Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | BOOK VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
 | Alfred |  |
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BOOK VI.
ARGUMENT.
Sigbert taken Prisoner by Guthrum.
Sigbert, from Ethelney, o'er moor and fen,
Some tidings of Alswaitha to obtain,
Walk'd musing; now elate with hope, now damp'd
With sudden apprehensions, then again
Heedless of danger. Eve was drawing near:
He long had journeyed, and it cheer'd his heart,
When having pass'd a forest, vast and dark,
To find a cottage. Toward the door he sped,
But, ere he reach'd it, sounds of boisterous grief,
And shrieks, burst forth! Awhile he stood and paus'd.
Again the shriek! He felt his sword, and came
Bold to the spot. It was two prowling Danes,
Who, ranging far for spoil, had here arrived,
And death was with them. Thro' the door he rush'd,
Th'impetuous Sigbert: when he saw a man,
An aged man, hard struggling, stretch'd on earth.
One Dane in act of murder stood! and one
Seized on the cotter's daughter, at whose shriek
He laughs aloud.
Some tidings of Alswaitha to obtain,
Walk'd musing; now elate with hope, now damp'd
With sudden apprehensions, then again
Heedless of danger. Eve was drawing near:
He long had journeyed, and it cheer'd his heart,
When having pass'd a forest, vast and dark,
To find a cottage. Toward the door he sped,
But, ere he reach'd it, sounds of boisterous grief,
And shrieks, burst forth! Awhile he stood and paus'd.
Again the shriek! He felt his sword, and came
Bold to the spot. It was two prowling Danes,
Who, ranging far for spoil, had here arrived,
And death was with them. Thro' the door he rush'd,
Th'impetuous Sigbert: when he saw a man,
An aged man, hard struggling, stretch'd on earth.
One Dane in act of murder stood! and one
Seized on the cotter's daughter, at whose shriek
He laughs aloud.
Not happier feels the man,
When wandering far o'er hill and lofty down,
The snows descending fast, the driving sleet,
And night approaching, whilst the scene presents
One wilderness all white, one yawning grave;
Not happier feels that man, while pausing sad,
To hear some village clock, from vale beneath,
Sounding the knell of time, that tells the tale
Of neighbouring habitation and of rest,
Than Sigbert felt to see these Danes. His eye,
Fierce-flashing, half unmann'd them. ‘Come,’ he cried,
Murd'rers of Edmund, come! Your might I dare!’
The strife begins. Sigbert's well-temper'd sword
Plays valiantly its part. One Dane he slew!
The other, more infuriate, aim'd the blow,
Death-dealing. Sigbert wards th' assault, and now
Beats him to earth, and stands the conqueror!
‘Monster, lie there!’ he cried, as through his heart,
Furious, he plung'd his sword.
When wandering far o'er hill and lofty down,
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And night approaching, whilst the scene presents
One wilderness all white, one yawning grave;
Not happier feels that man, while pausing sad,
To hear some village clock, from vale beneath,
Sounding the knell of time, that tells the tale
Of neighbouring habitation and of rest,
Than Sigbert felt to see these Danes. His eye,
Fierce-flashing, half unmann'd them. ‘Come,’ he cried,
Murd'rers of Edmund, come! Your might I dare!’
The strife begins. Sigbert's well-temper'd sword
Plays valiantly its part. One Dane he slew!
The other, more infuriate, aim'd the blow,
Death-dealing. Sigbert wards th' assault, and now
Beats him to earth, and stands the conqueror!
‘Monster, lie there!’ he cried, as through his heart,
Furious, he plung'd his sword.
The cottager
Rose slow and trembling, whilst his daughter came,
And, falling on one knee, said nought; her eye
Gazed on the valiant Saxon with a look
Impassion'd, and more eloquent than words—
And all the pomp and pageantry of praise.
When thus the old man spake. ‘I first must thank
‘God, for unlook'd deliv'rance, and then thee.’
‘Aye! Sigbert cried, ‘thank God! The work is his,
‘I am his servant; he it was who screen'd,
‘At such a time as this, my head, and fired—
‘My breast with vengeance unappeasable!
‘Saw'st thou his pleading eyes, yon prostrate Dane,
‘And how I scorn'd them? Joy it yields my heart
‘To think my sword, my caliburno true
‘Is stain'd with Danish blood, and that I thirst
‘Still to go on destroying. Forth declare,
‘Good father! how these Danes assaulted thee,
‘And whence they came.’
Rose slow and trembling, whilst his daughter came,
And, falling on one knee, said nought; her eye
Gazed on the valiant Saxon with a look
Impassion'd, and more eloquent than words—
And all the pomp and pageantry of praise.
When thus the old man spake. ‘I first must thank
‘God, for unlook'd deliv'rance, and then thee.’
‘Aye! Sigbert cried, ‘thank God! The work is his,
‘I am his servant; he it was who screen'd,
‘At such a time as this, my head, and fired—
‘My breast with vengeance unappeasable!
‘Saw'st thou his pleading eyes, yon prostrate Dane,
‘And how I scorn'd them? Joy it yields my heart
‘To think my sword, my caliburno true
‘Is stain'd with Danish blood, and that I thirst
‘Still to go on destroying. Forth declare,
‘Good father! how these Danes assaulted thee,
‘And whence they came.’
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The old man sigh'd, and spake.
‘Your task, this hour, O chief, is difficult,
‘And I am sad. The horrible abyss
‘From which I just am rais'd, doth so o'erpower
‘And dim my recollection, that awhile
‘I must look round and think. My daughter, safe;
‘And I, in mine own house; and there the Danes,
‘Prostrate and slain! Now chieftain, who art thou?’
Sigbert replied, ‘I am, good father! one
‘Who travelleth this way on embassy
‘Of no small import. I am Alfred's friend,
‘Sent by our noble monarch, to inquire—
‘Of Glastonbury, seized by savage Danes,
‘And now in ruins. There was one within,
‘His queen, beloved and honour'd. Dost thou know
‘Aught of its dwellers?’
‘Your task, this hour, O chief, is difficult,
‘And I am sad. The horrible abyss
‘From which I just am rais'd, doth so o'erpower
‘And dim my recollection, that awhile
‘I must look round and think. My daughter, safe;
‘And I, in mine own house; and there the Danes,
‘Prostrate and slain! Now chieftain, who art thou?’
Sigbert replied, ‘I am, good father! one
‘Who travelleth this way on embassy
‘Of no small import. I am Alfred's friend,
‘Sent by our noble monarch, to inquire—
‘Of Glastonbury, seized by savage Danes,
‘And now in ruins. There was one within,
‘His queen, beloved and honour'd. Dost thou know
‘Aught of its dwellers?’
