University of Virginia Library

BOOK XVII.

'TWAS midnight, when, the Danish conference o'er,
Each left the hall. Alfred his harp unstrung,
Moving in thoughtless attitude, then stood,
Earnest to catch one glance of her he loved,—
Led from the conference fierce. He saw her pass,
Arm link'd in arm, with her, the faithful friend,
Guthrum's mild daughter. On the ground she pored
Disconsolate. Alfred beheld, nor moved,—
Fill'd with distracting thoughts, till every ray
That lit her footsteps, faded. Now the thought
Leagued with despair, opprest him, for all hope
Vanish'd, that he might rescue her he lov'd.
From withering dreams arous'd, he now revolved
On perils that his own path throng'd. The wind
Howl'd thro' the air, and every blast that blew
Seem'd on his heart to strike, and bleaker make
The dreary scene around him. Doubts now rose—
Whether the lurking danger might not still
Arrest his footsteps. Gloom pervades his brow;
When, stout of heart, he hastening thro' the camp,
Drew near a centinel.—‘What step is that?’
With up-raised battle-axe, the warrior cried.
The king absorb'd with his wild phantasies,
Heeded him not, but looking at the clouds,
Muttering, approach'd.—The centinel exclaim'd,
‘By my good spear, the harper! Wherefore man!
‘Cam'st thou this way, whilst the winds roar so loud,
‘That every living thing, at such an hour,
‘Shelter methinks might seek?’ Alfred replied;
‘I feed the porpoise! Hark, her young ones cry!
‘I must away!’ When swiftly he pass'd on,
And as he pass'd, the Dane in pity cried,
‘Poor frantic man, safe be thy wanderings wild!’
When Alfred now the hostile camp had 'scaped,
Tho' joyful, he perceived a secret chill
Creep thro' him, for the stormy night was dark
And now (with danger o'er) his perils rose,
Appalling, with a force and vehemence,
Transcending the reality. His heart,—
(Roaming so late upon the verge of death)
He rais'd with gratitude, to Him, whose power—
All worlds controlling, o'er his servants oft,
As in this hour, casts his protecting shield.
Whilst musing thus, slow, from her watery bed,
With timid ray, the horned moon uprose,
And from her calming influence, seem'd to say
To all the elements' ‘Like me be still.’
The king her pale beams joyfully beheld,
And sped toward Selwood; doubting every sound,
The foe pursuing, whilst each branchless tree
Seem'd lurking Dane.
Now to the wood he came—
The wood where dwelt the well known cottager;
He who the harp had lent,—whose benediction
In solitude had cheer'd, and whom to see
Gave to his feet fresh buoyancy, and made
All perils past, seem light. Still on he sped,
And, in imagination, ere he reach'd
That tranquil and soul-soothing dwelling-place,
The hearty greet exchanges. There, his Garb
Late had he left, once more to be resumed.
And there, reluctant, but in confidence,
His sword the woodman's trusty hand received,
Now needed for new conflicts.—Journeying on,—
More pleasant each familiar sight appear'd.
The very trees look'd greener, and the birds,
With sweeter notes gave forth their minstrelsy.
The interview fast hastens, the delight,
When, after absence, friends rejoicing meet;
Sweeter for perils past. Eager of heart,
Alfred, the cold and intermediate spurns.
For sight he waits not. He already sees,
In fancy's revelations, clear and bright,
Old age, impatient, rising from his seat
To give the greeting—joyance in his eyes—
Four-fold augmented, by the harp's sweet sight,
The precious relic of a son no more!
Slow gazing round, a welcome spade he spied.
He seizes it, and now beneath the tree,
The grave is form'd. The sufferers slow he bears
To their last resting-place, and earth to earth—
Commits them, in no idle pomp of woe,
But with the unbought tear, and leaves them there,
In faith, in silence, and in sanctity!—
For precious is the spot where virtue sleeps.
Now, duties solemn rouse him from his trance.
His vest he seeks, his sword. With curious eye,
Now here, now there, he searches; long in vain.
Ah! there they are!—in that sequester'd nook;
Up where the dry herbs hang, placed carefully.
