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. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. | BOOK XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
 | Alfred |  |
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BOOK XXI.
ARGUMENT.
Alswitha relates the events which had happened to her since she separated from Alfred.
ALFRED and Oddune from the neighbouring camp,
Now had return'd. They hasten to the queen,
Impatient the suspended tale to hear.
With eye suffused, Alswitha thus began:
Now had return'd. They hasten to the queen,
Impatient the suspended tale to hear.
With eye suffused, Alswitha thus began:
‘My lord! my husband! thou for whom my heart
‘Its keenest pangs hath felt, I need not say
‘What joy this hour affords me, from the change
‘High Heaven hath wrought. Oh Alfred! Oh my lord!
‘Great is God's mercy! He hath veil'd himself
‘But to shine forth more glorious; He hath frown'd,
‘And for a little moment hid his face,
‘To try the heart he loved, and purify
‘By ills and crosses;—Wisdom's ministers!
‘Its keenest pangs hath felt, I need not say
‘What joy this hour affords me, from the change
‘High Heaven hath wrought. Oh Alfred! Oh my lord!
‘Great is God's mercy! He hath veil'd himself
‘But to shine forth more glorious; He hath frown'd,
‘And for a little moment hid his face,
‘To try the heart he loved, and purify
‘By ills and crosses;—Wisdom's ministers!
‘Thou askest me to name the varied scenes,
‘This heart hath known, since, 'mid the abbey walls,
‘We cried farewell. These scenes, had I the power,
‘Should with oblivion dwell, and every shade
‘Of past remembrance die away, no more
‘To rouse my dormant soul. Yet thou hast ask'd,
‘And I will tell thee, tho' it cost me dear.
‘This heart hath known, since, 'mid the abbey walls,
‘We cried farewell. These scenes, had I the power,
‘Should with oblivion dwell, and every shade
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‘To rouse my dormant soul. Yet thou hast ask'd,
‘And I will tell thee, tho' it cost me dear.
‘But three long days after thou bad'st adieu,
‘We from the abbey turrets spied the Danes,
‘Fierce coming on. A sight that fill'd our hearts
‘With dread forebodings, each, with terror pale.
‘At length they reach'd the walls! Their hideous yells
‘Rose like the wintry ravings on our ear!
‘Their torches flash'd! Their blows the ponderous gates
‘Answered with deaf'ning roar! Each look'd to God.
‘The abbot was a christian, good and true,
‘And when thou wentest, often talk'd of thee,
‘And prais'd thy words, and loved thy smiling boy;
‘And when he saw the wasting Danes draw nigh,
‘He trembled.’ ‘Hear,’ he cried, ‘that noise! The gates
‘Long may not stand! Haste! haste! he trembling cried!
‘(Turning to me) and fled—he knew not where;
‘I follow'd, tho' in that distracting hour,
‘Within my palsied heart there was no fear;
‘I did not think of thee; my babe forgot;
‘For with excess of feeling, feeling fled;
‘I seem'd a stone become! But from this dream
‘Fresh groans awaked me! for the doors were forced!
‘The wrathful Danes, throughout the place, spread death!
‘We from the abbey turrets spied the Danes,
‘Fierce coming on. A sight that fill'd our hearts
‘With dread forebodings, each, with terror pale.
‘At length they reach'd the walls! Their hideous yells
‘Rose like the wintry ravings on our ear!
‘Their torches flash'd! Their blows the ponderous gates
‘Answered with deaf'ning roar! Each look'd to God.
‘The abbot was a christian, good and true,
‘And when thou wentest, often talk'd of thee,
‘And prais'd thy words, and loved thy smiling boy;
‘And when he saw the wasting Danes draw nigh,
‘He trembled.’ ‘Hear,’ he cried, ‘that noise! The gates
‘Long may not stand! Haste! haste! he trembling cried!
‘(Turning to me) and fled—he knew not where;
‘I follow'd, tho' in that distracting hour,
‘Within my palsied heart there was no fear;
‘I did not think of thee; my babe forgot;
‘For with excess of feeling, feeling fled;
‘I seem'd a stone become! But from this dream
‘Fresh groans awaked me! for the doors were forced!
‘The wrathful Danes, throughout the place, spread death!
‘Now, could I hear the miserable cry,
‘Of mercy! mercy! In the abbot's face
‘I saw despair. He said, ‘Give me the child!’
‘Resolved to fly—not knowing how, or where!
‘The abbot answer'd, Woman, follow me!
‘Not certain, yet, is death!—but hark!—the noise!