‘Yes,’ the old man said,
‘And what I know is thine. Short season back,
‘The abbot pass'd, and in his arms he bore
‘An infant boy. I asked him whence he came;
‘The Danes, he said, had plunder'd his abode,
‘The place thou namedst; murder'd every soul,
‘All but himself and the young child he bore,’
‘Dost thou say all,’ cried Sigbert, ‘every soul!’
‘Aye, every soul,’ he said, ‘save one alone,
‘The abbot; who through flames, with that young babe
‘Escaped miraculous.’—
‘And what I know is thine. Short season back,
‘The abbot pass'd, and in his arms he bore
‘An infant boy. I asked him whence he came;
‘The Danes, he said, had plunder'd his abode,
‘The place thou namedst; murder'd every soul,
‘All but himself and the young child he bore,’
‘Dost thou say all,’ cried Sigbert, ‘every soul!’
‘Aye, every soul,’ he said, ‘save one alone,
‘The abbot; who through flames, with that young babe
‘Escaped miraculous.’—
‘The man thou nam'st,
‘O father!’ Sigbert cried, ‘I lately found,
‘Murder'd on yonder heath; the infant child,
‘Beneath his cloak, and living: but, tho' strange,
‘That child was Alfred's—Alfred's, our good king;
‘Whom, with his queen Alswitha, in that place,
‘Now burnt and fall'n, deem'd most secure, he left,
‘And sought his distant way.’
‘O father!’ Sigbert cried, ‘I lately found,
‘Murder'd on yonder heath; the infant child,
‘Beneath his cloak, and living: but, tho' strange,
‘That child was Alfred's—Alfred's, our good king;
‘Whom, with his queen Alswitha, in that place,
‘Now burnt and fall'n, deem'd most secure, he left,
‘And sought his distant way.’
The old man cried,
‘What! Alfred's! That his child!’ ‘Yes,’ Sigbert said.
‘And at my monarch's bidding I am bound
‘To seek Alswitha, or obtain some news,
‘Or rumour of her fate. The old man thus:
‘Good warrior, it is vain. The queen is dead:
‘For, when the monk approach'd, and shew'd the babe,
‘I ask'd him, who its parents; that, he said,
‘He knew not. To the abbey gates they came,
‘And begg'd for food and shelter; when the man,
‘(Who by thy words was Alfred,) left them there,
‘And journey'd on alone, he knew not where.
‘If thou the queen art seeking, vain thy search,
‘For oft, and with fresh emphasis, the monk
‘Exclaimed with bitterness, I, only I,
‘And this poor babe, are left.’
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‘And at my monarch's bidding I am bound
‘To seek Alswitha, or obtain some news,
‘Or rumour of her fate. The old man thus:
‘Good warrior, it is vain. The queen is dead:
‘For, when the monk approach'd, and shew'd the babe,
‘I ask'd him, who its parents; that, he said,
‘He knew not. To the abbey gates they came,
‘And begg'd for food and shelter; when the man,
‘(Who by thy words was Alfred,) left them there,
‘And journey'd on alone, he knew not where.
‘If thou the queen art seeking, vain thy search,
‘For oft, and with fresh emphasis, the monk
‘Exclaimed with bitterness, I, only I,
‘And this poor babe, are left.’
The cottager
Then raised his voice and cried, ‘God bless our prince!
‘Oh, what a heavy crown is his; his woes
‘Are deep and manifold; but, that his boy—
‘His infant boy is safe, in truth, my heart,
‘At such a time, not prone to idle joy,
‘Beats high with transport. But, his murder'd queen!
‘Aye, that will try him. God, I trust will yet
‘Have pity on our monarch, loved of all,
‘And give him triumph o'er these Danes, accurs'd,—
‘All demons, in th' imposing shapes of men.’
‘Ah!’ Sigbert cried. ‘Infernal spawn,—out-pour'd
‘From the profoundest reservoirs of hell!’
Then raised his voice and cried, ‘God bless our prince!
‘Oh, what a heavy crown is his; his woes
‘Are deep and manifold; but, that his boy—
‘His infant boy is safe, in truth, my heart,
‘At such a time, not prone to idle joy,
‘Beats high with transport. But, his murder'd queen!
‘Aye, that will try him. God, I trust will yet
‘Have pity on our monarch, loved of all,
‘And give him triumph o'er these Danes, accurs'd,—
‘All demons, in th' imposing shapes of men.’
‘Ah!’ Sigbert cried. ‘Infernal spawn,—out-pour'd
‘From the profoundest reservoirs of hell!’
Thus, of his king, the loyal cottager.
‘In truth, good warrior, not a man who breathes
‘On Saxon soil, who would not, him to serve,
‘Meet death itself.—Thy sword has rescued me,
‘Brave stranger, at an hour most terrible.
‘Forgetful of myself, I turn'd and saw
‘My helpless daughter, the devoted prey,
‘When I was gone—O spare me, warrior! Then,
‘Death had ten thousand terrors!—We must now
‘Leave this abode, though dear to me; the spot
‘Where I first drew my breath, and fondly hoped
‘To spend my few short days in quietness;
‘But I must leave it for some unknown home.
‘Good warrior! not a flower, or shrub, or tree,
‘Around my little dwelling, but my toil
‘First planted. I have mark'd their varied growth,
‘From year to year, and called them with delight,
‘God pardon! my mute children; for they all
‘Were very dear to me. The pear-tree tall,
‘My oft-shorn hedge-row, and the osier gate
‘Made by these hands; the green and level plat;
‘The woodbine climbing up, or, thro' the door,
‘That came, mild visitant! to give its sweets
‘To him who rear'd it; and the martin gay,
‘That round my thatch built ever. Well, in vain
‘These eyes survey the past, the time is come,
‘When I must bid adieu to all I love,
‘A long and last adieu, to scenes so fair!
‘Now, warrior! it is eve, and I will forth
‘Set forward on my journey. I must haste
‘To Cambria's shore, where many friends abide;
‘But chief, a minstrel in the court who dwells;
‘For never will I touch these men, these Danes.
‘Here let them lie! This was the seat of peace,
‘And blood affrights my spirit. 'Tis a sight
‘Arm'd with new terrors. Roving are the Danes
‘In every path, but I will yet attempt,
‘At this still hour, my daughter to conduct
‘To place of safety. Wilt thou, with me flee
‘To Cambria's land? that hospitable shore!
‘I there have faithful friends,’ the old man said,
‘Who will repay thee, aye, with better words,
‘And oftener named, than I; for I am old,
‘For time it takes me to revolve and tell
‘What thanks are due.’
‘In truth, good warrior, not a man who breathes
‘On Saxon soil, who would not, him to serve,
‘Meet death itself.—Thy sword has rescued me,
‘Brave stranger, at an hour most terrible.
‘Forgetful of myself, I turn'd and saw
‘My helpless daughter, the devoted prey,
91
‘Death had ten thousand terrors!—We must now
‘Leave this abode, though dear to me; the spot
‘Where I first drew my breath, and fondly hoped
‘To spend my few short days in quietness;
‘But I must leave it for some unknown home.
