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Alfred

An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed.

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Now to the castle walls the king draws near,
The Saxons see, and rush to meet their prince;
Wild with excess of joy! When Alfred cried:—
(Exulting to behold so vast a host)
‘Friends! warriors! hope of Britons yet unborn!
‘I read in every countenance the joy
‘My presence yields you. Viewing, as I do,
‘You, patriot hosts! You, Saxons! crowding round
‘Your country's banner, and the prince, who lives
‘To do you good, my heart intenser love
‘Feels for you, than it ever yet hath felt.

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‘You are my children! I, your father am!
‘Important are the scenes by me beheld,
‘Since last we met. I, 'mid the Danish camp,
‘Have wander'd unmolested, on my back
‘A harp I bore; I have survey'd their force,
‘Obtain'd their plans, and now again am here
‘To tell you my designs. The hour is come!
‘Prepare for battle! In the Danish camp,
‘I stood and heard a spy instruct his chief,
‘He knew our haunts! He knew the very spot,
‘Selwood he named, where all our forces lay,
‘With me, your monarch. In their savage rites
‘Five days they vow'd to spend. If we advance
‘Fast to the combat, these our swords may bear
‘Destruction unawares. Yet, ere the fight,
‘Regard your monarch.—At this solemn hour
‘When all we have hangs on the quivering beam,
‘When Denmark's demons hover round, and Time
‘Prepares his hand to write the record dread,
‘Alfred is vanquish'd, or, the rapturous truth
‘Saxons have triumph'd, and the Danes been taught—
‘Lesson severe; how irresistible
‘The swords of freemen, when, with arms like ours—
‘They bravely strive for all that life holds dear.
‘Firm in our native strength, we, foreign aid,
‘Well may despise. With scorn may we behold—
‘Our base betrayers. Think, O, valorous men!
‘Where now is Mercia?—Where Northumbria's host?
‘Where the stout men of Kent? so free to vow!
‘So backward to perform! And, at this hour,
‘Where are the Anglians?—Men of words, not deeds!
‘These promised us, with all their wonted pledge
‘Of base hypocrisy, to swell our ranks
‘With countless heroes:—where do they appear?
‘I see them not! yet, Oh, transporting thought!
‘I see a nobler sight. I see my friends!—

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‘Wessex' brave sons, my subjects, now resolved
‘To vindicate their rights, to meet the foe,
‘And shine resplendent in the rolls of fame.
‘With joy transporting, now do I behold,
‘The British lion roused, shaking his mane
‘In fierce defiance! Let the traitors flee!
‘We need them not! we fear no giant foes,—
‘Pigmies to courage! In our native strength,
‘We, like a forest to the howling blast,
‘Will laugh at their asaaults, and whilst we march
‘To give, or to receive the final blow,
‘Our trust, our song shall be,—‘God, and our rights!’
‘Wessex, erelong, shall face the haughty Dane!’