Alfred An Heroic Poem, in Twenty-Four Books. By Joseph Cottle: 4th ed. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. | BOOK V. |
| 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 V.
ARGUMENT.
Continuation of Alfred in the cottage of the Neatherd.
At morn's first gleam, up from his lowly couch
The king arose, but not to joyousness:
Before reflection cleared his intellect
He felt a load press heavy. Memory soon
Laid bare the cause, whilst horror reign'd within.
He look'd abroad. Far as the eye might reach
Cloud heap'd on cloud, spread thro' the concave dark;
Like mountains, hurrying from the burden'd west,
Borne on the furious winds, that onward burst
In fitful gusts, and in their eddying rage
Reveal'd the power of elemental strife.
Cessation none. Careering still, they bear
With lawless fury, clouds of deeper dye
That scare the soul, and rouse mysterious fears
Of what might be.
The king arose, but not to joyousness:
Before reflection cleared his intellect
He felt a load press heavy. Memory soon
Laid bare the cause, whilst horror reign'd within.
He look'd abroad. Far as the eye might reach
Cloud heap'd on cloud, spread thro' the concave dark;
Like mountains, hurrying from the burden'd west,
Borne on the furious winds, that onward burst
In fitful gusts, and in their eddying rage
Reveal'd the power of elemental strife.
Cessation none. Careering still, they bear
With lawless fury, clouds of deeper dye
That scare the soul, and rouse mysterious fears
Of what might be.
Alfred around him gazed,
O'erwhelmed with cares that press'd him to the earth.
To Fancy's eye, it seem'd th' appointed hour
When Melancholy, 'throned in ebon state,
Claim'd homage of mankind. Each form around
Felt with himself deep sympathy. The fields
All grey appear'd. The hills were veil'd in mist;
Whilst to obstruct each avenue of joy,
Creation, with no early matin song,
Regaled the ear, for not a voice was heard
Save of the lonely rook, that, sailing fast
On the loud tempest, caw'd, then pass'd away,
Sudden, before the fury of the blast—
Tossing the forest near.
O'erwhelmed with cares that press'd him to the earth.
To Fancy's eye, it seem'd th' appointed hour
When Melancholy, 'throned in ebon state,
Claim'd homage of mankind. Each form around
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All grey appear'd. The hills were veil'd in mist;
Whilst to obstruct each avenue of joy,
Creation, with no early matin song,
Regaled the ear, for not a voice was heard
Save of the lonely rook, that, sailing fast
On the loud tempest, caw'd, then pass'd away,
Sudden, before the fury of the blast—
Tossing the forest near.
He now retired
To contemplate a scene more desolate—
His own distracted mind. Resolve was there,
But how, or when to execute, unknown.
He rose, and 'mid the conflict, once again
Acted the servant's part.
To contemplate a scene more desolate—
His own distracted mind. Resolve was there,
But how, or when to execute, unknown.
He rose, and 'mid the conflict, once again
Acted the servant's part.
It was the time
When the first meal began. Ceolric sat
By the clean hearth, and, gazing at the sky,
To Acca thus. ‘It is a direful morn,
‘And fast and heavily the rain descends;
‘The tempest,—hear its sound! How sad to roam,
‘At such an hour, o'er the drear wilderness
‘Which bosoms our low cot. It gives me cheer
‘That I have pass'd its confines. Now, the storm,
‘And this out-pouring sky, the more endears
‘Domestic comfort.’—
When the first meal began. Ceolric sat
By the clean hearth, and, gazing at the sky,
To Acca thus. ‘It is a direful morn,
‘And fast and heavily the rain descends;
‘The tempest,—hear its sound! How sad to roam,
‘At such an hour, o'er the drear wilderness
‘Which bosoms our low cot. It gives me cheer
‘That I have pass'd its confines. Now, the storm,
‘And this out-pouring sky, the more endears
‘Domestic comfort.’—
Scarce had he declared,
When to the door there came a warrior man,
Clad in bright armour. In his hands he held,
Dripping with rain, a child. He entered in,
Whilst strange astonishment the master fills,
And Acca wonders, silent.—
When to the door there came a warrior man,
Clad in bright armour. In his hands he held,
Dripping with rain, a child. He entered in,
Whilst strange astonishment the master fills,
And Acca wonders, silent.—
‘Here I am,
‘Thank God,’ cried Sigbert! Alfred saw the child,—
It was his own! Grateful he look'd to heaven,
And with ejaculation, mute, retired.
‘Thank God,’ cried Sigbert! Alfred saw the child,—
It was his own! Grateful he look'd to heaven,
And with ejaculation, mute, retired.
