ARGUMENT. Succour given by Gregor to Alfred; Donald, Son of Gregor, commanding.Shipwreck.Alfred's Refuge in a Herdsman's Cottage,and afterwards in the Isle of Athelney.
He ceasedbut still the accents of his tongue
Persuasive, on the attentive hearers hung:
The monarch and his warlike thanes around
Still listening sat, in silent wonder bound.
As when, in summer skies, the surges sleep,
Till Zephyr gently lifts the rippling deep,
And, smoothly rolling to the silken breeze,
Murmur, with gentle swell, the placid seas;
Then as, with bolder sweep, the freshening gales
Curl the white wave, a hoarser sound prevails;
Till dash'd impetuous on the groaning shore,
Loud, and more loud, the foaming billows roar:
So, by degrees, the tale of sorrow draws
From the chafed breast, soft whispers of applause,
O'er Pity's tear, till indignation rise,
And anger beam from every chieftain's eyes,
Each voice for War's avenging thunder calls,
And shouts of battle echo round the walls.
Long, through the dome, the increasing tumult grows,
When, from his seat, the princely Donald rose;
Donald, the only heir of Gregor's race,
Of Scotia's youth the glory and the grace;
Warm in the spring of life, in virtue warm,
Of blooming feature, and of manly form,
Health tinged his glowing cheek, and vigour strung his arm.
Oft had his skill, in sportive combat shewn,
From veteran arms the meed of conquest won;
Oft would his lance the wolf ferocious gore,
Or pierce, with temper'd point, the mountain boar;
And much he long'd, in some wide-banner'd field,
To die his maiden sword, and argent shield.
As when "the genius of the summer storm,"
Bids midnight-gloom the face of Heaven deform,
And all the gorgeous tints of Nature shrouds
In the dun umbrage of electric clouds;
With vivid flash the forked lightnings fly,
And the deep thunder rolls along the sky:
Yet, fann'd by Zephyr, if the welkin clears,
And through the haze the orb of day appears,
Hush'd is the tempest's roar, that, far and wide,
Rode o'er the ethereal vault in sullen pride,
The wild winds sink to rest, and not a breeze
Ruffles the lake, or sings among the trees:
So, when the royal youth, in act to speak,
Fire in his eye, and blushes on his cheek,
(Fire, nobly glowing at Oppression's view,
Blushes, true Modesty's celestial hue,)
Attention claim'd;hush'd was each clamorous tongue,
And listening crouds on every accent hung.
"Think not, illustrious thanes!" the youth begun;
"Think not, dread sire! thy subject, and thy son
Stands forth, in such a cause, with artful strain,
To court unwilling warriors to the plain,
No! when we see a scepter'd hero stand
An earnest suppliant for a ruin'd land;
Suppliant for gentler ties;and Fancy shows
Of chaste and captive dames the injurious woes,
Can sense of danger, or of toil, controul
The generous fury of the warrior's soul?
Danger but swells the fervid tide of Fame,
And toil and hardship, fan the soldier's flame;
England, o'erwhelm'd by dire Oppression's wave,
Calls, with a voice from Heaven, the avenging brave.
Against our armies, though she oft has stood,
And stain'd our borders with their native blood,
While generous each, in emulative strife,
Alternate wept for many a gallant life,
Yet with the fight the enmity was o'er,
The outrage past, its memory lived no more,
And manly courtesy, to vanquish'd foes,
Wide ope the hospitable portal throws.
Lives there a youth of Caledonian race,
So lost to Glory's pride, to Honour's grace,
To shrink unmanly from the warlike deed,
When beauty weeps, and captive heroes bleed?
No breath of mine the aspiring flame can raise,
Or swell spontaneous Valour's native blaze:
But, O, my father! if my infant smile
Could ever one lone hour of care beguile,
If thou hast ever joy'd to see thy son
Clad in the spoils his sylvan arms had won;
O sire! O sovereign! let thy favouring breast
Propitious hear thy Donald's first request:
Though thy fond care forbade my youthful hand
To wield the ponderous lance on Erin's strand,
O give me now, to join the valiant train
Who march, avengers of a kindred reign.
