University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

Alfred, the Hermit advancing from his cave.
Alfred.
Thrice-happy Hermit!
Whom thus the heavenly habitants attend,
Blessing thy calm retreat; while ruthless war
Fills the polluted land with blood and crimes.
In this extremity of England's fate,
Led by thy sacred character, I come
For comfort and advice. Thy aged wisdom,
Purg'd from the stormy cloud of human passions,
And by a ray from heaven exalted, sees
Deep thro' futurity. Say what remains,
What yet remains to save our prostrate country?
Nor scorn this anxious question even from me,
A nameless stranger.

Hermit.
Alfred, England's king,
All hail! and welcome to this humble cell.

Alfred.
Whence dost thou know me, venerable father?

Hermit.
Last night, when with a draught from that cool fountain,
I had my wholesome, sober supper crown'd;
As is my stated custom, forth I walk'd,
Beneath the solemn gloom and glittering sky,
To feed my soul with prayer and meditation.
And thus to inward harmony compos'd,
That sweetest music of the grateful heart,
Whose each emotion is a silent hymn;
I to my couch retir'd. Strait on mine eyes
A pleasing slumber fell, whose mystic power
Seal'd up my senses, but enlarg'd my soul.
At once, disclos'd amid the dark waste night,
A vision to my phantasy appear'd.
For know, this ample element contains
Unnumber'd spiritual beings, or malign,
Or good to man. These, when the grosser eye
Of nature sleeps, oft play their several parts,
As on a scene, before th'attentive mind,
And to the favour'd man disclose the future.
Led by these spirits friendly to this isle,
I liv'd thro' future ages; felt the virtue,
The great, the glorious passions that will sire
Distant posterity: when guardian laws
Are by the patriot, in the glowing senate,
Won from corruption; when th'impatient arm
Of liberty, invincible, shall scourge
The tyrants of mankind—and when the Deep,
Through all her swelling waves, shall proudly joy
Beneath the boundless empire of thy sons.
I saw thee, Alfred, too—But o'er thy fortunes
Lay clouds impenetrable.

Alfred.
Ah, good Hermit,
That scene is dark indeed! Ye awful powers!
To what am I reserv'd? Still must I roam
A wanderer here, inglorious and unknown?
Or am I destin'd thy great instrument,
From fierce oppression to redeem this land?

Hermit.
Perhaps, the last.—But, prince, remember, then,
The vows, the noble uses, of affliction.
Preserve the quick humanity it gives,
The pitying, social sense of human weakness:
Yet keep thy stubborn fortitude entire,
The manly heart that to another's woe
Is tender, but superior to its own.
Learn to submit; yet learn to conquer fortune.
Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds
And offices of life: to life itself,
With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose.
Chief, let devotion to the sovereign mind,
A steady, chearful, absolute dependance
On his best, wisest government, possess thee.
In thoughtless, gay prosperity, when all
Attends our wish; when nought is seen around us,
But kneeling flattery, and obedient fortune;
Then are blind mortals apt, within themselves
To fix their stay, forgetful of the giver.
But when thus humbled, Alfred, as thou art,
When to their feeble natural powers reduc'd,
'Tis then they feel this universal truth—
That heaven is all in all—and man is nothing.

Alfred.
I thank thee, father, for thy pious counsel.
And witness, thou dread power! who seest my heart;
That if not to perform my regal task,
To be the common father of my people,
Patron of honor, virtue and religion;
If not to shelter industry, to guard
His honest portion from oppressive pride,
From wastful riot, and the sons of rapine,
Who basely ravish what they dare not earn;
If not to deal out justice, like the sun,
With equal light; if not to spread thy bounty,
The treasures trusted to me, not my own,
On all the smiling ranks of nourish'd life;
If not to raise our drooping English name,
To clothe it yet with terror; make this land
Renown'd for peaceful arts to bless mankind,
And generous war to humble proud oppressors
If not to build on an eternal base,
On liberty and laws, the public weal:
If not for these great ends I am ordain'd,
May I ne'er idly fill the throne of England!

Hermit.
Still may thy breast these sentiments retain,
In prosperous life.

Alfred.
Prosperity were ruin,
Could it destroy or change such thoughts as these.
When Those whom heaven distinguishes o'er millions,
Profusing on them honors, riches, power,
Whate'er th'expanded heart can wish; when they,
Accepting the reward, neglect the duty;
Or worse, pervert these gifts to deeds of ruin:
Is there a wretch they rule so mean as they?
Guilty, at once of sacrilege to heaven,
And of perfidious robbery to men—
But hark! methinks I hear a plaintive voice
Sigh thro the vale, and wake the mournful echo.
SONG.