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Ceolric thus the armed man addressed.
‘What seek'st thou here? bold stranger! We are poor;
‘Yet, what thou needest, thou shalt have, and that
‘Right willingly.’ When Acca thus exclaim'd
‘But, whence this child, forlorn and destitute?
‘It is a beauteous boy, with angel smile.
‘Meek, innocent! I will relieve thy wants.
‘But wherefore didst thou bring,’ again she cried,
‘This infant in so rude an hour, 'mid rain
‘And the loud tempest?’ As she took the child
And press'd it to her bosom.
‘What seek'st thou here? bold stranger! We are poor;
‘Yet, what thou needest, thou shalt have, and that
‘Right willingly.’ When Acca thus exclaim'd
‘But, whence this child, forlorn and destitute?
‘It is a beauteous boy, with angel smile.
‘Meek, innocent! I will relieve thy wants.
‘But wherefore didst thou bring,’ again she cried,
‘This infant in so rude an hour, 'mid rain
‘And the loud tempest?’ As she took the child
And press'd it to her bosom.
‘I have long,’
Cried Sigbert, ‘been in search of our good king,
‘To bear him tidings of brave Oddune's fate,
‘Beleager'd round in Kenwith, by the Danes;
‘Those demon men! but nothing can I learn.
‘He wanders now o'er moors, or hides himself
‘'Mid clefts of rock, far from all human search.
‘His subjects, (whom at midnight oft I curse)
‘By their distractions and base cowardice,
‘Have hurried to despair the best of kings.
‘I fear me bitterly some savage beast
‘Hath harm'd our monarch, for on yonder heath
‘I found his well-known mantle; see it here.
‘It is not smear'd with blood, yet how his garb
‘Should rest upon the ground, in such a place,
‘No tongue may tell. If, by high heaven ordain'd,
‘Evil hath lighted on our king, what fate—
‘Then waits for Saxons, sunk, dispirited,
‘It were not hard to say.’ ‘Oh woeful thought!’
Cried Acca, ‘Alfred hath all prayers. His sword,
‘Next after God, we trust in; but declare
‘How cam'st thou by this child, this lovely child,
‘That smiles on all, diverted, and looks up
‘With such calm sweetness?’
Cried Sigbert, ‘been in search of our good king,
‘To bear him tidings of brave Oddune's fate,
‘Beleager'd round in Kenwith, by the Danes;
‘Those demon men! but nothing can I learn.
‘He wanders now o'er moors, or hides himself
‘'Mid clefts of rock, far from all human search.
‘His subjects, (whom at midnight oft I curse)
‘By their distractions and base cowardice,
‘Have hurried to despair the best of kings.
‘I fear me bitterly some savage beast
‘Hath harm'd our monarch, for on yonder heath
‘I found his well-known mantle; see it here.
‘It is not smear'd with blood, yet how his garb
‘Should rest upon the ground, in such a place,
‘No tongue may tell. If, by high heaven ordain'd,
‘Evil hath lighted on our king, what fate—
‘Then waits for Saxons, sunk, dispirited,
‘It were not hard to say.’ ‘Oh woeful thought!’
Cried Acca, ‘Alfred hath all prayers. His sword,
‘Next after God, we trust in; but declare
‘How cam'st thou by this child, this lovely child,
‘That smiles on all, diverted, and looks up
‘With such calm sweetness?’
Sigbert thus replied:
‘Whilst wandering o'er yon heath, in toilsome search
‘Of Alfred, our good king, to bear him tidings,
‘Of Kenwith, and his friends, a piteous cry
‘Pierced through my ears: turning, I near espied
‘A murder'd monk, (for whom no bell hath toll'd!)
‘And underneath his cloak this infant boy.
‘His face was pale with fasting, and his cheek
‘Still wet with tears. His little arms he stretch'd,
‘At sight of me; and, though I was alone,
‘I could as soon have laid mine own head down,
‘And there have died, as left this lovely babe.
‘I rais'd him up, and to my bosom warm,
‘Press'd his cold limbs. Anon he look'd, and smiled.
‘Poor helpless babe! thus orphan'd, I will joy
‘To be thy foster-father; thou shalt live
‘Henceforth with me, and still participate
‘In all I have of this world's happiness.’
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‘Of Alfred, our good king, to bear him tidings,
‘Of Kenwith, and his friends, a piteous cry
‘Pierced through my ears: turning, I near espied
‘A murder'd monk, (for whom no bell hath toll'd!)
