Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. | BOOK XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
 | Alfred |  |
239
BOOK XVI.
ARGUMENT.
Alfred's visit to the Danish camp, continued.—Present, Ivar, Hubba, Guthrum, the Harper.
‘Well met!’ cried Ivar. ‘Here we all appear,
‘But, where the captive? she whose fate hath raised
‘This bitter strife.’
‘But, where the captive? she whose fate hath raised
‘This bitter strife.’
He scarce had said, when, lo!
Alswitha enter'd trembling, led by her,—
Guthrum's fair daughter. With bewilder'd glance
Around she slowly look'd. Her heart beat hard!—
For there, disguised, stood Alfred. He beheld
And trembled; every joint relax'd; such doubts
Rush'd through him, that of all around, he seem'd
Dubious, if most partaking of the world
Ideal or material. In his wrath,
Hubba arose, and cried,
Alswitha enter'd trembling, led by her,—
Guthrum's fair daughter. With bewilder'd glance
Around she slowly look'd. Her heart beat hard!—
For there, disguised, stood Alfred. He beheld
And trembled; every joint relax'd; such doubts
Rush'd through him, that of all around, he seem'd
Dubious, if most partaking of the world
Ideal or material. In his wrath,
Hubba arose, and cried,
‘Ivar, our brother,
‘Behold the captive, Guthrum vainly strives
‘From death to screen; but, by the sword I wield,
‘Death shall o'ertake her, and the gods receive,
‘Before th' approaching morn, her destin'd blood.’
‘Behold the captive, Guthrum vainly strives
‘From death to screen; but, by the sword I wield,
‘Death shall o'ertake her, and the gods receive,
‘Before th' approaching morn, her destin'd blood.’
The gentle Zephyr, that upon the wave
Disports himself, and o'er the rippling flood,
Delighted bears some vessel, freighted rich
With human excellence, feels not more grief
And cutting anguish, when, with potent word,
The Genius of the ocean, bids him haste
To other regions, and resign his charge
To the fierce North-wind, that with bellowing rage
Soon shall assault the bark, and in the waves
Ingulf the whole,—than Alfred felt, to think
He govern'd not, but one, a Dane, whose soul
Blood only charm'd.
240
Delighted bears some vessel, freighted rich
With human excellence, feels not more grief
And cutting anguish, when, with potent word,
The Genius of the ocean, bids him haste
To other regions, and resign his charge
To the fierce North-wind, that with bellowing rage
Soon shall assault the bark, and in the waves
Ingulf the whole,—than Alfred felt, to think
He govern'd not, but one, a Dane, whose soul
Blood only charm'd.
Alswitha silent stood.
Feeling had left her, and her eye display'd
The vacancy of death. When Guthrum cried;
(Burden'd with wrath, that thus an utterance found:)
‘Hubba! more black thy heart than night o'ercast
‘With hideous tempests, when no moon appears,
‘And every star, fearful, withdraws. Thy soul
‘Feeds only on revenge, and thy dark mind
‘Ever displays, like Finmark's gloomy wastes,
‘All desolate, winds or the beating rain,—
‘Thou hast no sun within! Thy manly front
‘But pictures some fair forest's loftiest boughs,
‘Displaying health and verdure, whilst beneath,
‘Far out of sight, 'mid noxious vapours vile,
‘Lie desolation, mildew, waste, and death!
‘Tho' from its monstrous and atrocious kind,
‘Few might thy motive doubt, I know the cause
‘Which makes thee Guthrum's foe! which fills thy breast
‘With venom fierce, and of no earthly kind:
‘But thou shalt strive in vain! She shall not die
‘To glut thy vengeance! I have vow'd, have sworn,
‘Her to protect; this tongue hath pledged itself
‘With oaths so full and of such import deep,
‘That whilst this eye can see, this sword resist,
‘Yon Captive stands secure!’
Feeling had left her, and her eye display'd
The vacancy of death. When Guthrum cried;
(Burden'd with wrath, that thus an utterance found:)
‘Hubba! more black thy heart than night o'ercast
‘With hideous tempests, when no moon appears,
‘And every star, fearful, withdraws. Thy soul
‘Feeds only on revenge, and thy dark mind
‘Ever displays, like Finmark's gloomy wastes,
‘All desolate, winds or the beating rain,—
‘Thou hast no sun within! Thy manly front
‘But pictures some fair forest's loftiest boughs,
‘Displaying health and verdure, whilst beneath,
‘Far out of sight, 'mid noxious vapours vile,
‘Lie desolation, mildew, waste, and death!
‘Tho' from its monstrous and atrocious kind,
‘Few might thy motive doubt, I know the cause
‘Which makes thee Guthrum's foe! which fills thy breast
‘With venom fierce, and of no earthly kind:
‘But thou shalt strive in vain! She shall not die
‘To glut thy vengeance! I have vow'd, have sworn,
‘Her to protect; this tongue hath pledged itself
‘With oaths so full and of such import deep,
‘That whilst this eye can see, this sword resist,
‘Yon Captive stands secure!’
241
When Ivar spake.
‘Guthrum, I know thee not! Thy words and looks!
‘So change thy character, that I suspect
‘Some fiend of hell hath borrow'd this thy shape
‘With which to spout its fury. Know, oh man!
‘Ivar, not Guthrum, rules in Britain's Isle.