‘The flames, they rage! when instant I beheld
‘Columns of smoke ascending up to heaven,
‘Now ceasing, rising now in vaster curls,
‘Thro' which the fire in fitful fury burst,
‘Whilst higher still, amid night premature,
‘Sparks shone, with fearful lustre, that appear'd,
‘E'en in mid-day, a starry firmament.
‘We saw hope gone! I think the abbot said,
‘Oh God, thou yet art great! Vouchsafe thine aid!
‘Oh God, deliver us!’ Which having said,
‘He rush'd across the court—I follow'd him!
‘We reach'd the utmost wall. High heaven inspir'd,
‘Our limbs with strength miraculous; and soon
‘Its height we climb'd, 'mid smoke, and the loud cry
‘Of death around us. Down the abbot leap'd!
‘He had my child! I follow'd. Down I leap'd.
‘When to the earth I came, I look'd around
‘For child or guide, all was one waste of smoke!
‘Forward I urged my footsteps, but in vain:
‘Yet still I ran, fleet as the bounding roe,
‘For Hope still whisper'd ‘further was my child!’
‘Still on I sped.—I never saw him more!
‘My child he had!’ —A silence mark'd the air.
After a tremulous sigh, the queen again.
‘Distracting thought! my treasure he possess'd!
‘The Danish sword, that spares not infancy,—
‘More than the hoary head, hath sent to death
‘That good old man, and with him!’—silence reign'd!
The tears fell fast! (The king his speech restrain'd!
He fear'd to speak!)—Alswitha thus again.
‘Our child, Oh, Alfred! our delight is flown!
‘Adieu, sweet babe !—A long, a last adieu!’—
(The king prepared to speak, but check'd himself.)
‘Of mercy! mercy! In the abbot's face
‘I saw despair. He said, ‘Give me the child!’
‘Resolved to fly—not knowing how, or where!
‘The abbot answer'd, Woman, follow me!
‘Not certain, yet, is death!—but hark!—the noise!
‘The flames, they rage! when instant I beheld
‘Columns of smoke ascending up to heaven,
‘Now ceasing, rising now in vaster curls,
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‘Whilst higher still, amid night premature,
‘Sparks shone, with fearful lustre, that appear'd,
‘E'en in mid-day, a starry firmament.
‘We saw hope gone! I think the abbot said,
‘Oh God, thou yet art great! Vouchsafe thine aid!
‘Oh God, deliver us!’ Which having said,
‘He rush'd across the court—I follow'd him!
‘We reach'd the utmost wall. High heaven inspir'd,
‘Our limbs with strength miraculous; and soon
‘Its height we climb'd, 'mid smoke, and the loud cry
‘Of death around us. Down the abbot leap'd!
‘He had my child! I follow'd. Down I leap'd.
‘When to the earth I came, I look'd around
‘For child or guide, all was one waste of smoke!
‘Forward I urged my footsteps, but in vain:
‘Yet still I ran, fleet as the bounding roe,
‘For Hope still whisper'd ‘further was my child!’
‘Still on I sped.—I never saw him more!
‘My child he had!’ —A silence mark'd the air.
After a tremulous sigh, the queen again.
‘Distracting thought! my treasure he possess'd!
‘The Danish sword, that spares not infancy,—
‘More than the hoary head, hath sent to death
‘That good old man, and with him!’—silence reign'd!
The tears fell fast! (The king his speech restrain'd!
He fear'd to speak!)—Alswitha thus again.
‘Our child, Oh, Alfred! our delight is flown!
‘Adieu, sweet babe !—A long, a last adieu!’—
(The king prepared to speak, but check'd himself.)
Alswitha thus pursued.—‘Some trees I sought,
‘And from the thicket, cautious look'd around.
‘When o'er the plain the fierce wind swept along,
‘And for a moment made all clear, I saw—
‘Ruin behind me, one vast heap of fire!
‘And tho' far distant, yet upon the gale,
‘Surly, that pass'd along, I could perceive
‘The voice of dying man, faint but most clear,
‘That made my feverish and tumultuous heart,
‘Throb audibly. I thus escaped myself.
‘Thankful I stood; but yet no child was near!
‘And from the thicket, cautious look'd around.
‘When o'er the plain the fierce wind swept along,
‘And for a moment made all clear, I saw—
‘Ruin behind me, one vast heap of fire!
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‘Surly, that pass'd along, I could perceive
‘The voice of dying man, faint but most clear,
‘That made my feverish and tumultuous heart,
‘Throb audibly. I thus escaped myself.
‘Thankful I stood; but yet no child was near!