‘Good warrior! not a flower, or shrub, or tree,
‘Around my little dwelling, but my toil
‘First planted. I have mark'd their varied growth,
‘From year to year, and called them with delight,
‘God pardon! my mute children; for they all
‘Were very dear to me. The pear-tree tall,
‘My oft-shorn hedge-row, and the osier gate
‘Made by these hands; the green and level plat;
‘The woodbine climbing up, or, thro' the door,
‘That came, mild visitant! to give its sweets
‘To him who rear'd it; and the martin gay,
‘That round my thatch built ever. Well, in vain
‘These eyes survey the past, the time is come,
‘When I must bid adieu to all I love,
‘A long and last adieu, to scenes so fair!
‘Now, warrior! it is eve, and I will forth
‘Set forward on my journey. I must haste
‘To Cambria's shore, where many friends abide;
‘But chief, a minstrel in the court who dwells;
‘For never will I touch these men, these Danes.
‘Here let them lie! This was the seat of peace,
‘And blood affrights my spirit. 'Tis a sight
‘Arm'd with new terrors. Roving are the Danes
‘In every path, but I will yet attempt,
‘At this still hour, my daughter to conduct
‘To place of safety. Wilt thou, with me flee
‘To Cambria's land? that hospitable shore!
‘I there have faithful friends,’ the old man said,
‘Who will repay thee, aye, with better words,
‘And oftener named, than I; for I am old,
92
‘What thanks are due.’
Sigbert replied: ‘Old man!
‘It cheers me well to know that I have saved
‘Thy life, and this thy daughter's. She is young,
‘And many snares are round for innocence.
‘Flee thou to Cambria. Wise is thy resolve,
‘And angels guard thee; but, for me to shun
‘The ills that stalk abroad, and with thee seek
‘Safety in flight, whilst revagers prevail
‘O'er all the land, would bring Heaven's lightnings down.
‘I have survey'd my earthly all a wreck,
‘And vow'd eternal wrath. This heart hath sworn
‘To live but to destroy, to thirst for blood,
‘And hurl the dart of vengeance. I must now
‘To do my master's service; fare ye well!’
‘Stop!’ cried the cottager, ‘We will go forth
‘Together. I am old and many fears
‘Creep thro' me. But our food we first must part.’
And as he sought it, slow the daughter came
From her low seat, and said;
‘It cheers me well to know that I have saved
‘Thy life, and this thy daughter's. She is young,
‘And many snares are round for innocence.
‘Flee thou to Cambria. Wise is thy resolve,
‘And angels guard thee; but, for me to shun
‘The ills that stalk abroad, and with thee seek
‘Safety in flight, whilst revagers prevail
‘O'er all the land, would bring Heaven's lightnings down.
‘I have survey'd my earthly all a wreck,
‘And vow'd eternal wrath. This heart hath sworn
‘To live but to destroy, to thirst for blood,
‘And hurl the dart of vengeance. I must now
‘To do my master's service; fare ye well!’
‘Stop!’ cried the cottager, ‘We will go forth
‘Together. I am old and many fears
‘Creep thro' me. But our food we first must part.’
And as he sought it, slow the daughter came
From her low seat, and said;
‘Brave Saxon! take
‘My fervent thanks! I have been watching thee,
‘And goodly is thy sight, for thou hast saved
‘My aged father! thou hast rescued me!
‘And, at a time!—Warrior, receive my thanks!
‘And Heaven reward thee, at some trying hour,
‘When hope hath vanish'd; at an hour like that
‘Which we have known.’—Sigbert thus answer made;
‘I am most happy, maiden! God it was
‘Who sent me thy deliv'rer. Trust in him,
‘And he will yet defend thee.’—Whilst he spake,
The old man enter'd. In his arms he bore
Two flagons, and some homely food. He cried,
‘Here, warrior! freely take, for thou may'st go
‘Long ways, and toilsome, ere thou find again
‘Or food or shelter; such has been the dread
‘Of Danish wrath, that all have fled their homes
‘As we are fleeing.’—
‘My fervent thanks! I have been watching thee,
‘And goodly is thy sight, for thou hast saved
‘My aged father! thou hast rescued me!
‘And, at a time!—Warrior, receive my thanks!
‘And Heaven reward thee, at some trying hour,
‘When hope hath vanish'd; at an hour like that
‘Which we have known.’—Sigbert thus answer made;
‘I am most happy, maiden! God it was
‘Who sent me thy deliv'rer. Trust in him,
‘And he will yet defend thee.’—Whilst he spake,
The old man enter'd. In his arms he bore
Two flagons, and some homely food. He cried,
‘Here, warrior! freely take, for thou may'st go
‘Long ways, and toilsome, ere thou find again
93
‘Of Danish wrath, that all have fled their homes
‘As we are fleeing.’—
Quitting then the house,
Sigbert kind parting took. The cottager
Moved on disconsolate, and the loved child,
His daughter. Clear and tranquil were the heavens;
The moon was luminous, and Sigbert stood,
Unseen, to mark the houseless man turn round,
And view his cottage. Forward now he walk'd,
A little space, then turning look'd again,
As loath to leave it; whilst his daughter saw
And would have wept, but for her aged sire.
Sigbert kind parting took. The cottager
Moved on disconsolate, and the loved child,
His daughter. Clear and tranquil were the heavens;
The moon was luminous, and Sigbert stood,
Unseen, to mark the houseless man turn round,
And view his cottage. Forward now he walk'd,
A little space, then turning look'd again,
As loath to leave it; whilst his daughter saw
And would have wept, but for her aged sire.
Now deepening mists, shrouded the silver moon,
And tempests threaten'd. Sigbert o'er the top
Of a bleak hill moved on, and what the dread
That shook his bosom, when distinct he saw,
On every side, distant, or near at hand,
The furious flames arise, whilst heaven's wide vault
Shone with the sanguine glare. The track of Danes
That hour was manifest!
And tempests threaten'd. Sigbert o'er the top
Of a bleak hill moved on, and what the dread
That shook his bosom, when distinct he saw,
On every side, distant, or near at hand,
The furious flames arise, whilst heaven's wide vault
Shone with the sanguine glare. The track of Danes
That hour was manifest!
Now down he came,
And, wandering through a calm and shady vale
Espied a ruin'd Abbey. To the spot
He hastened, and beheld the mouldering walls,
Black with the rust of age, and all within,
Silence and waste; while not a sound was heard,
But the wind moaning, not a form beheld,
Save one that fancy imaged to his mind—
The Spirit of Destruction. She who haunts
The moss-grown temples, and the wild resorts
Of bats and scorpions; where no mortal steps
Make the walls murmur with obtrusive sounds;
But cries and screeches from nocturnal beings
Sound evermore, whilst the whole progeny
Of doleful things, that court rank solitude,
Thrive and make merriment. Upon a pile
She loves to sit, of broken monuments,
And o'er the scene casts an exultant eye;
Smiling to view the massy pillars fallen—
The aged altars—trophies—pedestals;
And where the invulnerable shaft withstands
Her hate and her derision, round she strews
The creeping Ivy, with its living shade
To hide all forms of man.
