Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. | BOOK IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
 | Alfred |  |
62
BOOK IV.
ARGUMENT.
ALFRED in the Cottage of the Neatherd.
AH, who can tell the pangs which Alfred felt,
Whilst wandering slow o'er wilds and desert wastes,
Joyless, and pondering on the weight of ills,
That now o'erwhelmed him! what his mind endured,
Whose first of earthly hopes, was, to behold
His people happy! while his own great mind
Plann'd for their good, and nursed luxurious thoughts
Of high achievement. He beheld the world
And all the multitude of fellow-men,
Not as an alien. He had learned to weigh
What, of the mass of miseries we mourn,
To this our state was needful, what the effect
Of hostile innovation, and he thought,
With fervent joy of all a king might do.
Long had he fed on intellectual food:
The love of Nature and of nature's God
Had harmonized his spirit, he had felt
His heart attuned to love.
Whilst wandering slow o'er wilds and desert wastes,
Joyless, and pondering on the weight of ills,
That now o'erwhelmed him! what his mind endured,
Whose first of earthly hopes, was, to behold
His people happy! while his own great mind
Plann'd for their good, and nursed luxurious thoughts
Of high achievement. He beheld the world
And all the multitude of fellow-men,
Not as an alien. He had learned to weigh
What, of the mass of miseries we mourn,
To this our state was needful, what the effect
Of hostile innovation, and he thought,
With fervent joy of all a king might do.
Long had he fed on intellectual food:
The love of Nature and of nature's God
Had harmonized his spirit, he had felt
His heart attuned to love.
At evening hour,
In the warm summer months, while yet a boy,
Oft would he wander by the slow brook's side,
And mark its gentle noise, serving to break
Th' intensity of silence which oppressed
His listening sense, and gave to all around
New and obscure solemnity.
In the warm summer months, while yet a boy,
63
And mark its gentle noise, serving to break
Th' intensity of silence which oppressed
His listening sense, and gave to all around
New and obscure solemnity.
His heart,
Susceptible of shadows, forms, and things
Which pass th' unthinking by, intensely pored,
Now on itself; and now, excursive, roam'd
O'er shapes material; viewing with delight
Beauty transcendent, God's omnipotence,
Traced with imperishable characters,
Alike, on all that is. Whilst musing thus,
Each object—whether such as live their hour
Upon this teeming earth, then die away,
Or those sublime and everlasting forms
That throng heaven's concave—sun, and moon, and stars,
Each, to his ear, spake audibly. He saw
Divinity in all things, and adored,
With the enthusiast's rapt and ardent mind,
The glorious hosts of heaven, the clouds of night,
Morn's rich effulgence, with the seasons fair,
Diversly dress'd, and scattering as they dance,
Entwined, through æther, blessings infinite,
Oppressive with all good.
Susceptible of shadows, forms, and things
Which pass th' unthinking by, intensely pored,
Now on itself; and now, excursive, roam'd
O'er shapes material; viewing with delight
Beauty transcendent, God's omnipotence,
Traced with imperishable characters,
Alike, on all that is. Whilst musing thus,
Each object—whether such as live their hour
Upon this teeming earth, then die away,
Or those sublime and everlasting forms
That throng heaven's concave—sun, and moon, and stars,
Each, to his ear, spake audibly. He saw
Divinity in all things, and adored,
With the enthusiast's rapt and ardent mind,
The glorious hosts of heaven, the clouds of night,
Morn's rich effulgence, with the seasons fair,
Diversly dress'd, and scattering as they dance,
Entwined, through æther, blessings infinite,
Oppressive with all good.
Whilst musing thus,
Gazing on lordly man, who would confine
Heaven's weight of care, to his own pamper'd self,
Oft he exclaimed, ‘Whence came the monster, Pride?
‘Didst thou, vain mortal! catch thy haughty mien
‘From scenes like these, and fancy that the light
‘Of the fair morning beam'd alone on thee?
‘For thee the skylark sung, the breeze awoke
‘Burdened with fragrance, and around thy head
‘Wanton'd in servile dalliance?—Spirits vile
‘May, in the turmoil of this world, assault
‘Oft-times our peace, but he who Nature loves,
‘And in the beauty of creation feels
‘His heart immerged; who views th' Almighty Hand,
‘Upholding, what Omnipotence first formed—
‘The world, and all its hosts of shapes and things,
‘Retiring to his own capacious mind,
‘Will hear the storm without, and calmly say,
‘These move me not.’
Gazing on lordly man, who would confine
Heaven's weight of care, to his own pamper'd self,
Oft he exclaimed, ‘Whence came the monster, Pride?
‘Didst thou, vain mortal! catch thy haughty mien
‘From scenes like these, and fancy that the light
‘Of the fair morning beam'd alone on thee?
