Alfred :: :: University of Virginia Library

Oddune again visits Guthrum, and persuades him to submit to Alfred—He consents to see the king—Alfred receives him at first with assumed anger—Alswitha pleads for Guthrum, who is pardoned—Guthrum intreats to become a christian, and ascribes his conversion to Alswitha—He deplores the supposed death of his daughter—She presents herself to him—The Danish chief and his daughter depart to the castle—Oddune commended by Alswitha.

JOY at his heart, Oddune now seeks the Dane;
And as the castle hall he entered, stern,
Guthrum approach'd and cried, ‘Thou busy foe!
‘What seek'st thou now? May we not perish here,
‘Safe from thy visits, and at least enjoy
‘Peace in our final moments? Haste thou back!
‘I hate thy converse! 'Tis to me more foul
‘Than screams to drowsiness! Proud Saxon! Life,
‘We know its limits! and, that soon these eyes
‘Closed will be found! yet think not thou to gain
‘On easy terms this castle! We are Danes!
‘And till the hungry crows look down upon us,
‘And think us food for them, so thin and wan,
‘As on our walls we stand, hurling on you
‘The dart and jav'lin, never shall you tread
‘This one last spot triumphant.’

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Oddune cried,
‘I come not now with threats, but promises,
‘In patience, hear my words!’

The Dane exclaim'd,
‘I hear thee not! Would'st thou attempt to soothe
‘The bear with promises, when he beholds
‘The hunters round him? neither me beguile!
‘My path is plain! Death will anon be ours!
‘But 'till it come, we will aspire to live
‘Worthy of death.’

Oddune, more earnest cried,
‘I do not bring thee death, but rather life—
‘For thee and thine. These are the words I bear.
‘Submit to Alfred! On his mercy lean!
‘For he is one who harbours not revenge
‘And hate remorseless. Trust his clemency,
‘And thou shalt find thy apprehensions vain,
‘Thy every fear unfounded.’

Cried the Dane.
‘Thou see'st me thus thy prey, but do not add
‘Insult, where courage may not show itself!
‘Dost thou suspect of fear? I know it not!
‘And didst thou think this heart would mercy crave—
‘From this thy monarch? Never shall the sun
‘See Guthrum crouch before the victor's frown
‘And ask him pardon!’

Oddune spake, ‘Thy doubts,
‘Thy apprehensions, call them what thou wilt,
‘Are most unreal. Alfred boasts a heart
‘That never felt contempt for any man!
‘Approach our king, and he will grant thee life.’

The Dane replied, ‘Talk not of asking life!
‘Chieftain! its charms are pass'd. I spurn the boon!
‘My child is slain! my honour flown! and now
‘Wherefore should I, a Dane, desire to live?’

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Oddune replied, ‘Let not ideal mists
‘Before thee float; and prejudice, that great,
‘That mightier mist than all, quenching the mind!
‘Thou lovest not thy life! and fain would'st boast
‘Of yielding the small boon, unterrified;
‘Prized but by cowards! Let me ask thee, Dane!
‘Not thy proud heart, but that which seldom errs,
‘Thy quiet feelings, why thou lovest death?

‘Is it some little thing to breathe the air,
‘To see the light of Heaven, the glorious sun,
‘The azure firmament? this beauteous world
‘Of comforts and of wonders infinite?
‘Is it some little thing, at early morn,
‘To feel the freshness of the gale, that comes
‘Replenish'd with its vivifying powers?—
‘A senseless joy, an idle benefit,
‘To wander in the balmy summer morn,
‘Thro' fields and flowers, drinking the vital air,
‘With fragrance and with odoriferous scents
‘O'erflowing, rousing up the soul to dreams
‘Of immaterial joy, and dim regards
‘Of a sweet something, undefined, yet clear
‘In the soul's confidence, sometime to come?
‘And is it nothing deem'd, to taste the grape,
‘Nature's sweet bev'rage! or, the cheering mead?
‘Nothing to view the fruits that charm the eye,
‘And please the taste, scatter'd thro' every clime,
‘All nations blessing?—

‘Were our ears bestow'd
‘To feel disgust, and in our minds excite
‘Perpetual jarrings? Can we wander forth
‘And hear the wild-wood music, birds and things
‘Yielding their minstrelsy in soothing notes
‘Or soul-inspiring, and all choristers
‘Sounding their Maker's praise? Can this our world,

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‘Its wonders infinite, no joyance yield?
‘No comfort? and no promise give the soul
‘That should delay its wanderings, and inspire
‘One wish to linger 'mid a scene so fair?
‘And is there nothing in that foe to man,
‘Death! that affrights thee? Canst thou think, unmov'd,
‘That this thy frame, shortly beneath the ground
‘Will moulder slow? That these thy comely limbs
‘Which now support the fabrie thou hast long
‘Pamper'd and call'd thyself, will soon supply
‘The earth-worm's banquet? Yields it no dismay,
‘No creeping of the flesh, to think that these
‘Soon must relax, and all, which once was thou,
‘Sink in the grave's long quiet? Rouse thyself!
‘Let me conduct thee hence! In Alfred trust!
‘Here death must meet thee, there is safety found.’

