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 Alfred the Great in Athelnay; an historic 
 
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ALFEED THE GEEAT 
 
 ATHELNAY. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 WTMAN AND SONS, PfilNTEBS, GEBAT QTJEEN BTBEBT, 
 
 LINCOtN'S-INN FIELDS, W.C. 
 
£Tiffraved by Mlfau^ktim, from a, lYmt or l/atues. 
 
ALFRED THE GREAT 
 
 IN ATHELNAY. 
 
 an ?^iEitonal flap* 
 
 "WITH A PKELIMINARY SCENE. 
 
 BY 
 
 VISCOUNT IJEATFOED DE REDCLIFPE, yU--<^ 
 
 P.O., K.G., G.C.B. 
 
 i,irl^aC L-fi-nn,-^^! 
 
 LONDON: 
 BERNARD QUARITCH, 15, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1876. 
 
 (/ 
 
^H 
 
 TO THE y 
 EVER-HONOUE^D MEMORY 
 
 HIS LATE ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 A LBERT, 
 
 THE PRINCE CONSORT, 
 
 IN JUST ADMIRATION 
 OP 
 
 HIS HIGH INTELLBCTtrAL QUALITIES, 
 
 HIS EARS MORAL VIETUES, 
 
 AND HIS TRUE PUBLIC SPIRIT, 
 
 THIS DRAMATIC EECORD 
 
 OF THE LIFE AND CHARACTER 
 OF OUR GREATEST SAXON KING 
 
 IS 
 
 EEVBEENTIALLY INSCRIBED. 
 
 . . . . "si qui fata aspera rumpas, 
 
. . . '■ si qua fata aspera rumpas, 
 
 Tu Marcellus eris. Manibus date lilia plenis ; 
 
 Purpureos spargam flores, animamque nepotis 
 
 His saltern accumulem donis." 
 
 ^NEiD. lib. vi. 
 
 Come with full hands, unspotted lilies bring — 
 Bring all the choicest blossoms of the spring. 
 These gifts, at least, around him I may strew, 
 And pay in part the tribute, — all his due. 
 Alas ! for wisdom nipp'd in manhood's bloom, 
 For knowledge quench'd in death's untimely doom, 
 For faith well-tried, for honour base<l on truth. 
 And duty's rule unwarp'd by fire of youth ! 
 Alas ! for love of every noble art, 
 That lures to peace a warlike nation's heart ! 
 Oh ! had thy star prevail'd o'er Fate's decree. 
 Another Alfred would have lived in thee ! 
 
 Ste. de E. 
 
NOTICE. 
 
 In treating of individuals who have acquired historical 
 reputation, it has been found difficult to do them full justice 
 without taking into account the age in which they lived and 
 the opinions by which they were surrounded. It was to 
 an impression of this kind that the separate scene which pre- 
 cedes our present Drama owes its existence. Even Alfred's 
 excelling virtues had something to gain by being placed in 
 contrast with the conduct of his countrymen, and still more 
 with that of the contemporary Danes, whose cruel natures 
 had not yet been softened by Christianity. 
 
 Framed with this view, the scene in question might fitly 
 have made part of the main Drama, if its insertion there 
 could have been effected without too great a distortion of 
 historic truth. It is thought that the preliminary position 
 which it now occupies may in some degree carry out the 
 original purpose. 
 
 The Saxons of Alfred's day were Christians, but this advan- 
 tage did not always restrain them from indulging their passions 
 to excess. In the circumstances related to the daughter of 
 Ragnor, they did exceptionally what the Danes were in the 
 habit of doing without any special provocation. The constitu- 
 tion of King Alfred's mind evidently raised him at all times 
 above the level of both examples. 
 
PEELIMINART SCENE. 
 
 A Hall in the Palace of Ragnoe Lodbeug, in 
 
 Scandinavia. 
 
 Present. — Ragnoe's three daughters, and a veteran Babl, 
 lately in his service. 
 
 Daughter of Bagnor. Say, noble Earl, our grand 
 avenging host — 
 How fares it ? — Are its ranks well fiU'd ? does thirst 
 Of Saxon blood e'en more than greed of spoil 
 Rouse the fierce spirit of our race ? Has he, 
 Their chief, my brother Ingwar, yet unfurled 
 His gore-stain'd flag ? 'tis time the barks were mann'd. 
 And all their canvas stretch'd for yon doom'd isle. 
 
 Ea/rl. Daughter of Ragnor ! tbo' our clime be cold. 
 The hearts it nurtures burn to lay in dust 
 Whate'er is alien to their race or creed. 
 Shame of defeat, revenge, and hate of those 
 
 B 
 
II. 
 
 Who by foul means your royal father slew. 
 Now fire with tenfold rage our hamess'd swarms ; 
 They throng the beach, provoke the sluggish winds. 
 And crazed by longing fain would leap the seas. 
 
 D. of Ragnor. Crazed they may be, but leaps my 
 heart with theirs ; 
 Such madness outstrips sense ; methinks, good Earl, 
 If rumour lie not, you were ever deep 
 In my lost father's confidence, in arms 
 His brave companion, and in days of rest 
 His friend and trusted counsellor. 
 
 Earl. 'Tis true. 
 Fair lady, and my loss, scarce less than yours. 
 Hath deeply sunk into my bosom's cheer. 
 His favour was my joy, his trust ray pride ; 
 His daring love of conquest, and his rage. 
 Unsparing as the whirlwind's ruthless sweep. 
 Were objects of my wonder mix'd with awe. 
 And painful as it was, the tribute paid 
 To my devoted service, when our foes. 
 
III. 
 
 Puff'd by his niin, bade me live to bear 
 The dismal tidings to his desolate home, 
 Is my life's glory now, — forgive these drops ; 
 They fall not oft. 
 
 jD. of Bagiior. Forgive them ! Ne'er fell tears 
 In better cause ; mine too in streams would flow. 
 Did I not hoard them up to feed the springs 
 Of vengeance here within. Ye Gods ! to think 
 A pack of yelping curs should have your leave 
 To worry to the death a Norseman king I 
 Tell me, brave Earl, how brook'd that lion heart 
 The spite and bitter mocks, the cruel taunts 
 Of Olla's minions ? 
 
 Earl. Even as his life, 
 So was its end ; myself can vouch it well. 
 Tho' deep and dark — dark almost to the touch — 
 His dungeon snatch'd a scanty dole of air 
 By a thin grated chink high beyond reach 
 In the grim dripping wall ; close by that chink 
 Fast bound, and forced to silence by an arm'd 
 
IV. 
 
 And threat'ning guard, all horror, was I placed. 
 The clanking chain, the creaking hinge announced 
 Your sire's approach : he seem'd to pause awhile j 
 I pictured how he strained his searching eyes 
 To pierce the gloom within ; prison or tomb, 
 I heard him say, what else could I expect ? 
 Prison or tomb ! I hail thee as the gate 
 That opens to Valhalla : — next a tread — 
 Few steps and firm — close followed by a sound 
 Of ponderous door swung to with angry force. 
 
 B. of Ragnor. Did not his mighty spirit, thus pent in. 
 Spring forth in flame, and thro' the shatter'd walls. 
 Burst into light and air ? 
 
 Earl. 'Twere like ; but no ! 
 My weak brain reePd and when it clear' d, oh I Heavens I 
 A noisome stench and hisses, as of snakes 
 Suddenly startled, on my senses smote. 
 What I have they dared, I mutely thought, to daunt 
 By ignominious cruelty a chief 
 So grandly daring ? — Yet we do the same ! 
 
V. 
 
 Breathless I listen' d, and from time to time 
 
 On the charged air and thro' the sullen chink 
 
 There rose a sick'ning groan, and then a word 
 
 Of proud defiance — this the conqueror, 
 
 I shudder' d, and, as fancy framed the dream. 
 
 Myself became the helpless occupant 
 
 Of that foul den ; I felt the slimy chill 
 
 Of crawling reptiles, and in moving roused 
 
 The horrid vipers ; did I stretch my hand 
 
 Athwart the murky space, — a rough damp wall 
 
 Opposing crook'd my fingers ; terror soon 
 
 The dreamy spell dissolved, and I awoke ; 
 
 But only woke to catch the stifled moan 
 
 By venom'd fangs from their great victim wrung. 
 
 D. of Bagnm: Horror of horrors I worse almost to hear 
 Than to endure ! right bravely earn'd, and borne 
 As a crown'd Dane should bear. Go, valiant Earl I 
 Urge Hubba ; Ingwar urge at once to spread 
 All sail ; the gods are with us ; wind and tide 
 Can ne'er be wanting to our keen revenge. 
 Sisters, the hour is come ! our hands must weave 
 
VI. 
 
 The mystic flag by seers of old designed : 
 Come, weave the plumes of Odin's gifted bird, 
 That, drooping now, and now with pride elate. 
 Shall warn of peril, or to conquest point. 
 Sisters I the web is here ; its crimson hue 
 Has fatal meaning, and ere set of sun 
 Its weird device must float o'er armed hosts. 
 And waive them on to slaughter yet unmatch'd. 
 
 The Three Sisters. 
 
 From the depths of underground 
 Comes in sobs a muflled sound. 
 As of one who writhes in vain. 
 Agonized by nameless pain ; 
 Echoing through our father's halls. 
 Vengeance, sisters ! vengeance calls. 
 
 Eldest Daughter. 
 Work there is for me, for you. 
 
 Work of death and hell ; 
 Some will glory, some will rue. 
 
 So we close it well. 
 
VII. 
 
 Guardians of our northern race, 
 Ye tiliat look from higli I 
 
 Mighty Tlior ! whose iron mace 
 Strikes but oncOj be nigh ! 
 
 Hear us chant our mystic song ! 
 
 Bless the web we spread ! 
 Never web so broad, so long. 
 
 Wrapt the sheeted dead. 
 
 Blank the canvas, blank as wide ; 
 
 Trace thereon is none ; 
 Phantoms 'round the margin glide. 
 
 Muttering, " lost and won ! " 
 
 Seems it not a battle-field, 
 Crimson'd o'er with blood. 
 
 By the frost of death congeal'd 
 Where each spearman stood ? 
 
 Swiftly, see I my needle flies. 
 Light the touch, and true. 
 
 Heaving from the level rise 
 Plumes of sable hue. 
 
VIII. 
 
 Glossy black are crest and wing ; 
 
 Sharp the horny beak ; 
 Gleam those eyes as they would sting. 
 
 Eager, spite to wreak. 
 
 Lo I the raVning bird of Fate, 
 
 Herald to the brave ! 
 Wail and woe to foes we hate ! 
 
 Yawns for them the grave. 
 
 Ere the fatal day be won. 
 
 Greet our standard, greet ! 
 Loose its folds to wind and sun. 
 
 Where the warriors meet. 
 
 Every thread is fraught with life ; 
 
 High the Raven tdw'rs ! 
 Vengeance goads the sons of strife — 
 
 All its joy be ours I 
 
 [purta/in dro^s. 
 
ALFRED THE GEEAT IN ATHELNAT. 
 
iBramatts ^ereone?. 
 
 Alpked, King of Wessex. 
 
 (xUTHEUN, Danish King of Mercia. 
 
 Ethelwolf, Ha/rlderman of the Palace. 
 
 Neot, a Cornish Bishop. 
 
 OKDOLpJa Saxon Earl. 
 
 A Foster.Brothek to the Eakl. 
 
 GoDWYN, a Saxon Thane. 
 
 Danish Chiefs. 
 
 Cedric, a Saxon Yeoman. 
 
 Danulf, a Sa.von Swineherd. 
 
 Seneschal 
 
 Valet 
 
 Chamberlain 
 
 Porter 
 
 in Alfred's Palace. 
 
 Ghost of St. Cuthdert. 
 
 EiwiTHA, Alfred's Queen. 
 
 Godwtn's Ladt. 
 
 GiTHRA, Danulfs Wife. 
 
 Wolfrida, Daughter of a Sea-king and reputed Sorceress. 
 
 Hilda, Ced/ric's Bride. 
 
 Danish Lads. 
 
 Saxon Girls. 
 
 Sacristan, Verger, Boatman. 
 
 Clerks, Soldiers, Feasants. 
 
ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Open space before the Royal Besicl^t^-e. Saxons 
 of the middle class and others moving on in groups. 
 
 First Saxon. Good morroWj kinsman! you look sad j 
 I hope 
 No loss at home disturbs you. 
 
 Second Saxon. Out, alas ! 
 What need of household grief? Can any one 
 Of Saxon lineage sow the furrow'd field. 
 Miscalled his own, nor fear some Danish hand 
 Will pluck the golden ears ? 
 
 Cedric. Why stint you so 
 The measure of our ills ? — a thousand swords 
 Bach by a thread hang o'er us ; beuids, more fierce 
 Than famish'd wolves, devour our substance ; nay. 
 
12 
 
 Our very wives and maiden daughters hold 
 Their honour on mere suflf 'ranee. 
 
 Second Saxon. Such things were 
 When Bthelred was king, but in his day 
 They seem'd less grievous ; then the people, strong 
 In self-reliance, looked each danger down. 
 Action then wing'd the hours ; hope lived ; revenge 
 Would sweeten now and then our bitter draught. 
 
 First Saxon. Most true ; and in those days the king 
 himself 
 Went forth to battle, and our present lord — 
 A youth, half-fledged — with such bright valour fought, 
 That none — his brothers dying — seem'd more fit 
 To wear the crown, and drive the wolves away. 
 Beshrew the change ! what pagan sorceress 
 Hath nipp'd so fair a promise ? 
 
 Second Saxon. Have a care ! 
 We touch the palace : walls, they say, have ears ; 
 And fingers slow to fight may yet be swift 
 To punish a loose tongue or daring looks. 
 
13 
 
 Ced/ric. So please you, I can talk with " bated breath," 
 But say my say I must. 'Twere hard to grudge 
 The wretch his sole relief. Can worse befall ? 
 Dark are our homes, and dark th' horizon 'round : 
 Our hearts are sick, our hands benumb' d, — the light 
 To which all eyes were raised lies swathed in clouds : 
 He courts his ease ; makes of his throne a couch ; 
 Is felt but in taxation. His loose sword 
 Hangs dead, — a leaden sceptre fills his hand. 
 
 First Saxon. Extremes are not long-lived, there lives 
 my hope. 
 
 Second Saxon. Agreed. But, see ! 'tis time for us to 
 part; 
 Crowds are collecting fast; what game's a-foot 
 I know not ; but, as weapons here and there 
 Gleam from amongst them, mischief may ensue. 
 And prudence bids away. 
 
 Cedric. It may be so ; 
 But somethiag more than prudence roots me here. 
 
14 
 
 Go you ; I stay. Whene'er we meet again, 
 May happier prospects be our theme — farewell ! 
 
 [FiEST and Second retire. 
 
 Crowds oft engender incidents. I love 
 Emotion for itself, and here, perchance. 
 May find, ere long, wherewith to glut my taste. 
 Numbers pour in, — the monster grows apace. 
 What babbling, jostling, shouting ! — more anon. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in Alfred's Palace. 
 
 Enter from opposite sides the Seneschal and the King's 
 Peesonal Attendant, or Valet. 
 
 Seneschal. Well met, good youth ! We meet from 
 adverse points, 
 But kindred duties bring us near. How fares 
 Our gracious master ? None, except his leach. 
 So placed as you to know his daily state. 
 We of his household, too, tho' not so nigh. 
 Perceive a change that warrants fear of worse. 
 
15 
 
 Val. Such fears are groundless ; the King's age 
 alone 
 Assures us. Idle fancies oft beget 
 111 rumours. 
 
 Sen. That may be ; but surely those 
 Who eat his bread, and serve his hourly needs, 
 May to his countenance look, and seek relief 
 Prom sad forebodings by inquiry ? 
 
 Val. Yes ; and I, 
 Who tend his person e'en from morn till night, 
 Dwell in his presence, know his every act. 
 Am surely bound to keep aloof the flies 
 That buzz around, and compromise his peace. 
 Tour pardon. Seneschal. 
 
 Sen. Come, come ; I grant 
 The royal confidence may well excuse 
 Some grains of self-importance in your case j 
 But of your elder learn, young sir, that zeal 
 In the best cause can ill aflbrd to throw 
 Discretion to the winds. My service here 
 
16 
 
 Dates not from yesterday^ nor yields to thine 
 
 In duty or in warmtli. Was I put by 
 
 When yet uncrown' d, nor needing crown or robe 
 
 To prime the splendour of his manly bloom, 
 
 He stood in youth's array, and at his side, 
 
 In maiden loveliness, the future queen ? 
 
 Have I yet lost remembrance of the shriek 
 
 Which pierced both ear and hearty when lo ! the prince 
 
 Reel'd as if stricken from on high, and fell 
 
 As a corpse falls; while sudden, like a sound. 
 
 Wonder and horror spread : the swooning bride 
 
 Was borne away ; the King in tears look'd on. 
 
 Raised from the floor, no midnight ghost more pale, 
 
 The blighted, tott'ring bridegroom pass'd within. 
 
 And from that hour, though since become both King 
 
 And father, his full strength has ne'er return'd : 
 
 Hence my anxieties. 
 
 Val. Dismiss them, pray ; 
 Take on my word for comfort, that the health 
 You deem infirm, is sound ; some local pain 
 May possibly at times bring to rude test 
 
17 
 
 A noble mind's endurance : much^ no doubtj 
 
 His people's misery, and the cruel rage 
 
 Of Norsemen, long their scourge, must deeply wound 
 
 A sovereign's heart ; yet natures such as his. 
 
 In spite of weary looks, hold bravely on, 
 
 And count on time for remedies. 
 
 Sen. 'Tis well ; 
 But, hush ! what means that ringing shout, that noise 
 Of multitudes in motion ? Haste, I beg, — 
 Young limbs are pliant, and from some look-out 
 Of vantage, see, if haply you may spy 
 Th' approaching rout, and warn of danger near. 
 
 [Exit Yalet. 
 
 The forwardness of youth may pardon take 
 Prom zeal like his, and my declining age 
 Must calmly don its customary badge. — 
 What can this tumult mean ? Alas ! the King, 
 Once so admired, so loved, of late has lost 
 Much of his people's reverence ; but for them 
 To throng in arms before the royal gate. 
 And loudly threaten, if not heard, to force 
 
18 
 
 Compliance, were most strange. — I hear a tread 
 'Tis he : that hurried step and cheerless face 
 Are ominous. What news ? to know the worst 
 Is better than to fear. 
 
 Val. Some evil tongues 
 Have lash'd the people into wrath ; they feel 
 The Stranger's insolence, and fain would push 
 The king, too listless, as they dream, to take. 
 However unprepared, the field, and risk 
 Our last resources on a single throw. 
 A casual leader heads them, — name unknown, — 
 And soon we must expect their rude assault — 
 Of words, at least, — for much I doubt their use 
 Of deadlier missiles. Warned of the design, 
 Alfred has summoned to his instant aid 
 The worthiest of his earls ; the troops, that guard 
 His royal person, are already placed 
 Where best they may control a lawless mob. 
 
 [Enter Messengee in Jiade 
 
19 
 
 Mess. Sir Seneschal ! Sir Valet ! each and both ! 
 The king requires your prompt attendance : come ! 
 Right precious are the moments : on, I pray. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — Courtyard. Outer gates wide open ; crowds 
 seen beyond. Archers in array ivithin. Ethelwolf 
 and tivo others in a balcony. Deputies advance from 
 without. 
 
 Ethelwolf. Guards, let them pass : the King has giv'n 
 command ; 
 We wait to hear them. — Haye no fear, my friends ! 
 Strong as we are to keep the peace, no thought 
 Of proud exclusion do we harbour ; speak ! 
 Here in your Sovereign's mansion free you are 
 To name your wants, your wishes, nay, if such 
 Tour bent, the wildest plaints. 
 
