Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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| I. |
| II. | BOOK II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
 | Alfred |  |
31
BOOK II.
SCENE—SOMERSETSHIRE.
ARGUMENT.
ALFRED, after the severest of his defeats, retreats before the Danes, and, as a temporary measure, announces to his troops his determination of retiring into solitude.—Oddune dismissed to encourage the West-Saxons. —Introduction of Sigbert.—Alfred appoints Selwood-Forest as the rendezvous of his troops.—dismisses them.—He departs, with Alswitha his Queen, and their infant Son, toward a neighbouring heath.—Time, the Evening.—Season of the Year, Midsummer.
The field is lost! Hubba, with savage joy
Cries, ‘Havoc!’ as the routed Saxons flee,
Bearing their king, reluctant, whilst the plain,
Far as the eye may reach, in sanguine hue,
Is strew'd with dead and dying. Now, the Danes,
Weary with slaughter, sheath'd the gory blade—
Raising a shout, terrific, such as seem'd,
Commingling with the elemental blast,
Death's harbinger; for never till that day
Had Alfred known so great an overthrow.
Cries, ‘Havoc!’ as the routed Saxons flee,
Bearing their king, reluctant, whilst the plain,
Far as the eye may reach, in sanguine hue,
Is strew'd with dead and dying. Now, the Danes,
Weary with slaughter, sheath'd the gory blade—
Raising a shout, terrific, such as seem'd,
Commingling with the elemental blast,
Death's harbinger; for never till that day
Had Alfred known so great an overthrow.
Leading his slender force, brave men and true,
The Saxon monarch, with high confidence,
The Danes had met, and valorous deeds were his,
And his compeers in glory. Sword to sword,
With strenuous might they fought, but what avail'd
Courage, where few, with many hurl'd the lance,
While those who should have propt their country's cause,
Shrunk back, and view'd their brethren, saw their king
Contending with barbarians, they, the while
Heedless of freedom, and the patriot's call,—
Sent from her ravaged towns, and wasted plains.
The Saxon monarch, with high confidence,
The Danes had met, and valorous deeds were his,
And his compeers in glory. Sword to sword,
32
Courage, where few, with many hurl'd the lance,
While those who should have propt their country's cause,
Shrunk back, and view'd their brethren, saw their king
Contending with barbarians, they, the while
Heedless of freedom, and the patriot's call,—
Sent from her ravaged towns, and wasted plains.
Far have the vanquish'd fled, and, wearied, now,
Deep in a glen, surrounded by tall rocks,
Age-worn, and hanging trees, whose foliage dark
Half hid heaven's light, while, with soft melody,
A mountain stream beside him murmuring flow'd,
Stood Alfred, poring on his country's wrongs;
(Alswitha, with her infant, by his side,
Such cares were his as drink the spirit up.
No word he utter'd, whilst his followers round,
Few, shelterless, dispirited, forlorn,
Survey'd their monarch's face, with such a look
As when the wind sweeps o'er some grove, whose leaves
Start into notice, and all silently
Turn to th 'obtruding breeze. While stillness reign'd,
Thus spake the king—
Deep in a glen, surrounded by tall rocks,
Age-worn, and hanging trees, whose foliage dark
Half hid heaven's light, while, with soft melody,
A mountain stream beside him murmuring flow'd,
Stood Alfred, poring on his country's wrongs;
(Alswitha, with her infant, by his side,
Such cares were his as drink the spirit up.
No word he utter'd, whilst his followers round,
Few, shelterless, dispirited, forlorn,
Survey'd their monarch's face, with such a look
As when the wind sweeps o'er some grove, whose leaves
Start into notice, and all silently
Turn to th 'obtruding breeze. While stillness reign'd,
Thus spake the king—
“Subjects and faithful friends!
‘Behold your sovereign, stripp'd and desolate,
‘Unfriended, save in you; and this weak babe,
‘This wretched mother, partners in his grief,
‘And none to aid.”
‘Behold your sovereign, stripp'd and desolate,
‘Unfriended, save in you; and this weak babe,
‘This wretched mother, partners in his grief,
‘And none to aid.”
The veterans' breasts once more
Courage inflames. Each clash'd his shield, and cried,
As in his heart affection fuller reign'd,
‘This arm shall aid thee, Death or Victory!”
Courage inflames. Each clash'd his shield, and cried,
As in his heart affection fuller reign'd,
‘This arm shall aid thee, Death or Victory!”
The monarch answer'd, “Gen'rous men, your swords
‘Vainly contend, On every side the Danes
‘Like locusts congregate, and locusts like
‘No preference know, but all who breathe the air,
‘Old men and mothers, youths and orphan babes,
‘Fall merciless, in one promiscuous heap,
‘Oh, Albion dear! my country! Where are now
‘Thy quiet habitations? Where thy fields
‘Smiling in verdure? Where thy orchard plots?—
‘Thy waving corn-lands?—or thy villagers,
‘Chanting their harvest home? Where now the smiles—
‘The hearty greetings, and the social cheer
‘When friend met friend, in joyous holyday?
‘Cold, motionless,—all is a wintry gloom!
‘And Saxon, meeting Saxon, now, looks up,
‘And silent, passes on.—O, misery!