‘Oh, what the hopes and fears a mother feels!
‘Her offspring now, in all its innocence
‘And playful gaiety, delights the eye,
‘While in her bounding heart, spontaneous, rise
‘Sweet feelings; and she looks around and smiles,
‘O'erflowing with delight, as all she saw
‘Were one serene, immeasurable sea
‘Of living pleasure! She extends her eye,
‘Through distant times, and sees her child arise,
‘To fame, and worth, and honour, paying well
‘Parental care,—'till, in one fatal hour,
‘Death visits him, and night o'ercasts the scene!
‘Yet God is wise, nor would we rob our child
‘Of Heaven's felicities,—still wish him here
‘To combat, like ourselves, with toil and woe.
‘His haven, storms assail not, and ere long
‘Borne on fleet pinion, in a better world,
‘The weeping and the wept will meet again.
‘I would forget my child.—Sweet babe, adieu!
‘Her offspring now, in all its innocence
‘And playful gaiety, delights the eye,
‘While in her bounding heart, spontaneous, rise
‘Sweet feelings; and she looks around and smiles,
‘O'erflowing with delight, as all she saw
‘Were one serene, immeasurable sea
‘Of living pleasure! She extends her eye,
‘Through distant times, and sees her child arise,
‘To fame, and worth, and honour, paying well
‘Parental care,—'till, in one fatal hour,
‘Death visits him, and night o'ercasts the scene!
‘Yet God is wise, nor would we rob our child
‘Of Heaven's felicities,—still wish him here
‘To combat, like ourselves, with toil and woe.
‘His haven, storms assail not, and ere long
‘Borne on fleet pinion, in a better world,
‘The weeping and the wept will meet again.
‘I would forget my child.—Sweet babe, adieu!
‘Whilst thus I stood, appearing, to myself,
‘Of Heaven and earth deserted, through my mind,
‘As tho' by power miraculous, I felt
‘A sudden and mysterious placidness,
‘That made me feel, like some unbodied spirit
‘When he looks down upon his earthly friends,
‘And marks their sorrow, yet, beholding, knows,
‘How vain their pity, and how better far
‘His change,—of Earth for Heaven: e'en thus I felt;
‘And, tranquil, journey'd on, tho' wistless where,
‘For still I knew there was a God on high.
‘Now to the skirts of a dark wood I came.
‘'Twas night. Upon the ground I lay and slept.
‘Yes, on the ground, the heavens my canopy,
‘And a protecting Providence my trust.
‘Ere morn appear'd I rose, and travelled on,
‘Still vainly seeking thee, on whom my heart
‘Lean'd as its earthly stay. The days pass'd by,
‘And yet I wander'd. Food I oft obtain'd
‘From bush or bramble, but, the craving pang
‘Of nature now increas'd, and the sad thought
‘Seem'd cheering, that my earthly end drew near!
‘But then I thought of thee! I yet would live,
‘Cried I; ‘Almighty Father, spare my life!’
‘Of Heaven and earth deserted, through my mind,
‘As tho' by power miraculous, I felt
‘A sudden and mysterious placidness,
‘That made me feel, like some unbodied spirit
‘When he looks down upon his earthly friends,
‘And marks their sorrow, yet, beholding, knows,
‘How vain their pity, and how better far
‘His change,—of Earth for Heaven: e'en thus I felt;
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‘For still I knew there was a God on high.
‘Now to the skirts of a dark wood I came.
‘'Twas night. Upon the ground I lay and slept.
‘Yes, on the ground, the heavens my canopy,
‘And a protecting Providence my trust.
‘Ere morn appear'd I rose, and travelled on,
‘Still vainly seeking thee, on whom my heart
‘Lean'd as its earthly stay. The days pass'd by,
‘And yet I wander'd. Food I oft obtain'd
‘From bush or bramble, but, the craving pang
‘Of nature now increas'd, and the sad thought
‘Seem'd cheering, that my earthly end drew near!
‘But then I thought of thee! I yet would live,
‘Cried I; ‘Almighty Father, spare my life!’
‘Surveying a near valley, I espied,
‘What once had been an abbey, mould'ring now:
‘The which I sought, and desolation deem'd
‘My best security from wandering Danes.
‘I enter'd. Dreary look'd the scene around!
‘The heavens were still, and I could only hear
‘The distant night-bird; such the solemn hush
‘All things invested. Now the moon appear'd.
‘As thus I shivering stood, methought I heard
‘Footstep approaching! when I saw a man—
‘The dark porch enter, slow, and pass the niche,
‘Close where I stood. I fled! he followed me,
‘Crying, Who art thou? when I thus replied:
‘Pity the wretched! Art thou one of us?