‘For thee the skylark sung, the breeze awoke
‘Burdened with fragrance, and around thy head
‘Wanton'd in servile dalliance?—Spirits vile
‘May, in the turmoil of this world, assault
64
‘And in the beauty of creation feels
‘His heart immerged; who views th' Almighty Hand,
‘Upholding, what Omnipotence first formed—
‘The world, and all its hosts of shapes and things,
‘Retiring to his own capacious mind,
‘Will hear the storm without, and calmly say,
‘These move me not.’
Now pondering on mankind—
(Error's dark reign, and tyranny's mad deeds)
With stern prophetic spirit, hear him cry,
‘Nor shall our race pass to the goal of time,
‘Still hoping from futurity, the joys,
‘E'en now within their grasp; the day shall come
‘When evils and oppressions infinite
‘Which we have borne, groaning beneath their weight,
‘Our wiser sons shall hear of, as a tale,
‘Discredited, that casts inglorious shade
‘O'er their brave ancestors. The sun shall burst,
‘Enthroned in brighter splendours, and survey
‘Regenerated man, rising sublime
‘From the wide sea of prejudice, the gulf
‘Of stormy superstition, that consumes
‘The fettered intellect, and sinks Heaven's work,
‘First of material order, to the low
‘And perishable insect of a day.’
(Error's dark reign, and tyranny's mad deeds)
With stern prophetic spirit, hear him cry,
‘Nor shall our race pass to the goal of time,
‘Still hoping from futurity, the joys,
‘E'en now within their grasp; the day shall come
‘When evils and oppressions infinite
‘Which we have borne, groaning beneath their weight,
‘Our wiser sons shall hear of, as a tale,
‘Discredited, that casts inglorious shade
‘O'er their brave ancestors. The sun shall burst,
‘Enthroned in brighter splendours, and survey
‘Regenerated man, rising sublime
‘From the wide sea of prejudice, the gulf
‘Of stormy superstition, that consumes
‘The fettered intellect, and sinks Heaven's work,
‘First of material order, to the low
‘And perishable insect of a day.’
With thoughts like these, familiar had he grown.
From the young dawn of reason he had plann'd
(If e'er the hour arrived that gave a crown)
Deeds, whose august reality should scoff
Dull Calculation, and to all display
What good the Great might do. But, royalty
Now came, and, with it, cares, whose crushing load
Bent him to earth, and made him fear the hopes
That once inspired him in life's sunny morn,
Would die away, like the first summer fruits
That just put on their bloom, when suddenly
The north-wind comes, and the dark veil of night
Casts o'er their early charms.
From the young dawn of reason he had plann'd
(If e'er the hour arrived that gave a crown)
Deeds, whose august reality should scoff
Dull Calculation, and to all display
What good the Great might do. But, royalty
Now came, and, with it, cares, whose crushing load
Bent him to earth, and made him fear the hopes
That once inspired him in life's sunny morn,
65
That just put on their bloom, when suddenly
The north-wind comes, and the dark veil of night
Casts o'er their early charms.
Weary at heart,
Rememb'ring each anticipated joy,
The King now stray'd alone, unknowing where;
O'er trackless wilds, where seldom human foot
Had mark'd the ground. his parted loaf was gone:
The berries of the wilderness assuaged
Oft-times his hunger, whilst the springs that gave—
Their noiseless stream, and roll'd between the hills,
Making the green grass greener, now had flown,
And left him,—prey to that worst misery,—
Thirst; for in vain he seeks the cooling draught;—
Enduring the parched tongue. His anxious look
Full oft reverted from the drooping flags
Grown grey in sunshine, whose forbidding hues
Restrain'd approach, and made the hurrying foot
Stand still, the eye turn off to other scenes,
The heart, to other hopes. Warm was the day,
When Alfred, weary with the tedious search
Of some clear spring's invigorating power,
Felt fatal langour stealing o'er his frame.
Rememb'ring each anticipated joy,
The King now stray'd alone, unknowing where;
O'er trackless wilds, where seldom human foot
Had mark'd the ground. his parted loaf was gone:
The berries of the wilderness assuaged
Oft-times his hunger, whilst the springs that gave—
Their noiseless stream, and roll'd between the hills,
Making the green grass greener, now had flown,
And left him,—prey to that worst misery,—
Thirst; for in vain he seeks the cooling draught;—
Enduring the parched tongue. His anxious look
Full oft reverted from the drooping flags
Grown grey in sunshine, whose forbidding hues
Restrain'd approach, and made the hurrying foot
Stand still, the eye turn off to other scenes,
The heart, to other hopes. Warm was the day,
When Alfred, weary with the tedious search
Of some clear spring's invigorating power,
Felt fatal langour stealing o'er his frame.