Guthrum replied, ‘Myself I thought I knew,
‘And my resolves could trust; but, these thy words,
‘Probe deep my heart, and to my view display
‘Thoughts veil'd before. I never yet have fear'd
‘Death in his fiercest garb; but thro' my mind
‘A secret dread now passes: these thy words
‘Have dimm'd my understanding, so unhing'd
‘For calm decision, and I seem to wish
‘Longer to live. But, hear I not a voice!
‘Honour's! His look is stern! his law severe!
‘How shall I soothe him?’ To whom thus the chief:

‘Brave Dane! true honour lies not with the man
‘Who scorns all dangers, and would rather tear
‘His heart asunder, and to savage beasts
‘Cast it, than stoop to that high influence,
‘Which governs all men. Thou hast bravely fought!
‘Now bravely bear! not by thus scorning life
‘With rude and brutal rage, but, by the faith

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‘Thou placest in another, which best shows
‘What might be placed in thee. Alfred, our king,
‘No unforgiven injury e'er hath felt.
‘Trust him, and live! His worth thou knowest not,
‘Nor how he prizes valour such as thine.
‘I bore to thee his signet, that includes
‘A pledge, an oath,—all veritable things!—
‘Firm as earth's pillars! Dane, in me confide!’

‘I trust thee not!’ cried Guthrum. ‘Alfred pardon!
‘Pardon such wrongs as his? Vain thought, away!
‘It cannot be!—I think it cannot be.
‘It cannot be!—Yet the experiment
‘No hard essay.—Where are my senses flown?
‘Thy words and hers, whom blessings ever follow!
‘So scatter and confound my thoughts, that I—
‘Tremble, and fain would live.’—‘What thou hast said
‘Of Alfred's clemency shall now be tried;
‘But if it fail, the penalty? Away!
‘I will attend thee! chieftain, point the way!
‘By the first look of Alfred, I may judge
‘Of these thy words, whether I live or die.
‘Now will I seek the Danish troops, and name
‘Guthrum's design.’

He seeks them. Thus he spake,
‘Danes! here we stand, cut off from aid, and doom'd
‘To perish in this dark and evil hour.
‘Why should the waster death so charm our hearts?
‘So blind our eyes to all that cheers the soul,
‘And animates? If honour we may save,
‘And save our lives, is it not well?—for what—
‘Is there in death that living man should prize,
‘When keeping life with honour? Wessex' king
‘Hath sent yon chieftain hither, to demand
‘Submission, and hath promis'd well and true
‘To grant forgiveness. To my mind it seems

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‘Impossible for one so wrong'd, to seek
‘Aught but our blood; this Saxon tells us nay;
‘And speaks, full confident, that if we stoop,
‘Shorn as we are, to one, our bravest foe!
‘We yet may live.—

‘I will alone repair
‘To yonder camp, and with the Saxon king,
‘Treat for your safety. Vent'rous the design!
‘If I return not with convenient speed
‘Conclude me dead! Then, worthy of your race,
‘Fight manfully; and if you all must die,
‘Die like yourselves!—Guthrum, unterrified
‘Leaves you to make this perilous attempt.’

He said, whilst words of dubious import came
From those around him, not of joy or hope,
But from despair, that still had consciousness
Of its own state, to know it was despair.

The Chieftain now, with Oddune, fearlessly
Pass'd thro' the archway, whilst all mark'd them sad,
Tho' not a voice was heard, nor sound, save one,
The rustling wind, that' mid the turrets play'd;
Making each heart—sick with its hollow moan.

Whilst journeying on, to Guthrum, Oddune thus:
‘Hadst thou not once, good Dane! a daughter, one
‘Known to thy female captive? ‘I had once!’
Answered the Dane. ‘Now pray thee, ask no more,
‘Upon my wrongs, I think. Words suit not me.’—
And now they reach'd the Saxon camp, when thus
Oddune address'd the Dane. ‘I, first, will seek
‘Alfred, then lead thee to his presence near.’