‘Our slaughter'd brethren, or what once were they
‘Courting the birds of air, or ravenous wolf,
‘Unburied lie! mothers and little-ones,
‘Bleaching the hills and vallies with their bones!’
The sigh is heard, rending the troubled breast.
Alfred again. ‘Subjects! I love you well,
‘And that affection, in this hour of woe,
‘Inflicts the deadlier pang. O'erwhelming thought!
‘Thousands whom once we knew, brave like yourselves,
‘Where are they? those, so late, who felt their hearts
‘Throb with heroic courage, saw their homes
‘Burnt and destroy'd, their children heap'd in death,
‘Their lawful prince, a wanderer thro' the wilds,
‘And woods, and mountains?—men like you, who spurn'd
‘Inglorious ease, when danger reign'd around,
‘And in their wrath rose valiantly, to strive
‘With demons in man's shape. These all are gone,
‘Down to th' untimely grave, where you must go,
‘If with vain hope longer you dare the strife.
‘Hard thoughts, and many, press upon my mind:
‘I would disclose them, but a secret weight
‘Keeps my tongue silent; yet, they shall be told,
‘Tho' painful. We must part!”
‘Vainly contend, On every side the Danes
‘Like locusts congregate, and locusts like
33
‘Old men and mothers, youths and orphan babes,
‘Fall merciless, in one promiscuous heap,
‘Oh, Albion dear! my country! Where are now
‘Thy quiet habitations? Where thy fields
‘Smiling in verdure? Where thy orchard plots?—
‘Thy waving corn-lands?—or thy villagers,
‘Chanting their harvest home? Where now the smiles—
‘The hearty greetings, and the social cheer
‘When friend met friend, in joyous holyday?
‘Cold, motionless,—all is a wintry gloom!
‘And Saxon, meeting Saxon, now, looks up,
‘And silent, passes on.—O, misery!
‘Our slaughter'd brethren, or what once were they
‘Courting the birds of air, or ravenous wolf,
‘Unburied lie! mothers and little-ones,
‘Bleaching the hills and vallies with their bones!’
The sigh is heard, rending the troubled breast.
Alfred again. ‘Subjects! I love you well,
‘And that affection, in this hour of woe,
‘Inflicts the deadlier pang. O'erwhelming thought!
‘Thousands whom once we knew, brave like yourselves,
‘Where are they? those, so late, who felt their hearts
‘Throb with heroic courage, saw their homes
‘Burnt and destroy'd, their children heap'd in death,
‘Their lawful prince, a wanderer thro' the wilds,
‘And woods, and mountains?—men like you, who spurn'd
‘Inglorious ease, when danger reign'd around,
‘And in their wrath rose valiantly, to strive
‘With demons in man's shape. These all are gone,
‘Down to th' untimely grave, where you must go,
‘If with vain hope longer you dare the strife.
‘Hard thoughts, and many, press upon my mind:
‘I would disclose them, but a secret weight
‘Keeps my tongue silent; yet, they shall be told,
‘Tho' painful. We must part!”
34
A sudden pause
Seem'd to prevade the air, and every eye
Intentful gazed upon him. ‘We must part!’
Then sounded from the brook; the very trees,
Attentive, far around, caught the same words,
And in responses murmured—‘We must part!’
Seem'd to prevade the air, and every eye
Intentful gazed upon him. ‘We must part!’
Then sounded from the brook; the very trees,
Attentive, far around, caught the same words,
And in responses murmured—‘We must part!’
Stifling his secret grief, again the king.
‘Befits us, friends, and subjects, to survey
‘Our real state. Here, under heaven's vast arch,
‘Alone we stand; no house to shelter us,
‘Our homes made desolate, our bravest men,
‘The bulwark of our country, all laid low!
‘What prospect have we? Not like former foes
‘Come these fierce Danes, to grasp ideal good,
‘Wealth, fame, or honors: not like former foes,
‘Disheartened at the sight of blood, stand these,
‘And see their fallen friends; the gasp of death,
‘With all its horrors, in their minds excites
‘Tumultuous ecstasy, and leaves no hope
‘But to partake the same triumphant end.
‘Yet Wessex wars alone! Our countrymen,
‘View not the gathering storm, whose sudden rage,
‘Erelong will pour confusion on them all.’
‘Befits us, friends, and subjects, to survey
‘Our real state. Here, under heaven's vast arch,
‘Alone we stand; no house to shelter us,
‘Our homes made desolate, our bravest men,
‘The bulwark of our country, all laid low!
‘What prospect have we? Not like former foes
‘Come these fierce Danes, to grasp ideal good,
‘Wealth, fame, or honors: not like former foes,
‘Disheartened at the sight of blood, stand these,
‘And see their fallen friends; the gasp of death,
‘With all its horrors, in their minds excites
‘Tumultuous ecstasy, and leaves no hope
‘But to partake the same triumphant end.
‘Yet Wessex wars alone! Our countrymen,
‘View not the gathering storm, whose sudden rage,
‘Erelong will pour confusion on them all.’
His listless eye he cast upon the ground;
When each man, who, before, felt bold enough
To talk most long, and eloquent, now stood
Silent, and knew how weak the power of speech
To tell the heart's warm feelings.