With light green leaf, rising o'er Winter's spoils,
Russet and brown, the gorse and fern were near,
And farther off, and far as he could see,
Blended with moss, and thorn, and sedgy grass,
With many a little plat of pasture fair
Opening between. Alfred in thoughtful mood,
Still onward sped, oppress'd by growing care,
Save when the warbling tenants of the wild,
Upstarting, gave to sad perplexity
Short respite. Many a fitful glance he cast
Of weary expectation o'er the heath,
Which seemed from each small eminence to spread
Wider its dreary reign. The King at length
Opprest and weary, lost amid the waste
Of endless desolation, felt his heart
For death prepared. He stood, and like the man
Who travels far, that calls his house, and takes
A parting leave, and with soft accent says,
To some, perchance, who little kindness knew,
‘Farewell, my friends!’ so Alfred look'd around
On all his mute companious—fern and heath,
And feebly cried—‘Farewell!’
Russet and brown, the gorse and fern were near,
And farther off, and far as he could see,
Blended with moss, and thorn, and sedgy grass,
With many a little plat of pasture fair
Opening between. Alfred in thoughtful mood,
Still onward sped, oppress'd by growing care,
Save when the warbling tenants of the wild,
Upstarting, gave to sad perplexity
Short respite. Many a fitful glance he cast
Of weary expectation o'er the heath,
66
Wider its dreary reign. The King at length
Opprest and weary, lost amid the waste
Of endless desolation, felt his heart
For death prepared. He stood, and like the man
Who travels far, that calls his house, and takes
A parting leave, and with soft accent says,
To some, perchance, who little kindness knew,
‘Farewell, my friends!’ so Alfred look'd around
On all his mute companious—fern and heath,
And feebly cried—‘Farewell!’
When, by his road
Appear'd a figure, stretch'd upon the earth,
Of human shape. He hastens to the spot:
Trembling he saw!—It was old Nidor, dead!—
The aged Beggar. In one hand he held
His wallet empty, whilst beside him lay
A broken crutch!—‘Poor, miserable man!’
Alfred exclaim'd. ‘Had this my arm been near,
‘Thou hadst not perished.’ Silent he beheld,
Heaving the prayer to Heaven; then, passed away,
Musing on that impenetrable veil
That hides the future, screening many a gulf
From easy man, who unconcern'd looks on
To coming pleasures, when Death, unawares,
Sends him to dwell with blank forgetfulness.
Appear'd a figure, stretch'd upon the earth,
Of human shape. He hastens to the spot:
Trembling he saw!—It was old Nidor, dead!—
The aged Beggar. In one hand he held
His wallet empty, whilst beside him lay
A broken crutch!—‘Poor, miserable man!’
Alfred exclaim'd. ‘Had this my arm been near,
‘Thou hadst not perished.’ Silent he beheld,
Heaving the prayer to Heaven; then, passed away,
Musing on that impenetrable veil
That hides the future, screening many a gulf
From easy man, who unconcern'd looks on
To coming pleasures, when Death, unawares,
Sends him to dwell with blank forgetfulness.
Now sudden thoughts arose in Alfred's mind
Of those who never more might hear his fate.
He thought upon Alswitha, on his child—
His subjects, scatter'd o'er the ravaged land.
Far on his way he gaz'd, tho' hopeless. Sounds
And moving forms were none. It was a calm
So dead and so terrific that the world
Seem'd shadows, and all life extinct and gone.
When, lo! a drove of horses wild appear'd,
Far in the distance, that with speed approach'd,
And to a neighbouring dell rush'd down. The sight
From his distracting cares aroused the King;
When hastening to the brow, what fervent bliss
Swept through his bosom, when beneath, he saw,
Catching the sun's last radiance, a fair brook,
By whose green side the wild-hoof'd horses drank!
Of those who never more might hear his fate.
He thought upon Alswitha, on his child—
His subjects, scatter'd o'er the ravaged land.
Far on his way he gaz'd, tho' hopeless. Sounds
And moving forms were none. It was a calm
So dead and so terrific that the world
Seem'd shadows, and all life extinct and gone.
When, lo! a drove of horses wild appear'd,
67
And to a neighbouring dell rush'd down. The sight
From his distracting cares aroused the King;
When hastening to the brow, what fervent bliss
Swept through his bosom, when beneath, he saw,
Catching the sun's last radiance, a fair brook,
By whose green side the wild-hoof'd horses drank!
Thither he hastes, and copious draughts he drinks
At that pure stream. A sudden power, unknown,
Seem'd instant to pervade his frame; a power,
A spirit that infused new faculties. A vale
Now met his eye, a fair and woody vale,
Till then unmark'd, that round the barren hill
Spread its luxuriant verdure, and the stream,
Slow gliding on.
At that pure stream. A sudden power, unknown,
Seem'd instant to pervade his frame; a power,
A spirit that infused new faculties. A vale
Now met his eye, a fair and woody vale,
Till then unmark'd, that round the barren hill
Spread its luxuriant verdure, and the stream,
Slow gliding on.