 Gedric. Great Earl ! We come 
 Bold in our right, with fix'd resolve we come ; 
 
20 
 
 I sp,eak for many more by chance than choice, — 
 Our sole link, sympathy : Few words are best ; 
 The Norsemen grind us down : in sheer despair 
 We burn to meet them ; better far to die 
 Than live like dogs : the weight of taxes laid 
 In steel on them would scarce be felt by us. 
 Who groan beneath it now j we miss the sword 
 That flashing high, its scabbard cast aside. 
 Might in a stalwart grasp soon clear the way 
 Through slaughter'd foes to victory and peace. 
 What say you, noble Earl ! What says the King 
 To this, our expectation just and firm ? 
 
 Ethelivolf. Just, and by nature prompted is your 
 claim ; 
 We own it frankly, and are one with you 
 In sorrow and desire ; the throne itself 
 Is not so high but your aspiring calls 
 For vengeance and relief may reach it ; what 
 You feel, be sure, is felt by him who sits 
 Thereon : yet differs he from you in that 
 Tour safety his chief aim must ever be ; — 
 
21 
 
 Eeason his guidej not passion ; bide he will 
 His timOj yours too, nor leap with headlong rage^ 
 Unthinking^ into waters^ where the tide 
 Eushes with ruthless force ; forbear a space 
 We must j meanwhile a vigilant eye 
 Bests on the treach'rous foe ; a careful hand 
 Provides what best may chide his insolence 
 And in due season sweep him from our shores. 
 
 Gedric. Bright is that hope ; but what security 
 Attends it ? pirates overrun our fields^ 
 And famine only waits to crown their work. 
 
 Ethelwolf. Heaven's mercy and our Great Assembly's 
 care 
 May best assure you. 
 
 Cedric. Nathless, both at times 
 Have seem'd to falter. Is there nothing more 
 To stay our hunger ? — ^Disappointment, Earl ! 
 Maddens th' afflicted spirit, and keen shafts 
 Wing'd by its random rage may scatter death : — 
 
22 
 
 1, but a mouthpiece, have no spell wherewith 
 To charm the loosen'd roar of elements 
 Pregnant with storm. 
 
 Ethelwolf. We can no more ; beware 
 Of outrage ! Come what may, order and law 
 Must be maintain' d, e'en at the cost of blood. 
 Go, as you came, unharm'd. [_T'h6y retire.] Now close 
 
 the gates. 
 And from the Warder's tower let sign be made 
 To the King's force without. [Bis listens.] No sound 
 
 as yet 
 Breaks the dread stillness ; expectation, awed 
 By its own throbs, and fix'd as marble, waits. 
 Leaning on silence. — Let us to the King. 
 
 Scene IV. — O^en sjpace before the Palace. Deputies 
 slowly pacing up to the assembled croivd. 
 
 Gedric [stepping forward) . Be calm, my countrymen ! 
 the words I bring. 
 Are such as may be weigh' d, but cannot please. 
 
23 
 
 Voire. Welcome or not, let's have 'em. 
 
 Gedric. Tour desires 
 kly and fully have been bared to those 
 foremost in the royal presence stand. 
 ■ sympathize with you [movement] ; nay, doubt it not, 
 1 that touches the fierce Northern hordes. 
 3 is that, prudence husbanding your means, 
 hour will sound, when people, thanes, and King, 
 mgth will rise in arms, and — 
 
 [Shouts of derision. 
 
 Wag from among the Crowd. Of the Danes 
 
 e hash, or m.incemeat. 
 
 [More shouts. 
 
 Voices. Yes : that's it ; that's it. 
 il mince them, won't we ? Aye, and roast them 
 
 first, 
 bat the spit be long enough. 
 
 A Single Voice. What more 
 1 om- good spokesman yet to say ? — 
 
24 
 
 Gedric. YourjokeSj 
 He says, though pleasant, are misplaced ; nor would 
 Your wives be much disposed to laugh, poor souls ! 
 Their children famishing around, and they. 
 With ransack'd cupboards having nought to give. 
 Saxons ! be stUl yourselves. This merry mood 
 But ill becomes you. Mind : I courted not 
 Your favour ; from the crowd ye drew me forth. 
 Gave me your trust, and put into my mouth 
 A voice of many tongues. I undertook 
 Your cause, have done your bidding : aU is told, — 
 What would you now ? Accept the proffer'd hope, 
 Or press your own by arms ? The hope is dim ; 
 But were ye free to combat, would success 
 Be sure ? Is Guthrun so unguarded ? — Lo ! 
 My work is done ; choose you ! 
 
 \_Trumpet sounds at distance. Tramp of soldiery. 
 Cries of alarm are heard. The unarmed dis- 
 persing, those with arms fall into line, and 
 form in front. Royal troops are seen ad- 
 vancing.] 
 
 [fUnter a Yeoman in haste. 
 
25 
 
 Teoman. Friends, countrymen, 
 d or unarmed you have no choice to make ; 
 idy has a higher will disposed 
 lay's event ; resistance would be vain. 
 
 .6 of the armed to his neighbour. Comrade ! there's 
 
 sense in that : our civil broils, 
 ench'd in blood, would only serve to speed 
 N^orseman's game ; 'twere shame to turn our backs. 
 He we may to either side, and leave 
 ground, untamish'd, with our own consent. 
 
 cond Yeoman. Already, see ! the movement has 
 
 begun, 
 we but share what all, unbidden, do. 
 
 [The Royal Guards arrive as the others file ojf. 
 Order to halt given.'] 
 
 Kcer. Soldiers ! you've shown what latent pow'r 
 
 resides 
 st authority ; your front alone 
 turn'd to flight the boldest : come it will 
 
26 
 
 The day, when, cap in hand, they'll give you thanks 
 For teaching them to hoard their courage, till 
 To better purpose they may let it loose. 
 
 Scene V. — A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Oedolp and Godwyn. 
 
 Godw. Oh ! yes ; your thought is mine ; this lowering 
 day 
 Has ended better than I dared expect. 
 
 Ord. Yet is there room for thought. A multitude 
 Whose homes in part are distant, could not well 
 Be brought together by mere chance ; no doubt. 
 Some active spirits gave the word, and fears, 
 And suff'rings, felt by thousands, worked in aid. 
 
 Godw. True ; but they met without a leader ; few 
 Had arms, and those who had, showed little mind 
 To face the royal archers. 
 
 Ord. Still I fear 
 
27 
 
 The danger but adjournM ; when grievances 
 
 Are real and widespread, the passions roused. 
 
 And poor authority incompetent. 
 
 There's force in trifles, and mere accident. 
 
 Or sudden shock, will bring the tempest down, — 
 
 Unshelter'd e'en the highest. 
 
 Godw. Think you then 
 So lightly of the king, his name, and state. 
 His treasured revenue, his lawful pow'r. 
 And all that with our gi-eat Assembly's aid. 
 Stands like a magic fence around his throne ? 
 
 Ord. Chaff to the whirlwind ! when a people's ire 
 Boils up to frenzy, it o'erleaps the bounds 
 Of staid respect, most when the sceptred hand 
 Shakes as with ague. 
 
 Godw. Aye, but after aU, 
 Though sunk of late, we know not why, in sloth. 
 He still is Alfred, and within him bides 
 
The seed at least of tliat bright flame which erst 
 Shot from his youth, and tum'd despair to hope. 
 
 Ord. Count not on that ; such rallies, rare at best. 
 Shun the weak frame, in chamber habits grooved, 
 "Want of what made him king, may shake his crown. 
 Nephews he has, whose sire, his elder-born. 
 Of the same womb, left them his natural heirs. 
 Growth moves with time, and such as Alfred was. 
 When manhood, scarce achieved, placed on his brow 
 The golden circlet, now their eldest is. 
 Or soon may be ; nor were it wild to guess 
 How the fierce many's will, to fury strung. 
 Might backward fling the crown to whence it swerved. 
 
 Godw. Nay, that were frank rebellion. 
 
 Ord. Yes ; but not 
 Without some show of reason ; needs but one, 
 A champion for the nonce, to point that way. 
 And change so great might prove a morning's sport. 
 
 Godw. Bold must he be, and more ; some martial skiU 
 
29 
 
 Must hie possess, and dignity of blood 
 To boot, ere he could win the people's trust, 
 And with fair plea of justice wield their pow'r. 
 Soldier and Earl, would you to such a call 
 Attend ? 
 
 Ord. Why should I not, the State 
 In peril, and the mob on mischief bent ? 
 Humour'd with skill they might be sway'd from wrong. 
 
 Godw. That is ambition's gloss ; we dififer ; loyal zeal. 
 And warm attachment to the king that is 
 Would keep me distant from the king to be, 
 
 Ord. We talk in confidence. 
 
 Godw. No doubt ; but, pray. 
 Outstep not the just limits ; we are friends. 
 Yet public duty has the stronger claim. 
 
 Ord. Enough ; I know your mind, and you know mine ; 
 Thought without act is harmless. 
 
30 
 
 Oodw. Be it so ; 
 I must away ; farewell ! [Exw. 
 
 Ord. He knows my mind. 
 "Would ttat he did not ! I know his ; the word 
 In both agrees ; not so the kind ; he knows 
 What by a whisper in the royal ear 
 Might prove my ruin, and for ever mar 
 The fond imaginings ambition weaves. 
 
 Scene VI. — King Alfred's private apartments. 
 
 The King alone. The waves ran high, but all is cahn 
 again. 
 And I have leisure from this deck of mine 
 To scan the heaving waters and discern 
 What more of danger underlies my course. 
 So far 'tis well ; but did I bear myself 
 In kingly guise, and show by word and deed 
 That Alfred still was worthy of his name ? 
 Alas ! not I : the load that has of late 
 
31 
 
 So weighed me down, sat heavy on my will, 
 
 And those, who serve me, play'd their Sov'reign's part. 
 
 Whence comes this weakness ? Youth accepts it not ; 
 
 My years are few ; is health alone at fault ? 
 
 Well ! that may be, for since my nuptial day 
 
 The fit which then unmann'd me, or its cause. 
 
 Thickens my blood, and hag-like rides the mist 
 
 That dims my vision : am I sick at heart. 
 
 Sick for my realm beset with cruel foes ? 
 
 Oh ! yes ; but less for them, than drain'd of strength 
 
 By my poor driveling subjects, apt alike 
 
 To suffer and to murmur, far too weak 
 
 To loose the stranger's grasp, but ever prone 
 
 With headstrong ignorance to wreck the State. 
 
 Grievous to all is this, but most to me. 
 
 Who with my own my people's grief must bear. 
 
 Oh ! Grod, from whose straight path too oft I've stray'd, 
 
 Let not thy previous gifts, now half obscured. 
 
 Sink into utter nothingness ! Ho ! — there — 
 
 Who waits without ? 
 
 [Enter Chambeelain. 
 
32 
 
 Cham. What may it please your Grace 
 To order ? 
 
 King. Tell my venerable guest, 
 Tlie Cornish prelate^ he may now approach. 
 Sure of my welcome. You, sir, be his guide. 
 
 Enter Bishop Nbot. 
 Bishop Neot. Peace to my lord : I come with duteous 
 haste, 
 To render homage where of right. 
 
 King. Well pleased 
 Am I to welcome one so rich in grace 
 To this our royal seat. Here shall you find 
 That rest and comfort your advancing age 
 And journey's length require. Be seated, pray ; 
 Of kindred blood are we. 
 
 Neot. To lose the sense 
 Of that much-valued honour would to me 
 Be real degradation, though the Church, 
 That calls me son, all earthly pride forbids. 
 And holds as vain all honours save its own. 
 
33 
 
 King. The Church can scarce be wrong : my vows to 
 Her 
 Were paid at Rome while yet I was a child. 
 
 Neot. Such vows can ne'er be cancelled, though the 
 lips 
 Which made them were a child's. The after life 
 Must wear them like a frontletj clear to all. 
 
 King. Few lives may stand that test. 
 
 Neot. A royal life — 
 Forgive me, sire — is doubly bound thereto. 
 
 King. Shame, then, on mine ! 
 
 Neot. So young, and yet so weak ! 
 
 King. Nay, holy prelate, chide not my frail youth ; 
 Approve my candour, rather. Treacherous health. 
 And gnawing pains, that leave, or night, or day. 
 But little space for snatches of repose. 
 May some indulgence claim j and deeper wounds 
 
 F 
 
34 
 
 Than cankers of the flesh my spirit rack. 
 
 Pierce Northmen waste our tillage ; fain would I 
 
 Lead forth my Saxons, and the country purge 
 
 Of their foul presence, — but it may not be : 
 
 The men,^he means, are wanting : more than this. 
 
 My plans for time to come, my fruitful plans. 
 
 Lie babe-like in their cradle — none to nurse 
 
 Their latent energies, and bring the hope 
 
 That seethes within to its allotted growth. 
 
 Neot. There spake the king that was — that ought to 
 be, — 
 And hope is not so dead in my old heart 
 But still it echoes back the cheering sound. 
 And glows with kindred warmth. Oh, royal sir ! 
 Fling apathy to slaves, and give free scope 
 To that divinity which stirs your mind. 
 Act, and obedience, like a winged horse. 
 That glories in its speed, will bear you on. 
 
 King. Yes, yes ; I know it well, but know in vain. 
 A nameless fiend subdues my inner strength. 
 
35 
 
 And, like a nightmare, leaves my sense at large. 
 But ties my tongue, and fetters every limb : 
 I would be other, but 
 
 Neot. Am I awake. 
 Or in a dream ? 'Tis witchcraft — nothing else. 
 Discard the vile illusion, royal sir ; 
 Call God to aid, and spurn the arts of hell ! 
 
 King. Witchcraft or not, a helpless victim I. 
 
 Neot. No, by the holy rood ! a suicide, 
 A self-destroyer, — pardon, sire, I plead 
 For yon, your throne, your country, and your fame. 
 
 King. You go too far ; your rude reproaches wound. 
 
 Neot. If wounded, profit by the truth my sense 
 Of duty urges. 
 
 King. I take no offence 
 At what your conscience dictates, but I claim 
 My share of that respect whose absence mars 
 
36 
 
 The wisest counsel, and inflames the sore 
 
 A gentler touch might soothe, and haply cure. 
 
 Neot. Great evils need strong remedies ; I speak 
 As bids another king — the King of Kings. 
 
 King. Highest of high that title ! were it not, 
 Your frank integrity and holy zeal 
 Would cover what might else be deem'd abuse 
 Of priestly freedom. Let no more be said. 
 
 Neot. King Alfred, I obey, and with me take 
 Unwelcome Truth, who e^en afar will raise 
 Her mirror to thy conscience, and present 
 In startling shapes the dire effects of sloth. 
 Though fenced around with pomp and arm^d array. 
 Humbly and sadly do I take my leave. 
 
 \_Exit 
 
 Ourtain falls. 
 
37 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Interior of a Cave. Wolfeida cowering over 
 a low fire. 
 
 Wolfeida sings, muttering. 
 
 A sea-king was the sirej 
 
 Hence my spirit came ; 
 Without the seeds of fire 
 
 Never yet was flame. 
 
 They dash'd me o'er with brine, 
 
 They cradled me on the wave : 
 Lonely and joyless here I pine ; 
 
 Who will find me a grave ? 
 
 How bright, how merry was life, 
 When the gale sang by our mast. 
 
 And the shout and clash of strife 
 Rode on the giddy blast ! 
 
38 
 
 Ha ! ha ! we've grappled the foe ! 
 
 The barks are glued like one ; 
 There's triumph in every bloWj 
 
 And the work of death is done. 
 
 Up for the shore — the shore ! 
 
 There's booty for each and all ; 
 Plenty to give, a little to store : 
 
 What care we ? The skies may fall ! 
 
 My voice was never of the best, and this 
 
 Damp cave has not improved it. What of that ? 
 
 My ears — mine only — hear it; harm is none 
 
 To any ; comfort, some, to me. But if 
 
 'Twere otherwise, why grieve ? With me has life 
 
 So Smoothly run that I must dress myself 
 
 In smiles, to please all comers ? I've outhved 
 
 Enjoyment ; country, friends, and home 
 
 To me are blanks ; the world and I are twain. 
 
 \_Sings again. 
 
 Where is the sea-king's home ? 
 If not on the billows, where ? 
 
39 
 
 ^Tis blanch'd by the ocean foam, 
 Where rocks are rugged and bare. 
 
 Though dark the rocks, the streams are bright : 
 Long and bright are the summer days ; 
 
 Winter gleams to the northern light, 
 Nor cares for the sunny blaze. 
 
 Never more shall foot of mine 
 
 Print the glittering Norway snows ; 
 
 Never more on Freya^'s shrine 
 Shall my weary head repose. 
 
 Hate and scorn my neighbours are ; 
 
 Tenant I of want alone ; 
 Night's my day — -no moon, no star ; 
 
 Past is past, and gone is gone ! 
 
 A footstep — hark ! how light it falls ! 'Tis thine. 
 Thine, Hilda ! well I know the gentle sound 
 Of feather-footed, blithe sixteen, — my heart. 
 E'en mine, can give it welcome, and awhile 
 Less keenly feel the wretchedness of age. 
 Poor orphan girl ! the Saxon blood, the creed 
 
40 
 
 Her Christian mother taught her, cannot warp 
 
 The sympathy she claims from me, in right 
 
 Of him, her better parent, who, a Dane, 
 
 Still lives to thought. What, child ! thou couldst not 
 
 long 
 Forget the wrinkled beldame. Come within ; 
 Thy presence cheers like morning. What^s astir 
 Among thy friends — thy mother's ? Tell me all ; 
 I love to hear thee. 
 
 Hilda. By the bold sea-kings 
 You first must teU me how it fares with you. 
 My kind old Dame : No cramps ? no dreary moans ? 
 No touches of the Fiend ? 
 
 Wolf. My wont j not more; 
 The Fiend ; beware of him ! 
 
 Hilda. For aught I know 
 His spirit is abroad; like angry bees 
 The Saxons, all on wing, with busy hum 
 Swarm 'round their hive ; 'tis said, their tongues make 
 free 
 
41 
 
 With Alfred's name, and give him cause to fear 
 Impending troubles hard to be appeased. 
 
 Wolf. What say you, wanton ; this is news indeed ; 
 Who told you?— 
 
 Hilda. CedriCj as we stroU'd at eve, 
 An arrow's ilight afield, with look so grave, 
 I wonder' d, and in whispers then he spoke 
 Of some great meeting, and the part he took 
 In all that happen'd ; how they call'd him up 
 To take the lead, and how he press'd their claims 
 On some grand Earl e'en in the King's court-yard, 
 And how the royal archers, marching out. 
 Drove back the crowd, himself among the rest. 
 He told the truth, I'm certain ; what it means 
 Tou best may judge. Now, Granny, I must go. 
 You'll keep my satchel ? — better would its freight 
 Express my wishes, were it brimming o'er, — 
 But means must temper gifts — Good bye, good bye. 
 
 [Exit. 
 a 
 
42 
 
 Wolf. She's gone ; the light goes with her^ and the 
 chill 
 Of dreary loneliness curdles my blood. 
 Dear happy girl ! so artless, and so kind ; 
 Her visits, like an atigel's, come between 
 Me and my evil thoughts, — may never blight 
 Fall on that sunny cheek ! — Her tale is strange : 
 The Saxons and their King at issue ! May the Fiend 
 Stretch wide their difference. If my countrymen 
 Have aught to fear, 'tis when those two are one. — 
 How now ? What shadow's that ? A man's, and arm'd ! 
 Soul of my father ! nerve me. — Who art thou, 
 That dar'st by stealth intrude on this retreat, 
 Wolfrida's home ? Say what thou art. 
 
 Gothrun. A friend, 
 Though nameless here ; unknown, but from report 
 Well knowing whom I seek : the tongue that asks, 
 Might, if so tuned, command. 
 
 Wolf. Command, to me ? 
 The daughter of a king ! 
 