‘And underneath his cloak this infant boy.
‘His face was pale with fasting, and his cheek
‘Still wet with tears. His little arms he stretch'd,
‘At sight of me; and, though I was alone,
‘I could as soon have laid mine own head down,
‘And there have died, as left this lovely babe.
‘I rais'd him up, and to my bosom warm,
‘Press'd his cold limbs. Anon he look'd, and smiled.
‘Poor helpless babe! thus orphan'd, I will joy
‘To be thy foster-father; thou shalt live
‘Henceforth with me, and still participate
‘In all I have of this world's happiness.’
When Acca broke the silence, ‘Warrior bold,
‘I cannot stand and ponder, I must speak,
‘And praise thee for thy goodness, thus to aid
‘A wretched infant, and 'mid storms like these,
‘To bear him to our cot. It was most brave;
‘I laud thee for it, and if wealth were mine,
‘Or honors, thou should'st be the noblest man
‘Britain can boast, aye and the wealthiest too.’—
Replied the warrior. ‘Woeful was the sight
‘Of that poor murder'd man upon the heath.
‘So dread the look of death, I never saw.
‘His limbs! and then his head! My very sight,
‘I question'd, when I saw the helpless babe,
‘And thought that life could never sojourn near
‘A scene so dread.’
‘I cannot stand and ponder, I must speak,
‘And praise thee for thy goodness, thus to aid
‘A wretched infant, and 'mid storms like these,
‘To bear him to our cot. It was most brave;
‘I laud thee for it, and if wealth were mine,
‘Or honors, thou should'st be the noblest man
‘Britain can boast, aye and the wealthiest too.’—
Replied the warrior. ‘Woeful was the sight
‘Of that poor murder'd man upon the heath.
‘So dread the look of death, I never saw.
‘His limbs! and then his head! My very sight,
‘I question'd, when I saw the helpless babe,
‘And thought that life could never sojourn near
‘A scene so dread.’
Faintly, thus Alfred ask'd,
‘Was there no mother near?’ Sigbert exclaim'd,
‘Regard thy work, young man! holding thy peace:
‘It suits thee to be silent.’ When he turn'd
To Acca and Ceolric, and exclaimed,
‘Wherefore thus harbour one so stout of limb?
‘It doth impeach your loyalty. He now
‘Should be in battle, fighting for his king.
‘Had every man like him, once started up
‘At sound of danger, and in concert join'd
‘To meet our furious enemies, and check
‘Their savage progress; how should we have leap'd
‘To see their mangled and bare carcasses,
‘Courting the raven's beak; but, dastard minds,
‘Like his, have shrunk from danger, and exposed
‘Our valiant prince, and kingdom, to the Danes,
‘And their fierce ravage.’ Turning to the king,
‘Haste, coward!’ he exclaim'd! ‘This moment haste,
‘And join the Saxons! Meet the Danish brood,
‘And beat them with o'erwhelming wrath to earth,
‘Disdaining mercy; or this sword shall, hence
‘Drive thee, Oh, heartless traitor!’
‘Was there no mother near?’ Sigbert exclaim'd,
‘Regard thy work, young man! holding thy peace:
79
To Acca and Ceolric, and exclaimed,
‘Wherefore thus harbour one so stout of limb?
‘It doth impeach your loyalty. He now
‘Should be in battle, fighting for his king.
‘Had every man like him, once started up
‘At sound of danger, and in concert join'd
‘To meet our furious enemies, and check
‘Their savage progress; how should we have leap'd
‘To see their mangled and bare carcasses,
‘Courting the raven's beak; but, dastard minds,
‘Like his, have shrunk from danger, and exposed
‘Our valiant prince, and kingdom, to the Danes,
‘And their fierce ravage.’ Turning to the king,
‘Haste, coward!’ he exclaim'd! ‘This moment haste,
‘And join the Saxons! Meet the Danish brood,
‘And beat them with o'erwhelming wrath to earth,
‘Disdaining mercy; or this sword shall, hence
‘Drive thee, Oh, heartless traitor!’
