Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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 | Alfred |  |
The long-look'd hour is come! The cot he sees!
With ardent step he hastens to the door!
He knocks! assured that, at the second breath,
The latch will move, and gratulations loud
Welcome him back.—No voice—no sound is heard!
He louder knocks!—yet silence still prevails!
His heart misgives!—Slowly he opes the door.
He enters—looks around.—Sudden he starts!—
What cold and creeping dew-damp, o'er his brow,
Starts from each pore!—when, on the ground he sees—
Dread spectacle!—the friendly woodman old—
Murder'd!—and by his side, a lifeless corpse—
His aged wife!
With ardent step he hastens to the door!
He knocks! assured that, at the second breath,
The latch will move, and gratulations loud
Welcome him back.—No voice—no sound is heard!
He louder knocks!—yet silence still prevails!
His heart misgives!—Slowly he opes the door.
He enters—looks around.—Sudden he starts!—
What cold and creeping dew-damp, o'er his brow,
Starts from each pore!—when, on the ground he sees—
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Murder'd!—and by his side, a lifeless corpse—
His aged wife!
It was a withering sight!
Alfred stands motionless!—His breast heaved hard.
His eye a mist pervaded, when he cried,
(Glancing at that disastrous Dane, whose spoil
He heard recounted) ‘Monster! thou hast slain
‘A time-worn, and most unoffending pair!
‘God pardon thee!’ After a silence brief,
The king breath'd forth,—in accents slow and faint,
(Lest utterance, lawless feeling, should o'erpower)
‘He was a man, in worth and virtue's sight
‘Not vast in intellect, (so often proved,
‘A curse to its possessor!)—better far!—
‘Rich, sound in the interior. Warm within.
‘In this inhospitable world of ours—
‘Bless'd with a heart of kindliest sympathies.
‘I weep for thee, old man!—A sample rare
‘Of human nature in its choicest form—
‘Cleans'd, purified, by influence from on high!’
The king oppress'd with anguish, smites his breast,
And as a statue stands, absorbed in thought!—
The shuddering frame, the palpitating heart,
The trembling knee, tell of the strife he bore.
Alfred stands motionless!—His breast heaved hard.
His eye a mist pervaded, when he cried,
(Glancing at that disastrous Dane, whose spoil
He heard recounted) ‘Monster! thou hast slain
‘A time-worn, and most unoffending pair!
‘God pardon thee!’ After a silence brief,
The king breath'd forth,—in accents slow and faint,
(Lest utterance, lawless feeling, should o'erpower)
‘He was a man, in worth and virtue's sight
‘Not vast in intellect, (so often proved,
‘A curse to its possessor!)—better far!—
‘Rich, sound in the interior. Warm within.
‘In this inhospitable world of ours—
‘Bless'd with a heart of kindliest sympathies.
‘I weep for thee, old man!—A sample rare
‘Of human nature in its choicest form—
‘Cleans'd, purified, by influence from on high!’
The king oppress'd with anguish, smites his breast,
And as a statue stands, absorbed in thought!—
The shuddering frame, the palpitating heart,
The trembling knee, tell of the strife he bore.
When thought had now return'd, and reason free,
Slow to himself, in tremulous tones he cried.
‘I will not leave you, miserable friends!
‘The decent earth shall cover you. These hands
‘Your grave shall delve,—under yon spreading tree,
‘Where you so oft have sat, and to high heaven,
‘Your orisons both night and morning paid,
‘All nature smiling!—emblem of the peace
‘That in your purged and righteous spirits reign'd!
‘You, half I envy. From this barren world,
‘This congregated mass of wretchedness!
‘Where worth, like some exotic and rare plant,
‘Pining, endures the uncongenial soil,
‘And wrong and violence hold revelry!—
‘Call'd suddenly away!—not unprepared;—
‘A moment's pang exchanged for endless joy!’
Slow to himself, in tremulous tones he cried.
‘I will not leave you, miserable friends!
‘The decent earth shall cover you. These hands
‘Your grave shall delve,—under yon spreading tree,
‘Where you so oft have sat, and to high heaven,
‘Your orisons both night and morning paid,
‘All nature smiling!—emblem of the peace
‘That in your purged and righteous spirits reign'd!
‘You, half I envy. From this barren world,
‘This congregated mass of wretchedness!
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‘Pining, endures the uncongenial soil,
‘And wrong and violence hold revelry!—
‘Call'd suddenly away!—not unprepared;—
‘A moment's pang exchanged for endless joy!’
| Alfred | |