Alfred :: :: University of Virginia Library

While Guthrum, in the Castle to which he had retired, is consulting with his troops, Oddune arrives; demands his submission to Alfred; is refused: claims Guthrum's captive; Alswitha receives her liberty; her interview with Alfred.

‘DEATH! Death!’ cried Guthrum, as he pass'd the gate
Of the near castle, with the wretched few
Who 'scaped the fight. ‘Death! death!’ the chieftain cried,
‘Why hast thou lagged so heavily? Why thus
‘Spared me for anguish, such as never man
‘Felt 'till this hour? Why 'mid our brethren slain
‘Lay not this head? Now, hither am I come
‘To taste the bitterness of death, yet lose
‘Its cheering joys. I curse you, coward legs!
‘You urged my flight! Give me yon axe. My hands
‘Shall punish you, oh traitors!’ Forth he grasp'd
‘A massy axe, and stood as he would strike—
When far he cast it. ‘Not for partial death,
‘Seek I,’ he cried, ‘but death complete and full.’

Turning to those around, he wrathful spake.
‘Why are ye here? oh Danes! Ye heartless throng!
‘Why fled you hither? Cowards! scorn of men!
‘Yet, why was I a coward? Why was I—

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‘Borne onward to this place by recreant Danes?
‘Why shrank I from destruction, when I saw
‘This mortal overthrow? Now, chieftains, say—
‘In this concurrence of all direful things
‘How we may save our honour, all beside—
‘We must resign!—Our noble princes slain!
‘Our valiant army vanquish'd! Hope itself
‘Quench'd in the rayless night! Now freely speak!’

One answer'd thus, ‘Doom'd as we are to death,
‘We must resolve on some transcendent deed—
‘To sweeten death; and to the world display
‘Achievement worthy of our country's fame.—
‘Vengeance and rage remorseless! When night comes
‘Let us thro' yonder gate rush boldly forth,
‘And Alfred strive to slay, that only foe
‘Danes ever fear'd. Altho' our death be sure,
‘Yet shall this act, Death of his sting disarm.’

Guthrum exclaim'd; ‘Thou worthless counsellor!
‘Fly, or a speedier death shall light on thee!
‘As the last hour draws near, when we must quit
‘This state of war, would'st thou, at such a time,
‘Imbitter death, with this atrocious deed
‘Of cold unmanly murder? If we fight,
‘Let the broad day-light see us! Let us meet
‘The equal conflict, clashing sword with sword,
‘When the sun shines, and honest men can look,
‘Nor feel resentment.—All beyond is shame!
‘The midnight murd'rer spirits brave abhor!
‘Base Dane, away!

‘But to prescribe our path,
‘That now befits us. Warriors! ye who thus
‘Survive the fight, and stand around, with looks
‘All ghastly, from amazement yet alive,
‘Before I name my plans, and counsel you

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‘How now to act, I will, with shame, declare
‘Why we are here, and why the prospect casts
‘Darkness before us; why we lost the day,
‘And now are left, wretched and hopeless men,
‘Whelm'd in disgrace.—It was our leaders' wrath!
‘Peace to their mem'ries! 'twas their rancorous strife!
‘Which at the hour of battle, made them feel
‘Hate, for each other, rather than the foe.—
‘Low lie they both! and of the Danish ranks,
‘Great in their numbers! greater in their might!
‘We only live! this little host, ordain'd
‘To suffer for their madness. Fruitless thus
‘To ponder on disasters, wiser far
‘To think how best to act.’

Debating now
With counsels opposite, the hours pass'd by,
When one the spot approach'd and spake, ‘Oh chief,
‘A Saxon claims to see thee!’ ‘Ope the gates!’
Guthrum exclaim'd. ‘Conduct him here! Our hearts
‘Well may sustain his taunts.’ Oddune drew near,
And to the indignant Dane his speech address'd.