Alfred heard;
Then left his homely toil, and forward walked
‘Stately, to meet the warrior, when he cried,
‘Sigbert!’ and look'd majestical. The chief
One moment frown'd; when, pallid turn'd his cheek;
He felt distraction, and, that instant sank
Speechless upon his knee. Him, Alfred rais'd,
And forth conducted to a grove of firs,
Secure and silent—when he thus began:
Then left his homely toil, and forward walked
‘Stately, to meet the warrior, when he cried,
‘Sigbert!’ and look'd majestical. The chief
One moment frown'd; when, pallid turn'd his cheek;
He felt distraction, and, that instant sank
Speechless upon his knee. Him, Alfred rais'd,
And forth conducted to a grove of firs,
Secure and silent—when he thus began:
‘Thou seest me, Sigbert! not as heretofore
‘Wessex's high Potentate, but, thus reduced
‘To menial service. In this guise, I am,
‘Hanging on fortune; but the time is come,
‘When other scenes await me. I must now
‘Go forth to conquer, or, for ever close
‘These eyes in death. The day, the hour is come,
‘When Saxons in their might, once more must rise
‘Superior to misfortune;—must arrest
‘The impious foe, and, fearless, vindicate
‘Their country's ancient glory. I sustain
‘Sorrows, and complicated woes, too great!—
‘Presumptuous thought! High Heaven administers,
‘In weight and measure, all the ills of man.
‘O, Sigbert! in an evil hour I left
‘Alswitha, and my child, my pride, my boy,
‘In Glastonbury! now, the passing gale
‘Sweeps o'er its smoking ruins! The fierce Danes
‘Have rased its deep foundations! She was there,
‘And, 'mid the slaughter. fell!’ Awhile he paus'd,
Then thus continued: ‘Sigbert, hear thy prince!
‘The child thou saw'st, crying beside the monk,
‘That very child whom thou hast hither brought
‘From yonder heath, is mine, my infant boy!
‘Thy hands have saved him; but that other loss
‘How shall I bear its weight? Her last fond look
‘Thus seem'd to say, ‘Alfred a long farewell!’
‘I never more shall see her,—she is gone!—
‘Gone down to death!’
‘Wessex's high Potentate, but, thus reduced
‘To menial service. In this guise, I am,
‘Hanging on fortune; but the time is come,
‘When other scenes await me. I must now
‘Go forth to conquer, or, for ever close
‘These eyes in death. The day, the hour is come,
80
‘Superior to misfortune;—must arrest
‘The impious foe, and, fearless, vindicate
‘Their country's ancient glory. I sustain
‘Sorrows, and complicated woes, too great!—
‘Presumptuous thought! High Heaven administers,
‘In weight and measure, all the ills of man.
‘O, Sigbert! in an evil hour I left
‘Alswitha, and my child, my pride, my boy,
‘In Glastonbury! now, the passing gale
‘Sweeps o'er its smoking ruins! The fierce Danes
‘Have rased its deep foundations! She was there,
‘And, 'mid the slaughter. fell!’ Awhile he paus'd,
Then thus continued: ‘Sigbert, hear thy prince!
‘The child thou saw'st, crying beside the monk,
‘That very child whom thou hast hither brought
‘From yonder heath, is mine, my infant boy!
‘Thy hands have saved him; but that other loss
‘How shall I bear its weight? Her last fond look
‘Thus seem'd to say, ‘Alfred a long farewell!’
‘I never more shall see her,—she is gone!—
‘Gone down to death!’
A silence mark'd the air.
Again the Monarch. ‘Sigbert! clouds and night
‘Hang over us! my fallen queen I mourn;
‘My friends, now friends no more, but above all,
‘My country, of distemper sick, that needs
‘The boldest remedy. Soon shall this arm,
‘No more restrain'd, upon the pitiless Danes
‘Heaven's hottest vengeance shower. Their cup is full.
‘Despair, avaunt! I have a lion's heart,
‘And, lo! I pant for conflict!’—
Again the Monarch. ‘Sigbert! clouds and night
‘Hang over us! my fallen queen I mourn;
‘My friends, now friends no more, but above all,
‘My country, of distemper sick, that needs
‘The boldest remedy. Soon shall this arm,
‘No more restrain'd, upon the pitiless Danes
‘Heaven's hottest vengeance shower. Their cup is full.
‘Despair, avaunt! I have a lion's heart,
‘And, lo! I pant for conflict!’—
Then the thought—
Of his loved queen, swept through his anguish'd mind,
Trembling again he spake, ‘I must awhile,
‘Sheath this my sword, and first, Alswitha seek,
‘Tho' fall'n and perish'd. I must find her corse,
‘The decent earth shall cover her loved form!’
Of his loved queen, swept through his anguish'd mind,
Trembling again he spake, ‘I must awhile,
‘Sheath this my sword, and first, Alswitha seek,
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‘The decent earth shall cover her loved form!’
When Sigbert thus. ‘O, best of kings! behold
‘Thy prostrate servant! self-accused and wild,
‘That he should thus address thee; thus abuse
‘Thy patient virtues. Pardon me, O, king!
