know, might try indeed
‘My resolution.’ Sigbert spake; ‘O. king,
‘Pardon my failure! little have I learn'd
‘Of thy good queen, Alswitha!’ ‘Hast thou heard
Aught of her?’ cried the king. Sigbert replied,
‘Something I have obtain'd. Astonish'd hear!
‘I have been made a pris'ner! I have met,
‘Guthrum, the Danish chief, and but escaped
‘To bear a threat to thee!’—Alfred replied,
Eager, uprising, ‘Dost thou mock thy king?
‘But if thy mind be serious, tell thy tale!
‘And tho' I speak to thee, answer me not
‘'Till thou hast ended.’
‘Thou dost mistake me, Sigbert! I can bear
‘All that thou hast to say. Now let me know
‘The worst! for, not to know, might try indeed
‘My resolution.’ Sigbert spake; ‘O. king,
‘Pardon my failure! little have I learn'd
‘Of thy good queen, Alswitha!’ ‘Hast thou heard
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‘Something I have obtain'd. Astonish'd hear!
‘I have been made a pris'ner! I have met,
‘Guthrum, the Danish chief, and but escaped
‘To bear a threat to thee!’—Alfred replied,
Eager, uprising, ‘Dost thou mock thy king?
‘But if thy mind be serious, tell thy tale!
‘And tho' I speak to thee, answer me not
‘'Till thou hast ended.’
Sigbert thus began:
‘Leaving the grove where late I saw my king,
‘Full many an hour I wander'd, and a man
‘Met not these eyes, save one poor cottager,
‘His home forsaking, from the Danes, who spread
‘Terrors around! Now night was drawing near,
‘And in the dim horizon, I could see
‘Surrounding fires—the Foe! whose brands destroy'd
‘Thy subjects' habitations. Thro' my frame,
‘Crept horror, and descending from a hill,
‘Where the fierce north-wind blew, I saw a pile,
‘What once had been an abbey; now o'ergrown
‘With moss and ivy. To the spot I hied
‘For nightly shelter. As I enter'd in,
‘I heard a voice, and looking round, beheld,
‘A woman, fleeing! Fast I followed her,
‘And bade her answer, if she aught had heard,
‘Whether for life or death, of one, unknown,
‘A female, who, when Glastonbury fell,
‘There sojourn'd;—with no pompous servitude,
‘Yet Alfred's queen. I told her, by thy grace,
‘I now inquired her fate.—The woman look'd—
‘Wild, and o'erpower'd with something at her heart;
‘When thus she cried: Good warrior, I have heard
‘A rumour that Alswitha lives, but more
‘Ask not to know. Forth, lead me to the king!
‘To him alone will I my tale declare.
‘Leaving the grove where late I saw my king,
‘Full many an hour I wander'd, and a man
‘Met not these eyes, save one poor cottager,
‘His home forsaking, from the Danes, who spread
‘Terrors around! Now night was drawing near,
‘And in the dim horizon, I could see
‘Surrounding fires—the Foe! whose brands destroy'd
‘Thy subjects' habitations. Thro' my frame,
‘Crept horror, and descending from a hill,
‘Where the fierce north-wind blew, I saw a pile,
‘What once had been an abbey; now o'ergrown
‘With moss and ivy. To the spot I hied
‘For nightly shelter. As I enter'd in,
‘I heard a voice, and looking round, beheld,
‘A woman, fleeing! Fast I followed her,
‘And bade her answer, if she aught had heard,
‘Whether for life or death, of one, unknown,
‘A female, who, when Glastonbury fell,
‘There sojourn'd;—with no pompous servitude,
‘Yet Alfred's queen. I told her, by thy grace,
‘I now inquired her fate.—The woman look'd—
‘Wild, and o'erpower'd with something at her heart;
‘When thus she cried: Good warrior, I have heard
‘A rumour that Alswitha lives, but more
‘Ask not to know. Forth, lead me to the king!
‘To him alone will I my tale declare.
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‘Pleased with the dawn of hope, I eager cried,
‘Haste thou with me. Erelong shalt thou behold
‘Alfred our monarch. As we journey'd on
‘To seek thee here—Oh, miserable man!
‘We met the Danes! an army, led by one,
‘Old, but most fierce to look on, Guthrum named,
‘And soon the host drew near. Needless to tell
‘All that was talk'd and threaten'd, 'tis enough
‘To say that like a Saxon, undismay'd,
‘I saw my fate, deem'd sure, and that I then
‘Pleaded my master's cause. Full plain he saw
‘I fear'd him not, and when he drew his sword
‘To slay me, something check'd his hand; he cried,
‘Rise prostrate Saxon! I will spare thy life—
‘Convey this message to thy haughty king.’
