University of Virginia Library

BOOK XIX.

‘SPARE! Spare the vanquish'd!’ Alfred cried. ‘Oh spare,
‘Subjects! the flying foe.’
The routed Danes
Swift from the fight escape!—the Saxons close
Press after them, tracking the ground with blood.
And such an overthrow no eye had seen!
Still on they sped, swift as the hurricane,
(Bearing reluctant, Guthrum from the fray)
Crushing each other, till the fort they gain,—
Adjoining, thro' whose gates they wildly rush
All trembling, as the solitary blade
On the wide desert when the tempest blows.
Up to the gate came Oddune! in his hand
He held a lance, all crimson, and when safe
He saw the Danes, the huge gates sudden closed;
Mists of uncertain form before his eyes
Awhile seem'd floating, and, amid the gust
Of momentary rage, he thought the walls
Parts of some monstrous and unflying foe,
At which he hurl'd his lance. When thus he cried,
Turning to his near forces, ‘Guard the gates!
‘Now must I seek the king.’
Forth to the vale
Eager he speeds, and Alfred soon approach'd,
Who saw him not, intent on aiding those—
The wounded, who o'er all the plain were stretch'd,
Silent in agony, or, with a groan
Of numbing import, gazing stern on death.
When, looking up, Alfred beheld the chief!
He spake not, each the hand of fellowship
Gave, but in silence; when at length, the king:
‘Oddune, the song of praise! Let the heart speak
‘With voice articulate, for, less than this
‘Would wake loud accusations from the ground.
‘The fight is o'er! The vict'ry now is ours!
‘Behold the hostile standard! see the flag
‘Danes trusted in! but, through Almighty power,
‘With lion strength endued, this reeking hand
‘Grasp'd the proud raven, whilst the other beat—
‘Ivar to earth. Say, what the fate of Hubba?’
Oddune thus answer made. ‘In the past fight,
‘I saw a monstrous man, bulwark'd by slain,
‘Whose look was terror, and whose every blow
‘Gave death a victim. Many a Saxon brave
‘Lay low before him, when I knew the chief—
‘Hubba, and rush'd to war. The strife was hard!
‘This sword the foe discomfited. He fell,
‘And as 'mid gore he writhed, I sought again
‘The hotter strife.’
Alfred exclaim'd, ‘Brave man,
‘This deed became thee! Point the spot where lay
‘The hostile chief! If yet he live, this heart,
‘Forgetful of the past, will shew what wrongs
‘Saxons can bear and pardon.’
As they now
Hubba explored among the field of blood,
Haggard their look, from the terrific sight
Of dead and dying, Oddune spake, ‘Oh, king!
‘Where is the brother, Ivar, that fierce man,
‘Whose frown yet awes my soul.’ Alfred replied,
‘Soon shalt thou see the chieftain. At this time,
‘It is enough, to tell thee he is slain,
‘To say—we measured swords. And Guthrum, where?’
When in a softer tone, and tremulous,
Alfred enquired,—‘Where is that other name—
‘Dear to my heart, Alswitha?’
Oddune cried,
‘This sword pursued the Dane up yonder hill
‘To the near fort. Thou se'st it! Thither sped
‘Guthrum, and a few foll'wers, breathless, wild,
‘Doubting if 'live or dead. I saw the gates,
‘Before the Saxons reach'd, loud-grating close.
‘Round are thy troops, and doubtless there abides—
‘Our honour'd queen.’
Alfred replied, ‘Heaven grant—
‘Oddune, thy words no fable.’
Now they reach,
Silent, where Hubba stretch'd his monstrous frame,
Death near him, thick as the autumnal leaves
Where never wind approaches. Dread the sight!
Wounded and prostrate lies the mighty chief!—
Tho' living, writhing in his agony!—
His look still terrible!—Alfred drew near,
(Oddune beside) The Dane now raised himself,
Unwieldly grown, and with the eye of fire
Met Alfred's sight undaunted—Suddenly
Tumult mysterious tortures Hubba's heart!
He look'd upon the king, and gnash'd his teeth!
Convuls'd, then utter'd with infuriate rage,—
‘I know thy visage! Thou the Harper art!