Once more the melancholy glance he casts—
O'er the sad scene!—where cheerfulness so late
Reign'd paramount, and hospitality—
Welcom'd the stranger. Now the wicker chairs
Stand empty, (where the aged pair once sat,
Contentment round, and read, with thankful hearts,
From their few precious pages, of that book
Which told of an hereafter,) now no more
To greet their owners!—Cold the hearth-stone lies!—
The ashes scatter'd, and the half-burnt boughs
Resting, and still to rest in quietness—
Tipp'd with their heads of grey! Once more he sigh'd,
Sad at his heart, then slowly pass'd the door.
While hast'ning toward his followers, Alfred sees
Far thro' the trees—that melancholy man—
Sigbert, with solemn step, the woods among,
Restless as wandering Jew Sigbert perceived
Alfred, and rush'd to meet him. Thus he cried,
‘My long-lost prince! my master! have I found
‘Thee, Alfred! oh my king? Thy fearful frown
‘At any other moment I might shun,
‘Yet now I heed it not, to see again
‘My long-lost lord.’—Alfred remember'd well
His former anger, but, the sudden joy
From certainty that he was yet a king,
So fill'd his mind, that he forgot the past,
And, wistless what he said, cried, ‘Peace be thine!’
Sigbert then spake: ‘My master, pardon me!
‘And with my weakness bear a little space,
‘That I may tell my grief. To name the pain
‘This breast hath felt, since thou didst bid me go
‘An outcast and a murd'rer, I would fain
‘But cannot. Oh, my king, this heart is sad!
‘I, from a guilty conscience have endured
‘Anguish so terrible and past the power
‘Of words to tell, that how a heart should bear
‘A load so vast, I knew not till this hour.
‘Pardon me, monarch!’—
Thus the king replied:
‘Sigbert, remember, I am man, not God!
‘He must the deed forgive!’—When Sigbert thus:
‘Most truly! and, by wrestling fervently,
‘His ear hath heard my prayer; and I have faith
‘Thro' Him who is the sinner's Advocate,
‘That pardon'd in the Almighty's eye I stand.
‘Do thou forgive me!’—
Alfred mildly cried,
‘I chid thee but to teach how harder far
‘To bear Heaven's chiding. Now thy mind is chang'd,
‘And thou dost see how mutable the man
‘Who on himself doth rest, when the hour comes
‘Of sore temptation. I am yet thy friend.’
The drowning man who spies approaching aid,
Feels not more joy than Sigbert. Thus he cried:
‘Monarch, my heart is thine! but to my words
‘Thou must not look for recompence. Declare,
‘Oh king! how I may shew my gratitude,
‘And if I shew it not, trust not in man!
‘His vow is vain.’—Alfred replied: ‘My time
‘Important duties claim, but I will stay,
‘Albeit unwise, one moment to bestow
‘A passing word, with meek austerity.
‘Ask of the world's great Author, to subdue
‘All evil in thy heart, but chiefly, wrath—
‘The source of ills unnumber'd, which, around,
‘Spreads direful burdens—making hell of earth,
‘And fiends of men. Sigbert! remember thou—
‘This shadowy world, this transient state of being,
‘But ill deserves of man, the sacrifice
‘Anger demands. What is there here on earth
‘Deserving passion? what below the sky
‘Worthy a creature's wrath? Few are our days,
‘And all our little evils, sent to cleanse
‘Minds wayward, and our faculties, from dross,
‘Debasing, and unworthy that high name—
‘The sons of God. Precious to Heaven is he,
‘Who sees, in mortal things, their real worth,
‘And looks beyond them! Here on earth we sow,
‘After, we reap the fruit. The race is here,
‘The prize hereafter. Here the ocean raves,
‘There is our haven. And that man shall find,
‘Who thro' this howling wilderness preserves
‘Spotless his mind, and in a tainted world
‘Holds converse with his Maker; sees how great
‘The worth of holiness, and truly knows
‘How to respect himself, and to preserve
‘God's temple pure, still trusting in His name,
‘Our only righteousness! that man shall find
‘Life's evils fleeting, and his mind prepared
‘For the fruition, full, unspeakable,
‘God hath reserved above.—
‘Be these thy thoughts,
‘Oh Sigbert! and when wrath o'ertakes thee, wrongs
‘Stop thee to hear their tale; gird up thy mind,
‘And like the sojourner, whose home is Heaven,
‘Small things endure unruffled. Thou hast slain
‘A pleading man!—Albeit an enemy,
‘Yet still a man. I would forget the deed,
‘For in thy countenance, methinks I see
‘Contrition; that—to God! and for thy kind
‘And many services, I hold thee dear.’