Oddune now sought his monarch's tent, where sat
The King, the Queen, with one, a damsel fair.

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When Alfred cried, ‘Good Oddune, instant say,
‘Where is brave Guthrum? Have thy words prevail'd
To draw him hither?’

Oddune cried, ‘O, king!
‘At a convenient distance, fill'd with doubt,
‘The warrior waits!’ When Alfred rose and spake,
‘Since thou departedst to the neighbouring fort,
‘Within our camp, yon maiden hath arrived,
‘Guthrum's fair daughter. As to meet our force
‘The Danes proceeded, from her safe abode
‘She ventured, by affection urged, to mark
‘How fared her father; hoping, if in battle
‘Her sire should fall, or wounds, or sore mishap
‘Light on him, filial care and tenderness
‘Might soothe his pain, and win him back to life.
‘When, yielding to the valour of our arms,
‘The Danes fled, vanquish'd—Havoc in their train,
‘She, with the routed army 'scaped, nor where—
‘Heeding: her thoughts were wild. Our forces met,
‘And here conducted her. Behold her now,
‘Loved by the queen, whom she so oft has served.’
When turning to Alswitha, thus he spake.

‘Take now thy diadem. Assume the robe
‘Befitting royalty. The same will I.
‘Then let the Danish maiden screen herself.
‘I will assume the monarch;—seem to chide,—
‘Haply to hide remembrance of the hour—
‘When I, a harper, sought the Danish camp.
‘Oddune conceal our thoughts. When thus prepared,
‘Lead Guthrum hither.’—Now the royal pair
Sit in due state; when Oddune left the tent,
And soon return'd, guiding the ancient Dane.

When first he enter'd, Alfred cried, ‘Declare!
‘What think'st thou is the punishment deserved

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‘For crimes like thine?’ These words the chief confirmed
In dreadful expectations. He replied,
‘No punishment! My crime is that alone
‘Of warrior vanquished!’

Alfred cried, ‘Approach!
‘Let me behold thee!’ Guthrum nearer draws:
When Alfred thus: ‘Thy triumph now is o'er!
‘Thy power is flown! yet, wilt thou hence confess
‘Me, thy liege lord?’ ‘Never!’ replied the Dane.
‘Within thine eye I see deep vengeance sit,
‘And wrath that seals my ruin! I am wrong'd.
‘Falsehood and treachery have lured me here!
‘In vain they shake my spirit! Let me die!’
Eager he cried. ‘One blow, and I am past
‘Thy hatred, and my own consuming shame.’

He said, and instant drawing near the king,
Laid bare his breast. When, looking up,—he knew—
The Harper's visage! Sudden dropt his arm!
His cheek from crimson to a deadly white
Turn'd, and he shiver'd. Every tongue was mute,
And every eye fix'd on the wondering Dane.
When Guthrum thus exclaim'd, looking so wild,
That madness seeing him, again might start—
Itself to reason.

‘Certain, now is death!
‘Each moment is new torment! To survive
‘Blasts my last hope!’ Alswitha cried aloud,
‘Guthrum! thou shalt not die!’ (and hastening stood—
Before the trembling Dane.) ‘Thou shalt not die!
‘Brave chieftain! I am grateful; thou art good,
‘And shalt be happy.’ At these words, the Dane—
Look'd up and saw—his Captive! Wilder still
Roll'd his full eyes! Confused conceptions rose
Wildering his soul! When eager thus he spake.
‘Who art thou?’ Gazing at the queen, she thus.

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‘I am thy Captive, whom thou oft hast saved
‘When death drew near, and I will now, my hand—
‘Stretch out for thee! Pardon this Dane, Oh king!
‘A nobler and more estimable man
‘Lives not to share thy favour!’ Alfred heard,
And drawing near the wondering Dane, exclaim'd,
‘Guthrum! accept thy life, and with it, too,
‘Brave man! my gratitude.’ Thou art my friend,
‘And Alfred's choicest gifts shall hence be thine.’
At words and scenes so strange, wild look'd the Dane;
With wistful eye; unknowing, if the things
Were real, or, the baseless fantasies
That float before the mind, at the dim hour
When dreams perplex it. Round the tent again,
He look'd to satisfy his doubting mind:
Then at the king, the queen. When Alfred spake:

‘Chieftain, dismiss thy doubts! No fancied scene
‘Now lies before thee. This the Saxon queen,
‘And I am Alfred! I the Harper am,
‘Whose harp thou savedst in the Danish camp.
‘Nor doubt thy sight! for she whom thou behold'st,
‘Truly thy captive was! whom, but for thee,
‘Hubba had sacrificed, and I been found,
‘A lonely, friendless, miserable man!
‘I know thy character! I know thy heart!
‘And prize thee, but hereafter hope to prize,
‘Doubly, when better known. Behold in me,
‘Thy true and constant friend!’