‘Thy haughty words befit not even thee,
‘Tho' old and in thy country's wars renown'd.
‘If for our common good, the gods demand
‘A victim of high blood,—where is there one,
‘Like her I see, so noble in her port
‘And form'd for sacrifice? Say, hast thou not,
‘Ofttimes declared, that, from her form and mien,
‘Her language and deportment, that thou knew'st
‘Thy Captive of no common origin?
‘These oft have been thy sayings! and to shew
‘Resentment for thy words, here do I swear,
‘By all the gods in Valhall—she shall die!’
‘Guthrum, I know thee not! Thy words and looks!
‘So change thy character, that I suspect
‘Some fiend of hell hath borrow'd this thy shape
‘With which to spout its fury. Know, oh man!
‘Ivar, not Guthrum, rules in Britain's Isle.
‘Thy haughty words befit not even thee,
‘Tho' old and in thy country's wars renown'd.
‘If for our common good, the gods demand
‘A victim of high blood,—where is there one,
‘Like her I see, so noble in her port
‘And form'd for sacrifice? Say, hast thou not,
‘Ofttimes declared, that, from her form and mien,
‘Her language and deportment, that thou knew'st
‘Thy Captive of no common origin?
‘These oft have been thy sayings! and to shew
‘Resentment for thy words, here do I swear,
‘By all the gods in Valhall—she shall die!’
Not paler look'd the Babylonian king,
Belshazzar, when upon the walls he saw
The finger guided by an arm unseen,
Then look'd Alswitha.—Guthrum thus replied:
‘With thee, oh chieftain! vain it were to strive:
‘Thou hast all power! yet do I feel my wrongs
‘Hard on me! Is it this for which my life
‘Hath borne the battle? Have I fought from youth,
‘Even to these grey hairs, to have at last
‘One little boon denied me, and receive
‘At this unlook'd for time my full reward?
‘One thing I yet may do! These hands have now
‘Warr'd long enough; and from this fatal hour,
‘Sheath'd is my sword! upon the Saxon foe
‘Never to light again! The strife is o'er!
‘Now take the victim! let her blood be shed!
‘Go forth and conquer in full confidence
‘That gods approve the deed! One path is now
‘Left for old Guthrum, and I swear—to haste
‘Instant to Denmark.’
Belshazzar, when upon the walls he saw
The finger guided by an arm unseen,
Then look'd Alswitha.—Guthrum thus replied:
‘With thee, oh chieftain! vain it were to strive:
‘Thou hast all power! yet do I feel my wrongs
‘Hard on me! Is it this for which my life
‘Hath borne the battle? Have I fought from youth,
‘Even to these grey hairs, to have at last
‘One little boon denied me, and receive
‘At this unlook'd for time my full reward?
‘One thing I yet may do! These hands have now
‘Warr'd long enough; and from this fatal hour,
‘Sheath'd is my sword! upon the Saxon foe
‘Never to light again! The strife is o'er!
‘Now take the victim! let her blood be shed!
‘Go forth and conquer in full confidence
242
‘Left for old Guthrum, and I swear—to haste
‘Instant to Denmark.’
Hubba shouted, ‘Haste!
‘We heed thee not—thy threats or services!
‘We are a host ourselves!’—Ivar exclaim'd,
‘Lead forth the victim! Bring the sacred knife!
‘Prepare the bowl! and let her streaming blood
‘Flow to the midnight torch!’
‘We heed thee not—thy threats or services!
‘We are a host ourselves!’—Ivar exclaim'd,
‘Lead forth the victim! Bring the sacred knife!
‘Prepare the bowl! and let her streaming blood
‘Flow to the midnight torch!’
Alswitha heard,
And at the chieftain's sentence, ‘Lead her forth,’
A gentle sleep her senses overcast:—
Low on the ground she sank: when Hubba sprang,
Grasping her arm resistless, and essay'd
To bear her from the tent, when Ivar cried,
‘Withhold! I have one question first to ask.
‘Guthrum, attend! Became yon captive thine
‘In lawful fight, or didst thou meet with her
‘When peaceful, and remote from wars and strife?’—
Guthrum faint hope received, and eager cried,
‘By all the gods we serve, illustrious chief!
‘Fighting, I found her not. No fruit of war
‘Was yonder captive. Her I overtook
‘At early morn, when pacing quietly
‘Her sober way.’
And at the chieftain's sentence, ‘Lead her forth,’
A gentle sleep her senses overcast:—
Low on the ground she sank: when Hubba sprang,
Grasping her arm resistless, and essay'd
To bear her from the tent, when Ivar cried,
‘Withhold! I have one question first to ask.
‘Guthrum, attend! Became yon captive thine
‘In lawful fight, or didst thou meet with her
‘When peaceful, and remote from wars and strife?’—
Guthrum faint hope received, and eager cried,
‘By all the gods we serve, illustrious chief!
‘Fighting, I found her not. No fruit of war
‘Was yonder captive. Her I overtook
‘At early morn, when pacing quietly
‘Her sober way.’
Ivar then knit his brow:
Conflicting thoughts seem'd labouring in his breast.
Awhile he ponder'd; when Alswitha rose,
And gazing slowly round, spake not, yet cast
Th' accusing look, unconscious, on the chief.