And, wandering through a calm and shady vale
Espied a ruin'd Abbey. To the spot
He hastened, and beheld the mouldering walls,
Black with the rust of age, and all within,
Silence and waste; while not a sound was heard,
But the wind moaning, not a form beheld,
Save one that fancy imaged to his mind—
The Spirit of Destruction. She who haunts
The moss-grown temples, and the wild resorts
Of bats and scorpions; where no mortal steps
Make the walls murmur with obtrusive sounds;
But cries and screeches from nocturnal beings
Sound evermore, whilst the whole progeny
94
Thrive and make merriment. Upon a pile
She loves to sit, of broken monuments,
And o'er the scene casts an exultant eye;
Smiling to view the massy pillars fallen—
The aged altars—trophies—pedestals;
And where the invulnerable shaft withstands
Her hate and her derision, round she strews
The creeping Ivy, with its living shade
To hide all forms of man.
He pass'd the door,
When, with a sudden shriek, he near him saw
A woman fleeing! Through the porch she rush'd;
Whom Sigbert followed: when she turn'd and cried,
‘Pity the wretched! Art thou one of us?—
‘A Saxon?’ ‘Yes,’ the warrior said, ‘I am;
‘A servant liege of Alfred our good king,
‘Who, God be prais'd, is safe. And who art thou?’
She strove to speak, but her full heart denied
Utt'rance, tho' feeble. Sigbert thus again.
‘Say, woman, dost thou know, or hast thou heard
‘Aught of our queen Alswitha? Tho' I seek
‘To learn some tidings of her, she, I fear,
‘Or rather know it now with certainty,
‘Perish'd when Glastonbury fell. Unknown,
‘Concealing thus her name, she there had fled:
‘And when the Danes o'er that famed place prevail'd,
‘Alfred our king, distracted, heard the news,
‘And, 'mid o'erwhelming care, commissioned me,
‘His servant, to find out her certain fate.
‘Hast thou, O woman! heard of Alfred's queen?’—
The woman answer'd, ‘Thou hast said her name
‘Of all unknown, and yet inquir'st of me
‘For Alfred's queen. Am I a prophetess?
‘Yet, from unlook'd-for quarter, I have heard
‘Some rumour of Alswitha! but no more
‘Ask thou to learn, for I have oft been told
‘Of Alfred, and his laws, and charities,
‘And long to see him. Lead me to the king!
‘To him alone will I my tale disclose.’
When, with a sudden shriek, he near him saw
A woman fleeing! Through the porch she rush'd;
Whom Sigbert followed: when she turn'd and cried,
‘Pity the wretched! Art thou one of us?—
‘A Saxon?’ ‘Yes,’ the warrior said, ‘I am;
‘A servant liege of Alfred our good king,
‘Who, God be prais'd, is safe. And who art thou?’
She strove to speak, but her full heart denied
Utt'rance, tho' feeble. Sigbert thus again.
‘Say, woman, dost thou know, or hast thou heard
‘Aught of our queen Alswitha? Tho' I seek
‘To learn some tidings of her, she, I fear,
‘Or rather know it now with certainty,
‘Perish'd when Glastonbury fell. Unknown,
‘Concealing thus her name, she there had fled:
‘And when the Danes o'er that famed place prevail'd,
‘Alfred our king, distracted, heard the news,
‘And, 'mid o'erwhelming care, commissioned me,
‘His servant, to find out her certain fate.
‘Hast thou, O woman! heard of Alfred's queen?’—
The woman answer'd, ‘Thou hast said her name
‘Of all unknown, and yet inquir'st of me
‘For Alfred's queen. Am I a prophetess?
‘Yet, from unlook'd-for quarter, I have heard
‘Some rumour of Alswitha! but no more
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‘Of Alfred, and his laws, and charities,
‘And long to see him. Lead me to the king!
‘To him alone will I my tale disclose.’
The warrior cried ‘This is most hard to bear!
‘Erelong shalt thou behold him. He is now
‘In Selwood's forest; whither with good speed
‘We soon may be.’ When thus the woman spake,
‘I thank thee, stranger! but my frame is weak,
‘I have been fasting long.’ Sigbert exclaim'd,
‘Joy to the friendly cottager! His store
‘Well shall supply thy wants!’—No dainty fare
‘Ever was half so choice, as those hard cates,
‘Sweeten'd by hunger! Sigbert earnest cried,
‘Now for thy tale.’ The woman answer made.
‘Bewildering thoughts oppress me. Pass we on,
‘Silent awhile, and when my mind is free,
‘My tongue shall speak.’—They both together sped,
Hour after hour till morn illumed the east,
Pond'ring in deep solicitude. At length,
Sigbert impatient cried. ‘Thee, I conjure!
‘Declare how cam'st thou here, in this lone place,
‘And what thou know'st of her, whom now I seek;
‘Our queen Alswitha?’ Thus the woman spake.
‘Warrior! no wondrous words are mine. From home,
‘Like countless numbers, I, by Danes am driven—
‘All wretched outcasts; but if more thou seek,
‘Stay till we Alfred meet.’
‘Erelong shalt thou behold him. He is now
‘In Selwood's forest; whither with good speed
‘We soon may be.’ When thus the woman spake,
‘I thank thee, stranger! but my frame is weak,
‘I have been fasting long.’ Sigbert exclaim'd,
‘Joy to the friendly cottager! His store
‘Well shall supply thy wants!’—No dainty fare
‘Ever was half so choice, as those hard cates,
‘Sweeten'd by hunger! Sigbert earnest cried,
‘Now for thy tale.’ The woman answer made.
‘Bewildering thoughts oppress me. Pass we on,
‘Silent awhile, and when my mind is free,
‘My tongue shall speak.’—They both together sped,
Hour after hour till morn illumed the east,
Pond'ring in deep solicitude. At length,
Sigbert impatient cried. ‘Thee, I conjure!
‘Declare how cam'st thou here, in this lone place,
‘And what thou know'st of her, whom now I seek;
‘Our queen Alswitha?’ Thus the woman spake.
‘Warrior! no wondrous words are mine. From home,
‘Like countless numbers, I, by Danes am driven—
‘All wretched outcasts; but if more thou seek,
‘Stay till we Alfred meet.’
She scarce had said,
When hastening toward them, they, appall'd, beheld
A host of horsemen, riding furious on,
When Sigbert saw, and knew that they were Danes!
Each would have fled, but on a down they were,
No covert near. The woman, too, beheld,
And, shivering at her heart, ask'd tremblingly,
‘Are those the Danes?’ I hear their furious shouts!’