‘This is too much!
Guthrum exclaim'd. ‘Man's mind was never form'd
‘To bear such conflicts! Didst thou say forgive?
‘Call me thy friend! Say life was mine! Nor yet,
‘I cannot trust my senses! Is it so?’
Alfred replied, ‘Brave Dane! my oath is pass'd.
‘Now, of me, ask some favour! Be it great!

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‘Thou need'st not fear its magnitude! Declare!
‘And I will teach thee what thou hast to hope
‘In after times, by the reply I make.’

Cried Guthrum, with surpassing majesty,
‘This be the favour which alone I ask!—
‘The greatest, and most holily desired!
‘Let me partake thy faith! Let me receive
‘The name of Christian, and embrace, like thee,
‘That true religion, which can dictate thus,
‘And thus perform. Let me renounce,’ He cried,
‘That faith which I too long have gloried in,
‘Which not, like thine, conducts to peace and love,
‘And kindly intercourse, but, wrath and blood,
‘And discord horrible.—To her, thy queen,
‘Who stands beside thee, I this feeling owe;—
‘This renovation, I would humbly hope
‘Of the interior man. Her words, ere this,
‘Have tumult wrought within me;—rais'd my thoughts
‘To things immortal, scenes invisible,
‘Piercing my spirit. At her speech, I felt,
‘Strange to my heart, some kindred sympathies,—
‘Th' approving voice within, but when she spake
‘That christians could forgive the bitterest foe,
‘And love requite for hatred: this, I cried,
‘Can never be! Thine are the sounding words
‘That have no meaning; but, I now have found,
‘Christians can pardon! Thou hast pardon'd me!’

Alfred with rapture answer'd, ‘This is joy,
‘Not of earth's kind, to find a man, like thee,
‘Whom I so honour! by that power Divine
‘Who governs all things, call'd to the true faith,
‘Thro' the remonstrance, pleadings, influence,
‘Of her thy captive, Alfred's peerless queen!’—

‘When Alfred thus, his eye to heaven upraised.

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‘Who now shall question Providence? Who doubt
‘That he who this stupendous fabric rear'd,
‘Still views and governs it:—its course directs—
‘Thro' all its windings, intricate and dark;
‘Perplexing oft!—appearing to weak man
‘Confused and orderless, who sees alone
‘The veriest surface.—Could he look beneath,
‘And heaven, the needful faculty bestow'd,
‘In what to him seem'd complicate and chance,
‘He would behold unvarying harmony!—
‘Perfection infinite in small and great,
‘Worthy the high and Sovereign Arbiter!

Checking the tear, Alswitha answer made.
‘Such is my faith! May we indulge the hope,
‘That Guthrum, who, ere this, true worth possess'd
‘And half the christian's graces now may shine,
‘With cloudless light, honour'd and lov'd of all.
‘One question may I ask thee? Guthrum! say!
‘Where is thy Daughter? Where is she I loved?
‘That noble maiden, who so many hours
‘Comfort imparted, when the world to me
‘Seem'd blank and dead? Now shall this heart display,
‘The gratitude I once could but express.
‘Thou speakest not.’

Guthrum, distracted, cried,
‘Spare me that thought!’ Within his heart there seem'd
Hard conflicts. ‘I am sad!’ he said. ‘A loss
‘Hath fall'n upon me, very hard to bear!’
Adown his iron cheek, the tears fell fast!
At length he said. ‘This weakness—Pardon me!
‘My heart is sever'd from the world and man!’
Deep anguish revels in his throbbing breast.
At length he said, in milder tone, ‘O king!
‘In the past fight—my Daughter fell, and now
‘I am a wretched man! Duteous my child,

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‘As ever father had! a loving child!
‘I could have welcom'd death, ere she had died,
‘My child! my comfort! never more shall I
‘Behold thee, oh my daughter! Thou art gone!
‘I am a poor and desolate old man,
‘Bereaved of all things!’

As he stood and paus'd
Feeling what anguish means! his Daughter springs—
Swift from her hiding-place, and rapturous cries,
‘My father! O, my father!’ On his neck
The damsel hangs, and copious are the tears
That flow around!—More eloquent,
Never was Silence! None dared break the charm!
It was a holy stillness!—where the heart,
Spurn'd the obtruding service of vain words.
Recovering from amaze, that half obscured—
Earth and material things,—as from a dream,
The startled Sire exclaims,—‘Impossible!
‘My daughter? Yes thou art! O, God of heaven!
‘Let me not die!’—He clasps her to his heart!
And gently breathes—‘My daughter, O, my daughter!’