43 
 
 Goth. Well : Dane with Dane 
 Needs no enforcement ; rumours are abroad 
 Of some disorder in the Saxon realm, 
 Betok''ning latent fire, which it behoves 
 The nearest so to watch that should the flame 
 Burst forth, it would not find them unprepared. 
 Be thou my oracle ; thou hast, I hear, 
 A gifted spirit ; for the Northmen's sake 
 Exert it now : truth pluck'd from time's clench'd hand 
 Has gem-like value. — 
 
 Wolf. King ! for such thou art ! 
 Gold tempts not me, — but from a Danish breast 
 Issue the words that something from within 
 Heaves to my lips. The time, though long desired, 
 Has yet to ripen ere the Norseman's blade 
 Shall flood this isle once more with blood of those. 
 Who, like ourselves, came with the tides, and gave 
 The native race no choice but death or bonds. 
 Wait the doom'd hour, nor doubt but Thor himself 
 Will arm his sons, and battle in their van. 
 I can no more : your spies may learn the rest. 
 
44 
 
 Guth. They may ; but if you see me here again, 
 Be not surprised : though conquerors, we live 
 Circled by numbers thirsting for revenge. 
 A couch of thorns is mine. [Exit, 
 
 Wolf. Had I a crown. 
 No fear of losing it should break my rest. 
 
 Scene II. — A Village Street — a fountain and lasin- 
 ivhere Saxon girls are washing. 
 
 1st Girl. This is a day. Was ever sky so blue ? 
 How gay the hills ! 
 
 27id Girl. And gayer still they^ll be 
 As higher climbs the sun. When first I woke 
 The light air fann'd my bosom and I felt 
 As light myself — say what you will, no joy 
 Comes up to such a summer morn as this. 
 
 1 st Girl. Delightful, sure ; but is not eve as sweet. 
 
45 
 
 When free from work like this, we, out of doors, 
 Sit in the cool, and spinning, knitting, or. 
 It may be, idling, trill some pretty song. 
 While Girth or Oswald by the cottage wall 
 Leans on his scythe, and looking God knows how. 
 Listens to her who suits his fancy best ? 
 
 2nd Girl. Oh ! yes, that's quite another thing- 
 heigho ! 
 But now, though hard at work, no swain to help, 
 We yet may talk, or even sing awhile. 
 
 1st Girl. Some plaintive ditty then. Shall I begin ? 
 2nd Girl. Oh ! do :— 
 
 1st Girl sings. 
 
 They met — in love they met 
 Beneath the green hill-side ; 
 
 Her eyes were dark as jet. 
 
 But tears had dimm'd their pride. 
 
46 
 
 The Raven's wing alone 
 
 Could matcli her glossy hair ; 
 
 You'd say the rose had blown 
 To light a cheek so fair. 
 
 And he was comely^ too, 
 
 In youth's sweet hour of prime ; 
 
 His form to manhood true 
 Had yet to gain from time. 
 
 In each the other found 
 Whate'er the world could give, 
 
 No wish in all its round 
 But heart with heart to live. 
 
 I wonder what comes next : dear ! dear ! what's next ? 
 How tiresome ! oh ! — I have — I have it now. 
 
 Alack ! it may not be : 
 
 They only meet to part ; 
 In lands far off will he 
 
 Retain a faithful heart ? 
 
47 
 
 In other lands she deemM 
 
 Young faces might be fair ; 
 Thus jealous fancy dream'd, 
 
 And woke to blank despair. 
 
 So youngj — 'twas hard to die : 
 One last embrace^ — 'tis o'er ; 
 
 The lover turns to fly, 
 
 She clasps the grassy floor. 
 
 A shriek ! a shriek of paiu ! 
 
 My, Edgar ! — death is rest ; 
 He calls her back in vain. 
 
 And bleeds upon her breast. 
 
 Weeping, you foolish girl ? — 'Tis but a tale : 
 
 Come, come, — those tears are selfish ; fear not, lass ! 
 
 Oswald will never kill himself for love. 
 
 2nd Girl. Why should he not ? — 
 
 1st Girl. Why should he ? If his friend 
 Were Hilda, — then indeed — 
 
48 
 
 2nd Girl. For Hilda, why- 
 More than for you or me ? 
 
 1st Girl. Oh ! she's so fair. 
 So kind, so bright ; were I a man, methinks 
 Her loss would make me fall in love with death. 
 
 2nd Girl. Would Cedric think so ? 
 
 1st Girl. What of him? 
 
 2nd Girl. They say 
 He thralls her heart, — why not ? — La ! here he comes. 
 
 Enter Cedeic. 
 
 Cedric. Good day, my winsome lasses ! — talk and 
 work 
 Go bravely on with you, — an iU-match'd pair, 
 But at your bidding twins : Speed well your task ; 
 Something, no doubt, of what's afoot you'll hear. 
 Stout hearts are wanted, aye, and steady hands. 
 Your brothers, cousins, better still, your friends 
 
49 
 
 May take a hint from you ; pray, let them see 
 You have at heart your country's weal, and keep 
 Your troth for those who show they prize it too. 
 
 All. Won't we, good Cedric ? — You may count on us ! 
 
 Scene III. — A Room in Alfred's Palace. 
 
 The Queen and Royal Children appear. 
 
 Queen (apart) . What can it be ? What means this sad 
 reverse ? 
 Alfred, my king, my husband — dearer yet — 
 My chUdren's father, — ^loved, admired by all. 
 So full of brightest, greatest qualities — 
 Made for a crown, with sword, and skilful pen 
 To boot, — and still so young, so good, — for him to be 
 His people's scorn, a burden to himself, 
 Surpasses credence 1 — Does some ill unheal'd 
 Prey on his frame ? — But then a mind so strong 
 Would never yield to pain. Poisons there are 
 
 H 
 
50 
 
 Which linger in the veins, and undermine 
 
 With slowj but sure effect the vital pow'rs. 
 
 But where the hand to deal them ? Witchcraft thrives 
 
 Amongst our Danish neighbours — have they found 
 
 Some charm to quell the aspiring heart of him 
 
 They most have dreaded since their fatal rout 
 
 At Ashdune ? — All is possible, — I'm lost 
 
 In wild conjectures. Oh ! that ignorance 
 
 Gross as in childhood would envelop facts ! 
 
 Conjecture, that gives shape to air, for one 
 
 Who knows too little and too much, is pain. 
 
 Enter King Alpeid. 
 
 Alf. What have we here ? Blswitha ? and in tears ? 
 Queen of my heart ! why this ? the children too 
 Have not their wonted cheer ; they seem to feel. 
 Not knowing why, that all is out of tune. 
 
 Queen. Nay, wonder not, my Alfred ! discord reigns ; 
 You and yourself are two, — the realm is torn 
 Betwixt allegiance and sore discontent. 
 Myself am half distracted to behold 
 
51 
 
 The gloom fast settbng down upon that brow- 
 To whicli we look for sunny hopefulness ; 
 The children but reflect their mother's woe. 
 
 Alf. What need I more to drain the very lees ? 
 Distress of mind and body scarce hath left 
 Beneath that crown I fain would gem with deeds. 
 But sick in striving j you must share my load. 
 Be Heav'n our help. 'Tis strength, not love, that fails. 
 
 Queen. You sign to be alone : to leave you thus 
 Is hard indeed ; but to obey shows best 
 The sacred tie that binds my heart to yours. 
 
 \Ijxit with the children. 
 
 Alf. What ! art thou come, dread crisis ! whose bare 
 thought 
 Makes choice a mountain, though in truth no room 
 For choice remains. I must at once resume 
 My early course, or pay the forfeit down. 
 Wife, children, subjects, millions yet unborn 
 Have claims that cry aloud, and I, to shrink 
 From heeding them, must peril fame and soul. 
 
52 
 
 Well J — but the means ? My people are estranged j 
 TJie Danes are strongj and e'en in martial skill 
 Not wanting : would I might affirm as much 
 Of my own Saxons ! They^ to mend, must feel 
 How vain their self-reliance, and submit 
 To discipline's stern yoke. Before me yawns 
 A gulf: — how bridge it o'er ? — ^hard, hard the task. 
 Eyes of the mind, be keen ! — alas ! thick rolls 
 The mist. — Oh ! for some rift — one little rift ! 
 Recoil, I may not I — now, methinks, a gleam, 
 Tho' faint, appears, severing the vapours — Ho ! 
 It widens — brJghtens — Yes : I all but clutch 
 A form, not bodied yet, but out-lined — So I 
 Mysterious absence, dearth of leadership. 
 Example, first my own, deep-striking change, 
 And secret preparation — all in turn 
 Must rouse their sluggish apprehensions ; — Then, 
 The road they've stray'd from, may again receive 
 Their slippery feet, and lead where victory 
 May crown with peaceful arts the feats of war. 
 But none must know my whereabouts ; alone, 
 With wallet at my side, and staff in hand, 
 
53 
 
 At night must I go forth, — the stars overhead. 
 Strange lands around me : will my strength hold out ? 
 Will God vouchsafe to guide ? — Toil ! peril ! wants ! 
 With Bim I Lrave you all ; my heart's resolved. 
 But stay ; what if I bade the Wittan meet ; — 
 Their name would check the burst of wild surprise. 
 And mask my scheme. Enough : the die is cast. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. — Boom in a Government Office. 
 
 CtiiEKS at their several desks. 
 
 Chief Clerk. First read the Eoyal Ordinance, and then 
 Make out the writs ; take heed the King's commands 
 Be strictly kept j in matters of the State 
 Letter and form must be right orthodox. 
 Mind ! no mistakes : The Wittan are to meet 
 In customary form ; let all, whose names. 
 Clergy or Lay, appear upon the rolls. 
 Be summon'd ; time and place to be fill'd in 
 Hereafter. 
 
54 
 
 Young Gterk. May it please you, Sir, to say 
 What motives for an extra meeting of 
 The great Assembly you think fit to name. 
 
 Chief Clerh. Motives ! why, none : enough the royal 
 will J 
 Go to : what dream you of ? — 
 
 Another Clerh. PleasOj honourM Sir, 
 Are Bishops to be call'd by their own names. 
 Or as their Sees are call'd ? 
 
 Chief Clerk. If you by writ 
 Were summon' d, would the name therein 
 Be yours or goose ? Ask of your colleagues there ; 
 I marvel at such questions. 
 
 Another Clerk. Sir ! we find 
 The forms we copy from a little hard 
 Either to read or spell. 
 
 Chief Clerk. Have you not shame 
 
55 
 
 To boggle in such guise ? I tell you what. 
 The time will come when ignorance so gross 
 Will clear no threshold, when a test of worth, 
 Styled Gompetition, will set all to rights, 
 And make your spelling perfect. 
 
 Young Clerk. Sir ! we own 
 The faults you notice, and beforehand hail 
 That better time, when purged of all mistakes 
 Our mother tongue shall pass from hand to eye. 
 From tongue to ear, unmaim'd, save now and then. 
 
 Chief Olerh. How now? what means this ill-mask'd 
 irony ? 
 Young man ! remember you're on duty here. 
 Attentive silence best the present task 
 Befits J I leave you now, and look to find 
 The writs on my return complete. l_Exit. 
 
 Young Cleric. He's oflF! 
 Was ever such a prig ! — too old to mend ! ! 
 
56 
 
 Scene V. — Hall in the Palace. King Alfred's Valet 
 pacing anxiously in the Hall. 
 
 Vol. Not in bis bed ! not in his room ! no trace 
 Or sign of his familiar habits — none ! — 
 What must we think ? I tremble at my own 
 Imaginations ! 
 
 Enter Seneschal. 
 
 Sen. What hath moved you so ? 
 You look distraught, — I scarcely dare to ask. 
 
 Val. Would that my tongue were dumb ! Alas I 
 I fear 
 Some evil to our royal master, — what. 
 Exceeds my reach. His chamber gives no sign 
 Of his night's rest. 
 
 Sen. Perhaps you bear in mind 
 When last you saw him. 
 
 Val. Doubt not. Tester e'en, 
 About the hour when I was wont to take 
 
57 
 
 His pleasure for the night, he bade me go. 
 
 And turnM within, as if to be alone 
 
 For some high call of State had been his aim. 
 
 Sen. My wonder equals yours ; but let not fear 
 Prevail o'er prudence. "When a king ia miss'd. 
 Alarm spreads wide and fast ; aU minds are stirr'd. 
 And thoughts long held in check break rashly out. 
 In such nice matters secrecy may lead 
 To danger; and for us the safer course, 
 lu my poor judgment, is to apprize the Earl, 
 Whose high authority o'ertops us all. 
 
 Pers. AU. Good, good ; I haste to do it. [Exit. 
 
 Sen. Speed you well ! 
 Enter the Palace Poetbr. 
 
 Port. I come to tell you, sir, that ere I closed 
 Last night the palace gates, whose heavy bolts 
 Had been by chance unfasten'd just before, 
 A stranger pass'd without. I saw him pass, 
 
 I 
 
58 
 
 But not in time for question ; my first thought 
 
 Was to pursue, but ere I well could start, 
 
 In the blind gathering loom the man was lost. 
 
 Sen. How look'd he ? tall or short ? slender or stout ? 
 What was his gait ? 
 
 Port. I saw not clearly, but 
 He seem'd of comely form, proportion'd well ; 
 His step was that of youth not quite at ease. 
 
 Sen. Arm'd, and with what ? 
 
 Port. A staff was all I kenn'd. 
 
 Sen. You need not wait. — This also to the Earl. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — A Council Ghamher. Bthelwolf, Obdolf, 
 GoDWTN, and others. The Queen in mourning. 
 
 Mh. So burdened is my heart, in grief so steepM, 
 So utterly o'ercome, I scarce know how 
 
59 
 
 To bring the sad event we all deplore 
 
 In worthy terms before yon. Death, we know. 
 
 By hard experience, oft deprives a reahn 
 
 Of some loved ruler, whose benignant sway 
 
 Maintain'd in peace its weal and rightfiil pow'r. 
 
 Submission then to God's high will relieves 
 
 In some degree the loss. Our strange mischance 
 
 Forbids that solace ; fearfiil mystery. 
 
 Dark as disastrous, hangs around the cause 
 
 Of our bereavement ; all we know for sure 
 
 Is this, — the royal seat is vacant ; he 
 
 Out king, oar king by choice, may not have pass'd 
 
 Beyond life's earthly bound : so dear a hope 
 
 We cherish still, but hope oft proves a cheat. 
 
 To you, most wise and trusty counsellors. 
 
 We look for guidance. 
 
 {To Eael Oedolf.) Ever, noble Earl, 
 Your words have weight : how say you ? 
 
 Ord. Tears, not words, 
 Must first have passage : what can orphans do 
 But weep and pray ? Death shuts the door on hope ! 
 
(50 
 
 We may indeed still hope, but hope, that breeds 
 
 Th' uncertain, shakes decision, and prolongs 
 
 That moral weakness which invites the worst. 
 
 Allegiance, — to the dead perchance, — and care, — 
 
 TeSj anxious care, for the imperill'd State, — 
 
 Hold me in dim suspense : perhaps, ^twere good 
 
 To make our beds on chance, and dream it out, — 
 
 But then to what might we awake ? Our laws 
 
 Of early usage make the crown in part 
 
 Elective; our lost Alfred took it not 
 
 By blood-succession, but on plea, confirmed. 
 
 Of worth and years ; so might it be again ; 
 
 What more ? our Great Assembly has to meet, — 
 
 Tho' not quite yet ; meanwhile, the heavens may clear. 
 
 Time travels quick, and youth becomes mature 
 
 With speed that startles. Such things merit thought. 
 
 Godwyn. I fain would keep from speech, but when I 
 hear 
 Such intimations as the noble Earl 
 Has with much skill put forth, my duty calls 
 Eor utterance, public zeal and personal 
 
61 
 
 Affection joining to enforce the call. 
 
 True, and most sad it is, that from our sight 
 
 The King has vanished ; but to deem him dead 
 
 On that sole ground, and so dispose the crown, 
 
 That he, our liege, returning should be held 
 
 A subject to some subject deckM therewith, 
 
 Is simply monstrous : what faint gleams we have 
 
 Whereby to shape surmises, hope- ward tend : — 
 
 My strong persuasion is that he still lives, — 
 
 Much haste may prove a curse; there's room enough 
 
 Here in the council for aspiring minds. 
 
 And those, on whom King Alfred most relied. 
 
 May best uphold his throne and guard his fame. 
 
 Queen. Judge of my grief and wonder by your own. 
 But never, never can ye sound the depth 
 Of my bereavement ! brief, I trust, it is. 
 And fraught with profit ; all that can be done 
 To soothe and end it, you, I know, will do. 
 May Heav'n direct your efforts ; my poor thanks. 
 Whatever the issue, will attend you all. 
 But ask not my assent on mere surmise 
 
62 
 
 To deem him dead in whom my life is wrapt. 
 
 Or void his throne, while life's last spark yet glows. 
 
 Earl. So, gracious lady. \^Exit Queen. 
 
 Noble colleagues, all ! 
 Your doubts, might I interpret them, would seem 
 To wear the colour of mine own ; to grief 
 So deep unbounded reverence is due. 
 We must be hopeful still, and patient ; time 
 Is no light friend : here stands our task awhile. 
 Save what untiring search and diligence. 
 For the State's weal may at our hands require. 
 
 \_Exeiint. 
 
 Scene VII. — A Romn in Earl Ordolfs House. 
 
 Ordolf {alone). Now is my time : Alfred's mysterious 
 fate. 
 The Wittanagemot's delay, the dread 
 Of Danish inroads, and the dread as strong 
 Of Saxon rebels, with a government 
 
63 
 
 By councilj over which our doleful Queen 
 
 Exerts a wayward sway, concurring seem 
 
 To urge me on, yes, onward to the goal. 
 
 The royal nephews — either — may without 
 
 Compunction fill their uncle's vacant seat. 
 
 He king'd himself by taking theirs : who reads 
 
 Foul treason in such act ? The popular mind 
 
 Leans to the crown's descent in line of blood. 
 
 Who makes a king may rule him, — why not I ? 
 
 There may be quicksands, — but a glittering gem 
 
 Sparkles to sight above; am I too weak 
 
 To reach it ? Ha ! who knocks ? — 'tis he, no doubt, 
 
 My other self, my foster-brother — mine 
 
 By force of common nurture, — come, come in : 
 
 Well, are you ready ? 
 
 Fos. Bro. Yes : to do your will 
 Quite, quite ready, ever. 
 
 Ord. What that will is now 
 You know as I do ; need of more is none : 
 Only be secret — to the Prince alone 
 
64 
 
 Address your word — observe his bearing well ; 
 Take measure more from that than from his tongue. 
 Note his surroundings too, and bear in thought 
 That arm'd dependents, not a few, may chance 
 To be required ; — no writing, mind ! yourself 
 Eeturning will advise me ; — trust and love 
 Go with you — quick ! 
 
 Fos. Bro. So quick that my rebound 
 Shall send me back ere you believe me gone. [Exit. 
 
 Ord. A right good fellow : Fortune ! be my speed ! 
 Alfred ! alive or dead, I fear thee not. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
05 
 
 ACT IJI. 
 
 Scene I. — A Forest with Water and a small Boat. 
 
 Enter Alpeed. 
 
 Alf. At length, my toilsome journey is achieved — 
 ToUj peril, care, — but here, thank God ! at last, 
 Weary, yet not overcome, something still left 
 In my lean wallet, and this garb of mine 
 Less worn by stress of travel than I fear'd. 
 The Danes are not asleep or few — but, thanks 
 Again to Heav'n ! they took me as I seem'd. 
 And set me down for some poor journeyman 
 Not worth their plundering. Had they guess'd what 
 
 prize 
 So near them stray'd, my plans, my cherished plans 
 Had come to nothing like a sound or dream : 
 Ere long, I trust, they'll rue their laziness. 
 Pride, pride, be still ! what right have I to hope ? 
 No treasury — no troops — no friends — what else ? 
 