When each man, who, before, felt bold enough
To talk most long, and eloquent, now stood
Silent, and knew how weak the power of speech
To tell the heart's warm feelings.
Alfred thus,
‘Most injured men! it now were worse than vain
‘To cheer you with false hopes. On every side
‘The Danes present the javelin, and at length,
‘Saxons must shun the fight! Here now we are,
‘Few, destitute, left to contend alone.
‘At such an hour, when every gift of heaven
‘Hangs in the scale; when ruin stalks abroad,
‘And all that life endears is jeoparded,
‘Who would presume in Saxons, that brave race;
‘To find corroding jealousies? What heart
‘Would dare to harbour, in some bleak recess—
‘Thought,—that impaired the character of man!
‘That Saxons, foremost in the generous deed,
‘Should now, with alien apathy, disdain
‘The calls of loyalty, their hearths, their homes,
‘While Danes make Desolation clap her hands.
‘Most injured men! it now were worse than vain
‘To cheer you with false hopes. On every side
‘The Danes present the javelin, and at length,
‘Saxons must shun the fight! Here now we are,
‘Few, destitute, left to contend alone.
35
‘Hangs in the scale; when ruin stalks abroad,
‘And all that life endears is jeoparded,
‘Who would presume in Saxons, that brave race;
‘To find corroding jealousies? What heart
‘Would dare to harbour, in some bleak recess—
‘Thought,—that impaired the character of man!
‘That Saxons, foremost in the generous deed,
‘Should now, with alien apathy, disdain
‘The calls of loyalty, their hearths, their homes,
‘While Danes make Desolation clap her hands.
‘You cannot hope to conquer and support
‘Alfred and Britain, 'gainst these faithless men,
‘As multitud'nous as the stars, they come
‘From some far land, hiding the very face
‘Of our green ocean, whilst, in tardy strife
‘Our numbers waste, we fall by conquering.
‘Whatever men can do, you all have done
‘In freedom's cause, for life and liberty;
‘Yet, what avails it? Ills on ills arise.
‘The pitiless defeat your king has known!
‘And Cypanham now is fall'n, our last strong tower.
‘My faithful subjects, Wessex strives in vain!
‘There is the evil! Where in war array,
‘Appear Northumbria's levies—Mercia's sons—
‘The men of Essex—Sussex—or the hosts
‘From either Anglia? Where do these appear
‘Now England's foes spread death and ruin wide?
‘Our coward countrymen behold unmoved
‘The fury of these Danes—contented see
‘Our fruitless efforts—and remember not,
‘The ruin we deplore, themselves awaits.
‘There is another evil, deep and dark.
‘Wessex herself, in this disastrous hour,
‘Doth not appear with her whole weight of strength
‘To aid her rights, to succour me her king,
‘To hurl destruction on th' insulting Dane.—
‘I would e'en spare my subjects! but, in vain!
‘Truth will be heard! They now remember not
‘Courage should grow with danger; they have sought
‘Inglorious and deceitful rest, and left
‘These gallant bands to perish by the foe!
‘Evils must cure themselves. Let then the storm
‘Rage through the land! Experience shall at length
‘Strip folly of her mask, when, through our isle
‘Rapine and murder, in their towering car,
‘Ride on triumphant! then shall men awake
‘From their deep lethargy, and call aloud
‘On Alfred! whom in evil hour they left
‘To bear the wrath of this o'erwhelming storm!
‘I now withdraw awhile. The time will come
‘When common danger shall throughout the land
‘Rouse common sympathies, and nerve each arm
‘With wonted courage: then will I appear,
‘And not till then. Wisdom, not cowardice,
‘Prescribes the plan, which firmness shall pursue.
‘Alfred and Britain, 'gainst these faithless men,
‘As multitud'nous as the stars, they come
‘From some far land, hiding the very face
‘Of our green ocean, whilst, in tardy strife
‘Our numbers waste, we fall by conquering.
‘Whatever men can do, you all have done
‘In freedom's cause, for life and liberty;
‘Yet, what avails it? Ills on ills arise.
‘The pitiless defeat your king has known!
‘And Cypanham now is fall'n, our last strong tower.
‘My faithful subjects, Wessex strives in vain!
‘There is the evil! Where in war array,
‘Appear Northumbria's levies—Mercia's sons—
‘The men of Essex—Sussex—or the hosts
‘From either Anglia? Where do these appear
‘Now England's foes spread death and ruin wide?
‘Our coward countrymen behold unmoved
‘The fury of these Danes—contented see
‘Our fruitless efforts—and remember not,
‘The ruin we deplore, themselves awaits.
‘There is another evil, deep and dark.
‘Wessex herself, in this disastrous hour,
‘Doth not appear with her whole weight of strength
36
‘To hurl destruction on th' insulting Dane.—
‘I would e'en spare my subjects! but, in vain!
‘Truth will be heard! They now remember not
‘Courage should grow with danger; they have sought
‘Inglorious and deceitful rest, and left
‘These gallant bands to perish by the foe!
‘Evils must cure themselves. Let then the storm
‘Rage through the land! Experience shall at length
‘Strip folly of her mask, when, through our isle
‘Rapine and murder, in their towering car,
‘Ride on triumphant! then shall men awake
‘From their deep lethargy, and call aloud
‘On Alfred! whom in evil hour they left
‘To bear the wrath of this o'erwhelming storm!