Sibert essay'd to speak.—Alfred again:
‘As once I told thee, now I tell the same—
‘Thou shalt not war! Profession thou hast made
‘Of holiness and of devoted heart
‘To holy ways—flee then th' avenging sword!
‘If wars must come—if human blood must flow—
‘Let those who never bore the prophet's name
‘Stand forth and combat! but the God we serve,
‘In most peculiar way, his ministers
‘Requires to dwell in peace.’—Sigbert replied;
‘As the tall hill catches the sun's last beam,
‘When all beside is twilight, so may I,
‘When death draws near, oh king, remember thee,
‘And these thy words! My heart indeed is fill'd
‘With lasting gratitude. Thy mild rebuke,
‘On this my mind, flashes conviction's light,
‘And for thy precepts, I am nearer heaven.’
Alfred thus spoke: ‘Sigbert! my words attend.
‘Haste thou to Ethelney—that humble cot
‘Where late thou saw'st me; there abides my son
‘Whom thou discover'dst on the bleak down wide,
‘And thither broughtest. There direct thy course,
‘And guard him with such constancy of care
‘As I would fain bestow. One moment more,
‘I must address thee. Now are these my steps
‘Verging toward that decisive hour, when sword
‘Must clash with sword, and every Saxon strive
‘For life and liberty, with each delight
‘Man values. Doubtful the event! Thy king
‘May not survive it! I have one request—
‘Sigbert, preserve my child! If I should fall,
‘Keep him secure! and, if in after times,
‘Saxons should think of me, and heav'n have crown'd
‘Their brave endeavours; lead him to their camp!
‘Say to th' assembled armies, view the child
‘Whose sire was Alfred! Own him as your prince!
‘A better fortune shall support his arms,
‘And he shall do what Alfred would have done!’
Cried Sigbert, ‘Oh my king! thou must not die.
‘I had almost with impious zeal declared
‘Thou shalt not die! Thou art our earthly trust!—
‘Might I, unblam'd, disturb the sanctity
‘Of thy repose, and ask one question more,—
‘What of our gracious queen?’ At Sigbert's words,
Alfred his forehead clasp'd, a sudden chill
Rush'd thro' his frame, when, feebly he replied,
‘Name it no more! I must not answer thee!
‘Angels of God, defend her! me preserve,
‘Father Almighty!—Sigbert! I am now
‘Bound to the castle, and these moments few
‘Ill can I spare. Depart thou on thy way!’
When Sigbert cried, ‘Farewell!’ and both retired.
As thro' the intertwin'd and darken'd path
Alfred proceeded, mid' a thicket near
He spied a wolf! His eyes were visible,
While yet his form was hid;—glaring with wrath!
And as the king uprais'd his sword, the beast
Disclosed his fang, and with a horrid snarl
Darted to meet his prey. The monarch stood
Unmoved! The wolf look'd up, yet fear'd to leap!
Foam issued from his jaw! a stream of light
From either orb appear'd, and every hair,
Bristling, declared his fury. Brief the pause!
He springs voracious. Alfred stretch'd his arm,
And, with a sudden aim, seized his huge throat,
And whilst the monster coil'd, gasping for breath,
Deep in his heart, plunged the impetuous sword.
While Alfred roam'd, disguised, and fearlessly,
Thro' all the camp, where death and danger reign'd,
To Selwood's shades, full many a patriot chief,
And gallant band,—Wessex' stout-hearted sons,
Sped resolute, presenting to the eye—
A host, by zeal inspired, that promise gave—
With strength resistless, by one effort grand—
To meet, and to instruct the haughty Dane,
How terrible a people—roused to arms.
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.
‘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!—
‘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!’
Amid th' exultant shout, all hearts alike,
With sword and dart, panted to meet the foe!—
Chiding old Time, so tardily evolved—
That stay'd the fight. They trusted in one field,
Conspicuous, sacred;—one illustrious field!