‘A Saxon?’ ‘Yea!’ the warrior cried, ‘I am!
‘A servant liege of Alfred our good king,
‘Who, God be prais'd! is safe.’ This gave a joy,
‘Such as no words may name. He then inquired,
‘Fervent and often, how I thither came;
‘And if, of Alfred's queen, I aught had heard,
‘For that his king believed that she was dead,
‘Murder'd in Glastonbury. I replied,
‘(Wishing to hide my name, yet meet with thee)
‘Some rumour I had heard that yet she lived,
‘But that to thee alone, I more would say.
‘As now thy face we sought, if e'er I vow'd,
‘Earnest, to God, it was from that good hour.
‘If ere we met, in this bleak world of ours,
‘To part with life, rather than part with thee.’
‘What once had been an abbey, mould'ring now:
‘The which I sought, and desolation deem'd
‘My best security from wandering Danes.
‘I enter'd. Dreary look'd the scene around!
‘The heavens were still, and I could only hear
‘The distant night-bird; such the solemn hush
‘All things invested. Now the moon appear'd.
‘As thus I shivering stood, methought I heard
‘Footstep approaching! when I saw a man—
‘The dark porch enter, slow, and pass the niche,
‘Close where I stood. I fled! he followed me,
‘Crying, Who art thou? when I thus replied:
‘Pity the wretched! Art thou one of us?
‘A Saxon?’ ‘Yea!’ the warrior cried, ‘I am!
‘A servant liege of Alfred our good king,
‘Who, God be prais'd! is safe.’ This gave a joy,
‘Such as no words may name. He then inquired,
‘Fervent and often, how I thither came;
‘And if, of Alfred's queen, I aught had heard,
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‘Murder'd in Glastonbury. I replied,
‘(Wishing to hide my name, yet meet with thee)
‘Some rumour I had heard that yet she lived,
‘But that to thee alone, I more would say.
‘As now thy face we sought, if e'er I vow'd,
‘Earnest, to God, it was from that good hour.
‘If ere we met, in this bleak world of ours,
‘To part with life, rather than part with thee.’
Alfred exclaim'd, ‘And truly didst thou vow!
‘This is that hour of meeting! We are hence,
‘If Heaven approve, never to part till death.’
A smile of meaning, sent from heart to heart,
Was the Queen's answer. When again she spake.
‘This is that hour of meeting! We are hence,
‘If Heaven approve, never to part till death.’
A smile of meaning, sent from heart to heart,
Was the Queen's answer. When again she spake.
‘Whilst thus I journey'd, fill'd with the high hope
‘Of seeing thee, on the wide plain, I spied
‘A roving band of Danes. They hasten'd near!
‘Seized was Alswitha! Now must I declare
‘Something of Guthrum; something of that Dane
‘Who made me thus a captive, and 'till now
‘In bondage held.
‘Of seeing thee, on the wide plain, I spied
‘A roving band of Danes. They hasten'd near!
‘Seized was Alswitha! Now must I declare
‘Something of Guthrum; something of that Dane
‘Who made me thus a captive, and 'till now
‘In bondage held.
‘One lesson have I learn'd,
‘Since last I saw thee, Alfred! well to know—
‘That sometimes, 'mid th' unpromising, the eye
‘Fixes on one, who, from some innate cause,
‘Some secret principle, rises above
‘The virtues of his station. Hath not Heaven
‘This mystery appointed, to instruct
‘Contracted mortals, that within one spot,
‘All goodness cent'reth not? That different tribes,
‘Scatter'd, or East, or West, contains some good,
‘(For all the purposes of social life)
‘Some excellence,—virtues of rarest kind,
‘By little minds unthought of, who would fain
‘Make for themselves alone, the good sun shine!
‘Guthrum the Dane, whose captive I became,
‘Was this surpassing man! Though nurs'd in wars,
‘And with the harden'd, nurtured, him I found
‘Firm to his oath? Inflexible as truth!
‘Just to his fancied duties!
‘Since last I saw thee, Alfred! well to know—
‘That sometimes, 'mid th' unpromising, the eye
‘Fixes on one, who, from some innate cause,
‘Some secret principle, rises above
‘The virtues of his station. Hath not Heaven
‘This mystery appointed, to instruct
‘Contracted mortals, that within one spot,
‘All goodness cent'reth not? That different tribes,
‘Scatter'd, or East, or West, contains some good,
‘(For all the purposes of social life)
‘Some excellence,—virtues of rarest kind,
‘By little minds unthought of, who would fain
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‘Guthrum the Dane, whose captive I became,
‘Was this surpassing man! Though nurs'd in wars,
‘And with the harden'd, nurtured, him I found
‘Firm to his oath? Inflexible as truth!