‘I now withdraw awhile. The time will come
‘When common danger shall throughout the land
‘Rouse common sympathies, and nerve each arm
‘With wonted courage: then will I appear,
‘And not till then. Wisdom, not cowardice,
‘Prescribes the plan, which firmness shall pursue.
‘Sorrowing I leave you! For your unknown homes
Go search, and, whether they be found, immured
‘In some dark forest, or upon the top
‘Of barren hills, or deep in mountain cave,
‘Or mid the precipice—safe may you be!
‘No longer shall your precious blood be shed
‘In useless combat. Haste! Some refuge find,
‘And tho' in secret I awhile must dwell,
‘Yet, like the spirit of each man, that still
‘Followeth in light and darkness, so will I
‘Unnoticed, haunt your footsteps, and, again,
‘When hope shall rise, start forward, like the sun,
‘Emerging in his strength, from some dark cloud
‘That many a dubious day hath warr'd in heaven.’
Silent he stood, and, with heart-weariness
Chanced to espy the brook, slow murmuring near;
Whilst interruptions from the stones, that strew'd
Its shallow bed, or the thick dancing reeds,
Stay'd not its course, for, still with earnest speed,
And undiverted, fast it roll'd along,
Never to know tranquillity, till mix'd
With the great mass of waters. ‘So must thou’—
A still small voice repeated—‘So must thou,
‘Toil on, O, king! nor vainly hope to gain
‘A quiet, till in death, that ocean, lost.’
Go search, and, whether they be found, immured
‘In some dark forest, or upon the top
‘Of barren hills, or deep in mountain cave,
‘Or mid the precipice—safe may you be!
‘No longer shall your precious blood be shed
‘In useless combat. Haste! Some refuge find,
‘And tho' in secret I awhile must dwell,
‘Yet, like the spirit of each man, that still
‘Followeth in light and darkness, so will I
‘Unnoticed, haunt your footsteps, and, again,
‘When hope shall rise, start forward, like the sun,
‘Emerging in his strength, from some dark cloud
‘That many a dubious day hath warr'd in heaven.’
37
Chanced to espy the brook, slow murmuring near;
Whilst interruptions from the stones, that strew'd
Its shallow bed, or the thick dancing reeds,
Stay'd not its course, for, still with earnest speed,
And undiverted, fast it roll'd along,
Never to know tranquillity, till mix'd
With the great mass of waters. ‘So must thou’—
A still small voice repeated—‘So must thou,
‘Toil on, O, king! nor vainly hope to gain
‘A quiet, till in death, that ocean, lost.’
The musing prince looked up, for Devon's Earl,
Oddune, now stood before him: with an eye
That told the sorrowing heart, he thus began.—
‘If in thy wisdom, for the public good,
‘Thou deem it needful, thrice illustrious king!
‘To shun th' unequal conflict, and, awhile,
‘Withdraw to solitude, that those who now
‘Renounce thy cause, by bitter discipline,
‘May learn their folly—prosperous be thy path!
‘But, in hereafter times, when I am low,
‘Let not my brave descendants, scornful say,
‘That, in misfortune, Oddune left his prince,
‘The pride of christendom, the truest friend
‘That ever friendship greeted. Where thou go'st,
‘To soothe thy injured spirit, best of kings!
‘Let me attend,’
Oddune, now stood before him: with an eye
That told the sorrowing heart, he thus began.—
‘If in thy wisdom, for the public good,
‘Thou deem it needful, thrice illustrious king!
‘To shun th' unequal conflict, and, awhile,
‘Withdraw to solitude, that those who now
‘Renounce thy cause, by bitter discipline,
‘May learn their folly—prosperous be thy path!
‘But, in hereafter times, when I am low,
‘Let not my brave descendants, scornful say,
‘That, in misfortune, Oddune left his prince,
‘The pride of christendom, the truest friend
‘That ever friendship greeted. Where thou go'st,
‘To soothe thy injured spirit, best of kings!
‘Let me attend,’
‘It is no common joy,
‘In hour like this,’ said Alfred, ‘to behold
‘Thy constancy, O, chief! but, sad it is,
‘To hear the prayer of friendship, and to know
‘That prayer must be denied My course is fix'd!
‘I by myself will go. No mortal man
‘Shall see and think of Alfred. Heaven hath saved
‘In many an hour, with human aid far off:
‘And that same God is yet omnipotent.
‘But, though thy wish I grant not, still I ask
‘Proof of thy stern fidelity. Haste thou,
‘Down to my western friends; what may be done
‘There, or elsewhere, I know thou wilt perform.
‘Truly I prize thee, Oddune! much is due
‘To faithfulness like thine, and much my heart
‘Fain would repay—but, it is yet denied.’
‘In hour like this,’ said Alfred, ‘to behold
‘Thy constancy, O, chief! but, sad it is,
‘To hear the prayer of friendship, and to know
‘That prayer must be denied My course is fix'd!
‘I by myself will go. No mortal man
‘Shall see and think of Alfred. Heaven hath saved
‘In many an hour, with human aid far off:
38
‘But, though thy wish I grant not, still I ask
‘Proof of thy stern fidelity. Haste thou,
‘Down to my western friends; what may be done
‘There, or elsewhere, I know thou wilt perform.