To furnish for th' historic annalist
Feats, grand and marvellous, such, that their sons,
Glowing with pride, and hanging on the tale—
Where valour swept the foe-men from their land,
Might cry exultant, while the big heart heaved,
‘These were my ancestors!’
Eve hastens now.
Down in the west, with gorgeous clouds array'd,
The orb of day, majestic, slow retires,
O'ercanopied by the effulgence wide,—
Burd'ning the concave; cloud high-heap'd on cloud,
Sapphire and gold, still changing momently,
Yet lovelier for the change!—Now heaven resigns
Her fast-retiring splendors. Gathering clouds
Purple and grey, still deep'ning, fill the air,
Till o'er the earth, and all th' ethereal depths,
Darkness, unbroken, spreads her ebon pall.
Revolving on the scenes, unfolding near,
Alfred tho' sleepless, seeks his lonely couch.
A stillness mark'd the air, like that dread pause
That o'er the Carribean, oft precedes
Th' impetuous hurricane. Now night has waned.
With serious brow, the king, revolving, sees,—
Far into future times;—remembering well
Its charter, and complexion will depend
Upon the coming strife. With Saxon might,—
Aroused to rage and terrible resolve,
He dares to hope for triumph, yet, a voice
Whispers within,—‘Uncertainty is stamp'd
‘On all things here,—and if thy arms should fail!
‘Then what a surge of terrors will o'erwhelm
‘Britain and Saxons!’—Conflict reigns within;
Till fancy, busier for the silence, roams,
Constraint disdaining, o'er the wide expanse—
Wrapping the future.—Dreary scenes arise!
Others sustain the drooping spirit, clad
In rain-bow hues,—each, fleeting as the sun-beams
That on the ruffled fountain sportive play.
Leading such bands, with hearts so resolute,
He might not doubt the issue, but the process!—
There lies the stress. Gazing with anxious brow,
He feels the burden of uncertainty,
Till, with the good man's last resort, he cries,—
‘Ye shadows of the night that haunt my soul—
‘In other breasts seek refuge! From this hour,
‘Mine be the tranquil confidence.—He reigns!
‘Sov'reign supreme!—the Lord Omnipotent!
‘And in His arm I trust.’—A calm prevails,
When, gently, sleep his weary eye-lids closed
And pleasant were the visions of the night.
Impatient of the morn, before the dawn—
Gave her first kindling blush, the king arose,
When wondering he beheld his gallant troops—
E'en then, the dews of night upon their helm,
Marshall'd in fair array. ‘At such a time,
‘I would not be the latest,’ he exclaim'd:
‘I bid you hail!’—He further strove to speak,
But, 'mid the shouts, no more his voice was heard
Than is the pine's upon the mountain top,
When with the blast it swings, to some remote,
And gazing traveller. The tumult ceased:
When thus the king.
‘Brave subjects, hope is ours!
‘The strife is near! We haste to meet the foe!
‘Deeds, and not words, become this solemn hour!’
Their swords they draw, impatient of the fight,—
Where one must sink in death, Saxon or Dane!
After long toil, with looks of secret joy,
Or bitter,—like the hypocrite's in sleep—
As hopes or fears prevail'd, they mount a hill,
When every Saxon stopped,—sudden, like one—
Who meets a precipice, for, through the vale,
Before them, march'd the Danes! And they too stopp'd,
Half terrified at this unlook'd-for sight,
Saxons in arms!—Instant the Danes draw back,
(To a near hill, where a proud castle rose)
As tho' they fear'd the fight. The subterfuge
Alfred beheld, and check'd his troops, who sought
Boldly to follow.
Now they reach'd the hill—
The Danes, when both th' opposing armies stand
Wafting their mutual threats, like two huge mounts,
Neighbouring, around whose heads, the white mists sail,
And ever when th' aerial currents change,
From each to each, mov'd by fierce jealousy,
Their cloud artillery send. Alfred thus spake.
‘Subjects, behold the Danes! View yonder host,
‘And in them see the spoilers of your homes,
‘The murd'rers of your children and your sires,
‘The foes of peace, the wasters of the earth!
‘Now are your hearts your own!’ All clash their shields.
‘I will not bid my subjects bleed,’ he cried,
‘But of necessity. Oddune, approach!’
The chief drew near. Him Alfred thus address'd.