‘I come, O, chief! from Alfred our good king,
‘Instant to claim submission. Mark my words.
‘Go forth, and on his mercy trust for life!
‘So haply you may live.’ To which the Dane:

‘Herald, we spurn thy words! Here are we safe,
‘A little moment. Never will we leave
‘These walls to die by Alfred, in some hour
‘Of scoffing merriment, or learn, too late,
‘Another Offa's treachery. Saxon! hence!
‘Talk not of mercy! I too long have lived,
‘And known the human heart too well, to think
‘Mercy can sojourn in a victor's breast—
‘Where wrongs like ours have roused his appetite.

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‘If the robb'd she-wolf met thee in her course,
‘Say, would'st thou trust her mercy, or, confide
‘In thine own valour? Saxon, such will I!
‘Thy proffer we disdain! Vanquish'd we are,
‘Yet not subdued. Here will we perish all!
‘Fly swift and tell thy king our fix'd resolve.’

Oddune replied, ‘Oh Dane, in Alfred trust!
‘Nor of his spirit judge thou by thine own.
‘He lives to shew mankind some conduct, high,
‘Beyond the common rule, and long will prove
‘Posterity's bright model. Well I know,
‘Our monarch boasts a heart, the which to trust,
‘E'en thou may'st venture.’ ‘Never!’ cried the Dane,
‘Our oaths are pass'd, and like our gallant race,
‘Here will we stay!—defend this last retreat,
‘With courage of so bold and fierce a kind,
‘That even Alfred's self shall stand amazed,
‘And question his own sight. Now, Saxon, hear!

‘It may not suit thy mode of thought, to learn
‘What Dane hath done; and thou may'st listen to me,
‘And at an old man smile. But I must speak!

‘For three-score years hath Guthrum urged the fight,
‘Thro' kingdoms distant; oft with conquerors fierce,
‘With Frank and Saxon, and 'till this hard time
‘Never endured defeat! This trusty sword
‘Hath combated, 'till death itself denied
‘The further victim, Never have I slept
‘Beneath th' inglorious roof, nor drunk my mead,
‘In base seclusion! I have met the war
‘'Mid cliffs of ice, and mountains, white with frost,
‘Whilst we appear'd, 'mid the thick-falling flakes
‘And arrowy sleet, columns of stalking snow.
‘This heart hath dared all perils! I have oft

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‘Pillow'd my head upon the corse I slew
‘And heedless slept amid the war of winds!
‘Now doom'd to perish! Not in honour's cause,
‘Not in the well-fought battle, but e'en here!
‘Here in this place, the mean inglorious death
‘Of slaves and traitors! Yet, thy king inform,
‘Tho' die we must, brave will we die! This gate
‘The last of Danes shall guard, and raise in death
‘With desperate vehemence, his feeble arm
‘To stay the Saxon's entrance. Hence! and tell
‘All thou hast heard!’

The Saxon chief replied,
‘Prepare thine ear for tidings which will seem
‘Like some night vision. Know, courageous man,
‘Thy friend is Alfred! He commission'd me
‘To bear the greetings of kind amity.
‘These were his words.—‘I long 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.’
‘I give it thee. Thus further Alfred spake.
‘Declare, I laud and honour him. My word—
‘My oath is pass'd.—A king's solicitude
‘Shall shape new forms of gratitude, to serve
‘Such worth as his.’

‘Cease!’ Guthrum cried, enraged,
‘Falsehood is thine! Thou art a treacherous man!
‘I scorn thy words! thy craft! thy subterfuge!
‘Didst thou believe, such idle words as thine
‘Could cheat old Guthrum? What can Alfred prize
‘This heart for? Plotting hourly for his fall?
‘Thou dost exceed thy part, base as it is!
‘Thy king is now devising some deep plan
‘To win me from this fastness, but in vain!
‘Here will I fight and perish. Hence! away!
‘Thy monarch and thyself alike I spurn!’