‘Truly I prize thee, Oddune! much is due
‘To faithfulness like thine, and much my heart
‘Fain would repay—but, it is yet denied.’
Oddune in sorrow heard, and thus replied.
‘Sovereign revered! tho' I had fondly hoped,
‘Long to attend thee, yet, at thy command,
‘Cheerful, will I depart, and trust me, prince!
‘If prayers can serve thee, thou shalt prosper still.’
He said, and turning, sought the western land.
‘Sovereign revered! tho' I had fondly hoped,
‘Long to attend thee, yet, at thy command,
‘Cheerful, will I depart, and trust me, prince!
‘If prayers can serve thee, thou shalt prosper still.’
He said, and turning, sought the western land.
Alfred beheld him journeying, and thus cried,
To her, the pride of womanhood, his queen,
(Who on a bank, tall trees her canopy,
Sat leaning o'er her child) ‘Alswitha, hear!
‘A better subject than yon gallant chief,
‘No king hath honor'd, one, within whose heart
‘More loyalty prevails, and every grace
‘That visits mortals. Many promise fair,
‘Who, in the hour of trial, stand aloof,
‘Or with cold interest serve; but he, brave man!
‘Displays, as dangers thicken, nobler powers,
‘And more intense reality of faith,
‘And growing steadfastness. Behold him there!
‘Pacing with solemn step beside the brook,
‘In deep thought exercised for Britain's weal,
‘(Nor quite unmindful of thyself and me.)
‘He goes 'mid death and perils! Heaven will guard
‘Such worth as his, from the night-prowling wolf,
‘Or fiercer Dane. If ever prince should find
‘Subject like Oddune, let him not rejoice
‘That God hath dealt a crown, but, given a friend.’
‘What means yon sudden tumult?’ cried the king,
As hastening through the troops, in black attire,
A stately man drew near, who, nothing spake,
Till to the spot where Alfred stood he came;
His garment was a monk's, yet on his head
A warrior's casque he wore. ‘Whence? and thy name?’
Said Alfred, as he seiz'd his good sword's hilt.
The stranger wildly spake, (surprize around)
‘Here do I stand before my noble king,
‘The poorest and most abject wretch, whom grief
‘Hath with remorseless fury, in her hour
‘Of deepest visitation, prey'd npon.
‘Abbot of Wilton, prince, behold in me!
‘Sigbert!’ exclaim'd the king, ‘I knew thee not
‘And whence this strange deportment?’ thus he cried.
To her, the pride of womanhood, his queen,
(Who on a bank, tall trees her canopy,
Sat leaning o'er her child) ‘Alswitha, hear!
‘A better subject than yon gallant chief,
‘No king hath honor'd, one, within whose heart
‘More loyalty prevails, and every grace
‘That visits mortals. Many promise fair,
‘Who, in the hour of trial, stand aloof,
‘Or with cold interest serve; but he, brave man!
‘Displays, as dangers thicken, nobler powers,
‘And more intense reality of faith,
‘And growing steadfastness. Behold him there!
‘Pacing with solemn step beside the brook,
‘In deep thought exercised for Britain's weal,
‘(Nor quite unmindful of thyself and me.)
‘He goes 'mid death and perils! Heaven will guard
‘Such worth as his, from the night-prowling wolf,
‘Or fiercer Dane. If ever prince should find
‘Subject like Oddune, let him not rejoice
‘That God hath dealt a crown, but, given a friend.’
39
As hastening through the troops, in black attire,
A stately man drew near, who, nothing spake,
Till to the spot where Alfred stood he came;
His garment was a monk's, yet on his head
A warrior's casque he wore. ‘Whence? and thy name?’
Said Alfred, as he seiz'd his good sword's hilt.
The stranger wildly spake, (surprize around)
‘Here do I stand before my noble king,
‘The poorest and most abject wretch, whom grief
‘Hath with remorseless fury, in her hour
‘Of deepest visitation, prey'd npon.
‘Abbot of Wilton, prince, behold in me!
‘Sigbert!’ exclaim'd the king, ‘I knew thee not
‘And whence this strange deportment?’ thus he cried.
‘Wilton's fair pile, the flower of Wessex land,
‘Danes have destroyed. My friends are slain! and now
‘Whether these limbs be mangled, this weak head
‘Put on by clumsy artizan, and made
‘To dance thus wonderful, I cannot say;
‘But, such foul sights of death and direful waste
‘Still float before me, that my swimming brain
‘Yet doubts if all be not a very dream;
‘A shadowy trance, and I a pious monk,
‘My cell beside me. No! It cannot be!
‘For how should pious monk, feel as I do
‘Such fixed and unextinguishable hate—
‘Such cravings to destroy. Blood! Rapine! Spoil!
‘The Danes are near; I see them in the clouds;
‘For they, like men,, need not the sluggish use
‘Of bone and sinew when they move to death.
‘Th' infernal fiends assist them. Listen, king!
‘This is no idle hour; dig thou a pit,
‘Immeasurably deep, 'neath yon huge hill,
‘For thee and for thy subjects, I will stand
‘At the dark mouth, and yell a withering tune,
‘A tune about the Danes, and their mad deeds,
‘That shall put all to flight, save imps of hell.