‘To me it seems expedient to dismiss
‘Some messenger, of bold and manly port,
‘To yonder Danes, bidding them leave this land.’
Oddune replied, ‘Let me that herald be!’
‘Go’ said the king, ‘thus to the Danes declare:
‘Ye wasting men, to Denmark's savage shore,
‘Swift as the eagle, flee, or by our swords
‘Soon shall ye fall, all fall! Say, wherefore come
‘To scourge our land, to waste this happy isle,
‘To wrong this people? whom your swords may slay,
‘But ne'er shall conquer—while yon sun remains,
‘Or earth endures. Alfred, our king, hath sent
‘Me to forewarn you. Instant on the ground
‘Cast ye your arms, and swear by all the gods
‘You worship, forth to leave this land, nor more
‘Track it with blood,—so Alfred will provide
‘Fit vessels, to convey you to your homes,—
‘Your wives, your children, (whom our king has spared
‘On yonder southern shore.)—Say, I am one
‘Who loves not strife, who never smote a foe
‘But with regret, pungent and keen, and now
‘Seek their departure, rather than their lives:
‘But if they scorn thee, tell them by the hand
‘That wields the thunder, by the power that stills
‘Old ocean when he raveth, I will meet
‘Ivar and Hubba on yon plain beneath,
‘And they shall learn the lesson, learnt but once!
‘What Saxons can perform, when, in their might,
‘Aroused to vengeance.’—Oddune thus replied,
‘Monarch, I thank thee! Trust my warmest zeal.
‘I speed to bear the summons to the Danes.’
Down the steep hill he strode, and o'er the plain.
The foe he now approach'd, waving the flag,—
Emblem of parley.—Danes around him crowd.
Thus they began. ‘Thy message!’ Oddune spake.
‘Where is your chief? Lead me to him. I bring
‘Words of high import.’—To the hall, at hand
Oddune they lead, where in vindictive talk
And loud upbraidings, all the Danish chiefs
Sit in close commune.
‘Ah! a Saxon here!’
Cried Ivar, as he enter'd. ‘Dost thou bring
‘Vows of thy monarch's fealty, or some bribe
‘To stay our wrath?’ ‘Neither!’ the chief replied.
‘Neither!’ said Ivar. ‘By thy stately port
‘Thou seem'st like one, who never yet has felt
‘The Danish sword, how heavy, when it falls,
‘By Danish arm impelled. Thy business? Say!
‘I wait to hear thee! If thou stop to gaze
‘A second time around, this sturdy lance
‘Shall pierce thy heart.’—Oddune unterrified
Thus answer'd, ‘Chieftain, if thou seek by frowns
‘To check my purpose, resolute, oh Dane,
‘Thou know'st me not! Mine is no coward's breast!
‘I bear a message from our gallant king,—
‘Alfred, his words are these.’
Hubba upraised
His ponderous spear, and had not Guthrum seized
And stay'd his purpose, prostrate on the ground
Oddune had lain. Him Ivar thus rebuked;
‘Thine anger check, good Hubba! let us know
‘This Saxon's words, and, tho' we after slay,
‘First hear his message.’—Hubba thus replied:
‘Now will I hear thee, cool; Saxon, proceed.’
Oddune prepar'd to speak, when Ivar cried,
‘Gaze not thus haughty! If thy message, man,
‘Be bold, as these thy looks, death shall hide both!’—
‘And that before a second breath thou draw.’
‘Talk to the hind of fear, I know it not!’
Oddune replied. ‘These are the words I bear:—
‘Ye wasting men, to Denmark's savage shore
‘Swift as the eagle, flee, or by our swords
‘Soon shall ye fall, all fall.’
Ivar exclaim'd,
‘I will repress my anger. By the words
‘And looks so terrible, a stranger's heart
‘Might think thee some unconquer'd warrior bold,
‘From Hyperborean climes, but we thy might
‘Too well can estimate, vain man! to fear
‘Thee or thy monarch. Alfred bids us flee!
‘Sweet words to lull old-aged credulity!
‘Or, by his sword, soon shall we fall! all fall!’
‘This is so wonderful, that, to my mind,
‘It is as tho' some running brook, with words,
‘Blustering and loud, should threaten with his waves
‘To inundate old ocean. What the next
‘Said thy good king?’—Oddune thus answer made.
