Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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 | Alfred |  |
The priest replied,
‘I will strive hard to say, and to suppress
‘Pain's influence. Thou speakest right, young man!
‘Faith should bestow her solace. Now my tongue,
‘Tho' parch'd and grown unwieldy, shall declare
‘This woeful change, but I must tell it brief,
‘My breath is short. This ruin is the Danes,
‘From some far-distant land, a wolfish race,
‘Fierce and unfeeling, scorning God and man,
‘Have landed here, and Alfred our brave king,
‘In vain resists them. They are terrible
‘As ocean when he roareth, and like him
‘Delight in blood. They here surrounded us,—
‘As late at Croyland, bent on waste and spoil,
‘And having forced the doors, they, scattering death,
‘Rush'd in. Thou view'st the ruin, and around
‘Lie my dead brethren. Plunder still their aim,
‘No pity in their heart, the Danes pass'd on.
‘Warring with mortal wounds, as thou may'st see,
‘I still surviv'd, and many, like me, felt,
‘Life wavering, and with groans we fill'd the air:
‘But for these many hours, no groans but mine
‘Have sounded, and they too will cease, tho' soon,
‘Not soon enough!—
‘I will strive hard to say, and to suppress
‘Pain's influence. Thou speakest right, young man!
‘Faith should bestow her solace. Now my tongue,
‘Tho' parch'd and grown unwieldy, shall declare
‘This woeful change, but I must tell it brief,
‘My breath is short. This ruin is the Danes,
‘From some far-distant land, a wolfish race,
‘Fierce and unfeeling, scorning God and man,
‘Have landed here, and Alfred our brave king,
‘In vain resists them. They are terrible
‘As ocean when he roareth, and like him
‘Delight in blood. They here surrounded us,—
‘As late at Croyland, bent on waste and spoil,
‘And having forced the doors, they, scattering death,
‘Rush'd in. Thou view'st the ruin, and around
‘Lie my dead brethren. Plunder still their aim,
‘No pity in their heart, the Danes pass'd on.
‘Warring with mortal wounds, as thou may'st see,
‘I still surviv'd, and many, like me, felt,
‘Life wavering, and with groans we fill'd the air:
‘But for these many hours, no groans but mine
‘Have sounded, and they too will cease, tho' soon,
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| Alfred | |