Alfred beside the brook
Pass'd earnest, for the eve was drawing near,
And he had hoped, before another sun
Sank in the crimson west, to rest his head
Beneath some humble dwelling; but, in vain,
For fast the shadows fell, and it was night.
Pass'd earnest, for the eve was drawing near,
And he had hoped, before another sun
Sank in the crimson west, to rest his head
Beneath some humble dwelling; but, in vain,
For fast the shadows fell, and it was night.
The stream grew larger, by whose rushy side,
The King press'd on: but still no house appear'd.
What means that light he cried, as thro' the trees
‘A vivid beam it cast?—It vanishes!
‘Ah, cruel foe!’ he said. ‘Tempt not my feet!
‘Thou art no restless sprite, but that sad fire,
‘O'er moor and mountain fen, with giddy dance
‘Luring to death the wilder'd traveller.
‘Here will I rest awhile, beneath Heaven's care,
‘These reeds my pillow:’ when the king lay down,
And peaceful were the slumbers of the night.
The King press'd on: but still no house appear'd.
What means that light he cried, as thro' the trees
‘A vivid beam it cast?—It vanishes!
‘Ah, cruel foe!’ he said. ‘Tempt not my feet!
‘Thou art no restless sprite, but that sad fire,
‘O'er moor and mountain fen, with giddy dance
‘Luring to death the wilder'd traveller.
‘Here will I rest awhile, beneath Heaven's care,
‘These reeds my pillow:’ when the king lay down,
And peaceful were the slumbers of the night.
The morning sun, magnificent, now rose,
Sending his red and winged harbingers,
Mantled in glory, to illume new climes,
And rouse new hearts, while heaven's wide concave glow'd
Intenser, as the Lord of Day advanced.
Alfred, encircled with the blaze, upsprang,
Shaking the drowsy feeling from his brain,
For he alone seem'd senseless, whilst, around,
All nature teem'd with life.
68
Mantled in glory, to illume new climes,
And rouse new hearts, while heaven's wide concave glow'd
Intenser, as the Lord of Day advanced.
Alfred, encircled with the blaze, upsprang,
Shaking the drowsy feeling from his brain,
For he alone seem'd senseless, whilst, around,
All nature teem'd with life.
Wondering, he saw,
Where, on the eve, the doubtful light had shone,
A green-roof'd cottage, deep embower'd in trees,
Whose guardian arms encircled it, and spread,
On every side, voluptuous foliage, gay;
While round the sylvan dwelling, many a branch,
High over head, quick-wavering, strove
To hide th' azure sky, that here and there,
Struggled to pour its splendours on the sight.
Alfred beheld the cottage and exclaimed,
‘In spot like this, Ambition might grow wise.
‘Be this my home. Here will I rest awhile,
‘Secure and peaceful, striving to forget
‘A little space, the cares of royalty.’
When he approach'd and knock'd,
Where, on the eve, the doubtful light had shone,
A green-roof'd cottage, deep embower'd in trees,
Whose guardian arms encircled it, and spread,
On every side, voluptuous foliage, gay;
While round the sylvan dwelling, many a branch,
High over head, quick-wavering, strove
To hide th' azure sky, that here and there,
Struggled to pour its splendours on the sight.
Alfred beheld the cottage and exclaimed,
‘In spot like this, Ambition might grow wise.
‘Be this my home. Here will I rest awhile,
‘Secure and peaceful, striving to forget
‘A little space, the cares of royalty.’
When he approach'd and knock'd,
A voice within,
In shrill and fretful tone inquires the cause;
When to the door a woman came and cried,
‘What led thee hither, man? Whom seekest thou?’
‘I ask for bread,’ said Alfred; ‘long, these feet
‘Have toiled o'er barren hill, and dreary moor,
‘Nor have I tasted food, save here and there
‘Some scattered berries. Give thy suppliant bread,
‘And let him dwell awhile beneath thy roof:
‘What service in return these hands can do,
‘Shall be well done, and cheerfully.’—Aloud—
The woman answer'd, ‘Ill can I provide
‘For others' wants; I have a host myself;
‘Yet as a houseless and deserted man,
‘I will not spurn thee. Here shalt thou remain
‘Two only days; we cannot feed thee more,
‘For Acca, and Ceolric earn with toil
‘Their daily bread.’
In shrill and fretful tone inquires the cause;
When to the door a woman came and cried,
‘What led thee hither, man? Whom seekest thou?’
‘I ask for bread,’ said Alfred; ‘long, these feet
‘Have toiled o'er barren hill, and dreary moor,
‘Nor have I tasted food, save here and there
‘Some scattered berries. Give thy suppliant bread,
‘And let him dwell awhile beneath thy roof:
‘What service in return these hands can do,
‘Shall be well done, and cheerfully.’—Aloud—
The woman answer'd, ‘Ill can I provide
‘For others' wants; I have a host myself;
69
‘I will not spurn thee. Here shalt thou remain
‘Two only days; we cannot feed thee more,
‘For Acca, and Ceolric earn with toil
‘Their daily bread.’