‘Those are the Danes!’ When, looking upward, both
Stood motionless, and saw their certain end.
When hastening toward them, they, appall'd, beheld
A host of horsemen, riding furious on,
When Sigbert saw, and knew that they were Danes!
Each would have fled, but on a down they were,
No covert near. The woman, too, beheld,
And, shivering at her heart, ask'd tremblingly,
96
‘Those are the Danes!’ When, looking upward, both
Stood motionless, and saw their certain end.
It was a Danish army led by one—
The aged Guthrum—terrible and fierce;
When up he came. The woman firm advanced,
And him address'd.
The aged Guthrum—terrible and fierce;
When up he came. The woman firm advanced,
And him address'd.
‘O,Dane! behold in me,
‘A wife! a mother! Let me pass unharm'd.’
When thus the chief. ‘That thou a mother art,
‘I little heed, but there is in thy port
‘A something that half awes me. Wherefore thus,
‘Learn'dst thou to speak, and, on destruction's brink
‘Stand calm and fearless? Whither art thou bound?
‘Thy name?’
‘A wife! a mother! Let me pass unharm'd.’
When thus the chief. ‘That thou a mother art,
‘I little heed, but there is in thy port
‘A something that half awes me. Wherefore thus,
‘Learn'dst thou to speak, and, on destruction's brink
‘Stand calm and fearless? Whither art thou bound?
‘Thy name?’
She answer'd, ‘view in me, O chief!
A wretched being; one whom many cares
‘Have lighted on,—severe and deadly cares,
‘Such and so deep, that one desire alone
‘Now buoys my spirit. Let me go in peace!
‘O chieftain! hast thou never felt a joy,
‘Shoot through thy frame, when, after wandering far,
‘Thou turnest homeward, and hast just descried
‘The smoke, uprising, 'mid the forest trees,
‘That told thy loved abode? Just such delight
‘Rush'd through my heart, before I saw these bands
‘And thee their leader. As thou valuest home,
‘Let me depart, and happiness be thine.’
A wretched being; one whom many cares
‘Have lighted on,—severe and deadly cares,
‘Such and so deep, that one desire alone
‘Now buoys my spirit. Let me go in peace!
‘O chieftain! hast thou never felt a joy,
‘Shoot through thy frame, when, after wandering far,
‘Thou turnest homeward, and hast just descried
‘The smoke, uprising, 'mid the forest trees,
‘That told thy loved abode? Just such delight
‘Rush'd through my heart, before I saw these bands
‘And thee their leader. As thou valuest home,
‘Let me depart, and happiness be thine.’
The Dane look'd down, and seem'd within to feel
Strange tumults, when he cried: ‘Away with thee,
‘Thou subtle pleader! What and whence thou art,
‘I know not! but thy speech doth so inspire
‘With unknown thoughts my mind, that I suspect
‘Thine is some secret charm. Forbear awhile
‘Let me address this Saxon.’—
Strange tumults, when he cried: ‘Away with thee,
‘Thou subtle pleader! What and whence thou art,
‘I know not! but thy speech doth so inspire
‘With unknown thoughts my mind, that I suspect
‘Thine is some secret charm. Forbear awhile
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‘Art thou, too,
‘So smooth of tongue, and with such winning words
‘Arm'd to defeat my fury? Though thou speak'st
‘Soft as the song of Brag it shall not change
‘Guthrum's fix'd purpose. Now, O, man! declare
‘Why Saxons, tho' subdued, with desperate hope,
‘Still strive with Danes for mastery.’
‘So smooth of tongue, and with such winning words
‘Arm'd to defeat my fury? Though thou speak'st
‘Soft as the song of Brag it shall not change
‘Guthrum's fix'd purpose. Now, O, man! declare
‘Why Saxons, tho' subdued, with desperate hope,
‘Still strive with Danes for mastery.’
‘Oh chief!’
Sigbert replied, ‘dost thou with settled brow
‘Inquire why we oppose the Danes? why we
‘Fight for our country?—Know! we yet are free,
‘And freedom prize, more than we dread thy wrath.
‘Warrior! thou art a Dane! and I am now,
‘As one that is not, for the Danes ne'er spare:
‘They never hear the pleader Mercy's voice,
‘And feel forgiveness. Take my single life,
‘But, by the blood of thousands now no more;
‘But, by the wrath of thousands gathering round,
‘But, by th' eternal justice, this I swear—
‘Vengeance shall follow thee! Now, fierce of eye,
‘Thou seest thy prey, and each quick breath I draw
‘Sounds like the last: yet, with expiring life,
‘I will speak fearlessly. Dost thou inquire
‘Why we withstand the Danes? We have our homes,
‘Our altars to defend—our children—wives—
‘Our king, the best of kings! whom God will yet
‘Deliver with his red right arm, and hurl
‘On every Dane fierce thunderbolts. Away!
‘Back to thy woods and caverns! Leave our soil
‘That groans beneath thee. Leave our suffering prince,
‘And quit this land, and, o'er the ocean haste,
‘Or, like devouring meteors, swords shall rise,
‘Spontaneous, like a forest beaming bright,
‘And thou shalt gaze on ruin, whose vast flood
‘Shall to destruction sweep the Danish race.’
Sigbert replied, ‘dost thou with settled brow
‘Inquire why we oppose the Danes? why we
‘Fight for our country?—Know! we yet are free,
‘And freedom prize, more than we dread thy wrath.
‘Warrior! thou art a Dane! and I am now,
‘As one that is not, for the Danes ne'er spare:
‘They never hear the pleader Mercy's voice,
‘And feel forgiveness. Take my single life,
‘But, by the blood of thousands now no more;
‘But, by the wrath of thousands gathering round,
‘But, by th' eternal justice, this I swear—
‘Vengeance shall follow thee! Now, fierce of eye,
‘Thou seest thy prey, and each quick breath I draw
‘Sounds like the last: yet, with expiring life,
‘I will speak fearlessly. Dost thou inquire
‘Why we withstand the Danes? We have our homes,
‘Our altars to defend—our children—wives—
‘Our king, the best of kings! whom God will yet
‘Deliver with his red right arm, and hurl
‘On every Dane fierce thunderbolts. Away!
‘Back to thy woods and caverns! Leave our soil
‘That groans beneath thee. Leave our suffering prince,
‘And quit this land, and, o'er the ocean haste,
‘Or, like devouring meteors, swords shall rise,
‘Spontaneous, like a forest beaming bright,
‘And thou shalt gaze on ruin, whose vast flood
‘Shall to destruction sweep the Danish race.’
98
Wondering at speech so wild, Guthrum replied:
‘Thy tongue doth so o'erleap all modesty,
‘That I, in truth, could smile. Words not a few,
‘And loud withal, drowning the surly wind,
‘Are thy strong mail—thy towers invincible.
‘But didst thou think with ravings such as these
‘To check a Dane triumphant? Saxon, know!