Then, as in Alfred's, and in Virtue's right,
We move, in dauntless phalanx, to the fight;
Beneath his banners shall I learn to guide
The impetuous shock of war's enfuriate tide;
Of martial science trace each varied form,
Calm and collected, 'mid the battle's storm;
For Alfred, train'd in War's and Hardship's school,
Has learn'd the headlong rage of youth to rule.
True Glory's path, by his example shewn,
Should e'er Invasion shake my father's throne,
This happy arm may set my country free,
And Scotland owe her future peace to me."
"Prop of my failing age," the monarch cries,
Parental fondness melting in his eyes;
"Too surely though this aged breast must prove,
The anxious throbbings of a father's love,
Since well I know what various dangers wait
The ardent warrior on the field of Fate,
My fondness shall not dim thy warlike fire,
Or check that courage which it must admire.
Go then, my son, from these imperial walls,
The path pursue where Caledonia calls;
In every region, breathing every air,
If Honour ask their aid, her sons are there.
War-worn, and bow'd by age, to thee I yield
The fame and hazard of this glorious field,
Brave in thy father's, and thy country's right,
Lead forth my hardy veterans to the fight.
And you, ye valiant thanes of honour'd birth,
Illustrious heirs of Scotland's ancient worth,
To your domains, and trophied halls, repair,
Array your loyal clans with martial care,
Thence shall your choice select a godlike train,
Compeers with Donald on the embattled plain,
Heroes, with fresh-earn'd laurels prompt to grace
The ancient fame of Caledonia's race."
Here in the monarch's anxious bosom strove,
The warrior's ardour, and the parent's love.
As now his fancy paints his conquering son
Dress'd in refulgent spoils, by valour won,
Now shows him breathless on the ensanguined ground,
Wild War's insulting tempest raging round,
The soldier's pride strives with the parent's fear,
And courage dimly shines through Sorrow's tear.
The warlike guests depart.From every plain,
Mountain, and woody vale, of Scotia's reign,
Her race of manly hardihood she pours,
Shining in arms, by Perth's imperial towers.
From Inverary's bleak and hoary brow,
Frowning with craggy rocks, and white with snow;
From chill Lochaber's wild and desart plain,
Wash'd by the surges of the northern main;
From Tiviot's flowery vales, whose meads among,
Tweed his pellucid current rolls along;
From Grampian hills, with piny forests crown'd,
And Cheviot's heaths, in future song renown'd,
The generous warriors crowd with fierce delight,
Breathing alarms, and panting for the fight;
Frequent as, when sweet Maia's genial hours,
Bepaint the enamel'd meads with odorous flowers,
Moved by the instinct of industrious care,
The clustering bees swarm through the fragrant air,
Hang o'er the cowslip'd vale, and thymy hill,
And Nature's face with thronging myriads fill.
By manly courage fired, the warriors stand,
Impatient to avenge a sister-land.
Six thousand swains, selected from the rest,
The proud distinction own with beating breast;
Their gallant friends with generous envy glow,
As far as generous minds can envy know:
That Emulation, which its votary leads
To win immortal fame, by virtuous deeds,
Eager to grasp at danger, and at toil,
Reckless of vain applause, and sordid spoil.
Of lineage high, and high in Valour's meed,
Six feudal chiefs their kindred squadrons lead:
Fergus, whose bands, in foreign warfare train'd,
On Erin's fields had recent glory gain'd;
Keneth, whose hardy race were wont to brave,
On the frail bark, the Hyperborean wave;
Glamis, long used the weight of arms to bear;
And, young in war, brave Cawdor's valiant heir;
From Argethelia's hills, Lorn's gallant lord,
Who awed the northern robber with his sword;
And, with his mountain clans, Lochaber's thane,
Red with the slaughter of the invading Dane.