This look awoke his wrath, which but required
The pressure of a shadow, to burst forth
Untameable—Like that still pause in air,
When the dark elements are filled with mists
And pregnant clouds, 'till through the vaulted sky
The thunder rattles, when the world beneath,
Half deluged, hears the dread contunder roar
That bursts heaven's flood-gates.—Thus the chieftain cried:
‘Woman! thy haughty mien but ill deserves
‘Compassion, yet, it wrings me to the heart,
‘What most I hate, I fear me, I must shew,’
When lifting up her eye, Alswitha spake:
‘Haughty, my lord! within this trembling breast
‘There is no haughtiness, and if thou shew
‘Compassion to my pleading innocence—’
Conflicting thoughts seem'd labouring in his breast.
Awhile he ponder'd; when Alswitha rose,
And gazing slowly round, spake not, yet cast
Th' accusing look, unconscious, on the chief.
This look awoke his wrath, which but required
The pressure of a shadow, to burst forth
Untameable—Like that still pause in air,
When the dark elements are filled with mists
And pregnant clouds, 'till through the vaulted sky
The thunder rattles, when the world beneath,
243
That bursts heaven's flood-gates.—Thus the chieftain cried:
‘Woman! thy haughty mien but ill deserves
‘Compassion, yet, it wrings me to the heart,
‘What most I hate, I fear me, I must shew,’
When lifting up her eye, Alswitha spake:
‘Haughty, my lord! within this trembling breast
‘There is no haughtiness, and if thou shew
‘Compassion to my pleading innocence—’
Hubba exclaim'd, ‘Compassion! Hold thy peace!’
When turning to the chief, he thus began.
‘Ivar, my brother! would'st thou rescue thus
‘A worthless captive, and expose our heads—
‘Thy head and mine—nay, all around our tent,
‘To one o'erwhelming fate? Recall thy words!
‘Pronounce! and let me seize her and lead forth
‘To instant sacrifice.’—
When turning to the chief, he thus began.
‘Ivar, my brother! would'st thou rescue thus
‘A worthless captive, and expose our heads—
‘Thy head and mine—nay, all around our tent,
‘To one o'erwhelming fate? Recall thy words!
‘Pronounce! and let me seize her and lead forth
‘To instant sacrifice.’—
Then such suspense
Hubba and Guthrum, and the harper felt,
And she, Alswitha, as that wretched crew,
On India's despot shore, when, parch'd with thirst,
And deep immured in dungeon horrible,—
Their very veins starting from out their flesh,
And, boiling, as the dark blood flow'd within;—
Then such suspense felt all around the chief,
As Albion's sons endured, when having sent
A second time, (night round them,) to inquire
If still he slept, the monster! on whose rest
Hung their last hope of being.
Hubba and Guthrum, and the harper felt,
And she, Alswitha, as that wretched crew,
On India's despot shore, when, parch'd with thirst,
And deep immured in dungeon horrible,—
Their very veins starting from out their flesh,
And, boiling, as the dark blood flow'd within;—
Then such suspense felt all around the chief,
As Albion's sons endured, when having sent
A second time, (night round them,) to inquire
If still he slept, the monster! on whose rest
Hung their last hope of being.
Ivar cried,
‘The fatal mandate glad would I pronounce,
‘But there is one objection that till now
‘Struck not my mind. I cannot as I would!
‘I have an unimaginable dread
‘Of powers invisible! Regard my words.—
‘Ere to the Saxon land I urged my course,
‘As well befitted Dane, I first resolved
‘To seek the Sorc'ress. To the neighbouring shore,
‘Alone, I hasted, and upon the beach
‘Beheld a mariner; aloud I cried,
‘Launch out thy bark, and bear me to the spot
‘Where dwells the Oracle,’—
‘The fatal mandate glad would I pronounce,
‘But there is one objection that till now
‘Struck not my mind. I cannot as I would!
‘I have an unimaginable dread
‘Of powers invisible! Regard my words.—
244
‘As well befitted Dane, I first resolved
‘To seek the Sorc'ress. To the neighbouring shore,
‘Alone, I hasted, and upon the beach
‘Beheld a mariner; aloud I cried,
‘Launch out thy bark, and bear me to the spot
‘Where dwells the Oracle,’—
‘I cannot go,’
Slow he replied; ‘Behold the maddening surge;’
‘When strait I slew him. Having reach'd at length
‘The fatal sister, down immured in earth,
‘She knew the deed, and chid me with such frowns;
‘Call'd up such legions of infernal forms,
‘And so o'erpower'd my sight with unknown shapes,
‘Terrific, that I vow'd, grasping my sword,
‘When to this isle I came, never to shed
‘One drop of human blood, but what the wars
‘Gave me in lawful captives. This I swore;
‘And I so dread her frown, at the still hour
‘Of midnight, when all darkness is around,
‘That I the oath must keep! I have no choice!
‘That vow hath saved her. Guthrum, take thy slave!’
Slow he replied; ‘Behold the maddening surge;’
‘When strait I slew him. Having reach'd at length
‘The fatal sister, down immured in earth,
‘She knew the deed, and chid me with such frowns;
‘Call'd up such legions of infernal forms,
‘And so o'erpower'd my sight with unknown shapes,
‘Terrific, that I vow'd, grasping my sword,
‘When to this isle I came, never to shed
‘One drop of human blood, but what the wars
‘Gave me in lawful captives. This I swore;
‘And I so dread her frown, at the still hour
‘Of midnight, when all darkness is around,
‘That I the oath must keep! I have no choice!