‘Pardon, O, king! This fever of the brain
‘Makes me forget my very name and place.’
‘Danes have destroyed. My friends are slain! and now
‘Whether these limbs be mangled, this weak head
‘Put on by clumsy artizan, and made
‘To dance thus wonderful, I cannot say;
‘But, such foul sights of death and direful waste
‘Still float before me, that my swimming brain
‘Yet doubts if all be not a very dream;
‘A shadowy trance, and I a pious monk,
‘My cell beside me. No! It cannot be!
‘For how should pious monk, feel as I do
‘Such fixed and unextinguishable hate—
‘Such cravings to destroy. Blood! Rapine! Spoil!
‘The Danes are near; I see them in the clouds;
‘For they, like men,, need not the sluggish use
‘Of bone and sinew when they move to death.
‘Th' infernal fiends assist them. Listen, king!
‘This is no idle hour; dig thou a pit,
‘Immeasurably deep, 'neath yon huge hill,
‘For thee and for thy subjects, I will stand
40
‘A tune about the Danes, and their mad deeds,
‘That shall put all to flight, save imps of hell.
‘Pardon, O, king! This fever of the brain
‘Makes me forget my very name and place.’
He said, and roll'd his starting eye-balls round,
Fearful, in vacancy. The king amazed,
Look'd on the abbot with deep earnestness,
Then turning, with a sigh, thus spake. ‘O, God!
‘Whatever punishment thy hand may deal
‘To cleanse from sin's deep stain—Almighty sire,
‘Preserve my reason! Take whate'er thou wilt,
‘But spare, oh spare my reason!” As he spake
Sigbert more calm appeared; when, Alfred thus.
‘If recollection serve, declare, O, man!
‘How Dane's possess'd themselves of that fair place;
‘The spot where I had hoped to rest my head,
‘After the toil of life's hard pilgrimage,
‘In quiet sepulture.’ He thus replied.
Fearful, in vacancy. The king amazed,
Look'd on the abbot with deep earnestness,
Then turning, with a sigh, thus spake. ‘O, God!
‘Whatever punishment thy hand may deal
‘To cleanse from sin's deep stain—Almighty sire,
‘Preserve my reason! Take whate'er thou wilt,
‘But spare, oh spare my reason!” As he spake
Sigbert more calm appeared; when, Alfred thus.
‘If recollection serve, declare, O, man!
‘How Dane's possess'd themselves of that fair place;
‘The spot where I had hoped to rest my head,
‘After the toil of life's hard pilgrimage,
‘In quiet sepulture.’ He thus replied.
‘In Wilton's pious house, good men around,
‘And wise as good, (save him addressing thee.)
‘I govern'd righteously. From morn to night,
‘We chanted forth Heaven's praises, fed the poor,
‘And taught the ignorant, and lived methinks
‘As God would have us live. We heard of wars,
‘Rumours of wars and strifes, from passing pilgrim,
‘Or from the men who roved from land to land
‘Driving their flocks and herds to 'scape the Danes,
‘Who, as they journey'd on their perilous way,
‘Oft-times to listen stood; and gazed around,
‘Cautious, to see if foe approach'd. These men
‘Declared such deeds of th' invading host,
‘That, to believe them possible, we strove,
‘But could not, such our confidence in Heaven.
‘At length, upon an even, no longer left
‘To doubtful rumour, we beheld the foe,
‘(Led on by Hubba, that disastrous pirate,
‘Fierce for barbarian deeds!) shouting draw near.
‘A holy father ventured to go forth
‘And ask them their design. We saw him slain!
‘Then death was visible! Each call'd on God.
‘While on our knees, we saw the ceiling red
‘From the destructive torch that blazed without.
‘We heard the crash of wood! the doors were forced!
‘The Danes rush'd in! the work of death began!
‘Relics and shrines, all was one overthrow.
‘O spare my anguish! spare my burning brain!
‘I fled, yes, here I am.
‘And wise as good, (save him addressing thee.)
‘I govern'd righteously. From morn to night,
‘We chanted forth Heaven's praises, fed the poor,
‘And taught the ignorant, and lived methinks
‘As God would have us live. We heard of wars,
‘Rumours of wars and strifes, from passing pilgrim,
‘Or from the men who roved from land to land
‘Driving their flocks and herds to 'scape the Danes,
‘Who, as they journey'd on their perilous way,
‘Oft-times to listen stood; and gazed around,
‘Cautious, to see if foe approach'd. These men
‘Declared such deeds of th' invading host,
‘That, to believe them possible, we strove,
‘But could not, such our confidence in Heaven.
41
‘To doubtful rumour, we beheld the foe,
‘(Led on by Hubba, that disastrous pirate,
‘Fierce for barbarian deeds!) shouting draw near.
‘A holy father ventured to go forth
‘And ask them their design. We saw him slain!
‘Then death was visible! Each call'd on God.
‘While on our knees, we saw the ceiling red
‘From the destructive torch that blazed without.
‘We heard the crash of wood! the doors were forced!
‘The Danes rush'd in! the work of death began!
‘Relics and shrines, all was one overthrow.
‘O spare my anguish! spare my burning brain!
‘I fled, yes, here I am.
‘Mark me, O king!