‘Haste thou with me. Erelong shalt thou behold
‘Alfred our monarch. As we journey'd on
‘To seek thee here—Oh, miserable man!
‘We met the Danes! an army, led by one,
‘Old, but most fierce to look on, Guthrum named,
‘And soon the host drew near. Needless to tell
‘All that was talk'd and threaten'd, 'tis enough
‘To say that like a Saxon, undismay'd,
‘I saw my fate, deem'd sure, and that I then
‘Pleaded my master's cause. Full plain he saw
‘I fear'd him not, and when he drew his sword
‘To slay me, something check'd his hand; he cried,
‘Rise prostrate Saxon! I will spare thy life—
‘Convey this message to thy haughty king.’
What were his words?’ Alfred exclaim'd, ‘Tell each!’
‘If thou would'st hear indeed his very words,’
Sigbert replied, ‘this was his lofty taunt:—
‘Saxon, inform thy king, where'er he be,
‘One certain fate awaits him. Tell him I,
‘Guthrum the Danish chief, am hastening now
‘Toward Kenwith, where the trembling Oddune lies,
‘And starves for succour; whilst around the walls,
‘Hubba, my prince, encamps. I thither go
‘To vanquish that proud Saxon, and to dogs
‘His carcass cast, when, by the Gods on high,
‘By Odin, Thor, and Freya, and the race
‘Of matchless deities, who throng thy halls,
‘O, Valhall! we will hunt thy monarch out,
‘And if this land contain him, whether hid
‘In glen or cavern, wood or mountain bare,
‘These swords shall find, and these exultant eyes
‘Gaze on his mangled corse.’
‘If thou would'st hear indeed his very words,’
Sigbert replied, ‘this was his lofty taunt:—
‘Saxon, inform thy king, where'er he be,
‘One certain fate awaits him. Tell him I,
‘Guthrum the Danish chief, am hastening now
‘Toward Kenwith, where the trembling Oddune lies,
‘And starves for succour; whilst around the walls,
‘Hubba, my prince, encamps. I thither go
‘To vanquish that proud Saxon, and to dogs
‘His carcass cast, when, by the Gods on high,
‘By Odin, Thor, and Freya, and the race
‘Of matchless deities, who throng thy halls,
‘O, Valhall! we will hunt thy monarch out,
‘And if this land contain him, whether hid
‘In glen or cavern, wood or mountain bare,
‘These swords shall find, and these exultant eyes
‘Gaze on his mangled corse.’
Alfred replied,
‘My God hath given the stars their course, and fix'd
‘The bounds of ocean, when he raves, and dares
‘All but Omnipotence, and that same God
‘Will, to my bitter foes, the Danes, appoint
‘A bound impassable! They shall not rule!
‘They shall not Oddune slay! They shall not yet,
‘Spoil to the uttermost this goodly land,
‘For there is one in Heaven!—Now, tell thy tale!’
‘My God hath given the stars their course, and fix'd
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‘All but Omnipotence, and that same God
‘Will, to my bitter foes, the Danes, appoint
‘A bound impassable! They shall not rule!
‘They shall not Oddune slay! They shall not yet,
‘Spoil to the uttermost this goodly land,
‘For there is one in Heaven!—Now, tell thy tale!’
Sigbert again: ‘I thank'd the Dane and said,
‘But let this woman bear me company.
‘Thus he replied, with an indignant frown,
‘Thy life I give thee, but, presumptuous man!
‘No more require, or by the powers above,
‘Here shalt thou lie, a spectacle, to tell
‘What rashness merits.’ Madness had it been
‘For Sigbert to contend; so with the Dane
‘The woman journey'd.’
‘But let this woman bear me company.
‘Thus he replied, with an indignant frown,
‘Thy life I give thee, but, presumptuous man!
‘No more require, or by the powers above,
‘Here shalt thou lie, a spectacle, to tell
‘What rashness merits.’ Madness had it been
‘For Sigbert to contend; so with the Dane
‘The woman journey'd.’
With distraction wild
Alfred exclaim'd—‘Doth my Alswitha live?
‘Oh no! Delusive thought! Can it be true?—
‘This hard uncertainty, these doubts and fears,
‘Alternate jarring, so consume my heart,
‘That it were merciful to know indeed
‘That she were dead! yet, any thing with life!
‘Art thou still living?—She is gone, who knew
‘Tidings of her I honour!’ Alfred now
Stood motionless, when Sigbert thus again.