‘Just to his fancied duties!
‘In the camp,
‘Following her father, one, his daughter, dwelt;
‘Anxious, in all extremes her sire to serve;
‘And, wonder, Alfred; when to thee I tell,
‘How good she was, worthy of such a sire.
‘To her I owe full many comforts, hours,
‘Of something like contentment, for I talk'd
‘To her and Guthrum, of th' Eternal Power
‘That dwelt on high, who made the glorious sun—
‘This wond'rous world, and all created things,
‘And of that Sacrifice, the hope of man!
‘Following her father, one, his daughter, dwelt;
‘Anxious, in all extremes her sire to serve;
‘And, wonder, Alfred; when to thee I tell,
‘How good she was, worthy of such a sire.
‘To her I owe full many comforts, hours,
‘Of something like contentment, for I talk'd
‘To her and Guthrum, of th' Eternal Power
‘That dwelt on high, who made the glorious sun—
‘This wond'rous world, and all created things,
‘And of that Sacrifice, the hope of man!
‘They listen'd to me, and they seem'd to love
‘The words I spake: but when I check'd his wrath,
‘And told, of that forgiveness God required
‘From man to man, he cried, ‘It cannot be!
Forgiveness didst thou say? Forgive a foe!
‘The injured pardon! 'Tis not in man's heart!
‘And never will I deem it possible
‘'Till for myself I see what thou hast said!
‘A christian taught to love and to forgive!
‘Pass over wrongs! and for the evil thing,
‘Return the good! Tell to credulity
‘This tale, I heed it not!’ Enough, to say,
‘I found his mind, fired with wild prejudice,
‘Yet true to that small ray of mental light,
‘Heaven hath vouchsafed.
‘The words I spake: but when I check'd his wrath,
‘And told, of that forgiveness God required
‘From man to man, he cried, ‘It cannot be!
Forgiveness didst thou say? Forgive a foe!
‘The injured pardon! 'Tis not in man's heart!
‘And never will I deem it possible
‘'Till for myself I see what thou hast said!
‘A christian taught to love and to forgive!
‘Pass over wrongs! and for the evil thing,
‘Return the good! Tell to credulity
‘This tale, I heed it not!’ Enough, to say,
‘I found his mind, fired with wild prejudice,
‘Yet true to that small ray of mental light,
‘Heaven hath vouchsafed.
‘At Kenwith's massy walls
‘We now arrived, where noble Oddune lay,
‘The man, whom, next to thee, Danes most abhorr'd.
I mourn'd his fate.
‘We now arrived, where noble Oddune lay,
‘The man, whom, next to thee, Danes most abhorr'd.
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‘There is a tale most sad!
‘To this my breast, the thought such terror brings,
‘And will in thine such tumult work, that I
‘Fain would forget it, for myself and thee:
‘Yet innocence fears nothing but the word
‘Whisper'd in secret! Hubba, that foul Dane!
‘Beheld Alswitha! More I cannot say;
‘But that to Guthrum, yonder foe, thou ow'st,
‘That, spotless, yea, that living here I stand.
‘My foe was Hubba, fierce, from that dread hour.
‘How for my blood he sought, full well thou know'st.’
‘To this my breast, the thought such terror brings,
‘And will in thine such tumult work, that I
‘Fain would forget it, for myself and thee:
‘Yet innocence fears nothing but the word
‘Whisper'd in secret! Hubba, that foul Dane!
‘Beheld Alswitha! More I cannot say;
‘But that to Guthrum, yonder foe, thou ow'st,
‘That, spotless, yea, that living here I stand.
‘My foe was Hubba, fierce, from that dread hour.
‘How for my blood he sought, full well thou know'st.’
The pallid cheek, the palpitating heart
Told Alfred's conflict. Thus the queen again.
‘Yes, thank that Dane, who yet survives the fight,
‘Guthrum, for he, with that high mind which shows
‘The soul's nobility, exclaim'd, ‘Oh chief!
‘This heart hath sworn, 'till death itself draw near,
‘Yon captive to protect, and, by this sword!
‘Safe shall she be.’—
Told Alfred's conflict. Thus the queen again.
‘Yes, thank that Dane, who yet survives the fight,
‘Guthrum, for he, with that high mind which shows
‘The soul's nobility, exclaim'd, ‘Oh chief!