‘Spy in our camp! Oh, for the lightning's power
That I might blast thee!’
Alfred thus replied.
‘Dane! we are friends. This day hath seen our wrath
‘Vanish! All help attend thee! Thou may'st learn,
‘Yet, ere thou die, the Saxon character—
‘In combat, pitiless, in vict'ry, mild.
‘Receive our aid!’ When, instant, Hubba look'd,
Stern as when Winter darts his arrowy flakes
On some lone trav'ller, casting his dark eye
Upon the king, on Oddune, him whose sword
Th' unconquer'd now had conquer'd. Then he gazed
On many a breathless corse; yet not a word
Deign'd he to speak, he heaved no groan, he mark'd,
Unmoved, the circling spoil; when, with a frown
More terrible, he grasp'd a dagger near,
And plung'd it to his heart. Thus Hubba died!
Awhile they stood and wonder'd, when the King
Cried, ‘Other scenes await us! Oddune now,
‘Assist the wounded! be the hour improved
‘With all humanity, and let not one—
‘Not e'en a Dane, from Saxon hand receive
‘Requiting wrong.’
Oddune, his monarch's words
Heard, and departed; whilst the king himself
Sped through the fallen ranks, upheld the faint,
Relieved the dying, succour'd those who bled,
And to new deeds of kindness prompted each
Of all around.
One man there was, a Dane,
Who, tho' his limbs were mangled, laughing lay;
And as the king advanced, near to the spot,
He saw the foe was aged, and prepared
Solace to yield, when loud the Dane exclaim'd:
‘Obtruder on the bleeding warrior, hence!
‘Or if thou stay'st, I ask thee with thy sword
‘To finish the good work; for, here to die,
‘Seek I most earnest. Jomsburg is my home,
‘And Palnatoka my death-dealing chief.
‘Fear! I disdain thee. Solace with thine aid
‘Some coward supplicant of Saxon race,
‘I spurn the boon. I for this glorious hour
‘That soon shall give me freedom, and bestow
‘Immortal honours, have sustain'd all ills—
‘Thro' many a clime endured the battle's brunt,
‘Fearing the coward's death. I fear'd in vain.
‘I feel the searching pangs, that tell me, soon
‘The strife will cease! I hear the God of War!
‘I see him now! He beckons me! His hand,
‘Prize of the brave, holds out the frothy mead!
‘Hail, Valhall!’ when he heav'd his labouring breath,
And laugh'd, and died!
Alfred beheld the sight,
Pondering awhile with sad and downcast brow:
A sigh escap'd, and in his heart he cried,
‘Oh Lord, thy kingdom come!’
After long toil.
When each had known all succour and all care;
And Mercy, with the full meal satisfied,
Turn'd from the feast; Alfred aloud exclaim'd,
‘Saxons approach!’ To hear their monarch's words,
Obedient, all draw near, list'ning so still,
As when some spacious grove, silence o'er takes,
And every tree and leaf exalts itself,
And, looking to the Father of the skies,
Worships in silence. Alfred thus began:
‘Brave Saxons! with what joy I meet you all—
‘What ecstasy, past language, now to say,
‘The fight is o'er!—The day is won! This hour—
‘Britain is saved! Where is the haughty Dane?
‘Where are the men whose impious tongues pronounced
‘Our certain fates, and on the morn, defied,
‘The God our fathers honour'd? Where are they,
‘Who with presumptuous pride, aloud proclaim'd
‘This day should be our last? Behold them there!
‘Strew'd o'er the plain! Where, Saxons! are the men,
‘Whom late you dreaded? whose vindictive swords
‘We oft have met in combat—heard aghast,
‘The scream we could not succour, and beheld,
‘The flaming brand our dwellings light upon,
‘And knew no middle choice, but death or flight?
‘Where are the men, who with infuriate wrath
‘Stalk'd through the land, and with their swords destroy'd
‘What fire and famine left us?—View them there!
‘Where are the men who on their reeking spears
‘Toss'd our mild infants, and the aged slew—
‘The fathers and the mothers of us all?
‘Behold them there! Silent and stretch'd in death!
‘This is a proud day for the Saxon name!