‘That vow hath saved her. Guthrum, take thy slave!’
Quick as the panther leaps upon his prey,
Guthrum uprose and answer'd, ‘Chieftain, hail!
‘Ivar, I bid thee, hail! and now behold
‘Once more in me a friend.’—As look'd the fiend—
Hell's monarch, when the Saviour to him cried,
Turning in his full might and majesty,
‘Get thee behind me, Satan!’—Hubba look'd,
Fierce in his wrath, and muttering half-form'd words
Of direful import.
Guthrum uprose and answer'd, ‘Chieftain, hail!
‘Ivar, I bid thee, hail! and now behold
‘Once more in me a friend.’—As look'd the fiend—
Hell's monarch, when the Saviour to him cried,
Turning in his full might and majesty,
‘Get thee behind me, Satan!’—Hubba look'd,
Fierce in his wrath, and muttering half-form'd words
Of direful import.
Guthrum him approach'd,
And thus bespake, ‘Good Hubba! I am glad,—
‘Wherefore should'st thou be sorrowful? Such wrath
‘As thou indulgest ill befits a prince,
‘And such determin'd vengeance. Thou hast shewn,
‘Till now, respect for women, and the hate
‘Thou bearest one so gentle and so good,
‘Afflicts my spirit. I am old and grey,
‘But I remember once, my heart, like thine!
‘For as the withy throve where water was,
‘So I, 'mid strife; yet tho' I know myself,
‘That hour is past. I now with cooler mind
‘Can judge our state, and for the common cause
‘Make something like concession.—These my words.
‘When first about the fleet our swords were drawn,
‘Where was the cause of strife? for thee or me?
‘I fear'd not, thou the same; we both alike
‘Fear'd neither one the other: wherefore then
‘That passion and this agony of rage?
‘I am content to own thee still my friend,
‘If Hubba thus the same of Guthrum says,
‘This is no time for jarring! we must join—
‘Speak I not, Ivar, right? both hand and heart,
‘To meet these Saxons, and that first of men,
‘For courage, constancy, and deep designs—
‘Alfred, their king.’
And thus bespake, ‘Good Hubba! I am glad,—
‘Wherefore should'st thou be sorrowful? Such wrath
‘As thou indulgest ill befits a prince,
245
‘Till now, respect for women, and the hate
‘Thou bearest one so gentle and so good,
‘Afflicts my spirit. I am old and grey,
‘But I remember once, my heart, like thine!
‘For as the withy throve where water was,
‘So I, 'mid strife; yet tho' I know myself,
‘That hour is past. I now with cooler mind
‘Can judge our state, and for the common cause
‘Make something like concession.—These my words.
‘When first about the fleet our swords were drawn,
‘Where was the cause of strife? for thee or me?
‘I fear'd not, thou the same; we both alike
‘Fear'd neither one the other: wherefore then
‘That passion and this agony of rage?
‘I am content to own thee still my friend,
‘If Hubba thus the same of Guthrum says,
‘This is no time for jarring! we must join—
‘Speak I not, Ivar, right? both hand and heart,
‘To meet these Saxons, and that first of men,
‘For courage, constancy, and deep designs—
‘Alfred, their king.’
Ivar exclaim'd, ‘Right well!
‘Brother, thy hand! Receive our father's friend!
‘E'en him, who in th' excess of vigilance,
‘Hath till this hour, when danger roamed abroad,
‘Slept less than Heimdal, guardian of heaven's way.
Hubba uprose, and with feign'd fellowship,
Clasp'd Guthrum's hand in silence, looking stern,
As tho' he brooded o'er revenge, not ripe,
Rankling within. When Ivar thus again.
‘To see you friends, once more, my spirit cheers.
‘When the full time is past of solemn rites,
‘Forth will we march to seek where hides the king,
‘The exiled Alfred, whom our swords shall meet,
‘Our wrath o'erwhelm! But now for merriment.
‘Harper, thy song! and let our lighten'd hearts
‘Dance to the laughing instrument.’ The king
Trembling uprose, and, singing, struck the harp.
‘Brother, thy hand! Receive our father's friend!
‘E'en him, who in th' excess of vigilance,
‘Hath till this hour, when danger roamed abroad,
‘Slept less than Heimdal, guardian of heaven's way.
Hubba uprose, and with feign'd fellowship,
Clasp'd Guthrum's hand in silence, looking stern,
As tho' he brooded o'er revenge, not ripe,
Rankling within. When Ivar thus again.
‘To see you friends, once more, my spirit cheers.
‘When the full time is past of solemn rites,
‘Forth will we march to seek where hides the king,
‘The exiled Alfred, whom our swords shall meet,
‘Our wrath o'erwhelm! But now for merriment.
246
‘Dance to the laughing instrument.’ The king
Trembling uprose, and, singing, struck the harp.
‘Danes, far renown'd o'er all the north, and known
‘To every wave of ocean—like the pine,
‘Torn from the mountain's base, that rides secure
‘Upon the foaming billow; hear my song!—
‘Friendship is dear to man, the hour of strife
‘Bitter as wormwood to the heart that feels
‘And prizes friendship. I to nobler themes
‘Now tune my harp: I sing celestial Love!