‘Hast thou no constant work
‘For one who well will serve thee?’ Alfred said.
‘None,’ she replied. ‘But what canst thou perform?
‘Can'st fell a tree?’ The monarch looks demure.
Acca inquired, ‘Cans't mend the fishing net?—
‘Or build a hut, or shed? or shape the thong?
‘Neither,’ the king replied, ‘but I have heart,
‘And will, to serve thee, in what way I can.’
‘But what way is't?’ said Acca, ‘can'st thou sow?
‘Or reap? or milk the kine? or use the spade?’
‘Neither,’ the king replied, ‘but I can learn.’
Said Acca, ‘Learn!—thou art a helpless drone,
‘Where hast thou lived? Can'st spin? or shear the sheep?
‘Or rear the faggot pile? Can'st carry wood?’—
‘Aye, that I can do,’ cried the king, with joy;
‘For I have strength to spare.’ ‘Well, take thy food,’
Frowning, the housewife cried, ‘and mind my words,
‘Whate'er I tell thee, or, the penalty,
‘My anger, thou shalt know.’
‘For one who well will serve thee?’ Alfred said.
‘None,’ she replied. ‘But what canst thou perform?
‘Can'st fell a tree?’ The monarch looks demure.
Acca inquired, ‘Cans't mend the fishing net?—
‘Or build a hut, or shed? or shape the thong?
‘Neither,’ the king replied, ‘but I have heart,
‘And will, to serve thee, in what way I can.’
‘But what way is't?’ said Acca, ‘can'st thou sow?
‘Or reap? or milk the kine? or use the spade?’
‘Neither,’ the king replied, ‘but I can learn.’
Said Acca, ‘Learn!—thou art a helpless drone,
‘Where hast thou lived? Can'st spin? or shear the sheep?
‘Or rear the faggot pile? Can'st carry wood?’—
‘Aye, that I can do,’ cried the king, with joy;
‘For I have strength to spare.’ ‘Well, take thy food,’
Frowning, the housewife cried, ‘and mind my words,
‘Whate'er I tell thee, or, the penalty,
‘My anger, thou shalt know.’
Here many a day,
Toiling the king abode, and nobler heap
Of turf or stubble, never from the fields
Was borne by mortal man, than Alfred bore.
Yet ill, the king discharged his servitude;
His busy fancy ran, o'er coming years,
Upon his subjects' wrongs, and on the means
Best suited to support a tottering crown.
Acca perceiv'd full oft the wayward man
Pursuing fancies wild, indifferent grown,
To each accustomed charge of household sort,
Her great concern; and often, bitter words
Heap'd she, and hard reproaches, till at length
Her voice grew louder, when, the cottage door
Burst open, and the master entered in,—
Ceolric. ‘Wife! what moves thy wrath?’ he cried.
‘Whom hast thou 'neath our roof? I know him not.’
When, turning to the king, he view'd him well.
Toiling the king abode, and nobler heap
Of turf or stubble, never from the fields
Was borne by mortal man, than Alfred bore.
Yet ill, the king discharged his servitude;
His busy fancy ran, o'er coming years,
Upon his subjects' wrongs, and on the means
Best suited to support a tottering crown.
Acca perceiv'd full oft the wayward man
Pursuing fancies wild, indifferent grown,
To each accustomed charge of household sort,
Her great concern; and often, bitter words
70
Her voice grew louder, when, the cottage door
Burst open, and the master entered in,—
Ceolric. ‘Wife! what moves thy wrath?’ he cried.
‘Whom hast thou 'neath our roof? I know him not.’
When, turning to the king, he view'd him well.
Acca replied, ‘It is a friendless man
‘Who sought our dwelling, and petition'd hard,
‘For food and service in thy absence. I,
‘Too readily by pity borne away!
‘(Fault of my easy nature) stood and heard
‘His mournful tale, who having promised fair
‘To do the servant's part, him I received;
‘But never came beneath a door, a man
‘More thoughtless, or perversely bent on dreams
‘Bewildering. Many an hour he sits and hums
‘About one Cædman, and then stops and frowns
‘At something in the air; then rises up,
‘And walks with stately mien, then sits again,
‘And shaves his bow, or with more furious eye,
‘Gazes in vacancy. In truth I think
‘The man half mad, for not an hour ago,
‘The household cakes that yonder lie, half burnt,
‘And smoking on the hearth, I to him gave,
‘And with strict charge, and caution often told,
‘Warn'd him to turn, and with due care preserve
‘From scorching heat; then to the fields I sped
‘To tend the kine; and now again return'd;
‘When, as the door I opened and look'd round;
‘Unmindful, on his chair he sat, his eyes
‘Fix'd on the floor, his knife beside, while near
‘Lay many a half-form'd bow. But, sad to tell!