 K 
 
66 
 
 A houseless wand'rer — ^soon to beg my bread. 
 
 Am I — 'No, no : I'm more than that, a man 
 
 Arm'd to the teeth and rich, — yes, arm'd with faith. 
 
 And rich in resolutions death may quench, 
 
 But suffering cannot shake. Hail ! stern retreat ! 
 
 Home of my choice, tho' rough. Oh ! be thou true; 
 
 Hide me in thy dense umbrage, fence me round 
 
 With thy broad belt of waters, hard to pass. 
 
 That solitude, grave nurse of glorious aims. 
 
 May feed my thoughts and rear them into deeds ! 
 
 Boatman. What, ho ! you fellow ! do you think to step 
 Dry-shod across the swamp ? My boat alone 
 Can take you over j so, no more ado ; 
 Come, be alive ! — your baggage, it would seem. 
 Is light enough — there now — your hand — the craft 
 Is not so crazy — but sit still — 'tis best. 
 
 Alfred. And must my tongue be quiet ? 
 
 Boatman. That's for you 
 To settle; few in trying have much luck. 
 
67 
 
 Alf. Tell me, I pray you, if yon forest girds 
 A habitable space, who tenants it ? 
 
 Boatman. Who but a swineherd and his wife — that's 
 all. 
 
 Alf. Good people, eh ? 
 
 Boatman. Yes ; good enough, I trow. 
 Tor such a spot. — She somewhat of a scold. 
 But what of that ? There's life — much wanted here — 
 In a quick temper. 
 
 Alf. Yonder — 'mongst the trees 
 Euns there no loild life ? 
 
 Boatman. Save deer and goats, none. 
 Nor yet of them too many. — Here we are ; 
 The ground is firm, no fear but you may land. 
 
 Alf. Good, good, my friend ! your boat and you 
 deserve 
 
68 
 
 My hearty thanks ; take this and speed you well. 
 
 [Exeunt boat and Boatman. 
 He's gone : and now my fate, — nor mine alone, — 
 Depends on one poor swineherd and his wife. 
 Oh ! lesson for a king — their cottage — ^where ? 
 It must be near, and judging from the smoke. 
 Its place is in the open. Some few roods 
 Of steady pacing, and my feet are there. [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. — Before a Cottage door. Githra spinning. 
 
 Enter Alpeed. 
 
 Alf. Good day ! fair dame — I deem it lucky dole 
 To find you here : unbidden to intrude 
 Within your door, exceeds my daring : — yet — 
 Yet such my need, it forces me to beg 
 Your kindly aid ; my slender stock of food 
 Is well-nigh spent, and far am I from home. 
 
 0-lthra. You should not have left home so ill-supplied ; 
 Think you I spin for beggars ? Get you gone. 
 
69 
 
 Alf. Nay, if I beg, I do not mean to live 
 A drone ; I tender service for your alms. 
 Be sure, in all whereby my hands or feet 
 Can do your bidding, they shall be as yours. 
 
 Githra. What ! would you have me put my substance, 
 knave. 
 In charge of such as you ? 
 
 Alf. 'Tis true, no proof 
 Of honesty, or worth of any kind 
 Have I to show ; but you have watchful eyes, 
 ^.nd fraud, though sly, would have small chance with 
 them. 
 
 Githra. Oh I yes : you think me vain, and shape your 
 words 
 To fool me ; it won't do ; you only stir 
 My anger. 
 
 Alf. Not for worlds ! I'd rather starve : 
 And such the lot before me. 
 
70 
 
 G-ithra. Not so fast : 
 Danulf, my husband, shortly will come in. 
 And he may fancy you. 
 
 Alf. Then will I wait ; 
 And lay me on that sunny bank to sleep. 
 
 Oithra. What better ? sleep is food at httle cost. 
 
 Alf. Many such meals would make the stoutest thin. 
 
 [He lies down. 
 
 Erder Danulf. 
 Ban. What stranger sleeps out there ? 
 
 Githra. A Saxon youth, 
 Whose urgent need is service, here would stay 
 For board and lodging, if so be you like it. 
 
 Ban. A Saxon, say you, and a youth ? 
 
 Oithra. He's young, 
 That's clear, well up in manhood though I his brow 
 
71 
 
 A bed of early cares, with voice aud mien 
 Above his seeming, — if below his word 
 In serving, I can chide, you can dismiss. 
 
 Dan. For chiding few like you. Dame ; that's a fact : 
 Why not retain him ? he's in need, you say, 
 And doubtless may be useful, — ^kindness thus 
 And profit meet. I'll call him up at once. 
 He'll fare but roughly though in this rude isle. 
 But peace and safety make amends, and time 
 May bring more comfort from his distant home. 
 Saxon means Christian — that alone makes one 
 Of hearts by nature sunder' d, and the hate 
 Of Northmen rivets fast what faith has join'd. 
 
 Scene III. — A Chamber in G-uthrun's Palace. 
 
 King Gutheun seated — Helmstes, Sigaed, Hengist, 
 and other Ohief Officers — Danish — on each side. 
 
 King Guthrun. Danes ! noble Danes I who in the 
 bloody field 
 
72 
 
 To conquest oft have led our sea-borne hosts, 
 And firmly in this much-contested land 
 Have fix'd our Raven Standard, — Odin's own — 
 I bid you welcome here, and greet with news 
 Of cheering import your expectant ears. 
 Alfred, the Saxon King, has left unfill'd 
 His royal seat, absconding, none know why. 
 Or whither gone ; the secret, sudden shock 
 Has shaken to the core his orphan'd realm, 
 "Which, like a tempest-stricken vessel, reels 
 In blind confusion, — none to take the helm. 
 Or taking, to direct it. This, methinks. 
 May well give action to the hope we all 
 At heart so warmly cherish ; when and how 
 Remains for thought ; to you, most warlike Earls ! 
 I look for counsel : freely speak your minds. 
 
 Helmstes. The hope we cherish is in truth a flame 
 That long consumes us. We are here in right 
 Of our good swords, and naught, I ween, but fear 
 Keeps down the smitten, who for us and ours 
 Reluctant plough their lands, and sow that seed. 
 
73 
 
 Which in the golden time of harvest falls 
 To other hands than theirs. Hate us they must. 
 And the fierce tWrst of vengeance only waits 
 For time and fair occasion : be advised ! 
 Prevent them : that's our task ; the season, now. 
 On them at once ! unsparing as the storm 
 That buries in the deep our struggling barks ! 
 Let their rich farms be vacant as their throne. 
 For us to hold, and make our children's too. 
 
 Sigard. The stirring words, we have just heard, are 
 those 
 Of a true-hearted Dane, and you, my King, 
 WiD, if I err not, deign to think tliem such. 
 But valour, to secure its purpose, needs 
 To slake its hot conclusions ; zeal and haste, 
 If temper'd not by prudence, oft outstrip 
 The intended pace and leave behind a force, 
 Which, starting from its ambush, takes in rear 
 The would-be victors, and in flight or death. 
 Closes their rash attempt. — Confused, dismay'd 
 By loss of their chief stay, th' instinctive sense 
 
 L 
 
74 
 
 Of weakness, and its kin, mistrust, will damp 
 Their energies, and so unbrace their nerves, 
 That left in sanguine doubt of our designs, 
 Less apt will they become from day to day 
 To stand our brunt, or sell their freedom dear. 
 The sight of instant danger would dispel 
 Their first alarm and link them all as one. 
 Awhile dissemble ; throw the fleece around 
 Tour wolfish thoughts ; prepare your hostile means. 
 And full success will crown the measured game. 
 
 Hengist. A Dane, and temporize ! forbid it, Thor ! 
 What are these Saxons, that our fears should stand 
 Between their doom and us ! My word is, strike, — 
 Strike while amazement dulls the little cheer 
 Our arms have left them. Let their blood in streams 
 Fatten the land they only hold for us, — 
 Our bondsmen they must be ; — if they resist. 
 Let ruthless tortures rack them e'en to death. 
 Such are my counsels. King ; and if I stand 
 Alone, unheeded, such will they remain. 
 Yes. Danes are Danes, and I speak out for all. 
 
75 
 
 Enter an Attendant in breathless haste. 
 
 Att. My Lord the King 1 a woman, strange in dress — 
 Of lofty stature, of defiant mien, — 
 A naked dagger in her hand, unchecked. 
 Strides hither — close upon my heels — beware ! 
 
 Enter Wolprida. 
 
 Wolf. Avaunt ! unmanner'd churls ! I come not here 
 To threaten or disturb ; this weapon, see, 
 I fliag aside. The daughter of a king, 
 I know not fear ; but something do I know 
 It much concerns you all betimes to learn. 
 King Alfred Uves, but treason is at work 
 To place another's head within the crown. 
 As yet the scheme is green, and months may pass 
 Before the civil strife, its sure efi'ect, 
 Shall part the Saxons into hostile camps. 
 I know your love of battle and of spoil. 
 Nor deem it strange that men so flesh'd in war 
 Should burn to sound the trumpet, point the spear, 
 ^nd rush to combat, now that Alfred's lost. 
 But that small voice, which from my bosom's depth 
 
76 
 
 Creeps with a spell-like pow'r and must be heard. 
 
 Has urged me hither : take my warning, King ! 
 
 Take it, ye Earls ! nor let your bird of Fate 
 
 Display its ruffling plumes till discord make 
 
 The Saxon twain, and their mean Church, uprear'd 
 
 On Pagan ruins, share the Nation's doom. 
 
 My task is finished. — Hark ! I must be gone. [Exit. 
 
 Guthrun. By Woden, a weird Monitress ! — her words, 
 Truthful or not, sink deep, and harmonize 
 E'en to a marvel, though on other grounds, 
 With those sage counsels, which preceded hers. 
 Look to your serfs, brave Earls ! your arms, your stores, 
 Prompt without noise, and in the destined hour 
 We'll show that swords may rest, yet keep their edge. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
77 
 
 Scene IV. — Inside of Danulfs Cottage. 
 Danulp, GitheAj and Alfred. 
 
 Ban. Sharp tidingSj Dame ! yon ferryman relates 
 Ttat our good King is nowhere ; that alarm 
 And dull amazement, as when comets blaze, 
 Possess the boldest ; some of civil war 
 And blows and bloodshed talk, some think the Danes 
 Will scent our weakness, and burst forth in swarms. 
 
 Githra. Dear, dear, how sad ! to think the loss of one 
 Should make so many wretched. Alfred, sure. 
 If not the victim of some plot or chance, 
 WiU reappear ere long; if pique or whim 
 Possess him, may his ears be soundly rubb'd ! 
 
 Dan. Alfred, I^e heard, is not the man to shrink 
 From danger, or to turn his back on those 
 He swore to shield. Day follows close on night. 
 And time is wearing fast ; my bristly charge 
 Seem by their fretful grunts to chide my stay.' 
 
 [Exit. 
 
78 
 
 Oithra. Danulf away, I must bestir myself. 
 Floors to be swept and strewn with rushes, shelves 
 To take their garniture of plates, pitchers 
 To fill, water set on to boil, and then 
 Something to hit my good man's appetite. 
 Which all my pains can hardly please at times. 
 They say I have a temper, — God be praised, 
 I have ; much comfort lies in scolding ! I 
 Should die without it. Where's our varlet now ? 
 
 Alf. (advancing). Here for your service. 
 
 Githra. Mark ! while I'm about. 
 Do you keep watch. No stray, no slip, no nod ; 
 With me neglect, or drowsiness, is crime. 
 No sulking ; more anon. 
 
 Alf. (apart). What a frank shrew ! 
 Like all her sisterhood, she would exalt 
 The devil in her tongue. It must be borne. 
 On ! time, and free me. Here she comes again. 
 
79 
 Oithra. Now, mooncalf, are you napping ? 
 
 Alf. No : good dame ! 
 Awake and ready. 
 
 Gitlira. So : you see that cake ? 
 With my own hands I made it ; have a care. 
 Look sharply to the baking ; turn it, first 
 On one, then on the other side ; the fire. 
 With balanced heat, browns both ; I must awhile 
 Go forth ; I look to find it done, well done. 
 When I get back. \_Exit. 
 
 Alf. A pretty job for one 
 Who owns a crown, and could in time and place 
 Put that old gossip on the grate instead 
 Of her fine cake ! but no j her will is mine : 
 I said it, and swerve not. Oh ! could the hearts 
 Of my rude folk be kneaded into shape 
 Like that, my oaten charge, and made to feel 
 The patriot's noble fire, this menial task 
 Would be my pride, and cheerly would I sink 
 
80 
 
 Yet lower to achieve my soul's desii-e. 
 Now for another tunij — the sixth — much care 
 To little purpose — 'tis a stubborn cake, 
 And fifty turns will never make it brown. 
 Long standing wearies me ; I'll sit awhile ; 
 An easy posture may refresh me. — There. — 
 
 [He soon falls asleep and the cahe is burnt to a 
 cinder. Githra, returning, flies into a passion, 
 and rouses him with a box on the ear. Alpeed 
 amazed, and angry, might have forgotten himself, 
 if Danulp, also returning, had not appeased him 
 by paying his termagant wife the same compli- 
 ment she had bestowed on the disguised King.] 
 
 Githra. Unmanly beast ! what ! strike a woman ! 
 shame ! 
 
 Dan. A scold, no woman. 
 
 Githra. To your grunters go ! 
 And feed with them on garbage. Cake of mine 
 You'll never taste again. 
 
81 
 
 Dan. Wellj let that be : 
 But still tlie household duties must be done ; 
 My wants are few. {To Alpeed) Forgive her, gentle 
 
 youth. 
 She'll soon come to ; her temper flits about 
 Just like our weather, heat and cold by fits, 
 In one same day extremes of every kind. 
 
 Alf. Fm bound to both of you, and grieve to be 
 A cause of difference even for an hour. 
 'Twere well her hand were lighter, though. 
 
 Scene V. — Wolfrida's Cave. Woleeida and Hilda. 
 
 Hilda. What looks 
 Are these, Wolfrida — looks, that darkly clothe 
 Your wonted visage and make sadness wear 
 A deeper gloom ? What done, or to be done. 
 Congeals your blood, and gives your searching eyes 
 A glare that tells of troublous thoughts beneath ? 
 I like them not ; they fright me, and I look 
 Trembling, scarce breathing, ""round for eyes less weird. 
 
 M 
 
82 
 
 Wolf. Youth and its gay companionSj hope and joy, 
 Give you such airy spirits, that my gloom 
 Seems doubled to your sight ; you feel for me, 
 I know ; that soothes, but if it soothe at cost 
 Of your kind bosom's cheer, I take it not. 
 Oome near ; there's much on foot, much at this hour 
 To craze or muddle harder brains than mine. 
 Storms all around are gath'ring — at a word 
 Untied they might rush forth, and wrap the land 
 In fearful desolation — Saxons, Danes — 
 So sunder' d, yet so mingled — may with force 
 Of thunder-clouds, impell'd by raving winds. 
 In furious conflict clash — if any, who 
 Of either side would stagger out alive 
 From the vast flood of battle, time may show, 
 I cannot : — you are pale, sweet Hilda ! these 
 Forebodings might indeed well blanch a cheek 
 Ruddier than yours. 
 
 Hilda. Oh ! it's too cruel, too 
 Appalling, e'en to figure as a chance ; — 
 But real, here, about us, at our doors. 
 
83 
 
 Flashing on all our senses, terrible ! 
 Where thrust our wilder'd heads ? how shelter those 
 In peril dearest, — by their bravery mark'd 
 For sacrifice, the bravest, first ? — where, where 
 Will my own Cedric be, if not in front 
 Of danger, in the combat's very throat 
 Provoking death ? I shudder at the thought. 
 Tou, born of Danes, Wolfrida, and by Danes 
 Nurtured from birth, would, if the day were theirs. 
 Partake their triumph, and rejoice with them. 
 On me, whate'er the issue, grief must light. 
 
 Enter King Guthetin. 
 Guth. What, ho ! Wolfrida ! art thou to be seen ? 
 
 Wolf. Ever to serve thee. King ! 
 
 Guth. But I descry 
 Another ; I had fancied thee alone ; 
 Intrude I would not. 
 
 Wolf. 'Tis a Saxon lass, 
 
84 
 
 Whose Danish father held in my regard 
 
 A place death could not cancel : she consoles 
 
 My grief-worn bosom^ bears with all my plaints, 
 
 And proves by many nameless little acts 
 
 Of kind attention how she feels my woes. 
 
 Such is not oft the case when sixteen years 
 
 Expand the soul to every dream of joy. 
 
 And this bright world, with all its sparkling charms, 
 
 Seems a new Eden for another Eve. 
 
 Mock not these tears ; the sternest melt at times. 
 
 Hilda ! come forward, child ! — be not so coy ; 
 
 There's nothing here to chafe you. 
 
 Hilda. Where you are 
 My courage fails not ; but I think it time 
 My feet should be alert to bear me home. 
 Much have you told me, much to make me think. 
 I'll come again, be sure, and, please you, soon. [Exit. 
 
 Wolf. She dared not look at you. Sir King, but made 
 Her passing court'sy with no common grace, — 
 At least I hope you thought so. 
 
85 
 
 Ghith. Otherwise 
 To think would argae blindness. Heavens ! if the Dane 
 With Saxon mingling could be ever sure 
 To form such perfect loveliness, 'twere sin, 
 'Twere blackest crime, to waste each other's blood 
 In deadly struggles ; both should drop their arms 
 And live, one nation, in the bonds of love. 
 
 Wolf. Well, your example would go far. But, Sir, 
 You came for other purpose : is there aught 
 My zeal may further ? 
 
 Gnth. On yourself hangs that. 
 Alfred is still a name — if more or less, 
 I know not, though to know concerns me much. 
 You with th' Unseen have those strong sympathies 
 Which can unmask the Hidden, and forenote 
 What time may blaze hereafter : what thou canst. 
 Say now. 
 
 Wolf. King Guthrun ! Alfred lives; nor doubt 
 He meditates thy ruin. Once I said. 
 
86 
 
 And now I say. Prepare ! Dumb stillness oft 
 Heralds the thunderbolt. 
 
 Outh. Granted : but how. 
 And when, and where are points of consequence 
 Wrapt in close darkness. — Shouts ! what mean they ? 
 
 more ! 
 And screams as of a woman. King, or not, 
 My brand shall solve the riddle. — [Draws and exit. 
 
 Wolf. Man, at least. 
 
 Scene VT. — Forest glade not far from the Gave. 
 
 A riotous company of young Danes. Hilda ivith hair 
 and dress in disorder dragg'd along by two of them, 
 
 Hilda {struggling). Unhand me, villains ! whither 
 would ye drag 
 A poor defenceless girl ? — off — off, I say. 
 
87 
 
 Xo further — here — here kill me in the hght^ 
 
 The blessed Hght of heaVn. [Gutheun rushes in. 
 
 [He strikes down one of the party dragging Hilda 
 along ; the other lets go his hold. She falls. 
 Gutheun raises and recognizes her.] 
 
 Guthrun. What, Hilda ! miscreants ! how could ye 
 dare 
 To lay your aU-contaminating hands 
 On one so pure, so perfect in her charms. 
 To which less brutal natures would have knelt 
 As to a goddess ? — Thou, who wearest looks 
 Something more sober than thy fellows, say. 
 Whence came this infamy ? Who — what provoked 
 So base an outrage ? on thy head, reply. 
 
 Young Bane. I, my Lord King ! saw nothing of its 
 birth; 
 "What since I've gathered is that some of these 
 Young bloods, your subjects, like myself, were out 
 On holiday, and by a chance, when high 
 In mirth, and possibly a drop too deep 
 
88 
 
 In mead, fell in with yonder lass, of whom 
 They only knew she lived with Saxon friends ; 
 And proud of beauty more than common, gave 
 Her Danish neighbours such o^erweeniug looks. 
 They held her in dislike ; and then they said 
 She had for friend a Saxon yeoman, — ^yes, 
 Cedric by name, who never pass'd a Dane 
 Without some mark of hatred or contempt. 
 Meeting by chance, they thought it sport to jeer 
 The village queen, and so one thing brought on 
 Another, till rude play and heated blood 
 Fermented into worse, and who can tell 
 With what foul issue, had not you, my King, 
 Check'd the wild rout and freed their maiden thraU. 
 Her friend himself approaches. 
 