Alfred exclaim'd—‘Doth my Alswitha live?
‘Oh no! Delusive thought! Can it be true?—
‘This hard uncertainty, these doubts and fears,
‘Alternate jarring, so consume my heart,
‘That it were merciful to know indeed
‘That she were dead! yet, any thing with life!
‘Art thou still living?—She is gone, who knew
‘Tidings of her I honour!’ Alfred now
Stood motionless, when Sigbert thus again.
‘One thing had near escaped me; ere she pass'd,
‘From her fair neck she took these pearls, and said,
‘With faltering voice, ‘If in hereafter times
‘Thou e'er should'st see, one who remembers these,
‘Declare, that she who own'd them, now endures
‘The hard captivity.’ When Sigbert placed
The pearls before his monarch. At the sight,
Sudden he starts! and feeble utterance gave—
‘That woman was Alswitha!’
‘From her fair neck she took these pearls, and said,
‘With faltering voice, ‘If in hereafter times
‘Thou e'er should'st see, one who remembers these,
‘Declare, that she who own'd them, now endures
‘The hard captivity.’ When Sigbert placed
The pearls before his monarch. At the sight,
Sudden he starts! and feeble utterance gave—
‘That woman was Alswitha!’
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Alfred stood,
While twenty times the crow might flap his wing,
Trembling in fixed amazement!—Now to find
Alswitha lived, yet, by the hostile Dane
Borne from his sight, a dark uncertain joy
Gave to the king; like what he feels, the man—
Shipwreck'd, and clinging fast to oar or spar,
Who 'scapes the angry surge, and when at length
The crag he climbs, finds, with the bitter pang,
That he alone survives of all the crew.
While twenty times the crow might flap his wing,
Trembling in fixed amazement!—Now to find
Alswitha lived, yet, by the hostile Dane
Borne from his sight, a dark uncertain joy
Gave to the king; like what he feels, the man—
Shipwreck'd, and clinging fast to oar or spar,
Who 'scapes the angry surge, and when at length
The crag he climbs, finds, with the bitter pang,
That he alone survives of all the crew.
‘Alswitha!’ cried the king, ‘I never more
‘Shall see thee, nor the music of thy voice
‘Hear, and rejoice at!’ Alfred spake again:
‘Sigbert, declare as thou hast faith in Heaven,
‘What said the Dane, and what Alswitha said?
‘Declare each word!’—Sigbert thus answer made:
‘In that disastrous hour I little knew
‘For whom I pleaded! When I freedom claim'd
‘For her, unknown, the wrathful Dane replied,
‘Saxon away! Thy pleading speech is vain!
‘She shall become my counsellor; her words
‘Have so impress'd my mind, that I desire
‘To hear her further. (For Alswitha spake
‘With most full confidence of that great God
‘He dared defy, which made his sinews quake,
‘His cheek turn pallid.) She shall go, he cried,
‘And tell me of that God, the Spirit vast
‘Which late she spake of, whom I may compare
‘With Odin and our Gods. He further said,
‘His soul was awed, that in her he beheld,
‘A grace! a majesty!’—
‘Shall see thee, nor the music of thy voice
‘Hear, and rejoice at!’ Alfred spake again:
‘Sigbert, declare as thou hast faith in Heaven,
‘What said the Dane, and what Alswitha said?
‘Declare each word!’—Sigbert thus answer made:
‘In that disastrous hour I little knew
‘For whom I pleaded! When I freedom claim'd
‘For her, unknown, the wrathful Dane replied,
‘Saxon away! Thy pleading speech is vain!
‘She shall become my counsellor; her words
‘Have so impress'd my mind, that I desire
‘To hear her further. (For Alswitha spake
‘With most full confidence of that great God
‘He dared defy, which made his sinews quake,
‘His cheek turn pallid.) She shall go, he cried,
‘And tell me of that God, the Spirit vast
‘Which late she spake of, whom I may compare
‘With Odin and our Gods. He further said,
‘His soul was awed, that in her he beheld,
‘A grace! a majesty!’—
‘Tell me no more!’
Alfred exclaim'd, ‘but, speak, what said the queen—
‘What were Alswitha's words?’ Sigbert replied,
‘She answer'd thus, whilst tears bedew'd her cheek:
‘Oh warrior, stay me not! nor thus oppress
‘A poor weak woman. Didst thou know what calls
‘Sound in mine ear, thou would'st regard my words
‘And let me harmless pass; for I have one,
‘Far off, a husband, who my absence mourns,
‘And who would die, to hear that I was met
‘By thee, oh chieftain! and perforce convey'd
‘He knew not where. Pity my many woes,
‘And let me call thee blessed.’