‘My cakes, for thy return, prepared to shew
‘A wife's affection, lay involv'd in smoke;
‘Now nothing worth; and this strange loon at hand,
‘Regardless. Dost thou hear?’ she cried,
And stamp'd her foot, and with indignant ire,
Vow'd oft and bitterly, no other food
Should he receive, till he had eaten all
The black—burnt cakes.
‘Who sought our dwelling, and petition'd hard,
‘For food and service in thy absence. I,
‘Too readily by pity borne away!
‘(Fault of my easy nature) stood and heard
‘His mournful tale, who having promised fair
‘To do the servant's part, him I received;
‘But never came beneath a door, a man
‘More thoughtless, or perversely bent on dreams
‘Bewildering. Many an hour he sits and hums
‘About one Cædman, and then stops and frowns
‘At something in the air; then rises up,
‘And walks with stately mien, then sits again,
‘And shaves his bow, or with more furious eye,
‘Gazes in vacancy. In truth I think
‘The man half mad, for not an hour ago,
‘The household cakes that yonder lie, half burnt,
‘And smoking on the hearth, I to him gave,
‘And with strict charge, and caution often told,
‘Warn'd him to turn, and with due care preserve
‘From scorching heat; then to the fields I sped
‘To tend the kine; and now again return'd;
‘When, as the door I opened and look'd round;
‘Unmindful, on his chair he sat, his eyes
‘Fix'd on the floor, his knife beside, while near
‘Lay many a half-form'd bow. But, sad to tell!
‘My cakes, for thy return, prepared to shew
‘A wife's affection, lay involv'd in smoke;
‘Now nothing worth; and this strange loon at hand,
71
And stamp'd her foot, and with indignant ire,
Vow'd oft and bitterly, no other food
Should he receive, till he had eaten all
The black—burnt cakes.
Ceolric thus replied:
‘Heed not the cakes. It was a small mishap.
‘The young man has the look of honesty,
‘And soon will mend. But, wife, hast heard the news?’
‘The news! What news:’ eager, she answer made.
‘News that will make thee mourn,’ Ceolric said,
‘Why, Glastonbury!’ ‘Glastonbury!’ cried
Alfred uprising, ‘What of that?’ ‘Young man,
‘Mind thou thy work,’ said Acca. ‘Mind thy work!
‘But husband, what of Glastonbury? say!’
In mournful tones, he thus the answer gave.
‘The Danes with wrath have deluged it, and made
‘That comely pile a ruin. Acca turned
To Alfred near, and said, ‘Why tremblest thou?
‘But, husband, speak thou on—he thus pursued.
‘Oh, woe for England! That surpassing pile
‘Is now in ashes! all the pious monks
‘There, have been murdered! scarce one stone remains,
‘And fast the Danes march on and devastate
‘With undistinguish'd fury. Now I see
‘The end of Britain coming. ‘Tis an hour
‘That tries the strongest heart, and makes us know
‘What terror means. So seldom do I meet
‘A Saxon, that, in truth, it is a sight
‘That soothes my heart. Come cheer thou up, young man;
(Turning to Alfred, thus Ceolric spake.)
‘No doubt with us and all of Saxon blood,
‘Thou, too, hast suffer'd from these Danes, that spare
‘Nor age, nor sex. Awhile forget thy cares:
‘Welcome to this our dwelling: when the foe
‘Thus wage their warfare, Saxon should behold
‘A brother's face in Saxon.’ Thus again
Spake, tremblingly, the Neatherd,
‘Heed not the cakes. It was a small mishap.
‘The young man has the look of honesty,
‘And soon will mend. But, wife, hast heard the news?’
‘The news! What news:’ eager, she answer made.
‘News that will make thee mourn,’ Ceolric said,
‘Why, Glastonbury!’ ‘Glastonbury!’ cried
Alfred uprising, ‘What of that?’ ‘Young man,
‘Mind thou thy work,’ said Acca. ‘Mind thy work!
‘But husband, what of Glastonbury? say!’
In mournful tones, he thus the answer gave.
‘The Danes with wrath have deluged it, and made
‘That comely pile a ruin. Acca turned
To Alfred near, and said, ‘Why tremblest thou?
‘But, husband, speak thou on—he thus pursued.
‘Oh, woe for England! That surpassing pile
‘Is now in ashes! all the pious monks
‘There, have been murdered! scarce one stone remains,
‘And fast the Danes march on and devastate
‘With undistinguish'd fury. Now I see
‘The end of Britain coming. ‘Tis an hour
‘That tries the strongest heart, and makes us know
‘What terror means. So seldom do I meet
‘A Saxon, that, in truth, it is a sight
‘That soothes my heart. Come cheer thou up, young man;
(Turning to Alfred, thus Ceolric spake.)