 Salter Cedkic armed. 
 
 Ced. Brood of hell ! 
 Dastards and ravishers ! give up your prey — 
 Release her on the instant — stand aside — 
 Or by the sacred name of Him I serve 
 This hour shall be your last. 
 
89 
 
 Hilda. Oh ! Cedric, spare. 
 Spare the young dotards ; they 're beneath your rage. 
 Their King has saved me : I'm unhurt, unharm'd ; 
 To him your thanks. 
 
 Ced. The first to Heaven are due ; 
 Now, King, to thee with grateful heart I turn. 
 
 Guth. Nay, spare your thanks; I but obey'd my 
 heart. 
 Take home your lovely kinswoman, and learn. 
 For their King's sake, to hate his subjects less. 
 Her late tormentors shall be look'd to, — Go ! 
 
 Hilda. Not till we both once more have eased our 
 hearts 
 By graving deeply there our new-made debt. 
 
 Guth. There is no debt where nothing more is 
 done 
 Than what the doer glories to have done. 
 His pleasure pays him. 
 
 N 
 
90 
 
 Hilda. Yet must we confess 
 A debt no payment ever can acquit. 
 
 Guth. I rest content to be your creditor. 
 
 Cedrie. We doubt not your discretion^ and take 
 leave 
 In full reliance on your manly faith. 
 
 [Exit with Hilda. 
 
 Outh. What's here that stronger than myself creeps 
 in 
 Upon my nobler thoughts, where chamber'd lies 
 An image fairer than the myths of old 
 Have ever painted on the eye of faith. 
 Young, gentle, beautiful, intelligent. 
 As lilies pure with blushes of the rose, 
 Ajid modest as the violet, whose leaves 
 Keep the bold sun at distance, who would not 
 For such divinity in mortal shape 
 All other prizes of the world forego, 
 And deem it highest privilege to share 
 
91 
 
 With one so faultless e'en the crown itself? 
 To win, how precious ! then to lose the prize 
 Is equal in reverse. Poor Cedric ! Well, 
 A Saxon churl must e'en accept his lot. 
 
 Scene VII.— 4 room in Earl Ordolf's house. 
 
 The Eakl and his Fostek-Bkothee. 
 
 Ord. The time, — the work, — both marvels ; evermore 
 I rest your debtor : What ? he likes our plan. 
 But would not hurry ? — 
 
 Fos. Bro. Yes; the golden round 
 Your message pointed to, before his eyes 
 Hangs temptingly ; he longs to clutch the prize. 
 But somewhat cold at heart, he fears the risk. 
 And rather would by slow approaches steal 
 Securely on his prey, than by a bound. 
 Which might fall short or over, seize and hold. 
 
92 
 
 Ord. Such are all vulgar natures j they would sit 
 With open mouth and eyes tnrn'd back beneath 
 Some pendent fruit, content to wait its fall, 
 Nor stretch a hand to nip the brittle stalk. 
 Would 'twere not so, but worse it were to force 
 The sluggish springs, and snap them, it might be, 
 By too severe a strain. 
 
 Fos. Bro. He'll rouse his friends 
 Meanwhile, collect the means of action, gird 
 In short, his loins, and call, when time matures. 
 For your sage counsels and concurrent aid. 
 
 Ord. Friends he must have, or few, or many, 
 friends 
 Of much or little weight ; unlikely, none. 
 His birth and blood-relation to the crown 
 Secure him that ; but if his wishes rise 
 To the full height of fortune's proffer'd grace. 
 He must be master, not a slave to wait 
 On time and tide, and shifting circumstance. 
 But maker of the steps by which to mount 
 
93 
 
 Wiither ambition points. He has, no doubtj 
 
 To swing from rope to rope across a gulf, 
 
 Where but one miss would hurl him headlong down ; 
 
 But still the daring breathe a keener life. 
 
 And, missing, fall into the lap of fame. 
 
 Fos. Bro. Tricked in your colours, failure has a 
 charm 
 That makes success quite pale ; but prejudice 
 CHngs to the latter, and most people, less 
 Enthusiastic than yourself, prefer 
 A seat, though waited for, in conquest's car. 
 
 Ord. Well, let them wait; I, too, it seems must 
 wait; 
 My arms may lift another, but without 
 Some buoyant plumage I should strive in vain 
 To lift myself : — A name, the people's whim. 
 Necessity at times, may waft on high. 
 But like a soap-made bubble, or at most 
 A meteor, just to glitter, and go out. 
 
94 
 
 Fos. Bro. The Prince, I think, has ever in his view 
 The chance of Alfred's reappearance ; dead 
 If once he knew him, fear would cease to ride 
 His stumbling resolution : as it is, 
 The phantom awes him, and his gain-time wish 
 To sound our great Assembly takes the lead 
 In his mind's council. Of his intimates, 
 If one there be whose heart with stronger beat 
 Responds to the occasion, he came not 
 Either in form or fame, within my range. 
 
 Ord. The sum then is that my raw overture, 
 Obtain'd a gracious welcome, which in time 
 May turn to profit; that the way is clear'd 
 For riper confidence; that due regard 
 Is fix'd on means of action, should events 
 Warrant a bolder course, but for the hour 
 A patient vigil must our watchword be. 
 
 Fos. Bro. Just so : nor more, nor less. I leave you now. 
 Yours ever, spur and sword. \JExH. 
 
95 
 
 GoDWYN enters. 
 
 Ord. Hail ! worthy Thane ! 
 Ton seek me in good season ; we have met 
 Of late but rarely j friendly words exchanged 
 At growing intervals scarce serve to feed 
 That kindly warmth which else might starve outright. 
 Thrice welcome ! what's the news ? 
 
 Oodw. But little change 
 Since last we met. Alas ! the brightest star 
 Is shaken from our firmament, whether 
 Extinct till doomsday, or to reappear 
 Among his cheerless subjects, who can say ? 
 Still do I cling to hope, though forced to own 
 That lapse of days and tongueless incidents 
 Tell silently against me. 
 
 Ord. I admire 
 Tour loyal faith, that, sitting with closed doors. 
 Opposes all intrusion, nor would let 
 A fact or wand'ring doubt find entrance there. 
 
96 
 
 It does you honour. My affections act 
 With milder sway. I take for starting-point 
 What I must needs lament, th' undoubted fact 
 Of Alfred's disappearance : is he dead ? 
 The crown is in demise ; — absconded ? Still 
 The crown is vacant. 
 
 Godw. Not while one fair doubt 
 O'erhangs the cause, which may have birth in force. 
 
 Old. A reasonable plea, I grant, bat not without 
 Its limits ; weeks have passed ; no sign of life ; 
 Each day's inquiry, like the day itself, 
 Subsides in darkness ; there must be a term 
 To this strange inter-reign : how many weeks. 
 Good Thane, or months, or years, would you assign ? 
 
 Godw. 'Tis hard to say — but while a chance remains. 
 That chance should be the King's. 
 
 Ord. What then, are State, 
 And Church, and people, all, to go for nothing ? 
 
97 
 
 Cfodw. To go for notliing ? God forbid ! but ways 
 There are, and now in practice, as you know, 
 To meet our present wants. They may be made 
 Yet better; none more fit to make them so 
 Than you, my noble friend. 
 
 Ord. Think you our folk 
 Will long submit to Council-government ? 
 Think you the Danes set not a wakeful eye 
 On this prolong'd disorder of our State ? 
 Believe me, best of thanes, we lean upon 
 A brittle reed, and much I fear we soon 
 Shall reach the precipice's giddy verge. 
 
 Godw. Earl ! there's another rock precipitous, 
 Call'd by some name at Rome, which oft has proved 
 The goal of tow'ring thoughts, — may you keep clear 
 Of that dread eminence, and live to see 
 Our own good Alfred on his throne once more. 
 
 Ord. What mean you? Am I thought to run a 
 course 
 Which leads to that famed rock ? 
 
 o 
 
98 
 
 Godw. A friend I came, 
 And as a friend I speak. There are who talk 
 More freely of your aims than I approve ; 
 Some go so far, I hear, as to pretend 
 A knowledge of your doings ; for myself, 
 I neither have nor seek such knowledge ; all 
 I aim at is your welfare ; blame me not. 
 If zeal, as oft it does, has played me false. 
 But poise my friendly hint, as suits you best. [Exit. 
 
 Ord. We differ, — but I love him : knows he more 
 Than prudence utters ? — e'en if so, I^m safe. 
 
 UND OF ACT III. 
 
99 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — A Boom, in Alfred's Palace. 
 GoDWTN and Oedeic. 
 
 Oedric. I hope, good Thane, the purpose will atone 
 For this my coming ; if not so, yourself. 
 Excuse the word, has more to answer for 
 Than I, who come, encouraged by the fame 
 Of your kind sympathy with want and grief. 
 
 Godwyn. All suffer late or soon ; can he be man 
 Who feels no sorrow but his own ? Tour name ? 
 
 Oedric. Cedric, of Saxon race, a free man bom ; 
 To Heav'n I owe in this our English realm 
 A yeoman's state ; and deeply do I feel 
 The heavy dole which weighs upon us all 
 Since our great chief so darkly disappear'd. 
 Goads of my own I have to prick me on. 
 
100 
 
 And thus impell'd I nurse an ardent wish, 
 
 E'en at life's peril, to discover what 
 
 Has caused, and what, if possible, may stanch 
 
 A wound so large : this would I fain make known 
 
 To Alfred's Queen, if, haply, you would take 
 
 Her royal pleasure ; words, a very few. 
 
 From one like me resolved might rouse her mind 
 
 And bring to thought some clue to guide my steps. 
 
 Godw. Your zeal, your purpose, both engage me : 
 wait, 
 I pray you, here awhile ; at my return 
 You shall know more. [Uxit. 
 
 Gedric. Poor Hilda ! so entrapp'd ! 
 So sharply tried ! so perill'd ! so forlorn ! 
 And I so mock'd ! so helpless ! — no resource 
 But vengeance — doubtful — distant. — Out on man ! 
 False, profligate, and cruel ! would I were 
 But front to front with that base kingly slave. 
 The would-be ravisher ! or club, or sword, 
 One lightning stroke should bring him down, and leave 
 
101 
 
 A bloody warning for all times to come. 
 Christj be my help ! 
 
 Be- enter Godwyn. 
 
 Oodv). The Queen will see youj Sir, 
 In presence only of my wife and me. 
 The way lies here ; come on. We've all to hope. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — The Queen's Apartment. 
 
 Queen and Lady Godwyn. 
 
 Enter Godwyn and Oedeio. 
 
 Queen. I've learnt your purpose, Cedric, and approve ; 
 What can I do to speed it ? 
 
 Cedric. Your assent. 
 Imperial Lady, next to Heav'n's high grace. 
 Sustains my resolution, which to work 
 Needs knowledge more than I can boast of yet. 
 Means lag behind desire ; we seek with pains 
 But see not whither to direct our search. 
 
102 
 
 He lives, I doubt not j— where ? the mystery 
 
 Lies in that word ; has memory no shred, 
 
 No remnant of discourse, no faded hint 
 
 Of what might chance in troubled times to prove 
 
 A hold, a hiding-place, a close retreat ? 
 
 Who, Lady, if not you, may hope to guard 
 
 In fond affection's never-failing stores 
 
 A pearl so precious now ? Forgive, my Queen, 
 
 If zeal too rash has touch'd those holy founts. 
 
 Whence gush the tears true sorrow loves to hide. 
 
 Godw. Hush ! friend, no more just now : grief must 
 have way, 
 A pregnant thoughtftdness may then succeed. 
 And yield the gem you seek. 
 
 Queen. Oh ! dear one, lost 
 To sight, but living still to hope and love. 
 Tears are thy due, but cares that cannot rest 
 Till thou art found, and search, and toil, and risk. 
 By every sacred tie yet more are thine. 
 Be sure, brave youth, we pause not : — Turn, oh ! turn 
 
103 
 
 Back on yourselves, my thoughts ; and if there be 
 
 A spot, a shelter'd nook in your domain 
 
 Where memory slumbers, wake the lazy pow'r. 
 
 And bring once more to light its long-past dreams. 
 
 Deep ! deep ! — a glimmer in the depths — but faint, 
 
 So faint, ere caught it fades, — again, and now 
 
 It gathers shape — Stay, phantom ! — is there not 
 
 Somewhere in this our realm, anent the west, 
 
 A sort of inland isle, where waters creep 
 
 Beneath the gloom of tbick o'erclust'ring boughs. 
 
 And leave no entrance or to foot or eye 
 
 Unaided ? — hark ! methinks, a voice — his own — 
 
 Or, so to say, its shadow flits across 
 
 My charm-touchM ear, and chases doubt away. 
 
 Gedric ! 'tis here, the clue — pursue it — quick ! 
 
 If aught thou need'st to wing thy half-fledged task, 
 
 Our trusty Godwyn, so the means be ours. 
 
 Will plume it out — farewell ! Be Heav'n thy guide ! 
 
 [Exeunt Queen and Ladt Godwtn. 
 
 Godiv. Seize but one link, and memory's chain entire 
 Soon comes to hand : my bosom's glow would seem 
 
104 
 
 An earnest of success : now, gallant Cedric ! now 
 Declare your wants, — your wishes, — both shall have 
 My instant care. 
 
 Cedric. Nor want, nor wish have I, 
 Save one that scorches in the handling, Thane ! 
 Natheless, come forth it must. I love; and she, 
 Whose heart holds mine, deserves more love than I 
 Or hundred others lay on beauty's shrine. 
 We are betrothed, but sever' d, yea, far worse, — 
 Cajoled, betray'd she writhes within the net 
 Around her cast by the polluting hands 
 Of Guthrun, the crown'd Dane ; nor force, nor art 
 Will taint her spotless mind, — of that I'm sure, — 
 But what may else betide, let others guess : — 
 Vain all my efforts ; what remains of hope 
 On me depends no more : revenge, naught else, 
 I crave, and that brim-full, press'd down I'll have. 
 Or perish in the seeking : you, perchance. 
 Need no entreaty, your kind lady none. 
 Should my heart's treasure, should my Hilda claim 
 Your shelt'ring aid. Behold my one fond wish ! 
 
105 
 
 Godw. My word is pledge ; to hearts like yours what 
 more? 
 
 Scene III. — Isle of Athelnay. — Landing-place. 
 
 Cedeic and Boatman. 
 
 Boatman. You see I've kept my word, and landed 
 you 
 Just as I said ; what's more, no splash, no stain 
 To harm your dress, and, truth to say, our mud 
 Leaves where it falls a mark not soon rubb'd out. 
 
 Gedric. Granted : you've brought me safe, and kept 
 me clean ; 
 Two services, both good ; but why such rubs 
 At first, such mutterings, such chafferings ? 
 
 Boatman. How should I know you ? people of all 
 kinds, 
 Saxon and Dane, and clerk and lay flock here 
 To pass the swamp and save themselves the round, 
 
 p 
 
106 
 
 My boat their only bridge : no harm in thatj — 
 Who seeks the isU, must show his who and why. 
 Your name when sounded, was enough for me — 
 Who knows not Cedric ? 
 
 Cedric. Care and grief of heart. 
 Toil and rough usage have so changed the man 
 He barely knows himself — but what of that ? 
 Tou are well up in country news, no doubt. 
 So many as you say, of various kinds 
 Owe to your boat their passage. — Nothing yet 
 Of Alfred ? — Strange ! the Saxons, sure, must miss 
 Their royal chief — and then the Danes — what game 
 Mean they to play ? 
 
 Boatman. Aye, aye, no lack, that's clear, 
 Of troubled waters : Httle stir as yet 
 Amongst the Danes — they bide their time, I guess. 
 And muster for a swoop — the Saxons fret 
 And wonder — let them feel their loss — 'twere well 
 They did. A whisper runs that some great Earl 
 Would seat another king on Alfred's throne, — 
 
107 
 
 He dead, or living. — ^Would we had him here ! 
 A famous hiding-place, this isle of ours ; 
 What 'twixt the forest and the swamp, you see. 
 An army, none suspecting, might encamp. 
 And rush at bidding on a drowsy foe. 
 Just Hke a flood. 
 
 Gedric. Well thought of, — but your king, 
 And where your army ? 
 
 Boatman. That concerns me not ; 
 Too poor and ignorant am I for aught 
 But this my little skiff, although I have 
 My notions, nor should wonder much to learn 
 That you had found what others seek in vain. 
 
 Gedric. How so ? you deal in riddles. 
 
 Boatman. Never mind : 
 Up yonder there you'll hit upon a youth 
 Whom weeks, it may be months agone, I row'd 
 Across the swamp ; he was not what he seem'd — 
 
108 
 
 And may be worth your noting — if you're wise, 
 One word's as good as bushels ; other fare 
 Must I look out for now, — my bread's at stake. 
 
 Gedric. He's gone ; by nature shrewd he delves, at 
 guess. 
 Deeper than some whose garments promise more. 
 What ! can it be ? is luck so bravely mine 
 That I should fall at once both on the place 
 And on the King himself ? — My guardian saint, 
 If so, must be an abler one than any 
 EnroU'd at Rome : — Yes, dearest Hilda ! thou. 
 Thou only on my rough and weary path. 
 Starlike, hast shone — oh ! may thy guiding ray 
 Stop now, where most I wish it — Stay, who comes ? 
 Mine eyes are traitors if it be not he — 
 The Youth ; — a noble air, though meanly clad. 
 He marks me not. I'll step aside. [Retires. 
 
 Alfred. Ah me ! 
 This menial life would choke me, were it not 
 T'he narrow path that leads in hope to spheres 
 
109 
 
 Of brightest eminence : one stage is reach' d,— 
 
 The triumph o'er myself, — another ought 
 
 To be, or nearly so, achieved ; the want 
 
 Of kingly rule, and danger thence have had 
 
 Their due effect ; my prayer, it seems, is heard. 
 
 Health reigns in mind and frame ; the fire of youth, 
 
 Quell'd to a spark, now freshen'd upward springs. 
 
 I long for action — long to reappear 
 
 In arms, and council, firm in conscious strength 
 
 As erst at Ashdune, when the Danish hosts 
 
 Shrank from the field, or drench'd it with their blood. 
 
 Cedeic comes forward. 
 
 Gedric. My chief ! my King ! let this submissive knee 
 Be sign of that return to loyal trust 
 Needed so much. I've heard enough to prove 
 That noble minds can wear a mean disguise. 
 And still be noble. 
 
 Alfred. Tell me who thou art 
 With sight so keen as to espy the mind, 
 Whate'er the dress that covers flesh and blood. 
 
110 
 
 Oedric. Cedrio, a Saxon, free-born yeoman, well 
 To do with this world's gear, but grieved at heart 
 For ills and wrongs, — his country's and his own. 
 
 Alfred. Your own too ? both, is hard. 
 
 Oedric. Too well they mis. 
 
 Alfred. Strong cause to draw you hither ? 
 
 Cedric. None more strong, — 
 Tour comfort and deliv'rance. 
 
 Alfred. Shut from sight. 
 And known to few is this lone savage isle. 
 I marvel how you heard of it — of me 
 Still more. 
 
 Cedric. For zeal and urgent motive night 
 Hath stars that guide the houseless ; where the wild 
 That shows not by some track, or broken ground. 
 Sole tree, or ruin'd shed, the whereabouts. 
 
Ill 
 
 Object of eager search and keen desire. 
 
 Wayfaring liardsliips may be left untold ; 
 
 Yourself has plumb'd them all. From love's pure depths 
 
 First sprang the dawn, which, like a silvery haze 
 
 Insensibly expanding at each step 
 
 Gain'd on my sight and glimmer'd into day. 
 