My rage is past, I now can coolly speak,
‘Tell thee my purport, like a wise man, calm:
‘No friend hath Sigbert, not one soul survives
‘Of all he loved! Normans have murder'd them!
‘I pant for blood, and I will have my fill!’
He said, and in an instant rais'd his scarf,
And cast it to the air, and underneath,
'Mid wild astonishment, discover'd hid
A warrior's armour! Thus again he spake:
‘This armour was a chieftain's, whom I saw
‘Slain on the moor; I seized it; put it on;
‘And having found thee after tedious search,
‘Here do I swear, that Sigbert shall henceforth
‘Live for one object, let one only hope
‘Dwell in his breast; and when the madd'ning thought
‘Of home destroy'd—friends slain— or country wrong'd
‘Shall cross his mind, with vulture's appetite,
‘And lion's rage, loud shall he call for blood.”
The stranger ceas'd. Convulsions heaved his frame.
His hands clench'd each the other, whilst his eye
At heaven gazed steadfastly. When Alfred thus.
‘Sigbert! I mourn thy wrongs. Thy service here,
‘I need not. Whilst thou seek some safe retreat,
‘Angels be thy protectors.’ From the king,
Instant he turn'd, rage beaming from his eye,
And sped, unknowing where.
My rage is past, I now can coolly speak,
‘Tell thee my purport, like a wise man, calm:
‘No friend hath Sigbert, not one soul survives
‘Of all he loved! Normans have murder'd them!
‘I pant for blood, and I will have my fill!’
He said, and in an instant rais'd his scarf,
And cast it to the air, and underneath,
'Mid wild astonishment, discover'd hid
A warrior's armour! Thus again he spake:
‘This armour was a chieftain's, whom I saw
‘Slain on the moor; I seized it; put it on;
‘And having found thee after tedious search,
‘Here do I swear, that Sigbert shall henceforth
‘Live for one object, let one only hope
‘Dwell in his breast; and when the madd'ning thought
‘Of home destroy'd—friends slain— or country wrong'd
‘Shall cross his mind, with vulture's appetite,
‘And lion's rage, loud shall he call for blood.”
The stranger ceas'd. Convulsions heaved his frame.
His hands clench'd each the other, whilst his eye
At heaven gazed steadfastly. When Alfred thus.
42
‘I need not. Whilst thou seek some safe retreat,
‘Angels be thy protectors.’ From the king,
Instant he turn'd, rage beaming from his eye,
And sped, unknowing where.
Heavy at heart,
Alfred now turn'd, to bid his faithful troops
Flee to their lone retreat. He sought to speak,
But sorrow check'd his words. The moment came
When his resolves first fail'd him; till, at length,
He found th' imperfect utterance, and began.
Alfred now turn'd, to bid his faithful troops
Flee to their lone retreat. He sought to speak,
But sorrow check'd his words. The moment came
When his resolves first fail'd him; till, at length,
He found th' imperfect utterance, and began.
‘Friends! brethren! subjects! you, whose gallant deeds
‘So oft have check'd the Danes; so oft have made
‘Their monstrous bucklers feel the heavy weight
‘Of your good swords; forget not now your strength
‘Tho' forc'd to yield the contest, and alone
‘Roam through the wood and wilderness, oppress'd—
‘With secret dread, and hard disquietude,
‘Hold not your courage light, for you have fought
‘As bravely for your homes and innocents,
‘As ever mortals fought. Your noble deeds,
‘In martial fame shall be recorded high;
‘Whilst every Saxon who in coming years
‘Dwells on th' inspiring tale, shall proudly say,
‘These heroes were our sires! but we are doom'd
‘To suffer from false friends, and in them find
‘Our bitterest foes—So let the punishment
‘Due to their crimes o'ertake them!—
‘So oft have check'd the Danes; so oft have made
‘Their monstrous bucklers feel the heavy weight
‘Of your good swords; forget not now your strength
‘Tho' forc'd to yield the contest, and alone
‘Roam through the wood and wilderness, oppress'd—
‘With secret dread, and hard disquietude,
‘Hold not your courage light, for you have fought
‘As bravely for your homes and innocents,
‘As ever mortals fought. Your noble deeds,
‘In martial fame shall be recorded high;
‘Whilst every Saxon who in coming years
‘Dwells on th' inspiring tale, shall proudly say,
‘These heroes were our sires! but we are doom'd
‘To suffer from false friends, and in them find
‘Our bitterest foes—So let the punishment
‘Due to their crimes o'ertake them!—
‘Have I not—
‘Say, Oh my subjects! have I not endured,
‘E'en, with the meanest of you, hunger, cold;—
‘The beating tempest, wind, and hail, and rain?
‘When have I shunn'd the Danes, their black array,
‘Their furious onset, or, amid the fight,
‘Stood motionless, and not display'd my sword,
‘And like yourselves fought resolute? In vain!—
‘Deserted, destitute, we must, awhile,
‘Th' unequal combat shun. Alfred, in arms,
‘Will but inflame the vengeance of the foe,
‘And stimulate to fiercer deeds of blood!
‘Altho' th' indignant spirit burn within,
‘Till duty call, now Saxons! we must haste
‘Each to his secret place!’