Alfred exclaim'd, ‘but, speak, what said the queen—
‘What were Alswitha's words?’ Sigbert replied,
‘She answer'd thus, whilst tears bedew'd her cheek:
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‘A poor weak woman. Didst thou know what calls
‘Sound in mine ear, thou would'st regard my words
‘And let me harmless pass; for I have one,
‘Far off, a husband, who my absence mourns,
‘And who would die, to hear that I was met
‘By thee, oh chieftain! and perforce convey'd
‘He knew not where. Pity my many woes,
‘And let me call thee blessed.’
Alfred cried,
‘This soothes me! Now proceed!’ Sigbert again:
‘The Dane thus spake, ‘Woman thou plead'st in vain,
‘I never change my purpose. Cease thy fears;
‘Thou shalt be cheer'd by one who calls me sire,
‘By my high-minded Daughter, yonder maid,
‘Foll'wing from love her father to the wars.
‘My name is Guthrum. Tedious thus to wait.
‘Mount yonder steed! and at some future time,
‘Again thou may'st return and find thy home.
‘What more she said, oh prince, I must not tell;
‘Thou canst not hear it.’ Cried the anxious king,
‘Tell me each word! for never felt this heart
‘More firm and more collected.’ Sigbert said,
‘These were her words:
‘This soothes me! Now proceed!’ Sigbert again:
‘The Dane thus spake, ‘Woman thou plead'st in vain,
‘I never change my purpose. Cease thy fears;
‘Thou shalt be cheer'd by one who calls me sire,
‘By my high-minded Daughter, yonder maid,
‘Foll'wing from love her father to the wars.
‘My name is Guthrum. Tedious thus to wait.
‘Mount yonder steed! and at some future time,
‘Again thou may'st return and find thy home.
‘What more she said, oh prince, I must not tell;
‘Thou canst not hear it.’ Cried the anxious king,
‘Tell me each word! for never felt this heart
‘More firm and more collected.’ Sigbert said,
‘These were her words:
‘To talk of future hopes
‘Were vain indeed! I have no future hopes!
‘The bird that for her young flies many a mile,
‘And now returns to seek them, when she finds
‘Her treasure gone, her all, her little all,
‘Gone and no vestige left, feels such as I!
‘For I am homeward bound, whilst opening joys
‘Made my heart glad, but thou hast marr'd them all,
‘And life is now a blank, a cheerless void.
‘So many thoughts now strike my mind, such looks,
‘So many words she spake of tenderness,
‘That power miraculous must me have kept
‘From thought and recollection. To myself
‘Who near her stood, she cried, ‘Thou yet art free!
‘One favour do I ask.’ When, from her neck,
‘She took that string of pearls, of which I spake,
‘And weeping bade me, if I e'er should meet
‘The man who knew them, of her thus to say:—
‘She loved her husband! mourn'd her infant child,
‘Gone to its fathers.’ ‘Tell him,’ she exclaim'd,
‘If e'er he see me living, he shall find
‘My heart still pure, and if, far off, I died,
‘To pity one, who with her latest breath
‘Call'd on her husband, and from Heaven implored
‘Blessings on him and his.’—Alfred replied,
‘This is indeed too searching. Now retire:
‘To-morrow I shall see thee!’
‘Were vain indeed! I have no future hopes!
‘The bird that for her young flies many a mile,
‘And now returns to seek them, when she finds
‘Her treasure gone, her all, her little all,
‘Gone and no vestige left, feels such as I!
‘For I am homeward bound, whilst opening joys
‘Made my heart glad, but thou hast marr'd them all,
‘And life is now a blank, a cheerless void.
‘So many thoughts now strike my mind, such looks,
‘So many words she spake of tenderness,
‘That power miraculous must me have kept
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‘Who near her stood, she cried, ‘Thou yet art free!
‘One favour do I ask.’ When, from her neck,
‘She took that string of pearls, of which I spake,
‘And weeping bade me, if I e'er should meet
‘The man who knew them, of her thus to say:—
‘She loved her husband! mourn'd her infant child,
‘Gone to its fathers.’ ‘Tell him,’ she exclaim'd,
‘If e'er he see me living, he shall find
‘My heart still pure, and if, far off, I died,
‘To pity one, who with her latest breath
‘Call'd on her husband, and from Heaven implored
‘Blessings on him and his.’—Alfred replied,
‘This is indeed too searching. Now retire:
‘To-morrow I shall see thee!’
Sigbert heard,
And left the king to loneliness and night.
And left the king to loneliness and night.
| Alfred | |