‘And if thou dost not hate me, tell me so.’
‘Thy prostrate servant! self-accused and wild,
‘That he should thus address thee; thus abuse
‘Thy patient virtues. Pardon me, O, king!
‘And if thou dost not hate me, tell me so.’
Alfred replied. ‘I do indeed, not hate,
‘But rather love thee, Sigbert. Thou didst talk
‘Like honest freedom in an honest cause:
‘Thou thoughtest me a recreant from thy king,
‘And spakedst boldly to me. Had all men
‘Thy zeal inherited, far other scenes
‘Would now await us.’—Sigbert, earnest cried;
‘Illustrious prince! ordained to shew mankind
‘All that is just in thought, in sufferance great,
‘Regard thy servant's words! A holy joy,
‘That, at my latest hour, shall make my heart
‘Leap, and with life be satisfied, is this,
‘That I was doom'd by Providence to find
‘Thy infant child, and bear him in my arms
‘To place of safety. Now, one hope remains,
‘That thou wilt let me seek Alswitha's fate.
‘St. Alban and good angels be my guide!’
‘But rather love thee, Sigbert. Thou didst talk
‘Like honest freedom in an honest cause:
‘Thou thoughtest me a recreant from thy king,
‘And spakedst boldly to me. Had all men
‘Thy zeal inherited, far other scenes
‘Would now await us.’—Sigbert, earnest cried;
‘Illustrious prince! ordained to shew mankind
‘All that is just in thought, in sufferance great,
‘Regard thy servant's words! A holy joy,
‘That, at my latest hour, shall make my heart
‘Leap, and with life be satisfied, is this,
‘That I was doom'd by Providence to find
‘Thy infant child, and bear him in my arms
‘To place of safety. Now, one hope remains,
‘That thou wilt let me seek Alswitha's fate.
‘St. Alban and good angels be my guide!’
Yielding to duty, what affection claim'd,
‘Go,’ Alfred cried. ‘Tho’ of Alswitha's fate
‘Folly it were to doubt, to madness kin,
‘Yet haply thou may'st learn some circumstance,
‘Touching her end, that from my breast may drive—
‘That deadliest of all foes—uncertainty.
‘Speed on thy way! Meantime thy king will haste
(‘Aroused by duty, and the sense of wrong,)
‘To Selwood, seek his troops, and arm their breasts
‘With aggravated wrath, then lead them forth,
‘First, Oddune to release. His force with mine,
‘All valiant spirits, will a host present,
‘Augmented by bold spirits from the West,
(‘Nor least from Brystoe, that illustrious town,
‘No longer branded, ‘slave-mart, lost to shame!’
‘But famed for valour, worth, and loyalty,
‘Thro’ which Sabrina's rock-bound daughter flows;
‘Gem of our Isle, and pride of Wessex-land.)
‘Thus, with our force united, we will meet,
‘Fearless, the Danes, and, in our potency,
(‘If Heaven at length should prosper with his smile)
‘Drive them, with might resistless from our soil.
‘No idle words be ours.’—Sigbert his sword
More firmly girt, and thus to Alfred spake:
‘Here, take thy garment! Look thyself once more!
‘O king, I leave thee. All that man can do,
‘Expect from Sigbert.—Till we meet again,
‘Heaven guard thy head!’
‘Go,’ Alfred cried. ‘Tho’ of Alswitha's fate
‘Folly it were to doubt, to madness kin,
‘Yet haply thou may'st learn some circumstance,
‘Touching her end, that from my breast may drive—
‘That deadliest of all foes—uncertainty.
‘Speed on thy way! Meantime thy king will haste
(‘Aroused by duty, and the sense of wrong,)
‘To Selwood, seek his troops, and arm their breasts
82
‘First, Oddune to release. His force with mine,
‘All valiant spirits, will a host present,
‘Augmented by bold spirits from the West,
(‘Nor least from Brystoe, that illustrious town,
‘No longer branded, ‘slave-mart, lost to shame!’
‘But famed for valour, worth, and loyalty,
‘Thro’ which Sabrina's rock-bound daughter flows;
‘Gem of our Isle, and pride of Wessex-land.)
‘Thus, with our force united, we will meet,
‘Fearless, the Danes, and, in our potency,
(‘If Heaven at length should prosper with his smile)
‘Drive them, with might resistless from our soil.
‘No idle words be ours.’—Sigbert his sword
More firmly girt, and thus to Alfred spake:
‘Here, take thy garment! Look thyself once more!
