Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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 | Alfred |  |
Alfred replied, ‘Alas, thou good old man!
‘To tell thee of the state of human things
‘Would leave thy spirit, not as now it is,
‘Peaceful and calm. Thy race is almost run,
‘And fit it is, that thou should'st never more
‘Meddle with earthly ways. Here rest awhile,
‘Most happy in thine ignorance.—Old man,
‘I claim one favour. Lend me yonder harp,
‘Hanging beside thy hearth. I will again
‘Return it with warm thanks.’—The woodman cried,
‘Stranger 'tis thine! I give it with good will;
‘But I must say to thee—preserve it safe;
‘It was my son's! He many an hour hath sat
‘Upon yon verdant bank, and, as the sun
‘Slowly declined, so cheerily hath play'd,
‘With midnight songsters, making the far wood
‘Ring with his melody, that I had hoped
‘This one memorial of more happy days
‘Long to have kept; but in thy countenance
‘There is so much of what my son once was,
‘That I must give it thee!’
‘To tell thee of the state of human things
‘Would leave thy spirit, not as now it is,
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‘And fit it is, that thou should'st never more
‘Meddle with earthly ways. Here rest awhile,
‘Most happy in thine ignorance.—Old man,
‘I claim one favour. Lend me yonder harp,
‘Hanging beside thy hearth. I will again
‘Return it with warm thanks.’—The woodman cried,
‘Stranger 'tis thine! I give it with good will;
‘But I must say to thee—preserve it safe;
‘It was my son's! He many an hour hath sat
‘Upon yon verdant bank, and, as the sun
‘Slowly declined, so cheerily hath play'd,
‘With midnight songsters, making the far wood
‘Ring with his melody, that I had hoped
‘This one memorial of more happy days
‘Long to have kept; but in thy countenance
‘There is so much of what my son once was,
‘That I must give it thee!’
| Alfred | |