‘This heart hath sworn, 'till death itself draw near,
‘Yon captive to protect, and, by this sword!
‘Safe shall she be.’—
‘It were a mournful task,
‘To name their boisterous strife. A part thou heard'st.
‘Often must thou have ponder'd on the thought,
‘Why chieftains, like the Danes, should thus forget
‘Their common cause, and in contentious broils
‘Spend their best hours. This is that secret, deep!
‘Hubba forgot all wrath, but wrath for one
‘Who ne'er offended him’ At such an hour,
‘Amid the hostile camp, (thy foes around,)
‘Thou mettest me, Oh Alfred! and to think,
‘The pangs that then I felt, but possible,
‘Me to o'ertake again, chiefly for thee,
‘Upon my poor distemper'd head would bring
‘Sudden distraction!
‘To name their boisterous strife. A part thou heard'st.
‘Often must thou have ponder'd on the thought,
‘Why chieftains, like the Danes, should thus forget
‘Their common cause, and in contentious broils
‘Spend their best hours. This is that secret, deep!
‘Hubba forgot all wrath, but wrath for one
‘Who ne'er offended him’ At such an hour,
‘Amid the hostile camp, (thy foes around,)
‘Thou mettest me, Oh Alfred! and to think,
‘The pangs that then I felt, but possible,
‘Me to o'ertake again, chiefly for thee,
‘Upon my poor distemper'd head would bring
‘Sudden distraction!
‘When thou fled'st the camp,
‘Strange consternation seized the Danes! They ask'd,
‘Earnest for thee, the harper, and awhile
‘Thought thee to air dissolved, or sudden changed
‘To some, thy proper shape; for they believed
‘Thou wert some deity. When one drew near,
‘Saying, At dead of night, whilst the wind howl'd,
‘Thou passedst through the gate, to the near shore
‘To bathe in ocean. Hubba cried aloud
‘Truly that man was Lok, for he hath used
‘To change his form, and through the ocean waves
‘Dart rapid. From the moment him I saw,
‘I knew the God!’ With this belief they lost
‘Thoughts of pursuit, and for the coming fight
‘Made ready, vowing to their idols vile,
‘To offer thee, Oh Alfred! yea they swore,
‘The Saxon's reign was short; all dread and death,
‘For thee and thine, as was to-morrow's dawn,—
‘Certain. I deem'd it true! and felt within,
‘Cold as the heart where Hope's sun never shines.
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‘Earnest for thee, the harper, and awhile
‘Thought thee to air dissolved, or sudden changed
‘To some, thy proper shape; for they believed
‘Thou wert some deity. When one drew near,
‘Saying, At dead of night, whilst the wind howl'd,
‘Thou passedst through the gate, to the near shore
‘To bathe in ocean. Hubba cried aloud
‘Truly that man was Lok, for he hath used
‘To change his form, and through the ocean waves
‘Dart rapid. From the moment him I saw,
‘I knew the God!’ With this belief they lost
‘Thoughts of pursuit, and for the coming fight
‘Made ready, vowing to their idols vile,
‘To offer thee, Oh Alfred! yea they swore,
‘The Saxon's reign was short; all dread and death,
‘For thee and thine, as was to-morrow's dawn,—
‘Certain. I deem'd it true! and felt within,
‘Cold as the heart where Hope's sun never shines.
`The Danes had vow'd in solemn rites, to spend
‘Nine days for their success; when Ivar cried,
‘Impatient of restraint, panting for war,
‘What tho' three days of unexpired mirth
‘Demand our stay, why should we waste our time?
‘Is not the Saxon king now gathering strength?
‘To-morrow we will hence depart! Our vows
‘Hereafter will we keep, this hour demands
‘Dependence on our own unconquer'd swords.’
Hubba exclaim'd, ‘Abhorrent thought! That deed,
‘Impious, forbear! yet, if thou wilt depart,
‘Shrink not from slaughter! glut thy sword with blood!
‘Nor let one Saxon live to tell the tale
‘Of that day's battle, when we next shall meet;
‘For, by the eternal gods, each man shall die!’
‘What force was thine, I knew not, and I fear'd,—
‘A night of horrors, more intensely dark,
‘Than ever yet involved our native land,
‘Was gathering fast.
‘Nine days for their success; when Ivar cried,
‘Impatient of restraint, panting for war,
‘What tho' three days of unexpired mirth
‘Demand our stay, why should we waste our time?
‘Is not the Saxon king now gathering strength?
‘To-morrow we will hence depart! Our vows
‘Hereafter will we keep, this hour demands
‘Dependence on our own unconquer'd swords.’
