 | Poems |  |
“Standard, in thy weft is bound
Every curse that may confound;
Ruin dire, ne'er ceasing woes,
Shake them, shake them on our foes.”
Then Alfred spoke: the band drew round
Their king, and hushed was every sound.
“The noble Odun has to England shown
That victory dwells not with the Dane alone;
Has shown no force of numbers can withstand
The desperate struggle of a dauntless band.
Shame, then, on us, were we to linger here,
Crouched in the sheltering woods, like timid deer.
What! can a Saxon view with careless eye
His burning altars flaming to the sky?
Can English noble cringe within the hall,
Where once his fathers ruled—a servile thrall,
To the fierce Dane the knee of slavery bend,
And till the soil he trembles to defend?
The slumbering embers of our country's fame,
From Odun's victory have again caught flame.
Saxons! the hour is come; one well-timed stroke
For ever frees us from oppression's yoke.
Three days, unknown, I tarried with the foe;
Each secret path around their camp I know.
Away! Away! our summon'd bands unite:
This arm ere morn shall lead you to the fight!”
Far the shouts that hail his speech,
Through the echoing forest reach.
Every yeoman's bosom shared
The monarch's ardour. See! prepared,
Pointed shaft, so true of flight,
Keen-edged axe, and falchion bright.
Warriors from each pathway rush,
And seem to spring from every bush.
As onward moves the gathering throng,
Hearken to their vengeful song.
Every curse that may confound;
Ruin dire, ne'er ceasing woes,
Shake them, shake them on our foes.”
14
Their king, and hushed was every sound.
“The noble Odun has to England shown
That victory dwells not with the Dane alone;
Has shown no force of numbers can withstand
The desperate struggle of a dauntless band.
Shame, then, on us, were we to linger here,
Crouched in the sheltering woods, like timid deer.
What! can a Saxon view with careless eye
His burning altars flaming to the sky?
Can English noble cringe within the hall,
Where once his fathers ruled—a servile thrall,
To the fierce Dane the knee of slavery bend,
And till the soil he trembles to defend?
The slumbering embers of our country's fame,
From Odun's victory have again caught flame.
Saxons! the hour is come; one well-timed stroke
For ever frees us from oppression's yoke.
Three days, unknown, I tarried with the foe;
Each secret path around their camp I know.
Away! Away! our summon'd bands unite:
This arm ere morn shall lead you to the fight!”
15
Through the echoing forest reach.
Every yeoman's bosom shared
The monarch's ardour. See! prepared,
Pointed shaft, so true of flight,
Keen-edged axe, and falchion bright.
Warriors from each pathway rush,
And seem to spring from every bush.
As onward moves the gathering throng,
Hearken to their vengeful song.
| Poems | |