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Oddune replied, ‘Thy words will I deliver.
‘Chieftain, there is a man in Alfred's camp,
‘Brave like thyself, whose wife thy captive is.
‘He pines to see her. Wilt thou freedom grant?’

Guthrum replied. ‘I know for whom thou plead'st.
‘I prize, I love her, with such love alone
‘As the fond father feels.—My daughter, too,
‘Loved her!’ The old man ceased. he wept!
After a pause he cried.—‘Thou hast declared
‘An honest man, her husband, who, full well,
‘Knows how to prize her; she shall be releas'd.
‘Unknowing of this fatal day's defeat,
‘In yonder tent she sits, silent as night!
‘Take her, and forth depart!’

Oddune withdrew,
And now the tent had enter'd. Musing sad
He saw a woman; on the earth her eye
Intensely pored, heedless of coming foot.
Her cheek was pale! When Oddune clasp'd his hands,
And cried, ‘Rejoice!’

As one who in the dark
Sees, or believes he sees, some passing shape,
And, starting, looks aghast; so at these words
Alswitha rose, and with astonishment,
Half wild, exclaim'd, ‘What art thou?’ Oddune said,
‘I am indeed thy friend, and Alfred's friend!—
‘Oddune, well known.’

Not more astonished he
Who at the world's remotest point, should view
On some tall rock, in well-known characters,
His name, distinct and clear, than felt the queen
At these the chieftain's words. Doubting she cried,
‘Is it some baneful phantom, to involve
‘This heart in more inextricable grief?
‘Oh no! I know thee! Speak, or soon my mind

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‘Madness will seize?’ ‘Forbear thy doubts and fears!’
Oddune replied, (low bending to the ground.)
‘I now can only tell thee, thou art free!
‘And I am thy conductor. Hasten fast,
‘Or danger yet may follow!’

Up she rose.
A wild uncertainty hung o'er her brow;
Then, leaning on the mailed warrior's arm,
She pass'd the gate. When thus the queen exclaim'd:
‘Is Alfred safe?’ ‘He is!’ the chieftain cried;
‘Alfred is safe! and Britain now is free!’

‘Free!’ cried Alswitha, ‘What! Thou dreamest! Speak!’
Oddune replied, ‘Britain indeed is free!
‘Oh queen! behold'st thou yonder towering mound?
‘Beneath it lie the Danes! Thousands are there!
‘And 'mid the multitude, this day o'erthrown,
‘Ivar and Hubba!’

‘Tell me yet no more!’
Alswitha cried, ‘My brain is hot! Oh God,
‘Spare my weak intellect!’ Again she spake,
‘Where now is Alfred? Gallant chieftain, say;
‘And Guthrum, where? Is he amid the slain?
‘High heaven, I trust, hath spared that good old man!’
When Oddune; ‘He is spared! In that same castle
‘Whence thou art hast'ning, he abides, and vows
‘To perish there, rather than to receive,
‘Mercy from Alfred.’

‘Hath he learned my name?’
Inquired the queen. ‘If not, it may be well!’
‘No!’ answer'd Oddune. ‘Little knew the Dane,
‘Who was his captive. On th' opposing hill
‘Alfred awaits, with heart-devouring care,
‘To learn my message, and if yet thou liv'st
‘To crown his happiness.’ Alswitha cried,
‘This is felicity! But where my child?’

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Oddune distressful answer'd, ‘Of thy child,
‘Nothing I know, tho' doubtless he is safe.’
‘Oh no!’ replied the queen. ‘He is not safe,
‘Save in a better world.’