Hubba exclaim'd, ‘Abhorrent thought! That deed,
‘Impious, forbear! yet, if thou wilt depart,
‘Shrink not from slaughter! glut thy sword with blood!
‘Nor let one Saxon live to tell the tale
‘Of that day's battle, when we next shall meet;
‘For, by the eternal gods, each man shall die!’
‘What force was thine, I knew not, and I fear'd,—
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‘Than ever yet involved our native land,
‘Was gathering fast.
‘The Danes now eager march'd
‘Thee to o'ertake; and I too follow'd them,
‘With Guthrum's daughter, who, in all my cares,
‘A sister's interest bore. But more of this—
‘Hereafter. To you castle now we came,
‘When, feeling so o'erpower'd my harass'd mind
‘That I became insensible; my soul,
‘Of past existence lost all traces, sounds
‘Fell heedless on my ear, and to the world
‘Dead I became, How long entranced I sat,
‘I cannot answer, when, behind I heard
‘Some voice exclaim, ‘Rejoice!’ ‘I turn'd and saw
‘Brave Oddune! when, in frenzied state, I cried,
‘What man art thou?
‘Thee to o'ertake; and I too follow'd them,
‘With Guthrum's daughter, who, in all my cares,
‘A sister's interest bore. But more of this—
‘Hereafter. To you castle now we came,
‘When, feeling so o'erpower'd my harass'd mind
‘That I became insensible; my soul,
‘Of past existence lost all traces, sounds
‘Fell heedless on my ear, and to the world
‘Dead I became, How long entranced I sat,
‘I cannot answer, when, behind I heard
‘Some voice exclaim, ‘Rejoice!’ ‘I turn'd and saw
‘Brave Oddune! when, in frenzied state, I cried,
‘What man art thou?
‘The rest, thou knowest well.
‘That here I stand, Oh God, behold my heart!
‘And if it be not grateful, make it such!
‘Now would I speak of thee. For all thy cares,
‘Thy dangers and dismays, while yet I bore
‘Captivity, sorrow consumed my frame,
‘And I forgot myself with fears for thee.
‘But thou art safe! Henceforth shalt thou enjoy
‘Good days and many! I will strive to wean
‘Thy mind from past misfortunes! Joy shall now
‘Bless thee the more, and thou shalt find sincere—
‘Alswitha's love, my husband, and my lord!’
‘That here I stand, Oh God, behold my heart!
‘And if it be not grateful, make it such!
‘Now would I speak of thee. For all thy cares,
‘Thy dangers and dismays, while yet I bore
‘Captivity, sorrow consumed my frame,
‘And I forgot myself with fears for thee.
‘But thou art safe! Henceforth shalt thou enjoy
‘Good days and many! I will strive to wean
‘Thy mind from past misfortunes! Joy shall now
‘Bless thee the more, and thou shalt find sincere—
‘Alswitha's love, my husband, and my lord!’
Alfred transported rose, and eager cried,
‘Soother of every care! Best gift of heaven!
‘Companion! Friend! Instructer! What so soft
‘As the mild tone that from affection springs—
‘So lovely, as the human eye, that beams
‘True tenderness? Favor'd of mortal kind,
‘Who'er thou be, that in this world hast found
‘The heart of friendship, give to Heaven thy praise!
‘But if that friend, the nearest of all names,
‘A wife's should bear, think thyself bless'd indeed!
‘For thou hast found, 'mid this inclement world,
‘In all that touches the interior man,
‘A refuge from its storms, a nobler prize
‘Than crowns and diadems!’
‘Soother of every care! Best gift of heaven!
‘Companion! Friend! Instructer! What so soft
‘As the mild tone that from affection springs—
‘So lovely, as the human eye, that beams
‘True tenderness? Favor'd of mortal kind,
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‘The heart of friendship, give to Heaven thy praise!
‘But if that friend, the nearest of all names,
‘A wife's should bear, think thyself bless'd indeed!
‘For thou hast found, 'mid this inclement world,
‘In all that touches the interior man,
‘A refuge from its storms, a nobler prize
‘Than crowns and diadems!’
Alswitha cried,
Whilst tears of joyance glisten'd in her eye,
‘Thou hast my gratitude! But, good my lord,
‘Pardon the word that might disturb thy mind,
‘With dreadful recollections. Whilst we stand,
‘And praise our Maker, for the aid vouchsafed
‘To us his servants, I would hope, no crime
‘Seems it to him, to cast one lingering thought
‘On those no more, and o'er their memory drop
‘Nature's fond tear. Oh Alfred! thou and I
‘Still must remember, with deep agony,
‘One loss! our child! that on that fatal day
‘Made us for ever wretched.’ O'er her face
She cast her hand in silence. When the king—
Rose, and thus spake. ‘Alswitha! I do fear
‘To tell thy happiness.’ The queen exclaim'd,
‘What words were those? Declare! Is my child safe?