‘This is a fight that through succeeding years
‘Shall sound our praises, and from hosts unborn
‘Call forth the grateful song; We hence will teach
‘Our infant sons, while smiling on our knee,
‘To lisp with pride, the name, to Saxons dear,
‘Conjoin'd with which all pleasant thoughts arise.—
‘The name of Eddington!
‘Subjects, rejoice!
‘Our toils are o'er! This green and fertile land
‘Now may we till! Our homes made doubly dear
‘Shall greet their masters, and prosperity
‘Crown this our lovely isle!
As when some blast
Sweeps o'er the forest, and with thundering roar,
Sounds long and loud: whilst e'en the prostrate thorn,
With its faint voice augments the chorus wide,
Such was the voice of Saxons, with their shout—
‘God and our king!’ Thro' all the concave spread
The loud acclaim, whilst here and there, with pangs
Struggling, the wounded caught the gen'ral joy—
The maddening ecstasy, and feebly cried,
‘God and our king!’
After due course, again,
Alfred address'd them. ‘Saxons! to me, sweet
‘Your universal rapture, and the more,
‘For that you think of God, and own his hand.
‘Rejoice with trembling, lest, in being thus
‘From bondage rescued, and most galling chains,
‘Your hearts be harden'd, and ye look to Heaven,
‘Not with the thankful eye, adoring him;
‘But urged by pride, ascribing to yourselves
‘This triumph, which our God himself hath wrought,
‘We the weak instruments.—
‘I now would fain
‘Speak of our fallen brethren. Honour'd men,
‘In dust laid low, receive our grateful praise!
‘Tho' sunk in death, tho' from this glorious hour
‘This day of triumph taken; tho' denied
‘That earthly recompence, which now, ere long,
‘Your brethren, we shall taste; ages unborn
‘Shall shout your worth, and we will honour you.
‘Injured and noble spirits! If there live,
‘And that there does, we must not, cannot doubt,
‘A God of Justice, who of human ways
‘Takes cognizance, his piercing eye beholds
‘The virtuous men, 'mid trials such as yours,
‘And doubtless hath prepared peculiar seats,
‘For those who own his hand, implore his aid,
‘Toss'd in the turmoil of a strife like ours—
‘For those who in their country's cause may bleed.’
When the king ended, not as heretofore
Rose the loud plaudit. Theirs was feeling deep,
Too potent and o'erpow'ring for vain words.
At length th' intensity of suffering pass'd,
A calm and sober grief thro' all their hearts—
Stole, like the summer eve, when day retires
Gliding, by imperceptible degrees,
From light to twilight, darkening still, till round—
All nature sinks to quietness and night.
Breaking the pause, so sacred, Alfred thus.
‘This luxury of grief, we must repress.
‘Now Duty's voice is heard. The honours meet,
‘We must bestow upon our brethren slain.
‘Prepare their graves!—and on their hallow'd dust,
‘Let our tears fall.’—
None answer'd, but, with zeal,
The brave survivors,—sadness at their heart,
Needing no urgency, the deep dark graves,
Form for their fallen brethren, there to rest,
Till, like a scroll, the Heavens shall pass away.
Reflecting on war's dread vicissitudes,
Upon its sable woes, its racking cares,
Thus Alfred, with the burden'd heart opprest,
His plaintive accents pour'd in Oddune's ear,
‘Heart-searching thought! These tenants of the tomb,
‘Late, with the glow of health, no more shall see—
‘Day and the joyous sun; this busy earth,
‘And feel the warrior's zeal, the patriot's fire!
‘These generous impulses are known no more!—
‘In yon capacious chambers, down in earth,
‘Illustrious men, the pride of Wessex' land,
‘Cold, breathless lie! with all their trophies crown'd!
‘Yet, on the victor's field, the conqueror's car,
‘Sorrow must wait!—A mournful retinue
‘Follow the track of war!—And in this spot
‘Where prowess, valour, worth, promiscuous lie,
‘What anguish shall it waken! Pangs severe!
‘Fathers, in vain, shall sigh o'er sons beloved!
‘Mothers retire in silence! Sisters weep!
Wives, sorrowing, stand, bereaved and desolate!
