University of Virginia Library

SCENE IX.

Alfred, Hermit, Danish King.
Alfred,
after a pause.
See, at last, O king,
In thy sad fate, which even a foe laments,
See and acknowledge heaven's impartial hand.
For violated oaths and plunder'd realms,
For the heap'd guilt of base perfidious war,
This retribution is most just.

Dane.

Alfred.
Such fears dismiss
As must dishonor both. The truly brave
His foe in equal arms will dare to meet:
Vanquish'd, he dares not injure, nor insult him.

Dane.
Nor that, nor ought without myself could thus
Unman me. No: my hell is here, within—
How! like a wretch, a nameless slave who fights
But for vile hire—in my own tent surpris'd!
Asleep! unarm'd!—these shameful chains thrown o'er me,
And not one blow exchang'd! O baser far
Than that low herd, who fled without a wound
Before thy sword.—They but deserted him,
Who first himself abandon'd—But thy gods
Were vigilant for thee: while mine all slept.

Alfred.
Your gods are idols: that sole Power I serve,
Supreme and one, is universal Lord
O'er earth and heaven. Be it my daily task,
As 'tis my noblest theme, to own, by Him
Alone I conquer'd: as for him alone
I wish to reign—by making mankind blest!

Dane.
No more—Convey me to your basest dungeon.
Let me explore it's darkest depth; shut out
The light of heaven; forget there is a sun
Who shines on my dishonor. Would I might
Exclude too my own thoughts—But yet, my son
Lives—and is free! lives to revenge my fall!
To wash my stains in blood—Ha! where was he
This fatal night, when every god forsook me!
Where, where was Ivar then?

Hermit.
Unhappy prince!
That son, alas!—

Dane.
Ha! what! why, who art thou?
What of my son?

Hermit.
Thy trust in him is vain.
To his own rashness and intemperate lust,
This very night, a victim, here, he fell—
Lo! where he lies.

Dane.
My son—my son—Ha! dead—
My only child!—But no: I will not weep.
Is he not safe, beyond misfortune's hand?
Beyond all feeling of his father's shame?
False hope, farewell!—Let madness, let despair
Surround me, seize me whole; till life's loath'd flame,
For ever quench'd in death, resigns me o'er
To darkness and oblivion.

Alfred.
Dire reverse!
Dreadful impatience!—But these roving Danes
A stricter watch demand. Means more effectual
Must now be try'd, from our insulted shores
To keep aloof this still-descending war.
'Tis naval strength, that must our peace assure.
Be this the first high object of my care,
To wall us round with well-appointed fleets.
In them our sole dominion of the sea,
Our wealth and grandeur, can alone be found,
The one great bulwark of our separate world.

Hermit.
Alfred, go on; the noble task pursue,
Thy safety urges, and thy fame demands.
Yes, in her fleets, let England ever seek
Her sure defence: by them, thro every age,
At home secure, renown'd and fear'd abroad,
Great arbitress of nations—Ha! the scene,
The radiant prospect opens full before me!
Thro distant depths of time transported down,
I see whole moving forests, from her hills
Uprooted, bound triumphant o'er the main!
White tracks of glory brighten Albion's skies,
As navies grow, as commerce swells her sail
With every breeze that under heaven can blow,
From either pole; thro worlds yet unexplor'd,
In east and west, that to thy sons disclose
Their golden stores, their wealth of various name,
And lavish pour it on Britannia's lap!

Alfred.
Thy words new sun-shine thro my breast diffuse,
And smiling calm. But let us, Hermit, try,
By justice, mercy, arms and arts improv'd,
By freedom fenc'd around with sacred laws,
Our promis'd bliss to merit and adorn.
Now, to my glorious task—

Hermit.
Yet ere you go,
One moment, Alfred, backward cast your eyes
On this unfolding scene; where, pictur'd true,
As in a mirror, rises fair to sight
Our England's genuine strength and future fame.

Here is seen the ocean in prospect, and ships sailing along. Two boats land their crews. One sailor sings the following Ode: afterwhich, the rest join lively dance.