Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
 | Alfred |  |
‘I fear for you,
‘My parents! for o'er Saxon ground there roam
‘Bands of fierce men, so fierce, that had one told,
‘A stranger this my tale, ye straight would cry,
‘It cannot be!’ In truth 'tis hard to think
‘That such men live! You late beheld me go
‘To the far Church, with my well-temper'd bows,
‘To barter, but, most piteous was the sight!
‘No church was there! it was a ruin'd pile!
‘And 'tween the walls, yet standing, there arose
‘Columns of smoke. I wist not what it meant;
‘But doubting that some accident had thus
‘Destroy'd the well known structure, I look'd round,
‘Cautious, then thro' the darken'd archway pass'd,
‘Fill'd with distrust obscure. Awhile I paused!
‘Whether to enter further, or return
‘Back with my burden. As I pondered thus,
‘Silent, and listening to the rushing noise
‘Of smoke and cracking wood: I heard a groan,
‘Slow drawn! more thoughtful I appear'd. Again,
‘The same heart-rending groan! it was a sound
‘That made my very blood—curdle, my limbs
‘Quake as thou see'st them now from memory.’
‘These were his words. My son then farther spake.’
‘With cautious step, and trembling, I advanced,
‘And saw a monk, pale as the ashen bark,
‘Yet smear'd with blood. He rais'd his languid eyes
‘And turn'd them on me; when he feebly said,
‘If friend thou art, one favour do I ask,
‘Bring hither yonder stone, and at my head
‘Hurl it in haste, for agony supreme
‘Preys on me!’ Nearer to the spot I drew,
‘And, looking at the man, knew well his face;
‘'Twas father Burnulf! that good priest, who oft
‘Had told us of our duties to high heaven,
‘And fellow man; whom often we have heard,
‘Like one who brought glad tidings, in the church,
‘Then fall'n, in which he lay.—I rais'd his head;
‘He knew me, and thus spake.’ ‘What is it thou?
‘Ah! never wilt thou listen more, good youth!
‘To aged Burnulf! At his hour of death,
‘Thou comest! Fetch you stone, and for the past,
‘Shew me this kindness!’ ‘Never,’ cried my boy!
‘Support thyself with what thou oft hast said,
‘Me would support in death! and tell me straight
‘What means this overthrow?’
‘My parents! for o'er Saxon ground there roam
‘Bands of fierce men, so fierce, that had one told,
‘A stranger this my tale, ye straight would cry,
‘It cannot be!’ In truth 'tis hard to think
‘That such men live! You late beheld me go
‘To the far Church, with my well-temper'd bows,
‘To barter, but, most piteous was the sight!
‘No church was there! it was a ruin'd pile!
‘And 'tween the walls, yet standing, there arose
‘Columns of smoke. I wist not what it meant;
‘But doubting that some accident had thus
‘Destroy'd the well known structure, I look'd round,
‘Cautious, then thro' the darken'd archway pass'd,
‘Fill'd with distrust obscure. Awhile I paused!
‘Whether to enter further, or return
‘Back with my burden. As I pondered thus,
‘Silent, and listening to the rushing noise
‘Of smoke and cracking wood: I heard a groan,
‘Slow drawn! more thoughtful I appear'd. Again,
‘The same heart-rending groan! it was a sound
‘That made my very blood—curdle, my limbs
‘Quake as thou see'st them now from memory.’
‘These were his words. My son then farther spake.’
‘With cautious step, and trembling, I advanced,
‘And saw a monk, pale as the ashen bark,
‘Yet smear'd with blood. He rais'd his languid eyes
‘And turn'd them on me; when he feebly said,
‘If friend thou art, one favour do I ask,
‘Bring hither yonder stone, and at my head
‘Hurl it in haste, for agony supreme
‘Preys on me!’ Nearer to the spot I drew,
‘And, looking at the man, knew well his face;
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‘Had told us of our duties to high heaven,
‘And fellow man; whom often we have heard,
‘Like one who brought glad tidings, in the church,
‘Then fall'n, in which he lay.—I rais'd his head;
‘He knew me, and thus spake.’ ‘What is it thou?
‘Ah! never wilt thou listen more, good youth!
‘To aged Burnulf! At his hour of death,
‘Thou comest! Fetch you stone, and for the past,
‘Shew me this kindness!’ ‘Never,’ cried my boy!
‘Support thyself with what thou oft hast said,
‘Me would support in death! and tell me straight
‘What means this overthrow?’
| Alfred | |