 Alfred. You saw the Queen? in health ? our children too? 
 
 Cedric. As heart could wish, save what your quick return 
 Will best dispel. 
 
 Alfred. Now homeward : come with me ! 
 All equal here as in the womb and grave ; 
 Shame, if our tongues are idle on the way ! 
 
 [Mceunt. 
 
 Scene IV. — A room, in Guthrun's Palace. 
 
 GuTHEUN and Hilda. 
 
 Ghith. This obstinacy, Hilda, wakes my wrath : 
 You know the love I bear you ; if I sin. 
 
112 
 
 There lies the cause, and you are more to blame 
 For being lovely, than for loving, I. 
 
 Hilda. But, Sir, you know I have no heart to give : 
 I loved another, and had pledged my vow 
 Long ere you deign'd to look on me. What love 
 Is that, which would by breach of plighted faith 
 The object of its fond devotion blast. 
 And plunge her deep in misery and shame ? 
 
 Guth. If he, who holds you to your vow, returns 
 In full your love for him, he would rejoice 
 To see you raised so far above the sphere 
 Which limits him ; too young, too ignorant 
 Were you to make a life-long choice, when he 
 Surprised your maiden innocence, and thought 
 By thoughtless vows to bind you to his fate. 
 
 Hilda. Say you my Cedric caught me by surprise ? 
 Nay, nay, he woo'd as honest lovers woo. 
 And made me his by teaching me to prize 
 The mine of worth that in his bosom glows. 
 
113 
 
 You know him to be brave ; I know him true, 
 And good, — it might be great, — fit e'en to wear 
 The crown your bounty fain would share with me. 
 
 Chith. Well, he's perfection — let that pass j — but you. 
 The daughter of a Dane — of one, whose arm 
 Was dyed with Saxon gore, who fell a prey 
 To Saxon bowmen, say, would you submit 
 Tour wealth of nature's all-surpassing charms 
 To a poor Saxon yeoman's household rule ? 
 
 Hilda. A Saxon was my mother ; more than that. 
 She lived a Christian, and her faith is mine. 
 If other ties than those of heart can bind. 
 Sure, these may plead, and with affection link'd 
 May reign supreme, by sordid views unstain'd. 
 
 Guth. Bethink thee well, proud girl — I need not sue ; 
 You're in my pow'r — a word, and force might seize 
 What love and love's blind fondness fail to win. 
 
 Hilda.Th.Qu dar'st not,King! thou canstnot stoop so low 
 
 Q 
 
114 
 
 Thy nature, weak, not bad, restrains thy will. 
 But were it other, I have means wherewith 
 To save my honour, though at cost of life. 
 Stand off, I say, stand off ! 
 
 Outh. {apart) . I feel abash'd ; 
 'Tis not the dagger — 'tis not love's revenge : 
 Her maiden virtue masters my intent, 
 And leaves me baffled — cow'd, but little cured. 
 
 WoLFBiDA without. 
 
 Wolf. Stop me ! he's bold who dares it ; knaves ! away ! 
 My hand 's upon the door — I ask no leave — 
 Off ! off ! {Enters.) In time, I see, but nothing more. 
 In woman's right, in right of kingly blood. 
 Of gifted sight, and confidence abused, 
 I come. King Guthrun ; yes, let be what may, 
 I'll do what conscience bids. Sweet innocence. 
 Thou loved and loving blossom of the tree. 
 Emblem of life, that fresh from nature's hand. 
 Once grew, — I know not when or even where, — 
 In some unfading garden — what a den 
 
115 
 
 To find thee in ! — Thy goodness wafts indeed 
 
 An airy fragrance, but the grosser fumes 
 
 CHng round, and make it almost pain to breathe. 
 
 Tyrant ! I little thought what fiendish lust 
 
 Raged in thy veins, when with seductive words 
 
 And soft dissembling tone thou mad'st me share 
 
 Unconsciously thy fraud, and lure you dove 
 
 To fold its wings in this, thy harlot cage. 
 
 Foul bird of prey ! thy talons ne'er shall rend 
 
 A breast so pure ; her trust in me betray'd 
 
 Its guileless sympathies ; a holier trust 
 
 Shall with my aid, now burst her prison bars. 
 
 Nay — stir not. King ! — a hundred Danes, well arm'd 
 
 And mindful of my father's dread renown, 
 
 Stand in the court below; — a sign, a cry 
 
 WiU launch them from their post, and once inflamed 
 
 They'll free thy thrall, nor, haply, spare thyself. 
 
 Go forth, my child ! I follow. Nobler cares 
 
 Demand thee. King ! — I say again. Prepare ! 
 
 [Exeunt Hilda and Woleeida, 
 
116 
 
 Scene V. — A room in Earl Ordolf's house. 
 
 Ord. {alone). Still reigns the mystery ! It reigns 
 alone — 
 An empty throne, — no king to fill it, — he, — 
 Its latest occupant, — a shade — a name — 
 In substance nothing but a cloak for those. 
 Who losing him lose all, who in their arms 
 Would clasp a skeleton, — would hug a ghost. 
 Liefer than quit their hold upon a chance. 
 That flatters selfish hope, but bares the State 
 To fearful perils. True, I entertain 
 Views of my own, but all apart from them 
 
 ^Twere base to see, and feel and lavish groans 
 
 Upon my country's jeopardy, nor raise 
 
 Hand, foot, or voice to ward the mischief ofi". 
 
 Would I succeed, 'tis time for more than words. 
 
 If one prince plays the laggard, why not try 
 
 Another ? I'm resolved ; no turning back. 
 
 Who knocks ? [Enter his Fostbe-Bbothee. 
 
 Dear brother of the breast, you come 
 
 Just as my wish invited, — thoughts long nursed, 
 
117 
 
 Now moulded into shape, for action ripe. 
 
 Have need of issue. Think you not the hour 
 
 Has all but struck for bringing into light 
 
 Our secret plans ? You hesitate. What is't 
 
 That chills you, makes your cheek turn pale, and stints 
 
 Your wonted breathing ? 
 
 Fos. Bro. Much I fear our plans 
 Kequire no Hght from us to make them known. 
 The Queen, the Council — so my spies report — 
 Have tracked them home; your freedom is at stake. 
 It may be worse hereafter. If you fly. 
 No time is to be lost. 
 
 Ord. Fly ? To the Danes ? 
 That may not be— Fly ? Wliither else ? 
 
 Fos. Bro. Is there 
 No faithful hind, whose cottage might afibrd 
 Concealment, like King Alfred's — till the rage, 
 Blown into flame, abates ? 
 
118 
 
 Ord. "Yia possible ; 
 But stay, behind the hangings, visible 
 To none, there is a door which opens out 
 Into the distance. Hark ! What steps approach ? 
 A moment wait — the key — the key. My God ! 
 The key's not here ! I^tn lost ! Oh ! fatal chance ! 
 {Loud knocking is heard.) 
 
 Fas. Bro. How now ? What means this violence 
 We come. 
 
 Enter Opficee and Guards. 
 Off. An order from the Council to arrest 
 Earl Ordolf and his foster-brother. You, 
 Brave sirs, I may presume, are those we seek. 
 
 Ord. We are ; but show your warrant. 
 
 Off. There it is, 
 You have your right ; we brook no more delay. 
 Nor would use force, though come with us you must. 
 
 Ord. Lead on ; we follow. What have we to fear ? 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
119 
 
 Scene VI. — Boom in Alfred's Palace. 
 The QuEENj GoDWTN, and his Lady. 
 Godw. Madam ! There^s one without, a Saxon youth. 
 Who waits your pleasure. Cedric is his name ; 
 You may remember. 
 
 Queen. Yes : he must have news 
 To cheer, or, it may be, to break my heart. 
 Let him approach. I've learnt to hear the worst. 
 
 [Enter Cedeic. 
 What news, good Cedric ? say. 
 
 Gedric. Be judge yourself. 
 Great Queen ! Fve seen him — seen him full of life. 
 Of life and spirits. 
 
 Queen. Does he live indeed ? 
 And lives he like himself ? 
 
 Gedric. Aye, crown'd with hope. 
 And throned on faith — king, husband, father, all. 
 
 Queen. My heart ! it swells to bursting : what few tears 
 
120 
 
 Sorrow hath left me, sparkle into those 
 
 Of gladness, which the vulgar signs of joy 
 
 But ill express. Oh ! teach me, gracious Heav'n ! 
 
 To store the gems, and ever trust in Thee. 
 
 I cannot doubt, yet feel as in a dream ; 
 
 The rapture dazzles — it forbids repose. 
 
 I must have rest awhile ; but ere I go, 
 
 Cedric, there's news, good news, I deem, for you : 
 
 Hilda is here ; the rest I leave to him. 
 
 My faithfal Thane, who knows to say and do. 
 
 \_Exit with Lady Godwtn. 
 
 Godw. Brave yeoman ! well have you redeemed your 
 pledge. 
 The life you've brought to light, is life to all 
 Of Saxon blood. When think you he will come ? 
 
 Oedric. 'Twould seem he has it first at heart to keep 
 The shade, some few excepted, till a force. 
 Prepared in secret by his Thanes and Earls, 
 Shall wait his kingly pleasure : more than that 
 Would be mere guess ; but if the Mercian Danes 
 
121 
 
 Were taken by surprise, a valiant band, 
 
 Though small, might strike them down, and clear the 
 
 land. 
 On you, and some like you, he counts for means. 
 Your slave am I to pass from post to post 
 Unnoticed, and convey such wise behests 
 As the worst case may need ; and when the hour 
 Of conflict comes, to play a soldier's part. 
 
 Oodw. Would that a worthier had the trust ! but I 
 Decline no service by the King imposed. 
 Great is the work in view. You need repose. 
 And meditation I ; to waste the time 
 Were loss to both : ere long you^ll hear from me. 
 
 Scene VII. — Danulfs Cottage. 
 Alfred amd Cedric. 
 
 Alfred. Well, Cedric, weeks ha,ve pass'd— I wonder 
 not — 
 
 B 
 
122 
 
 In matters of great import, word and deed 
 
 Pill wide extents of time. How left you those 
 
 Whose health and ease are dearest to my heart ? 
 
 What spirit reigns where I in other days 
 
 Held pow'r unshared ? How are my Earls and Thanes 
 
 Affected ? May I look to the command 
 
 Of numbers, on whose zeal and discipline, 
 
 With arms and skill to use them I may count ? 
 
 Better to know one's weakness than to lean 
 
 On fancied strength, when battle is the test. 
 
 Gednc. All, all in fulness to your wish, my King. 
 All that your heart desires for hearth and throne. 
 The people crave your presence, and the few, 
 The very few, who know you live, and live 
 For them, are eager to enroll their names. 
 And rush to combat where your banner floats. 
 Your nobles, all with one exception, share 
 The general impulse, and that one is caged 
 By order of the Council ; treason is 
 The charge ; the traitor, Ordolf ; troops are held 
 
123 
 
 In secret readiness ; the Danes appear 
 Like wayworn pilgrims, lost to all but sleep. 
 One royal word, and as the solar ray. 
 Shot from eclipse, relumes the drowsy world. 
 All hearts will leap responsive to the sound. 
 
 Alfred. Well said, my trusty yeoman ; if all hearts 
 Beat true as thine, the day -"s already won. 
 Yet hurry speeds not ; I must see my Earls, — 
 Such as would hold commands of confidence ; 
 Myself must view the Danish camp ; so great 
 Our stake, I may not leave a rush to chance. 
 By forest paths, disguised, and if not lone. 
 Attended sparingly, my friends must come. 
 The Danes may doze, but dog-like, and once roused 
 They lack not eyes and ears to serve them well. 
 As for my visit to their camp, I too 
 Must cloak my person, and assume a form 
 So distant from my own, that never thought 
 Of hostile fraud would cross the observer's brain. 
 
 Gedric. No grander scheme, but daring to excess ; 
 
124 
 
 Detection would be ruin ; bright, my Liege ! 
 Bright is your star, but fortune might resent 
 A trial of her favour so extreme. 
 Prudence, excuse my boldness, is a pearl 
 That falling from the crown, discredits him 
 Who wears the crown ; reflect, oh ! deign reflect ; 
 Nor wrong by rash emprize a glorious cause. 
 
 Alfred. Trust me, I've weighed it well : God's boon of 
 life 
 I ne'er would idly waste, — but when I hear 
 The still small voice that whispers from within, 
 My spur is duty, and the glitt'ring prize 
 That tempts my grasp, outshines the love of self. 
 
 Gedric. The best may soar too high ; no mind can spurn 
 Fair reason's level, and eschew the cost. 
 
 Alfred. Attend and judge. 
 
 Gedric. My fealty leaves no choice. 
 
 Alfrrd. The praise of heroes sounded on the harp 
 
125 
 
 Acts as a charm where'er the Norseman breathes. 
 To him the bardj — a sort of Pagan saint, — 
 Seems half divine, and when the slumbering chords 
 Break into music, what but awe feels he ? 
 Those chords obey my hand ; a harper's garb 
 With beard and mien assorting, — have no fear, — 
 Will bear me through, and ruin to the blind 
 Will follow close to justify the fraud. 
 Now go we on ; I see the worthy pair 
 Hard by their door, she somewhat less the shrew 
 Than when you left. Remember I'm a thane. 
 So they conceive ; nor may they yet know more. 
 Good morrow, worthy friends, here's Cedric come 
 To greet you both ; his tidings have enlarged 
 My spirit ; absence has not chill'd the love 
 By kindred blood inspired. 
 
 Dan. We share your joy ; 
 Cedric, you're welcome. 
 
 Githra. That was mine to say, 
 But I'm your echo. 
 
126 
 
 Alfred. Goody, where's the harp 
 I've fcouch'd at times to soothe you ? 'tis my whim 
 To wake it now, that Cedric may report 
 How sweet are echoes in this isle of yours. 
 
 Giihra. Behold, my thane, the harp, and with it see 
 The garment by its last possessor left. 
 
 Alfred. The harp wants tuning, but the dress, good 
 dame. 
 Shines out like new : what will not cleanly taste 
 And a brisk hand effect ? 
 
 Oithra. Aye, aye, in truth 
 I've always had at heart a tidy home. 
 And garniture to match. 
 
 Alfred. Were it my turn 
 To lead a harper's life, there's nought to seek ; 
 The full equipment here before me lies. 
 
 END OP ACT IV. 
 
w, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — The Banish Oamp — a large tent open in front. 
 Alfred disguised as a Harper. Soldiers. 
 
 \st Danish Soldier. Come, harper, though ti Saxon, 
 chiels like you 
 Are of all countries where the brave are found, 
 My comrades bid you welcome ; they have hearts 
 Attuned to warlike notes, — and amorous too. 
 
 Alfred. My harp and I attend you ; both require 
 Indulgence, but the wish to please you all 
 Will stir the little skill my fingers own. 
 
 Sundry Voices. Hurrah 1 for harp and harper ! 
 
 2nd Danish Soldier. Not so fast ; 
 Many like me, may love the harp, but still 
 
128 
 
 Detest the harper : — Saxons, — harp or not, — 
 To Danish taste are sour,^ — and fitter far 
 To smart beneath our blows than court our ears. 
 Had I my will, he should not long — a spy- 
 It may be— taint this camp of ours. 
 
 1st Soldier. Danes as we are, such hate and rude 
 distrust. 
 Ill-timed at least, would shame us. — Sit you down. 
 Good man, and feel amongst us as at home. 
 The dust upon your feet too plainly shows 
 Much travel, — breathe awhile — a cup of mead 
 Will rouse your spirits. 
 
 Alfred. Thanks : I drink to all. 
 And pray my harp prove worthy of your cheer. 
 
 [Runs his hands orer the strings by way of prelude 
 — and, till' It. sings.] 
 
 Harp ! whose living chords return 
 
 Every throb my bosom feels. 
 When the passions fiercely burn. 
 
 Or when languor o'er them steals. 
 
129 
 
 Harp that wheresoe'er my feet 
 Press the turf or serried street, 
 Never quits me — comrade true — 
 Gentle friends ! like one of you. 
 
 Harp ! that loves on sounding strings 
 
 High the hero's name to raise, 
 While the bard in rapture flings 
 
 O'er that name the wreaths of praise. 
 Kings and Chiefs of Northern race. 
 Strong in battle, swift in chase. 
 Lords of many a conquer'd land. 
 Oft thy loudest tones demand. 
 
 Harp of mine ! not birth alone 
 Bids the strains of glory flow ; 
 Still on worth by valour shown. 
 
 Though in rags, thy meed bestow. 
 Proudest names, without a ray, 
 Once in dust and darkness lay ; 
 Others rife for shout and song 
 Now by deeds to fame belong. 
 
130 
 
 Strike the chords for churl and thane ! 
 Strike for every valiant Dane ! 
 
 [The Soldiers repeat the concluding distich in chorus.] 
 
 Dan. Soldier. A proper bard ! by Thor ! a wondrous 
 touch ! 
 True as the sun, — on war's red field the brave 
 Are thanes and earls of right — no care of birth : — 
 No odds 'twixt life and death — they run abreast, 
 And those who run with them are equal too. 
 Now, lads ! for harper and for harp ; for both 
 Once more a ringing cheer — Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 
 Officer entering. Hush ! fellow-soldiers, hush ! our 
 royal chief 
 Is close at hand. 
 
 Enter Gdthedn ivith Military Staff. 
 
 Guth. What noisy cause of mirth 
 Have these, my Danes, to make their cheers resound 
 
131 
 
 From tent to tent so loudly through the camp ? 
 May I not share the merriment ? 
 
 Office?-. My Liege ! 
 There's not a mood in passion but the strings 
 For music train' d^ when delicately touch'dj 
 "Will draw it forthj and yon poor wand'ring bard 
 Hath by his harp our martial sympathies 
 So finely probed^ that joyous shouts alone 
 Can give fuU utterance to our swelling hearts. 
 A word from you, and prouder tones wiU stream 
 From the same fount. 
 
 Ghith. Well, bid the man resume 
 His tuneful rhapsodies, — I shall not sleep 
 Less sound for them. 
 
 Alfred. A kind permission given. 
 My harp is at your feet j its feeble strings 
 Can iU repay your notice, but the hand 
 That makes them live, oh ! King, shall do its best. 
 
 [He strikes the harp and sings. 
 
132 
 
 Tho' half tlie year 
 
 Its course had run, 
 In ether clear 
 
 The summer sun 
 On high was proudly beaming ; 
 
 The northern breeze 
 
 Prom icy cave, 
 Swept o'er the seas. 
 
 And curl'd each wave, 
 Whereon the light was gleaming. 
 
 Away from land 
 
 Three hundred barks 
 Well-arm' d, weU-mann'd 
 
 And bhthe as larks 
 That soar to greet the morning, 
 
 Before the gale 
 Right cheerly ran. 
 
 With crowded sail. 
 As only can 
 The Dane, all peril scorning. 
 
133 
 
 On, on they dash; 
 
 Their banners stream ; 
 The surges flash ; 
 
 The sea-birds scream; 
 No fear of wreck or capture ; 
 The billows rear 
 
 Their hoary crests ; 
 On helm and spear 
 
 A day-star rests. 
 No heart but leaps in rapture. 
 
 Now, now they reach 
 
 The destined shore. 
 The night-owPs screech. 
 
 Oft heard before. 
 Of blood and spoil is token ; 
 Each vessel's side. 
 
 While down they swarm. 
 Bends o'er the tide. 
 
 As when by storm 
 A sail-press'd mast is broken. 
 
134 
 
 Wide o'er their head 
 
 Its ebon wings 
 The Eaven spreads^ 
 
 And round them flings 
 A charm that mocks at numbers^ 
 A charm, whose pow'r 
 
 Is doubly felt 
 In that dread hour 
 
 When blows are dealt, 
 And death the ground encumbers. 
 