‘No doubt with us and all of Saxon blood,
‘Thou, too, hast suffer'd from these Danes, that spare
‘Nor age, nor sex. Awhile forget thy cares:
‘Welcome to this our dwelling: when the foe
‘Thus wage their warfare, Saxon should behold
72
Spake, tremblingly, the Neatherd,
‘Yester eve
‘I met a man fast flying, wild of look,
‘O'er yonder hill. He told me many a tale
‘Of Danish wrath, and Danish cruelty,
‘But one that made my big heart leap again.
‘Thou'st heard of Oddune! that brave general;’
(Alfred look'd up) ‘A nobler man ne'er met
‘Upon the field of fight, and measured swords,
‘Or cast the lance or dart. He lately came
‘Down to the West to seek his fortunes there,
‘And serve his monarch. Many a fearless youth
‘Him follow'd to the war, 'till soon he saw
‘A hopeful band of warriors, bold and true,
‘Aiding his cause; but, Acca, mark me well;
‘Scarce had he rais'd this gallant troop, and fired
‘Each heart with patriot ardour, when the news
‘That Hubba, with his army, near was found.
‘In this distracting hour short time was left
‘For consultation, and they instant march'd
‘To Kenwith's neighbouring castle There they are
‘By foes encompass'd. Lofty is the pile;
‘Firm built and massy, and a braver man
‘To bid defiance, never javelin hurl'd
‘From battlement or tower. A noble Thane,
‘God prosper him, and send him quick relief!—
‘Two armies westward roam. One Hubba leads,
‘Guthrum the other. From the ruin'd walls
‘Of Glastonbury, fast the former hies
‘To join proud Guthrum, scattering far and wide
‘Death and destruction.’
‘I met a man fast flying, wild of look,
‘O'er yonder hill. He told me many a tale
‘Of Danish wrath, and Danish cruelty,
‘But one that made my big heart leap again.
‘Thou'st heard of Oddune! that brave general;’
(Alfred look'd up) ‘A nobler man ne'er met
‘Upon the field of fight, and measured swords,
‘Or cast the lance or dart. He lately came
‘Down to the West to seek his fortunes there,
‘And serve his monarch. Many a fearless youth
‘Him follow'd to the war, 'till soon he saw
‘A hopeful band of warriors, bold and true,
‘Aiding his cause; but, Acca, mark me well;
‘Scarce had he rais'd this gallant troop, and fired
‘Each heart with patriot ardour, when the news
‘That Hubba, with his army, near was found.
‘In this distracting hour short time was left
‘For consultation, and they instant march'd
‘To Kenwith's neighbouring castle There they are
‘By foes encompass'd. Lofty is the pile;
‘Firm built and massy, and a braver man
‘To bid defiance, never javelin hurl'd
‘From battlement or tower. A noble Thane,
‘God prosper him, and send him quick relief!—
‘Two armies westward roam. One Hubba leads,
‘Guthrum the other. From the ruin'd walls
‘Of Glastonbury, fast the former hies
‘To join proud Guthrum, scattering far and wide
‘Death and destruction.’
‘If he take that course,’
Cried Acca, trembling, ‘think of thy good sire—
‘Exposed and helpless! What will now become,
‘Of poor old Nidor?’ Thus Ceolric spake.
‘My aged father! God, I pray, from harm
‘Will screen thy wither'd limbs! I trust, no Danes
‘May find thee, O my father!—Our two sons,
‘(This comfort still is ours) with loyal hearts—
‘Follow our gallant monarch, whom we sent
‘No labour'd task, to join his fortunes; they,
‘Brave youths! are gone, and little do we know
‘How hard they fare.’
Cried Acca, trembling, ‘think of thy good sire—
‘Exposed and helpless! What will now become,
‘Of poor old Nidor?’ Thus Ceolric spake.
73
‘Will screen thy wither'd limbs! I trust, no Danes
‘May find thee, O my father!—Our two sons,
‘(This comfort still is ours) with loyal hearts—
‘Follow our gallant monarch, whom we sent
‘No labour'd task, to join his fortunes; they,
‘Brave youths! are gone, and little do we know
‘How hard they fare.’
Said Acca, ‘What an hour—
‘We live in, and what dangers crowd around.
‘My head is weary with the toil of hope,
‘Whilst fears successive revel in my breast,
‘And fast consume me. ‘Mid such direful scenes,
‘Sorrow befits me well, yet, every hour
‘Makes me more callous; I shall soon become
‘Heedless of all things, for my heart seems changed.
‘I would, but cannot feel. Thy aged sire,
‘Whom I so used to love, is now no more
‘Than tale forgotten. Nay, I almost doubt
‘My recollection: never could this mind
‘Have known such deep affection for those youths,
‘And that old man.’—
‘We live in, and what dangers crowd around.