‘O king, I leave thee. All that man can do,
‘Expect from Sigbert.—Till we meet again,
‘Heaven guard thy head!’
Never such doubts, and fears,
And sore perplexities, on man had prey'd,
As felt the cottagers, when they beheld—
So strange a sight,—their servant dauntless stand
Before the warrior, who, with sudden dread,
Bent on his knee, and trembled, whilst the man,
Self-confident, lead, with commanding air
And aspect bold, to the near grove of firs,
The armed chief, so terrible. They gazed,
Astonish'd, when Ceolric thus bespake.
And sore perplexities, on man had prey'd,
As felt the cottagers, when they beheld—
So strange a sight,—their servant dauntless stand
Before the warrior, who, with sudden dread,
Bent on his knee, and trembled, whilst the man,
Self-confident, lead, with commanding air
And aspect bold, to the near grove of firs,
The armed chief, so terrible. They gazed,
Astonish'd, when Ceolric thus bespake.
‘It is a sight, which makes my teeth and knees
‘Chatter and shake. Whom think'st thou is our man,
‘That thus the warrior bold should look amazed,
‘Kneeling in terror? Hast thou never heard
‘Of spirits that assume our outward form,
‘And do the work of mortals?—come and go. ‘Err!’ Alfred cried,
‘Unshackled by this earthly tenement?
‘The wond'rous deed doth so confuse my mind,
‘That scarcely I can act, or speak, or think,
‘As I was wont to do. Whence came he first?’
Acca again repeated her first tale,
How that he asked for bread, and pleaded hard
To stay and rest himself, and do the work
Of faithful servant. ‘But, I think,’ she cried,
‘His eye betray'd dark meaning, for I strove
‘Forward to send him, but his winning speech
‘So on me wrought, that I could only say,
‘Come in! I had no other power, and thus
‘The man came in: but, now it strikes my mind,
‘His gait, and attitude! and his wild looks,
‘And manner! 'Tis a wicked sprite! And then,
‘The warrior! Didst thou touch him, husband? why—
‘That look of terror? Comfort me and say
‘That thou art not a spirit! for my brain
‘Swims with uncertainty?’
‘Chatter and shake. Whom think'st thou is our man,
‘That thus the warrior bold should look amazed,
‘Kneeling in terror? Hast thou never heard
‘Of spirits that assume our outward form,
‘And do the work of mortals?—come and go. ‘Err!’ Alfred cried,
83
‘The wond'rous deed doth so confuse my mind,
‘That scarcely I can act, or speak, or think,
‘As I was wont to do. Whence came he first?’
Acca again repeated her first tale,
How that he asked for bread, and pleaded hard
To stay and rest himself, and do the work
Of faithful servant. ‘But, I think,’ she cried,
‘His eye betray'd dark meaning, for I strove
‘Forward to send him, but his winning speech
‘So on me wrought, that I could only say,
‘Come in! I had no other power, and thus
‘The man came in: but, now it strikes my mind,
‘His gait, and attitude! and his wild looks,
‘And manner! 'Tis a wicked sprite! And then,
‘The warrior! Didst thou touch him, husband? why—
‘That look of terror? Comfort me and say
‘That thou art not a spirit! for my brain
‘Swims with uncertainty?’
In doubts like these,
The time pass'd on, when, at the cottage door
Alfred appear'd. That moment Acca shriek'd,
Whilst trembling stood Ceolric, whose pale lips
Mutter'd the broken prayer. Awhile the king—
Gazed round in wonderment. The sudden change
He wist not what it meant, and drawing near
Said slowly, ‘Friends! whence this surprise and dread?
‘Fear you your servant?’—From a neighbouring couch
The babe then saw its father, whose fresh dress
It knew full well, and stretch'd his infant arms
With eager joy, when Alfred sprang, and cried
‘My boy! My boy!’ and press'd him to his heart.—
The new and sudden transport of the man
Who call'd the child his boy, a deeper shade
Cast o'er the neatherd's mind; who now dismiss'd
His former apprehensions, and thus spake,
‘Good friend, I know thee not, thy name, nor state,
‘Thus veil'd in humble garb, yet now I think
‘That thou art one of noble blood, and born
‘To honors, such as we can ill bestow:
‘Declare thy name and character!’
The time pass'd on, when, at the cottage door
Alfred appear'd. That moment Acca shriek'd,
Whilst trembling stood Ceolric, whose pale lips
Mutter'd the broken prayer. Awhile the king—
Gazed round in wonderment. The sudden change
He wist not what it meant, and drawing near
Said slowly, ‘Friends! whence this surprise and dread?