 Guth. More than your hand deserves my praise and 
 
 thanks 
 Brave harper ! in your song a spirit glows 
 Which makes you kin, methinks, with those who 
 
 wield 
 A sharper weapon than the harp, whose tones 
 Barb'd with your words, however, stir the blood 
 And raise new heroes to replace the dead. 
 Gladly, be sure, my warriors here would list 
 Another strain, if such your own content. 
 
135 
 
 Alfred. My glory is to please, and proud am 1 
 You deign to smile upon my simple art. 
 
 [Be accompanies the harp again. 
 
 Merrily, merrily home we go. 
 
 Merrily, merrily now go we ; 
 Victory ! victory ! whore's the foe ? 
 
 Under the sod ! where should he be ? 
 
 Proudly he came, and his shafts like hail. 
 
 Busily rain'd on helm and shield ; 
 Fled we ? oh ! no : not a cheek was pale ; 
 
 Choice had he none but to flee or yield. 
 
 Fast the strokes fell from each Norseman's hand. 
 
 Fast on the heads of the Saxon horde ; 
 Saxon the blood that enrich'd their land ; 
 
 Victory smote with a Danish sword. 
 
 Merrily, merrily home we go. 
 
 Merrily over the briny swell ; 
 Ask not of us whither fled the foe ; 
 
 Ask of the ground, where he fought and fell. 
 
 Guth. My thanks again : I leave you with regret ; 
 
136 
 
 But still more heavy should I be to quit 
 This pleasant land, although my native home 
 Lies where the raven dropt in Odin^s ear 
 Its croaking mysteries. Take ample rest, 
 And should your sympathy with pride of arms 
 Suggest the fancy, you are free to view 
 Whate'er of martial order this our camp 
 Presents to curious notice. Fare you well ! 
 
 Alfred i apart). When next we meet, brave Chieftain ! 
 you may find 
 Good reason to lament that kindly wish. 
 Harm to thy person ? — None, but war's worst fate 
 To thy whole brood, and to my country peace ! 
 
 Scene Yi.—Isle of Athelnay. 
 
 Alfred and Cedeic. 
 
 Alfred. Not the poor menial, Oedric, but the King 
 Now gives you thanks ; right bravely have you earn'd 
 His grateful notice ; you must own the harp 
 
137 
 
 Has also play'd its part, with credit too. 
 For youj for me, for all who speak our tongue 
 There dawns a brighter day ; may Heav'n unfold 
 The budding light ! we do but seek our own. 
 
 Gedric. And I, most gracious King, have only done, 
 If even that, a duty well repaid 
 By your acknowledgments, and safe return. 
 
 Alfred. Attend my Nobles ? — first let Godwyn come, 
 
 [Enter Godwyn. 
 Thrice welcome, loyal friend ! whose faith and zeal. 
 In darkest hours shone out ; take now thy place 
 On this my better hand. 
 
 Godw. Not words alone. 
 Let these my tearful eyes attest the joy 
 Your restoration to yourself and us 
 Creates, my Liege, in every faithful heart. 
 Your name is now once more a tow'r of strength. 
 
 Alfred. 'Tis well ; now, Cedric, to our presence lead 
 
 T 
 
138 
 
 Earl Ordolf. We must not o'erlook his rank, 
 
 [Enter Oedolf bowing to the ground. 
 Nay — cast all doubt aside, most noble Earl ! 
 your prompt attendance here in warlike guise 
 Outweighs whatever the Council may have learnt 
 Of your distemper'd faith ; I hold them free 
 Of all reproach that charge of undue haste 
 In taxing you with treason might entail. 
 And deem you bound to show by valorous feats 
 That the realm's weal, alike in peace and war, 
 Is motive to your acts : the hour, the field 
 Of trial for us all is nearing fast. 
 
 [Enter other Nobles and Commanders. 
 This large assembly of my trustful chiefs 
 E'en to o'erflowing fills the golden cup 
 I strove so long to grasp : right welcome, aU ! 
 Your wonder err'd not when the crown and throne 
 Became so darkly void ; necessity 
 Of health, and danger brooding o'er the State 
 Prescribed a firm resolve, beset, I own. 
 With tremulous misgivings. Heav'n hath bless'd 
 My self-abasement, and I now resume 
 Sceptre and sword — our land's avenging swoi'd. 
 
139 
 
 By confidence in long success benumb'd, 
 And fondly waiting for th' expected burst 
 Of feuds fermenting here^ our neighbour foes 
 Are ill prepared ; a sudden blow struck home 
 May quench in blood and death their dreamy hopes. 
 Go to your several posts, collect your men. 
 And be like slot-hounds straining on the leash. 
 Till, as a lightning-flash, my word to march 
 Breaks on your watchful ears ; then with like speed 
 Haste to the point assigned, where I, your King, 
 WiU foremost lead you on with firm array 
 To one last fight and crowning victory. 
 War has its chances — numberless — I know. 
 But also to my knowledge^ — knowledge, mind ! 
 They at this juncture clearly side with us. 
 Now speed you well ! 
 
 Godw. Be sure, my gracious Lord ! 
 That in true time with yours our pulses beat. 
 
 An Earl. I swear it : and may Christ record the oath ! 
 
 A II. We swear ! we swear ! 
 
140 
 
 Scene III.' — Damdf's cottage. 
 Alfred and Cedric. 
 Alfred. Well, my good yeoman, though I strive to show 
 A cloudless bearing, and put trust in those 
 Who hold my fate in charge, to be so near 
 The hour of doom must needs with anxious awe 
 My bosom fill ; yet from beneath the load 
 There springs a bright foreboding of success. 
 
 Cedric. Doubt not, my Liege, your hope has wherewithal 
 To nerve ten thousand hearts, however sunk 
 In deep despair, until with you revived. 
 
 \_Enter Danulf and Githea. 
 
 Bati. Most worthy King, — for such we hear you are — 
 We come, my wife and I, with humble pray'r 
 To beg forgiveness — Dolts we must remain 
 Despite your pardon — oh ! let that reproach 
 Appease your anger — what queer eyes are ours 
 That stopp'd at outward lendings, nor could spy 
 The kingly mien beneath a peasant's dress. 
 
 Alfred. You cannot win my pardon, — none have I 
 
141 
 
 To grant where no offence was giv'n ; the dress 
 
 Had miss'd its object, if your sight had pierced 
 
 The rough disguise, and gaged the man within. 
 
 In lieu of pardon, count on my esteem ; 
 
 You wore no mask to hide your native sense 
 
 And ever honest purpose ! but from you. 
 
 Dame Githra, pardon, though on knees implored. 
 
 May justly be withheld ; can you suppose 
 
 That any lapse of ages will erase 
 
 Th' impression made upon this ear of mine 
 
 By your loose tongue, and by your weighty hand ? 
 
 What ! scold and strike your lawful prince ! 
 
 Githra. Alack I 
 I knew you not, my Liege ! and only thought 
 To rouse a menial, whose dull negligence 
 Spoil'd the best cake 'twas e'er my lot to knead. 
 
 Alfred. I might accept th' excuse, but much I fear 
 The law will prove less placable, and death 
 May not be deem'd too harsh a penalty. 
 
 Githra. Oh! dear! oh! dear! what, kill me for a cuff ! 
 
142 
 
 Alfred. A lenient judge might, haply, be content 
 To lop the guilty hand. 
 
 Githra. Lenient, forsooth ! 
 Take my best weapon ! — thanks — Pd rather die. 
 
 Alfred. Surely, not so : he would not take your tongue, 
 And that^s a weapon quite enough for one. 
 
 Githra. Wretch that I am ! what more ? 
 
 Ban. Poor woman ! see. 
 She's nearly lunatic : Oh ! pray, my Lord, 
 Remember how her cheek received in turn 
 Good payment for the cuff so freely dealt. 
 Milder of late she is, and now, when vex'd. 
 No lamb more gentle than she means to be. 
 
 A Ifred. Come, goody lamb, your husband shall not plead 
 In vain. We drop the past, and bid you laugh 
 At this our wanton, solemn merriment. — 
 Now would I court repose ; I feel a want 
 Of care's best comforter ; as eve's soft shade 
 
14.3 
 
 Creeps mantling on^ to eyes o'erstrain'd by use, 
 And such are mine, how sweet is balmy sleep, 
 Thougli kin to death. Leave me you may, good friends. 
 My rest is here. [Exeunt all but Aliteed. 
 
 So, — Pm at last alone. 
 Not quite, — for buzzing fancies haunt me still, 
 And weariness but slowly steeps my brain. 
 Be thou my guard, as thou hast been my guide. 
 Almighty Father ! may I dream as hope 
 Inspires, and wake with livelier trust in Thee. 
 
 [He lies down and falls asleep. 
 
 The Ghost of St. Cuthbert appears. 
 St. Guth. How calm is sleep when conscience hath no 
 thorn. 
 Alfred ! my form and voice shall reach thy sense. 
 E'en through the mists of slumber. Look and list. 
 Thy pray'rs are heard, thy wise and firm resolves 
 Approved on high ; thy life's exposure too. 
 And Christian zeal are incense dear to Him 
 Whose eye o'erlooks, whose grace revives the world. 
 Gird on thy sword ; go forth in conscious might ; 
 
144 
 
 My spirit, led by Him, shall move in front 
 
 Of thy resistless ensign, whose deep fold, 
 
 In shadow thrown before thee, shall arrest 
 
 The Norsemen's rage ere yet the Saxons' spears 
 
 Achieve their work ; and more, the Raven flag, 
 
 Shorn of its pride, shall cow'r in gory dust 
 
 Beneath th' uplifted Cross, and onward still 
 
 Thy power shall stretch, with peace and peaceful arts, 
 
 From sea to sea athwart this bleeding isle. 
 
 God speaks through me ! {^Ghost vanishes. 
 
 Alfred springs from his couch. 
 
 Alfred. They waver j see ! they break ! 
 On, my brave children, on ! yet once again. 
 Stand to the charge, and all the field is ours. 
 No dream was there : I thank thee. Holy Saint ! 
 Not Hermon's dew, not Aaron's oil, could more 
 Refresh my soul, and brace me for the worst. 
 
 Scene IV. — Field ofhattle. Camp in the background. 
 
 Enter King Gutheun and Staff. 
 King Guih. The Saxons are upon us— haste and form; 
 The camp is roused — our men are streaming out. 
 
145 
 
 Arcliers to front ! your bows well plied may check 
 Th^ advancing columns, — every moment gain'd 
 Is precious. Mass the spearmen close behind 
 Our horse on either flank, and pass the word 
 That strong reserves support the forward ranks. 
 Surprised we are, but ready, as the foe 
 Shall soon perceive. Remember ye are Danes. 
 
 Another part of the field. Enter Alpeed at the head of his 
 guwrd. 
 
 King Alfred. At length the goal's in view. Brave 
 countrymen. 
 Behold the tented field our swords must reap ! 
 Now in the battle's order take your stand : 
 My post is here, and o'er my helmet, mark. 
 To every eye, the royal standard floats. 
 I read your looks — they blaze with victory. 
 Charge quick — Charge home — Let no remains be left 
 At our triumphal feast : God by our hands 
 Will smite the pagan host. I have His word. 
 Brought by St. Cuthbert's spirit to my ears 
 
 tj 
 
146 
 
 In vision of the night. Then be our cry, 
 God and St. Cuthbert ! in their names I lead. 
 
 [They raise the war-cry and rush on. Other 
 parts of the field : hands of soldiers fighting. 
 Enter the Danish chief HelmsteEj with a few 
 soldiers, and Saxon prisoners bound.'\ 
 
 Helm, {to his soldiers). Go, some of you, and take 
 those Saxon dogs 
 Beyond the battle's reach. Should fortune prove 
 A wanton jade, let them not live to boast, 
 But draw the blade across their throats, and leave 
 Their carrion limbs to blister in the sun. 
 To wring them as they die with torturing pains 
 Were best, but time would fail you ; now, begone ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Since I have left my post and faU'd to meet 
 This Saxon king, whose person much I long 
 To shorten by the head, the public voice 
 May roughly treat me. Ho ! King Alfred, ho ! 
 I dare thee to the fight of man with man. 
 
 [Cedeic enters. 
 
147 
 
 Gedric. Thou braggart Dane, I too for better cause 
 Have sought a royal foe ; it may not be. 
 And here I bide to try the fate of war 
 At the sword^s point with thee : Come, do thy worst. 
 
 Helm. I know thee not ; but since thy words provoke 
 A trial here in battlefield, I stand. 
 
 Gedric. Have at thee, then, with all a Saxon's hate ; — 
 Good sword ! thou wilt not fail me now at need. 
 
 [He rushes at Helmstee — they fight, TL-elmsteb,' aright 
 arm is pa/ralysed hy Cbdeio's blow ; he d/rops his 
 iattle-asce and tv/rns to fly, covered by his soldiers.] 
 
 Oedrie. 'Tis well ; thy life is worthless ; in thy flight 
 I hail the omen of a great success. [He passes on. 
 
 Enter Bael Oedoli' wounded, a bloody sword in his hand. 
 
 Ordolf. These Danes, I must confess, when brought to 
 bay. 
 Are deadly fighters ; witness this red blade, 
 'Twas hand to hand, my strength was all but spent. 
 
148 
 
 When at my side a Saxon yeoman plied 
 His stalwart arms and hew'd the foremost down. 
 Stand long they cannot ; more than wonted rage 
 Impels our SaxonSj and where Alfred's plume 
 Waves in the flood-like van, they drive the Danes 
 Before them as the tempest drives the chaff. — 
 What have we here ? a woman ! rather seems 
 A fury arm'd and seeking whom to slay ! 
 She makes at me — what eh ? a woman's blood 
 Confers no glory — can I fence her off? 
 
 [Assumes aii attitude of defence. Woleeida rushes on. 
 
 Wolf. Escape thou canst not. Earl ! with Danish gore 
 All reeking as thou art — I know thee weU, 
 And hate thy treason — Alfred strikes through me ! 
 
 [Obdolp falls. Mis Fostee-Beothee wounds Wolfeida. 
 
 Fos. Bro. Accursed hag ! thou shalt not halt behind — 
 My brother calls thee. To thy native hell 
 Go down, and vaunt thy sorceries on earth. 
 
 Wolf, {dying). I blame thee not — affection sped thy 
 blow. 
 The life thou takest has no prize for me — 
 
149 
 
 My Danes have had their day — content I die : 
 
 Waft me, oh ! waft me beyond the flood, 
 
 Where m hattle of old my father stood; 
 
 Daioghter am I of an Ocean-King, 
 
 And a dirge for me shall the mermaids sing. 
 
 Faster and faster it ehhs away ; 
 
 Soon shall I know what the Nomas say ; 
 
 Raven ! thy wings overspread the skies, — 
 
 Home to Valhalla my spirit flies. [She expires. 
 
 An Officee enters in haste. 
 
 Off. Ho ! from the king — on yon hill-side the foe 
 Still holds his own, not yet so weak but what 
 The tide, thus far our own, may haply turn 
 And make his slaking fortunes ours. Haste, haste ; 
 A strong reserve must on the word push forth 
 Swallowing the space by fleetness, — come, friends, — 
 
 come, 
 On your swords' poiut the nation's fate is poised. 
 
 Fos. Bro. Already see ! the word is pass'd, — ^they 
 march. 
 cruel war ! that with the slaughtered foe 
 
150 
 
 Confounds the dearest treasures of oiu" hearts. 
 How must I hate thee now ! here stretch'd in death 
 Lies my kind brother of the breast. O ! loss 
 To me irreparable — Comfort none — 
 Suppose the field be ours, my dole of joy 
 Is but a soldier's scrap, — the grief, alas ! 
 AH, all my own, unpitied and unshared. — 
 
 \_Shouts from a distance. 
 Enter Alfeed and Oucurds. The Royal Standard 
 in their midst. 
 GoDWTN and Obdeic. 
 Alfred. What say you ? Is their vaunted ensign ours ? 
 Have we indeed their famous spell-wrought bird 
 Dragg'd from his perch ? 
 
 A Voice. Oh ! yes, my Liege, and caged. 
 
 Alfred. Poor Eaven ! hush'd for aye ! thy quivering 
 plumes 
 Shall never more give token of success. 
 Or cause the air to ring with shouts of joy ! 
 Their loss immense ! their rout complete ! to God 
 
151 
 
 How vast our debt ! and ye, my Saxons, too — 
 
 Well have ye fought this day, and plunged beneath 
 
 Dark Lethe's wave all baser memories, once 
 
 Tour shame and mine ! — what bloody corpse is that ? 
 
 Another too ! a woman's — War accounts 
 
 For much, but here is something more than war 
 
 Can on the outward showing well explain. 
 
 Fos. Bro. What scarce an hour ago was Ordolf, Kiag I 
 Lies weltering there, — he had a debt to pay, 
 And pay'd it down like one of noble birth 
 And heart to match ; yon carcass ia quaint garb 
 Was late a Danish witch : she slew the Earl, 
 And I, his foster-brother, paid her off. 
 
 Godw. That Earl, victorious Kiag ! was once a friend 
 I valued much, the Council on reports 
 Touching his fealty placed him in restraint. 
 Tou gave him freedom, and his gratitude 
 Shone with true lustre even to his death. 
 
 Cedric. My word for that ; in the fierce battle's front. 
 
152 
 
 I saw him bathed in blood of numbers slain, 
 
 Nor dream'd for what I clear'd him space to live. 
 
 The witch so call'd was born of royal seed, 
 
 By name Wolfrida ; birth, a tow'ring mind. 
 
 And wild demeanour, gave her tongue at times 
 
 A weird overmastering pow^r ; she snatch'd my bride 
 
 Prom urgent peril, and I mourn her fate. 
 
 Alfred. To both let due respect be shown ; the dead, 
 Whate'er in life their acts, of kindred mould 
 Touch us too nearly, not to move our hearts, 
 And claim a sigh unsanction'd by their worth. 
 
 Scene V. — Saxon encampment before the Danish fortress. 
 
 SoLDiEES on guard. 
 
 1st Sold. I wonder much these Danes are not as tired 
 Of being watch'd as we of watching them. 
 Weeks have gone by since their defeat, and still 
 They hold the walls they fled to in despair. 
 
 2nd Sold. Wait, comrade, yet awhile ; their scanty 
 stores. 
 
153 
 
 e long, if nothing else, will bate their pride, 
 id bring them to our feet. 
 
 1st Sold. The sooner then, 
 ,y I, the better ; much I long to see 
 DW fare our wives ; this camping life gives room 
 )r idle thoughts ; I'd rather fight than yawn . 
 
 2nd Sold. Be sure our gallant King, who fought so 
 
 well 
 . the great battle ; and, as some declare, 
 ew with his own stout hand a score of Danes, 
 "ill storm the fort, or bring the foe to terms 
 'ith all good speed, — the latter of the two 
 ost Uke ; yon walls are thick, and steep the hill 
 ley stand on ; rams for breaching still to seek. 
 
 1st Sold. Well, well, old Guthrun must turn out at 
 
 last, 
 nd then we churls will souse their pagan skulls, 
 nd make them Christians ; better, I should hope, 
 ban most of us. 
 
154 
 
 2vd Sold. What ! think you they have souls, 
 Savage and cruel as they are ? — 'twould take, 
 I guess, the sea, o'er which they came, to wash 
 The heathen out of them. 
 
 \_A trumpet sounds in the distance. 
 
 \st Sold. Ha ! something stirs : 
 Faint and afar ; it came not from the walls : 
 Look out ! What see you ? 
 
 2?itZ Sold. 'Tis the King, I guess. 
 Attended by some horse, with measured pace, 
 As 'twere on survey ; hitherward he bends. 
 
 \st Sold. 'Tis well we're at our post ; his eye detects 
 The slightest flaw. 
 
 2nd Sold. God bless him ! Where he treads 
 The gi'ass springs up, and misery dares to hope. 
 
155 
 
 Enter Alfred with Godwyn and Cedric. 
 