‘Where'er thou art, best friend of humankind,
‘There is all good, all harmony; the heart
‘That truly loves, a mail'd defence doth wear
‘That blunts all sorrow. Let each soul be true,
‘Of all that round me listen, to the vows
‘Preferred in happier times, and patient look
‘For future recompence. Such is the worth
‘Of heaven-descended Love, that nothing here,
‘E'en in the spacious world, hath magnitude
‘By which to tell its value! Pearls and crowns
‘Are fleeting shadows, but affection true,
‘Constant and spotless, scorning time and place,
‘Lives and for ever lives, for 'tis the gift—
‘First and most precious, heaven ordains to man.
‘The ocean, that with raving mounts on high,
‘And seems ordain'd through endless years to roll,
‘For ever troubled, soon shall stay his wrath.
‘Oh ye, whose hearts affection calls her own,
‘Heed not your sorrows! soon the storm shall cease,
‘Like ocean in his fury.’
‘To every wave of ocean—like the pine,
‘Torn from the mountain's base, that rides secure
‘Upon the foaming billow; hear my song!—
‘Friendship is dear to man, the hour of strife
‘Bitter as wormwood to the heart that feels
‘And prizes friendship. I to nobler themes
‘Now tune my harp: I sing celestial Love!
‘Where'er thou art, best friend of humankind,
‘There is all good, all harmony; the heart
‘That truly loves, a mail'd defence doth wear
‘That blunts all sorrow. Let each soul be true,
‘Of all that round me listen, to the vows
‘Preferred in happier times, and patient look
‘For future recompence. Such is the worth
‘Of heaven-descended Love, that nothing here,
‘E'en in the spacious world, hath magnitude
‘By which to tell its value! Pearls and crowns
‘Are fleeting shadows, but affection true,
‘Constant and spotless, scorning time and place,
‘Lives and for ever lives, for 'tis the gift—
‘First and most precious, heaven ordains to man.
‘The ocean, that with raving mounts on high,
‘And seems ordain'd through endless years to roll,
‘For ever troubled, soon shall stay his wrath.
‘Oh ye, whose hearts affection calls her own,
‘Heed not your sorrows! soon the storm shall cease,
‘Like ocean in his fury.’
Ivar cried:
‘Thy minstrelsy, so sweet, makes glad my heart.
‘Where learned'st thou thy song? Did'st ever tread
‘On distant Denmark, for it seems the same
‘Which I in mournful mood to Freda spake
‘Ere I came hither.’ Hubba thus replied,
‘And I to Thoris.’ Wildly cried the king,
‘I ride upon the winds, or 'tween the waves,
‘And mid the howling storm, recline myself,
‘As all were quiet. Have ye never heard
‘'Mid forests deep the night-owl whoop to me;
‘Or, from your native mountains seen on high
‘The eagle sailing, whilst he heard afar,
‘Check'd in his course, my harp in solitude?’
‘Methinks I have,’ cried Hubba, tremblingly,
When slowly thus to Ivar he began.
‘This fearful and most questionable thing,
‘For whether man or not, I would not say,
‘Cheats me of reason. Ivar! bid him haste
‘From this our presence, for I half suspect
‘Nay, I could swear by his long eye-lash black,
‘'Tis Lok himself, that evil Deity
‘Whom gods and men abhor. He hath great power.
‘So we must treat him kindly.’
‘Thy minstrelsy, so sweet, makes glad my heart.
‘Where learned'st thou thy song? Did'st ever tread
‘On distant Denmark, for it seems the same
247
‘Ere I came hither.’ Hubba thus replied,
‘And I to Thoris.’ Wildly cried the king,
‘I ride upon the winds, or 'tween the waves,
‘And mid the howling storm, recline myself,
‘As all were quiet. Have ye never heard
‘'Mid forests deep the night-owl whoop to me;
‘Or, from your native mountains seen on high
‘The eagle sailing, whilst he heard afar,
‘Check'd in his course, my harp in solitude?’
‘Methinks I have,’ cried Hubba, tremblingly,
When slowly thus to Ivar he began.
‘This fearful and most questionable thing,
‘For whether man or not, I would not say,
‘Cheats me of reason. Ivar! bid him haste
‘From this our presence, for I half suspect
‘Nay, I could swear by his long eye-lash black,
‘'Tis Lok himself, that evil Deity
‘Whom gods and men abhor. He hath great power.
‘So we must treat him kindly.’
Ivar look'd
In dubious mood, 'twixt doubt and certainty,
And thus replied. ‘Hubba, I may not think
‘Yon harper, Lok? No, no! it cannot be!
‘Thy brain is wandering. He is what he seems,
‘A crazy harper, whom some sore mishap
‘Hath lighted on, and his distemper'd brain
‘Serv'd as we witness.’ Turning, thus the chief:
‘Thy harp, young harper, thou hast learn'd to touch,
‘With a bewitching tenderness; thy voice,
‘Form'd for thine instrument, hath to our minds
‘Call'd up sweet images, so clear and sweet,
‘That truly I could wish this warfare o'er,
‘That I might back to Denmark and exchange
‘The shadow for the substance: but, vain thoughts!
‘This is no time for love's soft witcheries.