‘I hear a voice within—a well-known voice—
‘The ruler of the Gods. He bids me go
‘From strife to strife, from distant land to land,
‘Disdainful of all dangers. Hear me, man!
‘Though Danish heart I boast, I yet can shun
‘To take so mean a life. Do this, and live!
‘Cast on the ground thine armour; hang thy sword
‘On yonder spray, alike the dread of Danes;
‘Then, hither come, and swear that thou wilt hence
‘Own for thy sovereign, Hubba. Thus escape
‘The wrath that might consume thee.’
‘Thy tongue doth so o'erleap all modesty,
‘That I, in truth, could smile. Words not a few,
‘And loud withal, drowning the surly wind,
‘Are thy strong mail—thy towers invincible.
‘But didst thou think with ravings such as these
‘To check a Dane triumphant? Saxon, know!
‘I hear a voice within—a well-known voice—
‘The ruler of the Gods. He bids me go
‘From strife to strife, from distant land to land,
‘Disdainful of all dangers. Hear me, man!
‘Though Danish heart I boast, I yet can shun
‘To take so mean a life. Do this, and live!
‘Cast on the ground thine armour; hang thy sword
‘On yonder spray, alike the dread of Danes;
‘Then, hither come, and swear that thou wilt hence
‘Own for thy sovereign, Hubba. Thus escape
‘The wrath that might consume thee.’
Sigbert cried—
‘I throw away my sword! renounce my king
‘And own for my liege sovereign whom thou call'st
‘Hubba! thy lord?—When next with labourings dire,
‘And mortal throe, earth shall again bring forth
‘Such monsters as the Danes, then will I fall
‘Before thy Moloch chieftain, and forget
‘My name and country. What hast thou to grant,
‘Or to withhold, that I should blast my hopes,
‘Deny the best of kings, and stain my tongue
‘With blasphemy, in calling whom I hate,
‘Loathe, execrate—my good and lawful king—
‘The tiger-hearted Hubba? Know, thou Dane!
‘I scorn thy power! I scorn thy legion'd host!
‘I scorn ye all! and, if to death ordain'd,
‘Death shall be sweeten'd with one thought, O, chief!
‘That I have vanquish'd thee.’ His sword he rais'd
And waved it in defiance.
‘I throw away my sword! renounce my king
‘And own for my liege sovereign whom thou call'st
‘Hubba! thy lord?—When next with labourings dire,
‘And mortal throe, earth shall again bring forth
‘Such monsters as the Danes, then will I fall
‘Before thy Moloch chieftain, and forget
‘My name and country. What hast thou to grant,
‘Or to withhold, that I should blast my hopes,
‘Deny the best of kings, and stain my tongue
‘With blasphemy, in calling whom I hate,
‘Loathe, execrate—my good and lawful king—
‘The tiger-hearted Hubba? Know, thou Dane!
‘I scorn thy power! I scorn thy legion'd host!
‘I scorn ye all! and, if to death ordain'd,
‘Death shall be sweeten'd with one thought, O, chief!
‘That I have vanquish'd thee.’ His sword he rais'd
And waved it in defiance.
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Cried the Dane,
‘Parley is over. By Valhalla's Gods,
‘This sword shall end thee:’ as he drew it forth,
(Bidding his warriors leave him to the fray)
And rush'd to battle.—Fierce the combatants!
Both Sigbert and the Dane. ‘Saxon! thy sword!
‘Thou hast it not! Where art thou now?’—On earth
Prostrate lies Sigbert; over stands the Dane,
And with his pendant weapon, cries, ‘Now, man!
‘How feel'st thou? Where thy life?’ When Sigbert thus
(Fiercer as death drew near) ‘Abhorr'd of heaven
‘Destroy me! Here I lie. My naked breast
‘Courts thee to strike, and, when I cry forbear,
‘Question my hate of thee.’—Guthrum his sword
Uprais'd, and as it fell, the woman rush'd
Eager between, and cried, ‘Withhold thy hand,
‘Slaughter him not! or with him slaughter me!’
Wondering stood Guthrum. Thus again she spake:
‘Parley is over. By Valhalla's Gods,
‘This sword shall end thee:’ as he drew it forth,
(Bidding his warriors leave him to the fray)
And rush'd to battle.—Fierce the combatants!
Both Sigbert and the Dane. ‘Saxon! thy sword!
‘Thou hast it not! Where art thou now?’—On earth
Prostrate lies Sigbert; over stands the Dane,
And with his pendant weapon, cries, ‘Now, man!
‘How feel'st thou? Where thy life?’ When Sigbert thus
(Fiercer as death drew near) ‘Abhorr'd of heaven
‘Destroy me! Here I lie. My naked breast
‘Courts thee to strike, and, when I cry forbear,
‘Question my hate of thee.’—Guthrum his sword
Uprais'd, and as it fell, the woman rush'd
Eager between, and cried, ‘Withhold thy hand,
‘Slaughter him not! or with him slaughter me!’
Wondering stood Guthrum. Thus again she spake:
‘Pardon me, chieftain! in thy face I see
‘Marks of no common character: there dwells
‘Greatness, but ill directed; valour, truth,
‘That might thy name exalt to highest heaven,
‘And make thee, as thou truly ought'st to be,
‘A friend—a benefactor to thy race.
‘But thou hast wander'd far. Thy mind is dark.
‘Thou trustest in the gods, who, like thyself,
‘Were once of flesh and blood; who roam'd through earth,
‘Destroying and destroy'd. Brave chieftain! know,
‘There is one God alone, one Lord, who sits
‘High in yon starry vault, and with a thought,
‘Alike, thro' heaven and earth, all things directs.
‘His name with awe we speak. He is that God
‘Who call'd us into being, who supports
‘All life—Omnipotent—Sovereign supreme!
‘He, with His voice of thunder, bids us learn
‘To love each other, and to know, that all,
‘The ruler and the ruled, the rich and poor,
‘The prince and beggar, born in sultry climes,
‘Or where eternal snows all nature hide,
‘His children are. This mighty Lord hath said,
‘Thou shalt not murder! Love thine enemies!
‘And spare the vanquished! then, when life is o'er,
‘To mansions, where yon shining orb abides,
‘With all the brave and merciful, your souls
‘Shall live for ever. Now, O, warrior! check
‘That fierce and deadly wrath, and, dwell with those,
‘High in yon heavens, who suffer'd and forgave.’
‘Marks of no common character: there dwells
‘Greatness, but ill directed; valour, truth,
‘That might thy name exalt to highest heaven,
‘And make thee, as thou truly ought'st to be,
‘A friend—a benefactor to thy race.
‘But thou hast wander'd far. Thy mind is dark.
‘Thou trustest in the gods, who, like thyself,
‘Were once of flesh and blood; who roam'd through earth,
‘Destroying and destroy'd. Brave chieftain! know,
‘There is one God alone, one Lord, who sits
‘High in yon starry vault, and with a thought,
‘Alike, thro' heaven and earth, all things directs.