It is a moving sight—to see old age,—
A warrior fierce in strife, by feeling touch'd—
Th' omnipotence of nature! now reduced
To the soft tones of infancy. He spake,
If speech it were, that scarce an utterance found,—
‘This hour compensates for a life of pain!’

After the pause profound. Alfred thus spake.
‘I share your transport! Long may you enjoy
‘The happiness you both so well deserve!
‘Guthrum, my friend! attend, The hour is late.
‘Befits thee now to seek thy castle, near,
‘And to the Danes, declare my purpose; say,
‘For Guthrum's sake, I will forgive all wrongs,

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‘And grant free pardon! Tell them to confide
‘In Wessex' king! And if with thee they choose
‘To own my sway, and live beneath my crown,
‘I will receive them! They with us shall prove
‘One people, whom, to serve and to protect,
‘Shall be my fervent wish, my constant care.
‘Tell them, the fleet, that to these shores convey'd
‘Ivar their chief, and all his followers' wives,
‘Not wholly is consumed: the women live,
‘Unharm'd, with all their tribe of innocents,
‘By me protected! If they here remain,
‘Soon shall they meet, and form one family
‘With us their friends. But if they rather seek,
‘Denmark, with lingering love, safe shall they go!
‘But there is one thing more of which to speak,
‘Return thou for the night with this thy child!
‘Be here to-morrow! Thou hast yet to share
‘A holy rite, Baptism; known of all
‘Who truly form Christ's kingdom militant.’
Guthrum replied, ‘Most earnestly I seek
‘This proof of my conviction and full faith
‘In Christ my Saviour! On the coming morn,
‘Thou shalt behold me here!' This said, the Dane
Straight, with his daughter, left the Saxon tent.

To Oddune thus, Alfred his words address'd:
‘Chieftain I prize thee, and would fain behold
‘All happiness attend thee, but, what joy
‘Can solitude afford? Society,
‘The smiles of her we love, th' endearing wife,
‘The hopeful offspring, and the converse sweet—
‘Affection mutual, pure where interests blend—
‘These give a zest to all things here below;
‘Earth's costliest blessings! E'en the very cares,
‘That sometimes the connubial prospect cloud,
‘Stir up the choicest feelings of man's heart,

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‘And have their balm within them. May I say,
‘If beauty can attract, affection charm,
‘Or constancy delight thee—gallant chief,
‘Think of yon damsel!’ Oddune thus replied.

‘Monarch! my heart is loyalty and praise.
‘Guthrum's fair daughter, who shall not admire?
‘Her charms I own, her virtues I confess,
‘But, never must I strive, by word, or deed,
‘To win the damsel's love. Her I respect,
‘But, more I cannot. To another maid,
‘My vows are plighted; and I trust ere long,
‘Now peace her olive wand o'er Britain waves,
‘To taste domestic joys, and emulate
‘The virtues of my great and noble king.’

Alswitha cried, ‘Brave man! Thou hast a soul
‘Which all should rev'rence, all should imitate.
‘The flower of British youth for her shall strive,
‘Yet never one more noble than thyself.
‘Oddune, I like thy frank and manly speech!
‘There is a race, worthless, and lost to shame,
‘Who rove from fair to fair, all maids alike,
‘Deck'd with officious smiles and courtesy,
‘Boasting of conquests. On their tongues are found
‘Maxims of worth and true humanity;
‘And they can loudly talk of right, and wrong,
‘Of honour, and injustice, and true love,
‘Repeated oft with meanings light as air.
‘Such of eternal constancy will vow,
‘Or, at reserved affection humbly glance,
‘Or, less presuming, tho' of equal force,
‘Speak only with the language of the eye:
‘And thus, with low and base hypocrisy,
‘Winding false way to woman's gentle heart.
‘These shadows of true men, might dread the thought

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‘To tarnish female honour, but would smile
‘To murder female peace, and, unconcern'd,
‘Nay, with self-compliments, and secret pride,
‘See grief corrode the cheek of innocence,
‘Behold the wreck of that maid's happiness,
‘Whose only fault was unrequited love.
‘Such is not Oddune! Thou a soldier art
‘In name and spirit. May thy sex, like thee,
‘Protect, not wound, the fond and guildless hearts
‘Of Albion's matchless daughters.’

Oddune bow'd,
Graceful, to earth, and from the tent retired.