‘Now we are friends, let us with speed prepare
‘To meet the fight, for as the husbandman
‘Tills ere he reaps and houses, so must we
‘First sow the seed in war; Alfred first meet.
‘But yet before we part, one other song
‘Methinks might cheer us. Woman, take the harp!
‘And let us hear if thou hast learn'd to touch
‘Soft notes like him thy country-man.’
In dubious mood, 'twixt doubt and certainty,
And thus replied. ‘Hubba, I may not think
‘Yon harper, Lok? No, no! it cannot be!
‘Thy brain is wandering. He is what he seems,
‘A crazy harper, whom some sore mishap
‘Hath lighted on, and his distemper'd brain
‘Serv'd as we witness.’ Turning, thus the chief:
‘Thy harp, young harper, thou hast learn'd to touch,
‘With a bewitching tenderness; thy voice,
‘Form'd for thine instrument, hath to our minds
‘Call'd up sweet images, so clear and sweet,
‘That truly I could wish this warfare o'er,
‘That I might back to Denmark and exchange
‘The shadow for the substance: but, vain thoughts!
‘This is no time for love's soft witcheries.
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‘To meet the fight, for as the husbandman
‘Tills ere he reaps and houses, so must we
‘First sow the seed in war; Alfred first meet.
‘But yet before we part, one other song
‘Methinks might cheer us. Woman, take the harp!
‘And let us hear if thou hast learn'd to touch
‘Soft notes like him thy country-man.’
The Queen—
Receiving from her stranger lord, the harp,
Falt'ring thus spake.—‘Faint is my voice, and harsh,
‘And feebly do I touch the minstrel chord,
‘Yet will I sing thy praise, O, chieftain, thine—
‘Who gav'st me life, and at this hour command'st
‘My harp to speak. Sweet is the harshest song
‘That springs from gratitude, and I will strike
‘The harp, albeit discordant.—Know, my lord
‘One song alone is mine; 'tis of a maid
‘Who on the wide seas saw her lover go,
‘And, wand'ring on the beach, to every wind
‘That waved her tresses, sang my humble song.
‘If thou would'st hear it, speak, and I obey.’
He cried, ‘Play on!’ When, trembling, she began.
Receiving from her stranger lord, the harp,
Falt'ring thus spake.—‘Faint is my voice, and harsh,
‘And feebly do I touch the minstrel chord,
‘Yet will I sing thy praise, O, chieftain, thine—
‘Who gav'st me life, and at this hour command'st
‘My harp to speak. Sweet is the harshest song
‘That springs from gratitude, and I will strike
‘The harp, albeit discordant.—Know, my lord
‘One song alone is mine; 'tis of a maid
‘Who on the wide seas saw her lover go,
‘And, wand'ring on the beach, to every wind
‘That waved her tresses, sang my humble song.
‘If thou would'st hear it, speak, and I obey.’
He cried, ‘Play on!’ When, trembling, she began.
‘Beloved, go! go o'er the briny sea,
‘And angels guard thee! When thou liest down,
‘May sometimes my soft image hover near.—
‘Forget not her who still remembers thee!
‘Go youth, belov'd! go to thy distant home!
‘Or never more shall I behold thee! Go!
‘Before the billows swallow thee. The rocks—
‘In fatal ambush lie. Oh, think of me!
‘And if my life could screen thee from the storm,
‘Then were thy dangers o'er. Go, gentle youth!
‘Soul of my soul, and may the winds and waves
‘Pity my sorrows; may they guide thee back
‘To meet me, oh, beloved! may they shew
‘Compassion for the tears I hourly shed.
‘But if the destinies, beloved youth!
‘Should keep thee from my bosom, if the wars
‘Or stormy main should stop thee—still believe
‘That in my dreams by night, my thoughts by day,
‘Thou art the sov'reign lord; no rival there.
‘How cam'st thou where thou art? Behold thy state,
‘Fly back, beloved! Dread thy mighty foes!
‘For death is near thee! Trust not thou to chance
‘Thy precious being! Instant, flee away!
‘But tho' thou long should'st lose me, thou shalt find
‘If e'er thou see me more, my love the same,
‘My heart still pure; and if, far off, I die,
‘Oh! weep for one who with her latest breath
‘Call'd on her true-love, and from heaven implored
‘Blessings on him and his.’
‘And angels guard thee! When thou liest down,
‘May sometimes my soft image hover near.—
‘Forget not her who still remembers thee!
‘Go youth, belov'd! go to thy distant home!
‘Or never more shall I behold thee! Go!
‘Before the billows swallow thee. The rocks—
‘In fatal ambush lie. Oh, think of me!
‘And if my life could screen thee from the storm,
‘Then were thy dangers o'er. Go, gentle youth!
‘Soul of my soul, and may the winds and waves
‘Pity my sorrows; may they guide thee back
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‘Compassion for the tears I hourly shed.
‘But if the destinies, beloved youth!
‘Should keep thee from my bosom, if the wars
‘Or stormy main should stop thee—still believe
‘That in my dreams by night, my thoughts by day,
‘Thou art the sov'reign lord; no rival there.
‘How cam'st thou where thou art? Behold thy state,
‘Fly back, beloved! Dread thy mighty foes!
‘For death is near thee! Trust not thou to chance
‘Thy precious being! Instant, flee away!