‘Friends, smite their breast! While many a promised bride,
‘And maid, desponding, in the rolls of death
‘Shall read the name most precious, never more
‘To solace with the music of his voice,
‘And throw o'er life a halo! She recalls
‘Her lover's parting look—too plain, that spake—
‘I never more shall see thee!’—Kindred, friends,
‘The bitterness of grief to moderate,
‘Now fondly tell the virtues of the dead!
‘Ah! there they sit, the tear upon their cheek,
‘Circling the hearth, once cheerful, cheerless now!
‘Each soothing each, with fond solicitude,
‘And all requiring what so free they give!
‘Till the reviving thought,—calls up afresh—
‘Smiles, like the rain-drench'd flower, for memory tells,
‘They for their country fought, and, to redeem
‘Their land from thraldom, for their country fell!’
Roused from his musings by a distant crowd,
Alfred to Oddune spake. ‘What tumult that?—
‘Out on the farthest confines of the trench
‘Where, mournfully, the dead are now interred?
‘Whilst I, oppress'd with grief, awhile retire,
‘Search out the hidden cause, and bear me word.’
The chieftain hastens to the spot.—No noise
Mark'd the assemblage.—Oddune nearer draws.
He asks, he learns the truth!—Oh! misery!
The crowd are bearing to his last long home
The youth Montalto!—Oddune clasp'd his hand!
He spake not. The tumultuous sigh he gave!
A youth, the bier preceding, chants the Dirge,—
Hosts following, who in plaintive chorus join.
Cho.
Gentle spirit, good and true,
Here we bid our last adieu!

Cho.
Gentle spirit, good and true,
Take, O, take our last adieu!

Cho.
Gentle spirit, good and true,
Here receive our last adieu!

Cho.
Gentle spirit, good and true,
Must we breathe the last adieu?

Cho.
Gentle spirit, good and true,
Now our long, our last adieu!

Oddune convulsive cried, ‘I'll join the train,
‘And weep in silence o'er his obsequies!’
The rites perform'd, the chaunter hastens near,
And with obeisance, Oddune, thus address'd.
‘Oh, chieftain! wretchedness supreme is mine!
‘My friend, my loved associate is no more!
‘We side by side late in the battle fought’—
‘Stop!’ Oddune cried. ‘Haste with me to the king.
‘Reserve thy mournful tale. Let Alfred learn,—
‘Touching his tender heart, whate'er thou know'st
‘Of poor Montalto.’
To the monarch, near,
Gazing on earth, both pass oppress'd. And now,
The royal presence reaching, Oddune thus,—
‘Montalto is no more!—This youth will speak.’
‘Grief checks his voice. The king, a chilling pang
Felt writhe his bosom, when he spake. ‘Say on.
‘What know'st thou of Montalto?’—Bending low,
The youthful stranger, faltering, thus began.
‘When all through Wessex' land, war call'd to arms,
‘To meet the wasting Danes, Montalto cried
‘Shall I be backward?—hear my monarch's voice,—
‘My country's lamentation, and, unmoved,
‘Behold the wide-spread ruin and dismay!
‘Shall I shrink back inglorious?—ease prefer—
‘The coward's base and ignominious ease—
‘To the illustrious path, by patriots trod?—
‘Shall I unnerve my arm, and thus encourage
‘Denmark to waste the land that gave me birth?
‘Forbid it Heaven! I rush at honour's call!
‘Farewell my song! Farewell my crook and pipe!
‘Farewell!—O, anguish to my bleeding heart!
‘Farewell Matilda!—To the wars I go,
‘And when returning with my laurels crown'd,
‘Joyous will be our meeting!—whilst I tell
‘Of conflict, and of triumph, when our hosts,
‘Led on by Alfred, whelm'd our foes in death!’
‘We fought together in the last hard fight;
‘And noble were his feats. A bolder man
‘The sword ne'er wielded. Many a Dane lay low
‘Before his val'rous arm, but, at the last
‘O, anguish to my spirit! at the last,
‘A foeman rais'd his massy battle-axe,—
‘It fell!—and on the ground Montalto lay,
‘Never to rise again!—Would that my head
‘Had met the deathful blow!—This sword, O king!