‘He bade me bear this message, ‘Wherefore come—
‘To scourge our land—to waste this happy isle—
‘To wrong this people? whom your swords may slay,
‘But ne'er shall conquer, whilst yon sun remains,
‘Or earth endures. Alfred, our king, hath sent
‘Me to forewarn you. Instant on the ground
‘Cast ye your arms, and swear by all the gods
‘Ye worship, forth to leave this land, nor more
‘Track it with blood, so Alfred shall provide
‘Fit vessels to convey you to your homes.’
Hubba, with rage repress'd, thus answer made.
‘But shall the ships be strong and large? My words
‘May not be serious! Did thy monarch think
‘Danes, like the Assi, tremble at the beams
‘Spiders in sun-shine hurl? Lay down our arms!
‘What said he more?’—Oddune indignant cried’
‘This, said our Monarch. Tell them I am one
‘Who loves not strife, who never smote a foe
‘But with regret, pungent and keen, and now
‘Seek their departure rather than their lives.’
Said Hubba, ‘Kind! He pleadeth well the cause
‘Of one who fears the future!’ Ivar rose
And thus to Oddune spake.—
‘Presumptuous man!
‘Ivar disdains to jeer thee! I will now
‘Talk to thee serious. Has thy king ne'er heard
‘The laws we honour, and the gods we serve;
‘That he should thus upbraid the true-born Dane
‘With loving blood too fondly? Dost thou know
‘What Odin to the faithful warrior speaks
‘In dreams and darkness—mid the raging storm
‘When, roused from slumber Ocean lifts his head,
‘Warring with winds that lash him?—Take thy sword,
‘Go forth and war! Fear but the coward's name,
‘And tho' in many a prostrate victim's heart
‘Thy sword be bathed, go on to devastate!
‘Scorn mercy! hear the pleader's voice in vain!
‘And ever when thy heart, shrinks on itself,
‘And pity whispers—think thou of the joys
‘Valhalla boasts, where never mortal came
‘Who waded not through blood, who never met
‘The foe in battle, and inured his soul
‘To deathful enterprize?’ What halls hast thou?
‘What object so commanding? motive, what,
‘To spur thee on to action? or delights
‘Compared to those we hope for, when, 'mid gods,
‘We join the valiant, and from hostile skulls
‘With songs and rapture, quaff th' immortal mead?
‘These are our hopes, oh Saxon! these the views
‘That urge us on to glory. Now declare
‘What more thy monarch said! for I would hear,
‘Albeit it make me smile and frown, like one
‘Who sees his sire, toiling amid the waves,—
‘Now mounting high, now buried from his sight.’
Oddune replied, ‘These were my monarch's words,
‘If they disdain thee, tell them, by the hand
‘That wields the thunder, by the power that stills
‘Old ocean when he raveth, I will meet
‘Ivar and Hubba on yon plain, and prove
‘What Saxons can perform, when in their might
‘They strive for liberty.’ Ivar exclaim'd;
‘While rage inflames his heart! ‘Who stills the sea?
‘Who wields the thunder? Odin, god supreme,
‘The lord of battle! Is he not our friend?
‘Hath he not followed us from land to land,
‘From sea to sea, rousing to strifes and wars;
‘And granting, e'en in death, to every Dane
‘The eye that speaks of ecstasy, the heart
‘That leaps with rapture?’—
When with fiercer wrath
Hubba exclaim'd, ‘Tell thy devoted king—
‘Of every Saxon, not one man shall live,
‘By the next eve, to gaze upon the sun
‘And bless his beams, when the rough air blows chill.’
Guthrum uprose and cried, ‘Forgive these words!
‘Say not they all shall perish; but, each man
‘Who owns not us the conquerors of the isle,
‘And swears allegiance.’ Ivar cried, ‘Away!
‘Thy senseless words, Guthrum, confuse mine ear!
‘Speak not, but to inform yon daring prince
‘He wears his crown, by sufferance from the Danes.
‘Soon shall he perish, like that gallant youth
‘Tulba, my brother, who from death sends forth
‘Th' accusing groan, whilst loud our father calls
‘For war and vengeance. Tho' thy king approach'd,
‘And all his army, bending to the earth
‘With vows and oaths to call us their liege lords,
‘Yet would I scorn them, for, by Thor I swear,
‘They all shall perish!’