The sudden tear
Bedew'd her eye, and silent they pass on:
When calmly thus she spake. ‘I would not mourn
‘At Heaven's all-wise disposal; I have much
‘Calling for gratitude; myself preserved;
‘My better self in Alfred; and the hope
‘That quietness may bless his future reign.
‘Farewell, my child! Rebellious heart, be still!—
‘But are not these deceptions? Am I safe?
‘Is it no vain deceit of fairy land
‘Where all is happiness but, shadowy? Chief!
‘Let me behold thee! Truly thou dost look
‘Like faithful Oddune! art thou truly he?’
‘Truly,’ replied the chief! ‘And thou art now
‘Queen of this lovely Isle, and long I trust
‘Ordain'd to grace its throne.’ ‘But say!’ she cried,
‘How came these things, these changes wonderful?
‘Which make my very being seem a dream,
‘And all my past conceptions, words and deeds,
‘Partaking of some insubstantial form
‘And link'd with very nothing.’ Oddune forth,
Declared of Ethelney, of Selwood's shade,
Of Kenwith, of th' avenging flames that burnt
The hostile fleet. and of the Danish camp
Which Alfred visited.

‘Oh name it not!’
Cried the pale queen! ‘I saw thy monarch there,
‘The terror, the dismay, which thro' my frame,
‘Rush'd at that hour, fain would I blot from out
‘My burden'd mem'ry! As we journey on
‘Complete thy story!’ Oddune told the queen
‘Of the past fight.

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Each circumstance she heard,
Looking like one, who 'mid the charnel-house
At dead of night doth roam, for penance due,
Or, to relate to gaping auditors,
What shapes were seen, all white and terrible,
At the still hour, when fancy, unconfined,
Sees clearer for the darkness, and beholds,
Each soul-o'erwhelming spectacle, when ghosts
Have their night revels.

Thro' the vale they pass'd,
Communing thus, and now they see the tent
Where Alfred anxious waited. Oddune spake,
‘I would draw nigh the king, if seem thee fit,
‘And first address him, lest the sudden gust
‘Of rapture, half o'erpower his labouring mind.’
‘Depart!’ replied the queen. ‘I at the door
‘Will wait thy signal.’

Oddune reach'd the tent.
He enter'd. At his sight the king uprose,
Then, starting back, exclaim'd, ‘Oddune, no queen!
‘I fear to ask thee! yet, thou may'st proceed!
‘I think I can endure to hear thy tale!’
Oddune began. ‘First will I name, O king!
‘Of Guthrum. He disdains thy words, and swears
‘To perish in yon castle.’ Alfred cried,
‘What tidings of Alswitha? now declare!
‘Yet, stay awhile! I cannot bear it yet!—
‘Speak on!’ when Oddune thus:

‘I ask'd the Dane
‘Of one, his captive; claim'd her liberty.
‘Take her!’ the chieftain cried. ‘She yonder dwells!’
‘I found her! brought her safe! and now she waits,
‘Monarch, at thy tent door!’

Alswitha heard,
And instant enter'd! To the king she rush'd!
Alfred beheld her! In each other's arms,

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Speechless they stand! It was the moment full
Of holy feeling, when the spirit drinks—
Deep of the soul's full harmony, and spurns
The intermediate office of vain words.
When, after solemn pause, Alfred exclaim'd.
‘Belov'd Alswitha! God of heaven inspire,
‘This heart with everlasting gratitude!’
The queen essay'd to speak; she only wept!
Their tears are mingled; when, at length, the king,
‘But I must hear thy tale. Where hast thou been?
‘What further hast thou suffer'd? best beloved!
‘What ills endured, that I know nothing of?’
‘Alswitha check'd the tear that would have flow'd;
When thus she answered, dignified, yet mild,
Looking attention: ‘As I told thee once,
(Through the mysterious concords of the Harp.)
‘If e'er thou saw'st me living, thou should'st find,
‘My soul still pure! Before my gracious Lord,
‘Such do I stand! and thou art still the same,
‘Sole inmate, and sole idol of my heart.’

Alfred exclaim'd, leaning on her he loved,
‘Saints envy not, or they might think of me!
‘Now will I hear thee. Yet, awhile, forbear.
‘Distraction must not haunt me, while thy tale
‘Mellifluous flows. Important calls are mine.
‘Erelong, and I will listen and admire.’

Which said, the monarch with the chief retired.