‘His name with awe we speak. He is that God
‘Who call'd us into being, who supports
‘All life—Omnipotent—Sovereign supreme!
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‘To love each other, and to know, that all,
‘The ruler and the ruled, the rich and poor,
‘The prince and beggar, born in sultry climes,
‘Or where eternal snows all nature hide,
‘His children are. This mighty Lord hath said,
‘Thou shalt not murder! Love thine enemies!
‘And spare the vanquished! then, when life is o'er,
‘To mansions, where yon shining orb abides,
‘With all the brave and merciful, your souls
‘Shall live for ever. Now, O, warrior! check
‘That fierce and deadly wrath, and, dwell with those,
‘High in yon heavens, who suffer'd and forgave.’
The chieftain dropped his sword, and, slow, inquired,
‘Where is my heart? What sudden power is this,
‘Which rushes through my frame, and makes my arm
‘Tremble and hesitate to strike? This arm,
‘that hath its hundreds slain, and combat dared,
‘And furious onset, when the very air
‘Drank blood; such countless wounds, at once, all rais'd
‘Their crimson torrents—I, myself, suspect.’
When turning to his troops, the warrior cried:
‘Am I your chieftain? for this day hath seen
‘My sword draw back from blood!’—
‘Where is my heart? What sudden power is this,
‘Which rushes through my frame, and makes my arm
‘Tremble and hesitate to strike? This arm,
‘that hath its hundreds slain, and combat dared,
‘And furious onset, when the very air
‘Drank blood; such countless wounds, at once, all rais'd
‘Their crimson torrents—I, myself, suspect.’
When turning to his troops, the warrior cried:
‘Am I your chieftain? for this day hath seen
‘My sword draw back from blood!’—
Guthrum look'd up;
He saw the woman nigh, then thus again:
‘Thy words I well could bear, and well despise,
‘O, woman! but a something in thine air—
‘A grace, a majesty, doth make me feel,
‘Altho' a Dane, well arm'd, and as thou seest
‘Surrounded by this host of fearless men,
‘A most strange littleness. I half forget
‘That I am Denmark's chief, and thou a slave!
‘Away ye dastard feelings! I will now
‘To action rise and be myself once more.
‘Did not this hour a living man defy
‘Guthrum the Dane, and with presumptuous threats
‘Offer him battle? Was it fancy vain,
‘Or, was it thou? (to Sigbert, low, he said;)
‘Thy destiny is seal'd! for I will deal
‘Instant destruction:’ High he rais'd his hand
And as all hearts stood still, waiting the blow—
Sudden he sheath'd his sword, and loud exclaim'd
‘Saxon, receive thy life! for thou art brave,
‘And never shall the brave man meet his death,
‘Disarm'd and prostrate, as I see thee now.
‘That thought hath saved thee. Rise! I spare thy life!
‘Thou shalt become my herald. Bear these words
‘To him, thy master, Alfred, whose high soul
‘Thou well canst imitate. Inform thy king,
‘One certain fate awaits him; tell him I,
‘Guthrum the Danish chief, am journeying on
‘Toward Kenwith, where the trembling Oddune lies,
‘And starves for succour, whilst around the walls
‘Hubba, my prince, encamps. I thither go,
‘To vanquish that proud Saxon, and to dogs
‘His carcass cast; when, by the Gods on high—
‘By Odin, Thor, and Freya and the race
‘Of matchless deities, who throng thy halls,
‘O, Valhall! we will hunt thy monarch out,
‘And if this land contain him, whether hid
‘In glen or cavern, wood or mountain bare,
‘This sword shall find, and these exulting eyes
‘Gaze on his mangled corse. Tell thou thy king,
‘His doom is certain! Let him call and pray
‘To the great God he worships, and behold
‘Whether his might can aid, when Danes, erelong,
‘Approach his hiding-place. His voice may sound,
‘Loud and more loud, but he shall learn how vain
‘Aid to invoke, when Denmark's warriors claim
‘Their fated prey.’
He saw the woman nigh, then thus again:
‘Thy words I well could bear, and well despise,
‘O, woman! but a something in thine air—
‘A grace, a majesty, doth make me feel,
‘Altho' a Dane, well arm'd, and as thou seest
‘Surrounded by this host of fearless men,
‘A most strange littleness. I half forget
‘That I am Denmark's chief, and thou a slave!
‘Away ye dastard feelings! I will now
‘To action rise and be myself once more.
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‘Guthrum the Dane, and with presumptuous threats
‘Offer him battle? Was it fancy vain,
‘Or, was it thou? (to Sigbert, low, he said;)
‘Thy destiny is seal'd! for I will deal
‘Instant destruction:’ High he rais'd his hand
And as all hearts stood still, waiting the blow—
Sudden he sheath'd his sword, and loud exclaim'd
‘Saxon, receive thy life! for thou art brave,
‘And never shall the brave man meet his death,
‘Disarm'd and prostrate, as I see thee now.
‘That thought hath saved thee. Rise! I spare thy life!
‘Thou shalt become my herald. Bear these words
‘To him, thy master, Alfred, whose high soul
‘Thou well canst imitate. Inform thy king,
‘One certain fate awaits him; tell him I,
‘Guthrum the Danish chief, am journeying on
‘Toward Kenwith, where the trembling Oddune lies,
‘And starves for succour, whilst around the walls
‘Hubba, my prince, encamps. I thither go,
‘To vanquish that proud Saxon, and to dogs
‘His carcass cast; when, by the Gods on high—
‘By Odin, Thor, and Freya and the race
‘Of matchless deities, who throng thy halls,
‘O, Valhall! we will hunt thy monarch out,
‘And if this land contain him, whether hid
‘In glen or cavern, wood or mountain bare,
‘This sword shall find, and these exulting eyes
‘Gaze on his mangled corse. Tell thou thy king,
‘His doom is certain! Let him call and pray
‘To the great God he worships, and behold
‘Whether his might can aid, when Danes, erelong,
‘Approach his hiding-place. His voice may sound,
‘Loud and more loud, but he shall learn how vain
‘Aid to invoke, when Denmark's warriors claim
‘Their fated prey.’
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Sigbert arose and said:
(Still loving life, when death was aught but sure)
‘Chieftain, I thank thee! thou wilt never mourn
‘This generous deed: but I have one request
‘On which yet hangs my breath. Guthrum hath said,
‘Depart!’ ‘But, warrior brave! can I depart
‘And leave this captive? Bid her haste with me,
‘And tho' a foe, I could half worship thee,’
(Still loving life, when death was aught but sure)
‘Chieftain, I thank thee! thou wilt never mourn
‘This generous deed: but I have one request
‘On which yet hangs my breath. Guthrum hath said,
‘Depart!’ ‘But, warrior brave! can I depart
‘And leave this captive? Bid her haste with me,
‘And tho' a foe, I could half worship thee,’
The Dane assum'd a fiercer frown, and cried,
‘Thy life I give thee, but presumptuous man!