‘Fear you your servant?’—From a neighbouring couch
The babe then saw its father, whose fresh dress
It knew full well, and stretch'd his infant arms
With eager joy, when Alfred sprang, and cried
‘My boy! My boy!’ and press'd him to his heart.—
The new and sudden transport of the man
Who call'd the child his boy, a deeper shade
Cast o'er the neatherd's mind; who now dismiss'd
His former apprehensions, and thus spake,
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‘Thus veil'd in humble garb, yet now I think
‘That thou art one of noble blood, and born
‘To honors, such as we can ill bestow:
‘Declare thy name and character!’
The king
Look'd mild and said. ‘Neatherd; howe'er it seem,
‘Know that myself am Alfred!’ Wild dismay
Rush'd through Ceolric's mind. He gazed on earth—
Silent, when Acca to the king approach'd:
She stood, and would have spoken, but her tongue
Refused its office. Alfred thus again:
‘Behold in me your friend!’ When Acca cried.
‘Art thou our king? and this forsaken child
‘Our noble prince, prince Edward? Now,
‘My death approaches! I have seen enough!
‘What! thou our brave king Alfred? thou, the man,
‘Whom I have cross'd, unwittingly?—deny'd,
‘To this our cot, admission? Can it be,
‘That I should thus rebuke the best of kings,
‘And he forgive me?’ Alfred answer'd—‘Yea,
‘I do forgive thee! Thou hast shelter given
‘To one—a dreaming man, whose wilder'd mind
‘Left thy concerns, and wander'd far away:
‘Whither thou little knew'st! yet didst thou bear
‘With all his waywardness. But, had thy wrath
‘Sounded eternal like the troubled brook,
‘That deed would cancel all, when thou didst take
‘My starving infant and communicate
‘Food and kind warmth, whilst I his father stood
‘And heard thee comfort him, beheld thee press
‘His shivering hands close to thy breast, and tell
‘Of his calm sweetness. Then my grateful heart
‘Vow'd lasting kindness. View in me thy friend!’
Look'd mild and said. ‘Neatherd; howe'er it seem,
‘Know that myself am Alfred!’ Wild dismay
Rush'd through Ceolric's mind. He gazed on earth—
Silent, when Acca to the king approach'd:
She stood, and would have spoken, but her tongue
Refused its office. Alfred thus again:
‘Behold in me your friend!’ When Acca cried.
‘Art thou our king? and this forsaken child
‘Our noble prince, prince Edward? Now,
‘My death approaches! I have seen enough!
‘What! thou our brave king Alfred? thou, the man,
‘Whom I have cross'd, unwittingly?—deny'd,
‘To this our cot, admission? Can it be,
‘That I should thus rebuke the best of kings,
‘And he forgive me?’ Alfred answer'd—‘Yea,
‘I do forgive thee! Thou hast shelter given
‘To one—a dreaming man, whose wilder'd mind
‘Left thy concerns, and wander'd far away:
‘Whither thou little knew'st! yet didst thou bear
‘With all his waywardness. But, had thy wrath
‘Sounded eternal like the troubled brook,
‘That deed would cancel all, when thou didst take
‘My starving infant and communicate
‘Food and kind warmth, whilst I his father stood
‘And heard thee comfort him, beheld thee press
‘His shivering hands close to thy breast, and tell
‘Of his calm sweetness. Then my grateful heart
‘Vow'd lasting kindness. View in me thy friend!’
Alfred now call'd the neatherd and thus spake:
‘I deem'd it wise to stray, remote from those
‘Who knew and who revered me, that my mind
‘Might ponder on the steep and rugged path
‘That lay before; yet, chiefly, to arouse
‘My sleeping subjects, and inspire their souls
‘With one resolve—to triumph o'er the Danes,
‘Or, nobly perish. After wandering far
‘O'er trackless deserts, and enduring oft
‘Hunger, and cold, and peril; here at length
‘I found a refuge; waiting till some hour
‘Of clear and certain meaning call'd me hence:
‘That hour is come! for Oddune, my brave friend,
‘Now sighs in vain for succour, 'mid the walls
‘Of Kenwith's castle. Neatherd, hear thy prince.
‘Thou shalt become my herald. Straight prepare
‘To bear this message. Flee to Oddune! Say,
‘Thy king approaches! Tell him I am roused,
‘And God will aid us. Warn him to defend
‘Right manfully the castle, from whose walls
‘Soon shall he view me hastening, with a host
‘Of firm and gallant warriors. Go thy way,
‘And in the depths of Selwood, meet thy king.’