‘My head is weary with the toil of hope,
‘Whilst fears successive revel in my breast,
‘And fast consume me. ‘Mid such direful scenes,
‘Sorrow befits me well, yet, every hour
‘Makes me more callous; I shall soon become
‘Heedless of all things, for my heart seems changed.
‘I would, but cannot feel. Thy aged sire,
‘Whom I so used to love, is now no more
‘Than tale forgotten. Nay, I almost doubt
‘My recollection: never could this mind
‘Have known such deep affection for those youths,
‘And that old man.’—
Ceolric thus: ‘My wife,
‘It is a bitter time for thee and me,
‘But what are our dismays, compared with his—
‘Our good king Alfred? Think what he endures,
‘That injured prince; the noblest, best of men.
‘His heart is tender, and he calls his own,
‘All virtues and all trials. Think of him,
‘Driven from his father's throne, and forced to see
‘Himself to death devoted, and his queen,
‘And infant child, houseless and wanting bread:
‘Think of thy Prince!’
‘It is a bitter time for thee and me,
‘But what are our dismays, compared with his—
‘Our good king Alfred? Think what he endures,
‘That injured prince; the noblest, best of men.
‘His heart is tender, and he calls his own,
‘All virtues and all trials. Think of him,
‘Driven from his father's throne, and forced to see
‘Himself to death devoted, and his queen,
‘And infant child, houseless and wanting bread:
‘Think of thy Prince!’
‘I feel at these thy words
‘Calmness within;’ cried Acca. ‘Hast thou heard,
‘Since last we parted, tidings of our King?’
The Neatherd thus. ‘Dishearten'd now he dwells
‘With a few faithful men, 'mid rocks, and woods,
‘And secret caverns, loan and dreary wastes,
‘Far from all human dwelling. What a joy,
‘For thee and me, that at this trying time
‘Our sons are with him, and a bolder pair
‘Of rustic Saxons, live not to oppose
‘The robber Danes.’ ‘Now is it time to rest,’
Acca replied, ‘for fast the sun declines;
‘And tho' we fail to sleep, 'tis well to court
‘That soother of all sorrow.—To thy room!’
Loud, to the king, she spake. He heard, when all
Passed to their reeden beds.
‘Calmness within;’ cried Acca. ‘Hast thou heard,
‘Since last we parted, tidings of our King?’
74
‘With a few faithful men, 'mid rocks, and woods,
‘And secret caverns, loan and dreary wastes,
‘Far from all human dwelling. What a joy,
‘For thee and me, that at this trying time
‘Our sons are with him, and a bolder pair
‘Of rustic Saxons, live not to oppose
‘The robber Danes.’ ‘Now is it time to rest,’
Acca replied, ‘for fast the sun declines;
‘And tho' we fail to sleep, 'tis well to court
‘That soother of all sorrow.—To thy room!’
Loud, to the king, she spake. He heard, when all
Passed to their reeden beds.
But Alfred's eye
No slumber visited. He watch'd the moon,
And counted o'er the brightest of the stars
That shone in heaven, and strove to dissipate
The ponderous load that on his heart press'd hard;
But it was vain: his many woes sprang up,
Preeminent, and dared his will, and bore
A master's sway—ruling his passive mind.
His faithful Oddune, compass'd round, and now,
No force to aid him. Of Alswitha slain!—
For ever gone! and of his infant son,
Toss'd haply on the hostile spear, whose cries
‘No father's arm might succour. 'Tis a voice
‘That speaks in thunder,’ cried the king, ‘my breast
‘Glows with one purpose. By the eternal God!
‘My heart is roused. The Danish cup is full;
‘The incense of their crimes hath steam'd aloft,
‘And heaven demands my vengeance!’ Many plans
All deadly, to and fro, through Alfred's mind
Pass'd rapid; till, at length, a heavy sleep
Fell on him, and his dreams were mixed with blood.
No slumber visited. He watch'd the moon,
And counted o'er the brightest of the stars
That shone in heaven, and strove to dissipate
The ponderous load that on his heart press'd hard;
But it was vain: his many woes sprang up,
Preeminent, and dared his will, and bore
A master's sway—ruling his passive mind.
His faithful Oddune, compass'd round, and now,
No force to aid him. Of Alswitha slain!—
For ever gone! and of his infant son,
Toss'd haply on the hostile spear, whose cries
‘No father's arm might succour. 'Tis a voice
‘That speaks in thunder,’ cried the king, ‘my breast
‘Glows with one purpose. By the eternal God!
‘My heart is roused. The Danish cup is full;
‘The incense of their crimes hath steam'd aloft,
‘And heaven demands my vengeance!’ Many plans
All deadly, to and fro, through Alfred's mind
Pass'd rapid; till, at length, a heavy sleep
Fell on him, and his dreams were mixed with blood.
| Alfred | |