Hubba cried: ‘All! all!
‘Spare not a soul!’ To Oddune thus he spake:
‘For this imperious summons, and thy threats,
‘Proud Saxon! thou art doom'd to share the choice,
‘Valkyres shall teach thee! Thou shalt live to mourn
‘But not survive our anger. Thou art now—
‘Dead! for I view thee on the green grass stretch'd!
‘Prophetic visions dance before mine eye!
‘I see thy arms, beside thee! round are strew'd
‘Saxons unnumber'd, who like thee provoked
‘Our wrath and perish'd. Instant, flee away!
‘With second breath pollute not thou the air!
‘Or, know the penalty!’
He rais'd his spear,
When Oddune cried, ‘Withhold! if die I must,
‘Let me this hour enjoy. Hear me, oh Danes!
‘One word, and I depart.
‘This isle is ours
‘By long inheritance! We never roam
‘From shore to shore, from distant clime to clime,
‘To rob our fellows. Have we warr'd on you?
‘Have we alarm'd your coasts? disturb'd your homes?
‘Destroy'd your people? never, as ye know!
‘Scourgers of this our isle, I bid you heed!
‘Our voice is peace, but if you pant for war,
‘Relentless, greedy of all violence—
‘Saxons shall meet you! Vengeance shall arise,
‘Dress'd in new terrors! seize her flaming brand,
‘And join the fury of this fight, with eyes
‘More fearful bright, than man hath yet beheld,
‘Or Frenzy started at, gazing at Heaven.
‘Prepare for combat! On the coming morn,
‘Our swords shall meet you! God, the living God!
‘Saxons confide in! Now I leave your tent.’
Ivar exclaim'd, O Saxon! didst thou ask,
‘The Danish wrong endured, the powerful cause
‘That urged us hither, bade us cross the seas?
‘Ask gasping Regner! ask our murder'd sire!
‘Ask the deep curses, and the fiery wrath
‘He breath'd at death, when to his country's gods
‘He look'd and cried, ‘To join your laughing halls,
‘Come I, bless'd spirits! Yet, on Saxon land
‘Let plagues alight! let Slaughter glut himself
‘With death and carnage.’ Now, thine own heart ask,
‘What Regner's sons might merit, if they fail'd
‘To waste this isle, and with their valiant arms,
‘Remorseless, scourge, thy hated race and thee!
‘Dear is revenge!’
Like one o'er embers bent,
Pond'ring on black designs, when, lo! the fire
That seem'd extinguish'd, gives a sudden blaze,
And shows the face, the wrinkled brow, the eye
That pored on vengeance and all deadly plans,
Conceal'd before, so Hubba's face appear'd
With such possession of infuriate rage
When Ivar named his father. Thus he cried:
‘By all the gods whose battles we have fought!
‘By all the hopes that cheer us! by the blood
‘Our father curs'd this isle with, when he groan'd
‘In Ella's dungeon, not one soul shall live
‘O'er the next day! Hundreds my sword will claim
To stay its appetite! Its light shall gleam
‘New terrors on the dying! Hungry wolves
‘Shall hover round! The eagle from on high
‘Mark his near banquet, and with joyous scream
‘Stun death with horrors. To thy king at hand
‘These tidings bear! and let him for the fight
‘Hold his heart ready! for the coming morn,
‘When through the clouds the whizzing darts shall fly,
‘The buckler's thunder, and th' injured Danes
‘Shout 'mid the storm of vengeance! Now, depart!
‘Thy end is near!’
Oddune forbore to speak.
Self-confident, he left the Danes, and walk'd
Slow through the hostile ranks, and down the hill
And through the vale, and to the lofty spot
Where Alfred and his army pitch'd their tents.
The king beheld his coming, and advanced,
With mind presageful of no tidings good.
‘What are thy words?’ he said, ‘Uncertainty
‘Probes most my spirit.’
Oddune cried, ‘Oh king!
‘The Danes are hostile! On the approaching morn,
‘Saxons must dare the fight!’ Alfred exclaim'd:
‘Tho' seek I peace, yet fear I not to war!
‘Prepare for battle!’
Oddune and each chief,—
Heard, and to rouse the Saxon hosts retire.