‘But tho' thou long should'st lose me, thou shalt find
‘If e'er thou see me more, my love the same,
‘My heart still pure; and if, far off, I die,
‘Oh! weep for one who with her latest breath
‘Call'd on her true-love, and from heaven implored
‘Blessings on him and his.’
She ceas'd the song.
Ivar uprose, and said, ‘Now may we part.’
When to the tent there came a spy, return'd
From wanderings far. Him Ivar saw, and cried;
‘Say! hast thou heard of Alfred, or what force
‘Saxons now boast?’—
Ivar uprose, and said, ‘Now may we part.’
When to the tent there came a spy, return'd
From wanderings far. Him Ivar saw, and cried;
‘Say! hast thou heard of Alfred, or what force
‘Saxons now boast?’—
‘I know it all,’ he cried,
‘I have seen Alfred, and beheld the spot
‘Where now he is, where all the Saxons dwell;
‘I know their haunts, their numbers, their designs,
‘All! all is mine!’ With the spontaneous voice
‘Each chief replied, ‘Declare it! Tell thy tale,’—
When thus he spake, turning to Alfred nigh.—
‘What doth this harping man do here? I late
‘From yonder hill, beheld him on our camp,
‘Gazing with curious eye.’ Hubba exclaim'd,
‘Hold thy peace, Dane! Thy tale!’ He thus began:
‘I have seen Alfred, and beheld the spot
‘Where now he is, where all the Saxons dwell;
‘I know their haunts, their numbers, their designs,
‘All! all is mine!’ With the spontaneous voice
‘Each chief replied, ‘Declare it! Tell thy tale,’—
When thus he spake, turning to Alfred nigh.—
‘What doth this harping man do here? I late
‘From yonder hill, beheld him on our camp,
‘Gazing with curious eye.’ Hubba exclaim'd,
‘Hold thy peace, Dane! Thy tale!’ He thus began:
‘We left you, mighty princes! to find out
‘Where Oddune fled, and where the Saxon king—
‘Alfred, conceal'd himself. We thought it well,
‘Singly to journey. Thus, of all our band,
‘Each took a different route. By night I roam'd:
‘By day, my habitations were the woods.
‘Oft weary was my spirit. I have lain,
‘Upon the tall branch swinging, seeing naught
‘'Mid the thick leaves, and as the eve drew near,
‘Crept to the utmost verge to gaze around
‘For path-way, or the next o'er-shadowing wood
‘Myself to hide. Long were it now to say
‘My hourly perils, or how dull to stride
‘Some giant limb, and scarce a living thing,
‘Through the long hours, behold, save overhead,
‘The squirrel that at leisure rasp'd his nuts
‘And dropp'd them on me.'—
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‘Alfred, conceal'd himself. We thought it well,
‘Singly to journey. Thus, of all our band,
‘Each took a different route. By night I roam'd:
‘By day, my habitations were the woods.
‘Oft weary was my spirit. I have lain,
‘Upon the tall branch swinging, seeing naught
‘'Mid the thick leaves, and as the eve drew near,
‘Crept to the utmost verge to gaze around
‘For path-way, or the next o'er-shadowing wood
‘Myself to hide. Long were it now to say
‘My hourly perils, or how dull to stride
‘Some giant limb, and scarce a living thing,
‘Through the long hours, behold, save overhead,
‘The squirrel that at leisure rasp'd his nuts
‘And dropp'd them on me.'—
Cried th' indignant chief,
‘Withhold thy babblings! What are these to us?—
‘Stars! trees! and squirrels! Tell us of the king
‘Who plots our ruin, nor again provoke
‘Ivar's fierce wrath!’
‘Withhold thy babblings! What are these to us?—
‘Stars! trees! and squirrels! Tell us of the king
‘Who plots our ruin, nor again provoke
‘Ivar's fierce wrath!’
‘Pardon me!’ cried the Dane;
(Knowing that death was mingled with that frown)
‘I would forget the rest, and speak alone
‘What thou requirest.—When the night arrived,
‘Descending from my hiding place, I sought
‘For cottage, or some solitary hind,
‘Whom I might question. Long I sought in vain;
‘When I o'ertook a man, and bade him tell
‘Where Alfred was.’ He cried, ‘I know not, Dane!
‘And if I did, think'st thou, that thou should'st hear?’
‘I answer'd not, but clave him to the ground.
‘Then, marching on, I saw a cottager,
‘And as he cast his eye, by the pale moon,
‘And glimps'd me, fast he sped; I follow'd hard,
‘When seeing him upraise his staff, my sword
‘Gave to the thirsty earth the Saxon's blood.
‘Through a dark wood, now far I roam'd, so vast,
‘That like the sea, illimitable, round—
‘It seem'd to spread. When by a clear brook's side,
‘I saw another cottage. At the door
‘I knock'd; none answer'd me; I knock'd again;
‘When, wistless who it was, an old man came,
‘Asking my purpose. Close behind him stood
‘His aged wife: earnest they both look'd up,
‘And, undismay'd, inquired again the cause
‘That brought me hither. Thus I answer'd them:
‘Vain to oppose me! Instant say, old man!
‘Where Alfred is!’ This was his answer, ‘Friend,
‘I know not.’ ‘Nay, but, on thy life, old man!
‘Say where thy monarch! Fail not to declare.