O'er these, in chief, young Donald held command,
And, as his eye along the gleamy band
Delighted roves, of war the kindling flame
Glows in his cheek, and shoots through all his frame;
He pants, of arms his first essay to crown
With deeds of bold emprize and high renown.
Beside the plumed host, with lifted hands,
Anxious, and sad, the hoary monarch stands.
"Ye valiant chiefs," he cries, "in many a field,
By hardy deeds to sense of danger steeled,
Be it yours to guard, amid the fatal strife,
The sacred pledge I give, my Donald's life.
And thou, illustrious King, whose fame's bright ray
Bursts forth at dawning with the blaze of day;
Inured, in earliest youth, to war's alarms,
To stand unmoved amid the shock of arms,
To temper Valour's heat with judgment sage,
And teach the storm of battle where to rage
Should rash presumption fire my Donald's breast,
Check the wild fury by thy mild behest.
So, at the eve of some victorious day,
When in mix'd folds the British ensigns play,
Either unconquer'd nation shall embrace,
In deathless amity, a kindred race,
Each shall protecting Alfred's glory claim,
And hail him monarch, in Britannia's name."
He said, and turn'd aside the languid eye,
Wiped the warm tear, and check'd the rising sigh.
O'er many a waste, to fair Ituna's bay,
The impatient warriors urge their rapid way.
For long the march, with danger fraught, and toil,
From Scotia's bounds, to Wessex' ruin'd soil;
Full many an intervening mountain stood,
Wide forests waving with impervious wood,
Castles, which hordes of savage robbers guard,
And vallies deep, by hostile armies barr'd.
Old Ocean bears upon his azure wave,
Toward England's southern shores, the young and brave.
Now, stooping to the stroke, the rowers sweep,
With bending oar, the surface of the deep;
And now, expanding to the favouring gale,
Swells with the freshning breeze the canvas sail,
While, as the spooning keels the surge divide,
Before the prow high mounts the whitening tide.
Soon to blue air melts Scotia's southmost height,
And rise Ierne's mountains to the sight;
Swiftly they pass the stormy seas that roar
Incessant round Menavia's lonely shore,
Till full in sight the rocky point appears;
Her lofty brow where hallow'd Mona rears,
And hoary Conway, famed in Druid lore,
Pours his hoarse flood from Arvon's craggy shore.
As now by Cambria's western point they keep,
Where frown Dimeta's turrets on the deep,
Low in the western wave Sol sunk his head,
Painting his radiant couch with fiery red,
Omen of future tempest,O'er the deep
The brooding winds in sullen silence sleep;
Around the yard the loose sail flagging plays,
No more the bark the pilot's hand obeys.
Short, and insidious calmthe flitting breeze,
First, desultory, lifts the sparkling seas;
Then louder swells the blast,against the shore
Dreadful, and near, the frothy breakers roar:
And, o'er the sable veil of murky night,
Incessant flashes shed terrific light.
Useless the oar, and dangerous now the sail,
The giddy vessels drive before the gale;
Part on the sea's tempestuous bosom toss'd,
Part forced disastrous on the rocky coast.
Sad, on the deck, unhappy Alfred stands,
And wrings, in anguish deep, his suppliant hands:
"O! had I fall'n before my country's eyes,
In her bless'd cause, a patriot sacrifice,
The tear of Glory o'er my body shed,
Had chear'd me, dying, and embalm'd me dead;
But here, unknown, unnumber'd with the brave,
Silent I sink beneath the whelming wave.
And ah! my brave allies, by glory warm'd,
Who generous, for a wandering stranger arm'd,
How shall each childless sire, and widow'd bride,
As many a longing look o'er Ocean's tide,
To greet your wish'd return, is vainly thrown,
Load Albion's cause with Horror's frantic groan.
O youth of royal hope!To Gregor's ear,
When sad report thy cruel fate shall bear,
How shall he weep thy early thirst of fame,
How load with curses Alfred's hated name."
Driven by the stormy north along the coast,
With dreadful force the monarch's bark is toss'd.