‘No more require; or, by the powers above,
‘Here shalt thou lie, a spectacle, to tell
‘What rashness merits. I will hence convey
‘This woman. She shall be my counsellor:
‘Her words, so strong and piercing, have so wrought
‘Upon my mind, that I desire to have
‘Her further converse. She with me shall go
‘And tell me of that God, the Spirit vast,
‘Of whom she spake. His might I may compare
‘With Odin and our gods: and she shall live
‘Contented with my child, yon damsel fair,
‘Who from the filial love that warms her heart,
‘Now follows me her father.’ When there came,
Forward with graceful air, a maid whose look
Spake of benignity. Mildly she said,
‘Stranger, thy friend am I.’ The woman look'd,
Startled, yet not a word she spake, but gave
Gently her hand.
‘Thy life I give thee, but presumptuous man!
‘No more require; or, by the powers above,
‘Here shalt thou lie, a spectacle, to tell
‘What rashness merits. I will hence convey
‘This woman. She shall be my counsellor:
‘Her words, so strong and piercing, have so wrought
‘Upon my mind, that I desire to have
‘Her further converse. She with me shall go
‘And tell me of that God, the Spirit vast,
‘Of whom she spake. His might I may compare
‘With Odin and our gods: and she shall live
‘Contented with my child, yon damsel fair,
‘Who from the filial love that warms her heart,
‘Now follows me her father.’ When there came,
Forward with graceful air, a maid whose look
Spake of benignity. Mildly she said,
‘Stranger, thy friend am I.’ The woman look'd,
Startled, yet not a word she spake, but gave
Gently her hand.
Guthrum again exclaim'd,
‘Move, or for ever stay! but by this sword,
‘No harm shall touch the woman. I have sworn,
‘And never was an oath by Guthrum scorn'd.
‘Haste, satisfied; for she henceforth shall live
‘Pure as her eye is terrible. Away!’—
Bending to earth, the woman thus began:
‘Oh, warrior! heed my prayer, nor thus oppress
‘A poor weak woman. Didst thou know what calls
‘Sound in mine ear, thou would'st regard my words,
‘And let me harmless pass; for I have one,
‘Far off, a husband, who my absence mourns,
‘And who would die to hear that I was met
‘By thee, O chieftain! and perforce convey'd,
‘Whither he knew not. Pity me, brave chief!
‘And let me call thee blessed.’
‘Move, or for ever stay! but by this sword,
‘No harm shall touch the woman. I have sworn,
‘And never was an oath by Guthrum scorn'd.
‘Haste, satisfied; for she henceforth shall live
‘Pure as her eye is terrible. Away!’—
Bending to earth, the woman thus began:
103
‘A poor weak woman. Didst thou know what calls
‘Sound in mine ear, thou would'st regard my words,
‘And let me harmless pass; for I have one,
‘Far off, a husband, who my absence mourns,
‘And who would die to hear that I was met
‘By thee, O chieftain! and perforce convey'd,
‘Whither he knew not. Pity me, brave chief!
‘And let me call thee blessed.’
Guthrum look'd
Stern, and thus answer made. ‘Thou plead'st in vain!
‘I never change my purpose. Cease thy fears.
‘Thou shalt be cheer'd by her who calls me Sire.
‘My name is Guthrum. Tedious thus to wait.
‘Mount yonder steed! and, at some future time
‘Again thou may'st return, and seek thy home.’
‘To talk of future hopes,’ the woman said,
‘Were vain indeed. I have no future hopes!
‘The bird that for her young, flies many a mile,
‘And, now returns to seek them, when she finds
‘Her treasure gone, her all, her little all,
‘Gone, and no vestige left, feels such as I:
‘For I am homeward bound, and many a thought
‘Made my heart glad, but thou hast marr'd them all,
‘And life is now a blank,—a cheerless void!
‘I am a poor deserted woman, sunk
‘In prostrate misery. If I must go,—
‘For ever leave, one whom my heart adores!—
‘I would submit!’—
Stern, and thus answer made. ‘Thou plead'st in vain!
‘I never change my purpose. Cease thy fears.
‘Thou shalt be cheer'd by her who calls me Sire.
‘My name is Guthrum. Tedious thus to wait.
‘Mount yonder steed! and, at some future time
‘Again thou may'st return, and seek thy home.’
‘To talk of future hopes,’ the woman said,
‘Were vain indeed. I have no future hopes!
‘The bird that for her young, flies many a mile,
‘And, now returns to seek them, when she finds
‘Her treasure gone, her all, her little all,
‘Gone, and no vestige left, feels such as I:
‘For I am homeward bound, and many a thought
‘Made my heart glad, but thou hast marr'd them all,
‘And life is now a blank,—a cheerless void!
‘I am a poor deserted woman, sunk
‘In prostrate misery. If I must go,—
‘For ever leave, one whom my heart adores!—
‘I would submit!’—
Approaching Sigbert now,
Fault'ring she cried, ‘Thou yet art free.
‘One favour do I ask.’ When from her neck
She took a string of pearls, and with a sigh,
The Saxon thus address'd. ‘Stranger, take this.
‘And if in times, or near, or far remote,
‘Thou e'er should'st see, one, who remembers these,
‘Declare, that she who own'd them, now endures
‘Sorrows and hard captivity; yet, say,
‘She lov'd her husband—mourn'd her infant child—
‘Gone to his fathers! Tell him,’ she declared,
‘If e'er he saw her living, he should find—
‘Her heart still pure; and if, far off, she died,
‘To pity one, who, with her latest breath,
‘Call'd on her husband, and from Heaven implored,
‘Blessings on him and his.’
Fault'ring she cried, ‘Thou yet art free.
‘One favour do I ask.’ When from her neck
She took a string of pearls, and with a sigh,
The Saxon thus address'd. ‘Stranger, take this.
‘And if in times, or near, or far remote,
‘Thou e'er should'st see, one, who remembers these,
104
‘Sorrows and hard captivity; yet, say,
‘She lov'd her husband—mourn'd her infant child—
‘Gone to his fathers! Tell him,’ she declared,
‘If e'er he saw her living, he should find—
‘Her heart still pure; and if, far off, she died,
‘To pity one, who, with her latest breath,
‘Call'd on her husband, and from Heaven implored,
‘Blessings on him and his.’
This having said,
She, on a charger, with the Danish force,
(The child of Guthrum near her, and her friend)
Sped o'er the plain, reluctant, looking back,
Whilst Sigbert, heartless, turn'd to seek the King.
She, on a charger, with the Danish force,
(The child of Guthrum near her, and her friend)
Sped o'er the plain, reluctant, looking back,
Whilst Sigbert, heartless, turn'd to seek the King.
| Alfred | |