‘Or death be thine! When holding up my sword,’
‘Stay!’ he exclaim'd. ‘I am an aged man,
‘And many a long year in this woody vale.
‘By the clear brook that babbles by my side,
‘Thro' summer and thro' winter, I have dwelt.’
‘But answer me! I spake. Where is thy king?’
‘Oh, stay thy hand!’ he cried, ‘I pray thee stay!
‘I cannot tell—I never harm have done—
‘Spare my grey hairs!’—
(Knowing that death was mingled with that frown)
‘I would forget the rest, and speak alone
‘What thou requirest.—When the night arrived,
‘Descending from my hiding place, I sought
‘For cottage, or some solitary hind,
‘Whom I might question. Long I sought in vain;
‘When I o'ertook a man, and bade him tell
‘Where Alfred was.’ He cried, ‘I know not, Dane!
‘And if I did, think'st thou, that thou should'st hear?’
‘I answer'd not, but clave him to the ground.
‘Then, marching on, I saw a cottager,
‘And as he cast his eye, by the pale moon,
‘And glimps'd me, fast he sped; I follow'd hard,
‘When seeing him upraise his staff, my sword
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‘Through a dark wood, now far I roam'd, so vast,
‘That like the sea, illimitable, round—
‘It seem'd to spread. When by a clear brook's side,
‘I saw another cottage. At the door
‘I knock'd; none answer'd me; I knock'd again;
‘When, wistless who it was, an old man came,
‘Asking my purpose. Close behind him stood
‘His aged wife: earnest they both look'd up,
‘And, undismay'd, inquired again the cause
‘That brought me hither. Thus I answer'd them:
‘Vain to oppose me! Instant say, old man!
‘Where Alfred is!’ This was his answer, ‘Friend,
‘I know not.’ ‘Nay, but, on thy life, old man!
‘Say where thy monarch! Fail not to declare.
‘Or death be thine! When holding up my sword,’
‘Stay!’ he exclaim'd. ‘I am an aged man,
‘And many a long year in this woody vale.
‘By the clear brook that babbles by my side,
‘Thro' summer and thro' winter, I have dwelt.’
‘But answer me! I spake. Where is thy king?’
‘Oh, stay thy hand!’ he cried, ‘I pray thee stay!
‘I cannot tell—I never harm have done—
‘Spare my grey hairs!’—
‘Vain is it thus to talk,
‘I answer'd, and that instant drove my sword,
‘Deep in his heart, when loud the woman cried,
‘Forbear!’ ‘I answer'd not, but with my sword
‘For ever closed her eyes. Truly I felt,
‘At the first thought of killing them, a dread—
‘A check, a slow recoiling of the mind;
‘But then the thought, that they were Saxons, rose,
‘And pity I had none.
‘I answer'd, and that instant drove my sword,
‘Deep in his heart, when loud the woman cried,
‘Forbear!’ ‘I answer'd not, but with my sword
‘For ever closed her eyes. Truly I felt,
‘At the first thought of killing them, a dread—
‘A check, a slow recoiling of the mind;
‘But then the thought, that they were Saxons, rose,
‘And pity I had none.
‘Now, earnest still,
‘Far through the wood I wander'd, and again,
‘As was my custom, climb'd some lofty tree
‘To meet the day: when, to my wond'ring eyes,
‘Appear'd a castle, 'mid the thickest wood,
‘And near, the Saxon army!—There they are!—
‘Upon the loftiest walls, whilst the morn lagg'd,
‘I saw a man, so active 'bove his peers,
‘And with command so regal, that I thought,
‘Nay, I aver, it was the Saxon king.
‘I still look'd round, and, as the morn advanced,
‘Beheld the castle clearer; when I fled,
‘Seeking thee here. By my good prince's grace
‘True is my story.’—
‘Far through the wood I wander'd, and again,
‘As was my custom, climb'd some lofty tree
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‘Appear'd a castle, 'mid the thickest wood,
‘And near, the Saxon army!—There they are!—
‘Upon the loftiest walls, whilst the morn lagg'd,
‘I saw a man, so active 'bove his peers,
‘And with command so regal, that I thought,
‘Nay, I aver, it was the Saxon king.
‘I still look'd round, and, as the morn advanced,
‘Beheld the castle clearer; when I fled,
‘Seeking thee here. By my good prince's grace
‘True is my story.’—
‘Bravely hast thou said,’
Cried Ivar. ‘Now the certain day draws near—
‘The hour of vengeance! Alfred, thou art there!
‘But, ere another moon, low in the dust
‘Thy head shall lie. Hubba, regard my words!
‘And Guthrum, mark me! When the hour hath pass'd
‘That bounds our revelry, and the full time
‘Appointed to our gods—five days from this—
‘Forth will we seek that forest, and consign
‘To black perdition—Alfred and his host.’
Cried Ivar. ‘Now the certain day draws near—
‘The hour of vengeance! Alfred, thou art there!
‘But, ere another moon, low in the dust
‘Thy head shall lie. Hubba, regard my words!
‘And Guthrum, mark me! When the hour hath pass'd
‘That bounds our revelry, and the full time
‘Appointed to our gods—five days from this—
‘Forth will we seek that forest, and consign
‘To black perdition—Alfred and his host.’
All shouted, ‘Speed the time!’ and forth withdrew.
| Alfred | |