 Alfred. Tour tidings promise well ; the siege is pressM, 
 And our beleaguered Dane must feel the want 
 Of new supplies to feed his meagre hoard. 
 Better to choke him from his hold, than waste 
 Fresh streams of blood to hasten what is sure. 
 Besides, I have at heart enduring peace. 
 Built on fair treatment ; after-times would reap 
 A golden harvest, did the scheme succeed. 
 
 Godw. Pardon, my liege, but long experience warns 
 That fickleness and smooth dissembling front 
 Are the resort of Danes, their policy 
 When humbled by defeat,— to trust them is. 
 In my poor judgment, the unerring path 
 To vain regret and ruinous alarms. 
 
 Alfred. I grant the risk ; but oft the issue hangs 
 On seasonable time, meet circumstance. 
 And individual character, the which 
 Seem in the pending instance to concur. 
 And warrant with due care a liberal trust. 
 
 [The blast of a horn is heard. 
 
156 
 
 What means that flourish ? Is it from the town ? 
 Cedric, go see ; 'twere well we knew forthwith. 
 It may intend a parley : if it do. 
 Spare diet is an angel, and our work 
 Draws to a close. Conjecture helps us not. 
 Oedric will hasten back. Lo ! here he comes. 
 What means it, Cedric ? 
 
 Oedric. Parley, nothing more. 
 The Danish chief would meet you. Sir, or else 
 Instructed representatives from each 
 Might join in conference and talk of peace. 
 
 Alfred. Good. Let him send a herald, charged with 
 clear 
 Proposals to that purpose, and myself 
 Will face the royal Dane, a flag of truce 
 While here he tarries, pledging mutual faith. 
 I wait his perfect leisure ; need of haste 
 Spurs me not on, — the siege of course maintain'd. 
 
157 
 
 Scene VI. — King Alfred's tent. 
 AlfeeDj GodwtNj Cedeic, a7id others. 
 Alf. Comes he to-day ? 
 
 Qodw. A herald, sent before. 
 Announces his approach ; a numerous guard 
 Attend his person. 
 
 Alfred. Cause to fear, there's none ; 
 But prudence is of God ; we too are well 
 Surrounded, and our troops, all under arms. 
 So posted, though unseen, as to overwhelm 
 The slightest show of treachery. 
 
 A Voice. My Lord, 
 King Guthrun is at hand. 
 
 [Alfeed advances to meet him, 
 
 Alfred. I greet you. Sir, 
 With hearty welcome, glad to find in war's 
 Fierce energies a pause, however brief. 
 
158 
 
 Outh. Think not. King Alfred, that your courtesy 
 Is lost in air ; the breath of public fame 
 Bade me expect no less ; and moved by it, 
 IVe thrown all form aside, and come myself. 
 Seeking in friendly guise how best to choke 
 Our hostile fires in concord's strict embrace. 
 
 Alfred. My wish keeps pace with yours ; pray, rest 
 awhile. 
 My honoured guest ; for interchange of thoughts 
 May cleanse the view, and dwarf th' opposing heights. 
 Godwyn, my thane, the King and I would now 
 Be left apart ; so make it understood. 
 
 \_Exeunt Godwyn and others. 
 This quiet favours confidence ; to your 
 Proposals, whatsoe'er they be, I lend 
 A willing ear. 
 
 Guth. One word conveys them. Peace. 
 
 Alfred. Agreed thus far; but peace must rest on terms, 
 And yours I know not yet. 
 
159 
 
 Guth. A Saxon king 
 Approved by me in Mercia ; I and mine 
 To hold a royal settlement within 
 Pair limits in East Anglia — this the main : 
 Conditions of less note to be reserved 
 For later balance, so that intercourse 
 Of friendly sort with corresponding acts 
 May bind us long together, — bound, yet free. 
 
 Alfred. Most frankly stated ; yes. East Anglia, I 
 For my own part object not ; Mercia too 
 Restored to Saxon rule may have my voice ; 
 But real independence with no taint 
 Of guidance from the nod of alien pow'r 
 Must be its rightful state. Two points remain. 
 No Danish occupants of land to stay 
 On Mercian soil ; all fresh invading bands 
 Of Northern origin to be repelFd 
 Even by force, if needed ; these to boot, 
 Your proffer'd terms may not be deem'd amiss. 
 
 Q^dh. Pardon, King Alfred ; your appended weights 
 
160 
 
 To my plain offers savour of mistrust, 
 And that I view as no good element 
 In friendly contracts. 
 
 Alfred. Pardon me in turn ; 
 Distrust of circumstances differs much 
 From doubt of personal good faith, and where 
 Our own position leaves no choice we back 
 Our weakness with precautionary guards. 
 You aim at lasting peace, and offer terms. 
 But peace to last can never rest on terms 
 Which rather court disputes than shut them out. 
 Saxons and Danes, we cannot hide the truth, 
 Are opposites, nor may the stranger folk 
 Be free to ope their ports to kindred swarms. 
 
 Guth. Your plea, I grant, is plausible ; but Danes 
 Have sympathies, and claims of right, which bare 
 Authority may find it hard to thwart. 
 
 Alfred. There you are judge. I have to shape my course 
 By winds that often veer, and now derive 
 From late events a more than wonted force. 
 
161 
 
 Would we were like in creed ! A common faith 
 Might pave the road to peace. 
 
 Guth. You mean that we 
 Should turn to yours : a change as great 
 Has chanced to others ; did it rest with me, 
 It might again. 
 
 Alfred. If now I hail with joy 
 The shadow, think how warmly I should greet 
 The substance it precedes ; but that may prove 
 A dream, and as we stand, the real facts 
 Must on each side our joint agreement fix. 
 It lies with you to warrant on my part 
 The loosening of War's stringent grasp : to you 
 Not less than to myself is known the strait 
 Which e'en your courage cannot long endure. 
 Content am I to wait, my people's weal, 
 The polar star to guide me, — peace or war. 
 Forgive my frankness. 
 
 Gnfli. Aye, and prize it too. 
 Farewell ! 
 
162 
 
 Scene VII. — A Oi'ove by moonlight. 
 
 Cedeic and Hilda. 
 
 Hilda. Oh ! what a charm is here ! these tranquil 
 shadeSj 
 Dear Cedric ! seem the very home of thoughts 
 Attuned like ours. 
 
 Cedric. They breathe, indeed, my love, 
 A hallow'd peacefulness, and if they bring 
 Past sorrows back to mind, 'tis but to raise 
 The joy their presence yields. 
 
 Hilda. How sweet to hear 
 The whisper'd music of the leaves at play 
 With the young breezes : turn your eyes aloft. 
 And peering through the branchy loops survey 
 The deep blue fields of space, gemm'd o'er with lights. 
 
 Cedric. Nay, see the moon, a broad one, mounting 
 slow 
 
163 
 
 From yon hill-brow ! It seems in scorn to leave 
 The darken'd earthy and sheds a mellowing light, 
 Made softer yet by the soft haze that sleeps 
 On those tall elms and yonder village tower. 
 
 Hilda. My sight attends on yours ! trees, moon, and 
 stars 
 Have each their merit, love ; but do they not 
 Owe in great part their magic spell to peace, 
 This new-made peace, which takes its welcome birth 
 From Alfred and from you ? That modest air 
 Becomes you well j but had you not found him, 
 ^Tis chance he would so soon have found himself. 
 
 Cedric. Great thoughts are his, and generous. But 
 hark ! 
 What notes of music, mingled with the swell 
 Of joyous voices, are at hand ; what sounds 
 Of many feet, of dance, and laugh, and cheer, 
 And lights that dim the stars ! Fall in we must, — 
 Tbey know us both, these villagers, and shame 
 It were that we should be ashamed of them. 
 
164 
 
 Enter Villagers of both sexes and all ages, with lights and 
 
 music. 
 Gedric. Well met^ dear countrymen, and women too ! 
 Hilda and I are with you ; peace uniteSj 
 Peace cheers us all. How sweet that holy name ! 
 The pagan fiends are down ; our native fields 
 Are tilFd no more for them : let merry heels 
 Keep measure to the beats of joy within. 
 Hurrah ! for peace ! 
 
 A Voice. Hurrah ! for Cedric, too ! 
 
 Female Voice. And joy to Hilda! Peace and joy to 
 both! 
 
 They sing. 
 
 Twine the garland, maidens, twine ! 
 
 Bind it on that lovely brow ! 
 Well may flowers, the brightest, shine. 
 
 Shine for her, who greets you now. 
 
 Homage, Peace ! to thee we pay, 
 Happy songs of mirth and glee ; 
 
165 
 
 Wouldst thou in our bosom stay, 
 Love must thy companion be. 
 
 Twine the garland, maidens, twine ! 
 
 Weave it bright, and weave it true ! 
 Who can say it may not shine, 
 
 Late or soon, for each of you. 
 
 Scene VIII. — A hall in Alfred' s palace. 
 Enter Alieed and Queen Elswitha /row opposite sides. 
 Queen. How leave us so, my Alfred ? 
 
 Alfred. To return 
 With joy and health, and victory and peace ! 
 Gone is the past : its tide has swept away 
 Care, grief, and fear : recall it not, my queen ! 
 Lapp'd in our present bliss the future smiles. 
 No Danes to vex us, none to waste our lands. 
 Blaspheme the Cross, and make our homes their dens. 
 
 Queen. Thanks, thanks to God — to thee ! 
 
166 
 
 Alfred. Hereafter more ; 
 My love attends you, — soon we met again : 
 The public now. \Ee tahes his seat on the throne. 
 
 Earl Godwyn ! is lie here ? 
 
 [GoDWTN enters. 
 In this full presence. Earl ! well pleased I am 
 To blaze tby merits ; loyal, wise, and brave. 
 Thy seat is with the best : go, take it there. 
 Lead Cedric up : brave Thane, we owe thee much, 
 I and the State ; when our Great Council meets, 
 Thou shalt not be o'erlook'd. Ho ! Danulf, thou 
 Elsewhere my kindly host — an honest heart 
 Has nought to fear — thy sense and worth require 
 But slender learning — leave thy lot to me. 
 
 A Chamberlain. Sir King ! the dignitaries — Church 
 and State 
 Would, with your gracious leave, approach the throne. 
 
 Enter Aechbishop and many otliers. 
 
 Arch. Our duties at your feet, my Liege, we come 
 Prepared, whether by mass or sword, to do 
 
167 
 
 Your lawful bests, and now with peace, assured 
 By deeds triumpliant, wortty of your name, 
 To second to the full whate'er of laws 
 Progressive, or of institutions sound, 
 Tour royal wisdom may enjoin. 
 
 Alfred. Your words. 
 Most reverend and right noble ! fill my heart 
 With gladness and bright hopes. Our land is rich, 
 Our people not behind in manly gifts ; 
 And fitted. Lords, are ye by head and hand 
 To take the lead in every enterprise 
 Inspired by peace, and wrought for lasting good. 
 
 Chamb. Crowds of your meaner subjects, gracious 
 King, 
 Swarm in the Court, and raise a cry for leave 
 To hail your royal self. 
 
 Alfred. Not raean, though rough : 
 Admit them straight. [They enter. 
 
 Spokesmen. Free liegemen. King, we've sought 
 
168 
 
 This royal presence to speak out the joy 
 Which peace, your valour's work, bestows on all 
 Of Saxon blood. Yours to the death are we. 
 
 Alfred. The fealty you declare confirms the love 
 I bear you all. On God, the giver, rests 
 That peace you justly prize ; on me, on you, 
 The charge of turning it to full account. 
 To know is pow'r, but first we have to learn. 
 
 Ghamb. King Guthrun waits your leisure, Sir ! 
 
 Alfred. My time 
 Is ever at his service. 
 
 GuTHEDN enters. 
 
 Guth. Good, my Lord, 
 State duty calls me eastward ; ill it were 
 To leave you unadvised ; accept, I pray, 
 This friendly deference, and be assured 
 That far or near I strive to realize 
 Your wish that Dane and Saxon should be one. 
 
169 
 
 AJfrcd. That wish is truly mine and rooted fast 
 In ground not tried before ; our peace is both 
 Its gage and mean ; the crowning act remains 
 In your discretion ; friends we aro^ but more. 
 Tea, brethren we might be, did that great name. 
 To which we bend, obtain your credence too. 
 
 Ghith. The seed embosom'd needs but time to break 
 From earth, and open into bloom ; the hearts 
 Of many must be turn'd, ere one, though first. 
 Can bruit with sure effect his new-born faith. 
 
 Alfred. I wait your season hopefully : farewell ! 
 
 [Exit GUTHEUN. 
 
 Godwyn ! come near ; my bosom is o'erfraught : 
 You see by grace at length I've reach'd a height. 
 Whence, looking on through time, I may provide 
 In some degree for generations call'd 
 By nature's law to follow this, our own. 
 
 Oodw. May Heav'n such foresight bless ! 
 
 z 
 
170 
 
 Alfred. This sea-girt land 
 Is destined, — can we doubt it ? — to become 
 The freehold of a nation, haply formM 
 Of parts distinct, but welded into one; 
 Though ages first may pass away, it seems 
 No mean emprize to lay at once the base 
 Of what I now foreshadow, — nay, foresee. 
 
 Godw. A grand conception truly, of yourself 
 A birthlike image ; few there are, my Liege, 
 Who care to look so far ; the duller eye 
 Halts at th' horizon, — self and its small round 
 Th' uttermost range, and, sooth to say, I fear 
 Materials even for a base are scant. 
 
 Alfred. They must be made : to you and such as you, 
 To wisdom, learning, skill, wherever found, 
 I must appeal, — there seek wherewith to mould 
 My dreams, my longings into vital shape. 
 Asser is one who stauds in high repute. 
 And him I would secure at once. 
 
171 
 
 Godw. Hia fame 
 Is widely noisedj and good indeed it were 
 You fix'd a man so gifted in your court. 
 
 Alfred. You have my purpose : knowledge is our want. 
 And that, like other objects not our avm, 
 Musb be imported ; what myself can do 
 In lore or science, shall not tarry ; still 
 My leisure is an islet in the midst 
 Of restless waters, smoother than their wont 
 Just now, but never safe from storm and flood. 
 Our social customs, and our Saxon laws. 
 Dating from eld, retain such healthy seeds 
 That taking root, and spreading o'er the land. 
 Our race in after- years may head the world. 
 And render boundless service to mankind. 
 
 Godw. Your thoughts, my King, are eagles ; high they 
 soar. 
 And, lost in distance, carry on their wings 
 The light they blench not. I can only store 
 
172 
 
 The hopes they waken, and with loving gaze 
 Pursue the meteor-track that marks their flight. 
 
 Alfred. No seer am 1, but from the vantage-ground 
 I stand on, as a nation^'s chief, my ken, — 
 No room for boasting, — takes a wider range 
 Than else it would command; the nation's Hfe 
 Extending, — link on link as by a chain 
 To the far reach of time, I do but strive 
 To square my view with its grand destinies — 
 Girt by the seas, we must have fleets to guard 
 Our naked coasts, and line them with the gold 
 Of wealthier lands ; at home we must create 
 Seats of embower'd peace, where undisturbed 
 Pair Science and the Muses, all, may dwell. 
 Some part is done already ; Danish flags 
 Have stoop'd to ours at sea, and Danes have learnt 
 Enough to shake their pride of empire there. 
 On the green bank of that clear stream which flows 
 With gentle windings thro' my native meads, 
 I look to rear, — nor is the day remote, — 
 A comely structure, whence, in later years. 
 
173 
 
 Example taking, statelier tow'rs shall rise, 
 And all my fairest, fondest dreams fulfil. 
 By social grades, by local bounds confirm'd 
 Shall Order reign, surmounting many a shock ; 
 And Law, by freedom trainM, by use matured, 
 May haply bear some trace of Alfred^s mind 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IX. — Nave of a Saxon church — the high altar 
 in front; workmen putting the last finish to its 
 decorations. 
 
 Enter the Saceistan and Vekgee. 
 Sacristan. So much fond talk of late, one hardly 
 knows 
 What to believe ; what, not ; it seems that peace 
 Unties our tongues, and makes them wag so fast 
 That the poor brain turns laggard. 
 
 Verger. Better far 
 To hunger than to feed on lies : your thoughts, 
 I guess, are running on the Danes, so long 
 
174 
 
 Our heathen neighbours; now^ in sooth, it seems^ 
 Our fellow-Christians ! Bless the mark ! Go to ! 
 Baptize them to the chin, they're Bthiops still. 
 
 Sac. I'd liefer they had gone to worship blocks 
 Of wood and stone at home. 
 
 Ver. That well may be ; 
 But mind ! their king and ours have now join'd heads 
 In princely concert ; hence these preparations. 
 
 Ver. All done, the sight will be a brave one. 
 
 Sac. Aye: 
 And the procession — think of that ! with flags 
 And music, mitres, helmets, coronets. 
 Crosiers and^crucifixes, — a long stream 
 Of dignitaries, rich in clothing, bright 
 With jewelry, and most in some way famed. 
 
 Ver. Pity, the Dane himself will not appear ; 
 It may be that remembrance of late rubs 
 
175 
 
 Gives him a touch of shyness, or perhaps 
 He's not as yet well up in Christian forms. 
 
 Sac. Whatever his cause of absence, rest assured 
 King Alfred knows it ; early days it were 
 For mischief; and you know the Danes are tamed. 
 Our own brave king at all events will take 
 His fitting station, and the Archbishop heads 
 His prelate flock. 
 
 Ver. Indeed ! 
 
 Sac. Now talk must end : 
 The workmen leave, and we must clear the church. 
 
 l_After an interval the Procession enters and moves 
 along the nave. First voices ahead ; the two 
 choirs on each side, singing in turn the different 
 parts of the hymn.} 
 
 Recitative. 
 
 With hearts subdued and humble strain 
 We enter now this holy fane. 
 
176 
 
 A presence here, that leaves in shade 
 AU earthly grandeur, doom'd to fade, 
 Eebukes the swell of human pride. 
 An d seems our very bliss to chide. 
 
 Yet must these halloVd walls repeat 
 The notes of praise that have their seat 
 Where all our cares on God repose. 
 And gratitude with rapture glows. 
 Oh ! let our chastened voices rise. 
 And find an echo in the skies. 
 
 First Choir. 
 
 Proud are we a place to hold 
 In the kingly Shepherd's fold. 
 Glad to follow where his crook 
 Beckons o'er the wayside brook. 
 
 Hail we now another flock 
 Thirsting ^round the stricken rock, 
 Panting, bleating, see them rush 
 Where the living waters gush. 
 
177 
 
 Some there are who freely drink. 
 Bending o'er the dewy brink : 
 May the lips that waver still 
 Find and quaff the healing rill ! 
 
 Hand in hand 
 
 On the land 
 Steep'd in blood before 
 
 Now we meet 
 
 'Eound the seat 
 Mercy quits no more. 
 
 Second Ohovr. 
 
 Lift the Cross, and sound the name 
 Blazing from that tree of shame ! 
 Christ ! to whom we sons of earth 
 Owe the true, the second birth ! 
 
 Let thy loving arms embrace 
 
 All of earth, whatever the race ! 
 
 Fold within that hallowed round 
 
 All who breathe on Saxon ground ! 
 2 A 
 
178 
 
 Lord of yonder shining sphereSj 
 Borne along the lapse of years ! 
 Lord of souls that ever draw 
 Life from thy undying law ! 
 
 Hear ! oh ! hear ! 
 
 Lend thine ear 
 To the hymns that o'er us mount ! 
 
 Vows we bring, 
 
 Vows that spring 
 From the heart's out-welling fount. 
 
 The whole Ohoir. 
 
 Again, again 
 With joyous strain 
 
 Soaring high our voices ring; 
 Loud songs of praise 
 We raise, we raise, 
 
 To the Great Eternal King. 
 
 Wyman ^ Sons, Printers, Cheat Queen Street, London, W,C,