‘Th' assailant sent to death!’
The sigh prevails.
When, stifling sorrow, thus the king bespake.
‘This is a moving tale! I knew him not,
‘Yet had his virtues reach'd me. He will long
‘Awaken pity, not the least in me.
‘The grave that bears Montalto, richer spoil—
‘Holds not! and hallow'd be his memory!’
When turning to the youth, he thus began.
‘Whence art thou?’ Bending thus he answer gave.
‘Most noble king, thy condescension great.
‘I am a woodman's son, in Selwood's wilds.
‘There was I born, and there will be my home.
‘I left my father's, and my mother's cot
‘When to the wars thou first didst call thy friends;
I left them, left my harp,—the crystal brook
‘(Still its sweet music warbles in my ear!)
I left it all, and now the wars are o'er,
‘Back shall I haste rejoicing, and henceforth
‘Love, cherish parents, precious to my heart,
‘And never more to leave them!’—Alfred look'd—
Full sorrowful at Oddune! Oddune back
Return'd the searching glance! yet not a word
Spake either, when the chieftain, Oddune thus.
‘Whose was that simple dirge which late I heard?’
The blush declares what words forbear to tell.
When sad, the monarch thus the silence brake.
‘Brave youth, thou hast my favour. Now withdraw.
‘Thou shalt ere long be summon'd to our presence.’
Revolving, lost in wonderment, the tear
Still on his cheek, and sorrow at his heart,
Bending, the valiant woodman's son retires.
Alfred to Oddune spake. ‘Afflictions deep
‘Await that youth. I may alleviate,
‘But cure I cannot. Didst thou mark his eye?
‘He has a noble bearing. Well I judge,
‘A worthy son of that most worthy sire.’
Oddune replied, ‘Above the multitude
‘He had a soul commanding. Kindred minds,
‘By a mysterious sympathy unite,
‘And such we witness here. Song has a power,
‘Attractive, and Montalto, and this youth
‘(In heavenly lore, full clear, proficients both)
‘Soon felt the bonds of friendship.—I will bear
‘The tidings of his parents:—that the turf
‘Rests on their peaceful heads.—Strange fancies rise!
‘When to my castle hastening, in my train
‘This youth shall stand, and when the softener Time
‘Calms down Matilda's sorrow, and is dry,
‘The tear which falls for parents, call'd to heaven,
‘Haply the maid, whom, seeing, all admire,
‘May look propitious on Montalto's friend!
Alfred replied, ‘Such thoughts but ill accord
‘With circumstance like ours, yet, should it be,
‘Such worth and valour meeting, all will hail.
‘The dowry of a king shall be the maid's,
‘Nor shall the youth regret my countenance.
‘But, chieftain! other scenes demand our care.’
Now Alfred, with that friend, that valiant man—
Oddune, o'er all th' ensanguined plain, moved slow,
Musing on human glory. They beheld,
Pangs at their heart! the fruits of war and strife,
Their dread memorials crowding on their sight.
‘Screen me,’ cried Alfred! O, thou power Most High!
‘From the dark passions, fierce and deadly feuds,
‘Which quench the heavenly spark, and to a fiend
‘Transform thy likeness, imaged forth in man.
‘Is life so small a thing, so little worth
‘That we should with it sport in idleness,
‘And recklessly, for some imagin'd good,
‘Hazard our all! resign so rich a prize—
‘This state of being!—scorn the imperious voice
‘Of duty here,—the soothing promises
‘Of joys hereafter, and unbidden rush
‘Before Heaven's great tribunal!—Such do those
‘Who deal in blood; who on their couch of rest
‘Hatch murder, and war's dread vicissitude.
‘Not on the rude and giddy multitudes
‘Heap I these charges. On Ambition's head
‘The weight, the curse of blood rests mountain-like!
‘Ours is defence alone. We could look up,
‘Asking heaven's blessing, and in victory raise,
‘As we with grateful spirits now have done,
‘The warm, th' o'erflowing incense of the heart—
‘To Him who sits supreme, Great Lord of all!
‘Haste on the day, Sovereign Omnipotent!
‘When swords and spears the peaceful plough-shares form!