‘Say, Oh my subjects! have I not endured,
‘E'en, with the meanest of you, hunger, cold;—
‘The beating tempest, wind, and hail, and rain?
‘When have I shunn'd the Danes, their black array,
‘Their furious onset, or, amid the fight,
‘Stood motionless, and not display'd my sword,
43
‘Deserted, destitute, we must, awhile,
‘Th' unequal combat shun. Alfred, in arms,
‘Will but inflame the vengeance of the foe,
‘And stimulate to fiercer deeds of blood!
‘Altho' th' indignant spirit burn within,
‘Till duty call, now Saxons! we must haste
‘Each to his secret place!’
The monarch ceased;
For, as he strove to say—‘Subjects, farewell!’
His big heart throbb'd, and hard and difficult
Was it to check his grief. Upon his cheek
Anguish was visible, and all around,
Mark'd the tumultuous throe, which, like the wave
That calleth up the spirit of another,
Made their eyes dim, and, for a moment, each—
Put off the hero. Silence breaking thus,—
Alfred exclaim'd: ‘It was a passing cloud!
‘Once more are we ourselves.—No season this
‘For idle feeling. We must meet our fate
‘Firm, as befitteth men.
For, as he strove to say—‘Subjects, farewell!’
His big heart throbb'd, and hard and difficult
Was it to check his grief. Upon his cheek
Anguish was visible, and all around,
Mark'd the tumultuous throe, which, like the wave
That calleth up the spirit of another,
Made their eyes dim, and, for a moment, each—
Put off the hero. Silence breaking thus,—
Alfred exclaim'd: ‘It was a passing cloud!
‘Once more are we ourselves.—No season this
‘For idle feeling. We must meet our fate
‘Firm, as befitteth men.
‘I would advise,
‘(And my advice, e'en now, will not be spurn'd)
‘That you repair to Selwood's forest shade:
‘Waiting your monarch's summons: there abide,
‘Construct the fortress, form the dart and bow,
‘And live on hope, the balm of wretchedness.
‘Oh, subjects! whom affliction's heavy hand
‘Binds closer to my heart, the glorious time
‘Hastes on, I fain would hope, when to your homes
‘You may return triumphant: and, tho' now
‘I cease the strife, yet in th' auspicious hour
‘When Saxons, wearied with the yoke of slaves,
‘And taught their folly by the wrongs they bear
‘From iron-hearted Danes, shall think again
‘Of past delights, of freedom, and the king
‘Whom they, in his misfortunes, heedless left
‘Unshelter'd to the storm; when they shall seek
‘Once more deliv'rance, and, on Alfred call—
‘As thunder follows the bright flash of heaven,
‘So will I follow hope, and still be found
‘First, at the call of honour. Till that hour
‘Subjects, and friends,—farewell!”
‘(And my advice, e'en now, will not be spurn'd)
‘That you repair to Selwood's forest shade:
‘Waiting your monarch's summons: there abide,
‘Construct the fortress, form the dart and bow,
‘And live on hope, the balm of wretchedness.
‘Oh, subjects! whom affliction's heavy hand
‘Binds closer to my heart, the glorious time
‘Hastes on, I fain would hope, when to your homes
‘You may return triumphant: and, tho' now
‘I cease the strife, yet in th' auspicious hour
‘When Saxons, wearied with the yoke of slaves,
‘And taught their folly by the wrongs they bear
‘From iron-hearted Danes, shall think again
‘Of past delights, of freedom, and the king
44
‘Unshelter'd to the storm; when they shall seek
‘Once more deliv'rance, and, on Alfred call—
‘As thunder follows the bright flash of heaven,
‘So will I follow hope, and still be found
‘First, at the call of honour. Till that hour
‘Subjects, and friends,—farewell!”
He scarce had ceas'd,
When loud and pealing shouts, tumultuous rose,
‘To Selwood!’ ‘Selwood!’ ‘Prosper still,’ they cried
‘Oh, God! our noble king!’ when the whole host
Turn'd sorrowful, to seek the forest shade.
When loud and pealing shouts, tumultuous rose,
‘To Selwood!’ ‘Selwood!’ ‘Prosper still,’ they cried
‘Oh, God! our noble king!’ when the whole host
Turn'd sorrowful, to seek the forest shade.
Now, cold at heart, Alfred approach'd, to greet
The partner of his sorrows. Still she sat
Bending to earth, over her infant child
That on her breast lean'd quietly. He cried
‘Joy of my heart, Alswitha!’ Up she rose,
And seem'd like one awaked, from a long dream:
Her eyes were wild, and eager gazing round,
With lifted hand, she spake, ‘Alone, my king.”
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘and we must now go forth
‘To find another home. Give me thy child,
‘Thus early taught to suffer.’ She obey'd,
And they together sought the neighbouring heath.
The partner of his sorrows. Still she sat
Bending to earth, over her infant child
That on her breast lean'd quietly. He cried
‘Joy of my heart, Alswitha!’ Up she rose,
And seem'd like one awaked, from a long dream:
Her eyes were wild, and eager gazing round,
With lifted hand, she spake, ‘Alone, my king.”
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘and we must now go forth
‘To find another home. Give me thy child,
‘Thus early taught to suffer.’ She obey'd,
And they together sought the neighbouring heath.
| Alfred | |