‘Sport not with death!’
Whilst tears of joyance glisten'd in her eye,
‘Thou hast my gratitude! But, good my lord,
‘Pardon the word that might disturb thy mind,
‘With dreadful recollections. Whilst we stand,
‘And praise our Maker, for the aid vouchsafed
‘To us his servants, I would hope, no crime
‘Seems it to him, to cast one lingering thought
‘On those no more, and o'er their memory drop
‘Nature's fond tear. Oh Alfred! thou and I
‘Still must remember, with deep agony,
‘One loss! our child! that on that fatal day
‘Made us for ever wretched.’ O'er her face
She cast her hand in silence. When the king—
Rose, and thus spake. ‘Alswitha! I do fear
‘To tell thy happiness.’ The queen exclaim'd,
‘What words were those? Declare! Is my child safe?
‘Sport not with death!’
Alfred replied, ‘He is!
‘Thy child is safe!’ After a moment's pause,
Alswitha calmly said, ‘This can I bear!
‘Great sorrows, and great joys, alike are link'd
‘To dreaminess!’ The flood of feeling came!
Earnest she cried, ‘Is my child safe? Oh God!
‘Father of Heaven and earth, spare my weak head!
‘Drive me not crazy through the earth! Allay
‘This throbbing of my bosom! Didst thou say
‘My child was safe? Where is he? Bring him to me!
‘Thou tent disclose him!’
‘Thy child is safe!’ After a moment's pause,
Alswitha calmly said, ‘This can I bear!
‘Great sorrows, and great joys, alike are link'd
‘To dreaminess!’ The flood of feeling came!
Earnest she cried, ‘Is my child safe? Oh God!
‘Father of Heaven and earth, spare my weak head!
‘Drive me not crazy through the earth! Allay
‘This throbbing of my bosom! Didst thou say
‘My child was safe? Where is he? Bring him to me!
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Alfred cried, ‘Belov'd!
‘Oh stay thy anguish! Check the vehemence
‘Of these thy warm affections! Soon, full soon,
‘Thou shalt behold thy child! Thou shalt embrace,
‘Upon the coming day, thy darling boy!
‘He hastens from a lowly dwelling near.’
‘Oh stay thy anguish! Check the vehemence
‘Of these thy warm affections! Soon, full soon,
‘Thou shalt behold thy child! Thou shalt embrace,
‘Upon the coming day, thy darling boy!
‘He hastens from a lowly dwelling near.’
By transport overpowered, the queen awhile
Stood silent. When the king to Oddune spake.
‘This wondrous tale, Alswitha's, thou hast heard,
‘And doubtless didst anticipate the words
‘Which now I speak. Guthrum, the Danish chief,
‘Hence is my choicest friend! fix'd, permanent,
‘Stable as life. Haste to the castle; say,
‘He needs not dread thy monarch! With apt words,
‘Root out his many fears! and let him know,
‘If ever in man's heart fidelity
‘An entrance found, he may in Alfred trust;—
‘As steadfast as the earth he treads upon!
‘Now seek the chieftain.’
Stood silent. When the king to Oddune spake.
‘This wondrous tale, Alswitha's, thou hast heard,
‘And doubtless didst anticipate the words
‘Which now I speak. Guthrum, the Danish chief,
‘Hence is my choicest friend! fix'd, permanent,
‘Stable as life. Haste to the castle; say,
‘He needs not dread thy monarch! With apt words,
‘Root out his many fears! and let him know,
‘If ever in man's heart fidelity
‘An entrance found, he may in Alfred trust;—
‘As steadfast as the earth he treads upon!
‘Now seek the chieftain.’
When, Alswitha thus.
‘Oddune! one favour mine. Inquire for her,—
‘Guthrum's fair daughter. This my heart doth yearn
‘To show the damsel kindness. If thou canst,
‘Oh! bear her to this bosom!’—Oddune heard,
And bending left the presence of the king.
‘Oddune! one favour mine. Inquire for her,—
‘Guthrum's fair daughter. This my heart doth yearn
‘To show the damsel kindness. If thou canst,
‘Oh! bear her to this bosom!’—Oddune heard,
And bending left the presence of the king.
| Alfred | |