‘When wars through earth shall cease.—Thy kingdom come!
‘Virtue extend her empire o'er the world,
‘And man behold a brother's face in man!
Alfred to Oddune thus his speech pursued.
‘Here rests our foe, once fear'd, but now no more!
‘Here must our vengeance cease. This sight, I mourn:
‘For never, Oddune, will a christian man
‘Behold his fellow, sunk in abjectness;
‘Consign'd to darkness,—his distemper'd breast—
‘The seat of all the passions fierce and blind,
‘Hate genders; darkest child of hell, nor feel
‘Pangs at his heart press heavy. Let us now
‘Bestow funereal honors on these men—
‘Ivar and Hubba. Let us for the dead,
‘Here on this memorable spot, erect
‘The lofty barrow, that posterity
‘Often may visit where in quietness
‘Lie the fierce spoilers, Saxons once overthrew.’
To those around he spake. ‘Take this huge corse,
‘What once was Ivar! and that other chief,
‘Hubba, who 'mid yon deathful heap abides,
‘Tow'ring above his fellows: round them place
‘Their thousands slain, and o'er them heap the earth;
‘That coming generations may rejoice
‘At our proud triumph.—Ere the work begin,
‘Your king inquires.—Around him, stands there one
‘Who knows of Ethelney, that peaceful isle—
‘Where Thone meandering glides the woods among?’
The words scarce utter'd, voices earnest rose,—
Out mid the farthest ranks,—‘We know it well.’
When, hastening up, two comely youths appear.
The king survey'd them earnestly, then said,
‘Did not you stand beside me in the fight,
‘And do me service?’ ‘One, the elder, cried,
‘We did, oh king! When two fierce Danes press'd on,
‘And would have slain thee, whilst thou strovedst hard—
‘With Ivar, Denmarks chief, we rush'd between,
‘And after struggle fierce, protracted long,
‘Laid them both low. Content with serving thee,
‘We join'd the raging contest!’
Alfred cried,
‘Brave youths! tho' 'mid the fight engaged, mine eye
‘Glimps'd you beside me, and a certain sense,
‘Confus'd, of danger, struck my mind; unknown
‘Till these your words. Receive your Monarch's thanks!
‘Hereafter will I deal you due reward:
‘For never have I found true modesty
‘Not near allied to worth. But now declare,
‘What know you of the Isle of Ethelney?’
‘There were we born,’ they answer'd, ‘'tis our home:
‘We are a neat-herd's sons, Ceolric named,
‘Who there, with Acca our good mother, dwells.’
‘Ah! is it so?’ cried Alfred, ‘this indeed,
‘Comes to my heart, and you will shortly know—
‘Brave youths, my meaning. Haste to Ethelney
‘Acca, your mother warn, and your good sire,
‘Instant to leave their cot, and hither bring,
‘With wonted care, an infant child, so late,
‘Committed to them. Speed! and let the man,
‘Sigbert, who there abides, attend their course.’
Lost in astonishment! lowly they bow,
And with conjectures opposite and wild,
Haste to their lone abode.
‘Now,’ Alfred cried,
‘View the unburied Danes, and heap the pile,—
‘Commemorating.’ At their monarch's words,
They turned, and o'er the slain uppiled the earth,
Stripping its surface, 'till at length there stands,
A mountain by apparent magic rear'd.
Whilst thus engaged, Alfred to Oddune thus.
‘Tho' in my country's greater cause engaged,
‘And silent of Alswitha, now my heart,
‘Blameless may think of her. In yonder pile
‘Guthrum abides. I thirst to let him learn
‘How he is prized by one he little knows.
‘Bear this my signet!—his security,
‘Alike it shall ensure his life, his welfare.
‘Declare that Alfred honours him. His word,—
‘His oath is pass'd.—And, Oh, soul-stirring thought!
‘Haply Alswitha, in that hostile fort
‘Lingers in sad captivity. Her rank
‘Reveal not, but thine efforts best exert
‘To win her freedom, and conduct her here.
‘Faint hope is mine! Now speed thou on thy way.
‘Oddune, add this to all thy services,
‘And trust thy prince!’ The chieftain press'd his heart,
And hastes to bear the summons to the Dane.