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‘Who knew and who revered me, that my mind
‘Might ponder on the steep and rugged path
‘That lay before; yet, chiefly, to arouse
‘My sleeping subjects, and inspire their souls
‘With one resolve—to triumph o'er the Danes,
‘Or, nobly perish. After wandering far
‘O'er trackless deserts, and enduring oft
‘Hunger, and cold, and peril; here at length
‘I found a refuge; waiting till some hour
‘Of clear and certain meaning call'd me hence:
‘That hour is come! for Oddune, my brave friend,
‘Now sighs in vain for succour, 'mid the walls
‘Of Kenwith's castle. Neatherd, hear thy prince.
‘Thou shalt become my herald. Straight prepare
‘To bear this message. Flee to Oddune! Say,
‘Thy king approaches! Tell him I am roused,
‘And God will aid us. Warn him to defend
‘Right manfully the castle, from whose walls
‘Soon shall he view me hastening, with a host
‘Of firm and gallant warriors. Go thy way,
‘And in the depths of Selwood, meet thy king.’
Ceolric heard, and forth his sandals bound,
And took his knotted staff, and drawing near,
Thus earnest spake. ‘Thy servant will perform
‘All thou hast said, O king! No time, nor toil,
‘Nor danger shall deter him: he will haste,
‘Fearless, to do thy will. God favor him!
‘And give thee, soon, peace and prosperity.’
Thus saying he departed; when, his boy,
Alfred embraced, and thus to Acca spake:
And took his knotted staff, and drawing near,
Thus earnest spake. ‘Thy servant will perform
‘All thou hast said, O king! No time, nor toil,
‘Nor danger shall deter him: he will haste,
‘Fearless, to do thy will. God favor him!
‘And give thee, soon, peace and prosperity.’
Thus saying he departed; when, his boy,
Alfred embraced, and thus to Acca spake:
‘Now must I go, 'mid other scenes and strifes,
‘Sorrows and dangers. Ill would it beseem
‘This babe to follow me: him must I leave
‘Where caution and fidelity will join
‘Alike to serve him. He has lost a friend—
‘A mother, who ador'd her infant child!
‘And I, a wife, most dear. Oh, look not at me!
‘No common loss is mine.’—
‘Sorrows and dangers. Ill would it beseem
‘This babe to follow me: him must I leave
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‘Alike to serve him. He has lost a friend—
‘A mother, who ador'd her infant child!
‘And I, a wife, most dear. Oh, look not at me!
‘No common loss is mine.’—
Silent he stood;
A few short moments, pondering; then again.
‘Acca with thee will I entrust my child!
‘Thou hast a heart of tenderness. I mark'd
‘Its secret workings. I can leave my boy
‘With thee contented, thou shalt be his guard;
‘This cot his dwelling; and, when I return
‘Again to claim my treasure, thou shalt know—
‘A monarch's gratitude.’
A few short moments, pondering; then again.
‘Acca with thee will I entrust my child!
‘Thou hast a heart of tenderness. I mark'd
‘Its secret workings. I can leave my boy
‘With thee contented, thou shalt be his guard;
‘This cot his dwelling; and, when I return
‘Again to claim my treasure, thou shalt know—
‘A monarch's gratitude.’
Acca replied,
With inarticulate and broken words,
‘Well shall my care repay thy confidence,
‘Not from the hope of coming recompense,
‘But that I love the child. Him will I guard
‘Both when he sleeps, and wakes, and when thou com'st
‘Again to seek thine infant, I will shew
‘His growing limbs, that from unceasing care
‘Spread out and thrive, and tell the silent tale
‘Of health and tenderness.’
With inarticulate and broken words,
‘Well shall my care repay thy confidence,
‘Not from the hope of coming recompense,
‘But that I love the child. Him will I guard
‘Both when he sleeps, and wakes, and when thou com'st
‘Again to seek thine infant, I will shew
‘His growing limbs, that from unceasing care
‘Spread out and thrive, and tell the silent tale
‘Of health and tenderness.’
When thus the king:
‘I know that thou wilt guard him and display
‘A mother's fondness.’ Close he clasp'd his boy,
And bless'd him, and the prayer, in earnestness,
Once more preferr'd, when Alfred left the door,
And urged his way toward Selwood's forest shade.
‘I know that thou wilt guard him and display
‘A mother's fondness.’ Close he clasp'd his boy,
And bless'd him, and the prayer, in earnestness,
Once more preferr'd, when Alfred left the door,
And urged his way toward Selwood's forest shade.
| Alfred | |