As through the parting clouds a transient light,
Shews the rude mountain to the pilot's sight,
From the steep shore he steers with cautious eye,
Shoots the swift bark in short-lived safety by;
Now vainly labouring through the rolling surge,
The raging winds her course disastrous urge,
Till, on the promontory's rugged base,
That bounds of deep Uzella's bay the space,
She strikes,down fall the masts with dreadful sound,
Snapp'd oars, and scatter'd planks, are strew'd around,
While, by the dark remorseless wave depress'd,
Is quench'd the flame of many a gallant breast.
With lusty arm the warrior King divides
The raging fury of the billowy tides;
Now on the rocks the waves his body urge,
Now refluent born by the receding surge.
The guardian genius of his natal hour,
Guardian of Alfred's life, and England's power,
Her adamantine buckler o'er him rears,
Awakes his courage, and dispels his fears:
High o'er the mountain waves, like Ocean's god,
With victor force, the dauntless hero rode,
Seized the rock's craggy point, with sinewy hand,
And stood alone in safety on the land.
But when, first climbing to the upland brow,
He view'd the watery waste that spread below,
Nor saw one wreck of all the naval train,
Amid the vast expanse of sky and main;
"Mysterious Heaven!" the mournful monarch cried,
"How vain of man the expectance and the pride!
The rising morn saw, o'er the favouring deep,
My brave allies their course auspicious keep;
Through Hope's delusive medium I survey'd
Deeds of renown, in flattering tint pourtray'd,
View'd my victorious banners float once more
In peace and triumph, o'er this rescued shore.
As the light mist, before the rising storm,
Loses in air its unsubstantial form,
So melt my fairy dreams:Alone I stand,
A wretched exile in my native land.
Yet to thy call, O wonder-working Power!
Be left my mortal, as my natal hour,
Ne'er shall this weak misjudging hand presume,
Rash, to precipitate thy awful doom;
Raised to the skies, or humbled in the dust,
I bow to thee, the merciful and just."
Now from the borders of the wave-worn shore
He turns, the adjoining region to explore:
Cautious his step, for Fate's destructive breath
Spreads desolation round, and war, and death;
Onward with toilsome march, but steady breast,
Through silent woods, and desart heaths, he press'd,
Shunning, with wary eye, the sudden blow,
Sped from the ambush of a lurking foe;
Till, leaving far behind the sea-girt coast,
His strength, by constant toil and famine, lost,
Exhausted Nature, with supreme command,
Impels his course to man's assisting hand.
As, from the bosom of the wood, his eyes
Beheld the smoke, in spiry column rise,
Hailing of human kind the needful aid,
He sought the cottage 'mid the embowering shade,
And, as a suppliant, at the lowly door,
Implored the meek compassion of the poor.
Not to the splendid palace of the great,
The pride of affluence, or the pomp of state,
Is Charity confined;her heavenly reign
Scorns not the hovel of the cottage swain.
Soon from the cates, by frugal labour stored,
The aged herdsman spreads his homely board,
And the neat housewife, with assiduous care,
Joys in the hospitable toil to share,
While courtesy, not such as courts impart,
But the pure language of the generous heart,
Vouches, with smiles that Flattery ne'er express'd,
The genuine welcome of the wandering guest.
Around the monarch, as the infant race
The narrow room in childish gambol trace,
His warlike hands in sportive frolic seize,
Or cling, with lisping fondness, to his knees,
His manly bosom melts with mild delight,
The scenes of joy domestic charm his sight;
And while his hosts, with hospitable care,
Their viands for their unknown king prepare,
With all a parent monarch's feelings fraught,
His whispering fancy thus embodies thought.
"Here in full colours to my eye are shewn,
The true supporters of the regal throne;
'Tis from industrious Labour's hard-earn'd bread,
That Opulence is deck'd, and Luxury fed,
'Tis from the rustic swain's diurnal toil,
Who bows the wood, and turns the stubborn soil,
Tends his meek flock beneath inclement skies,
Bids orchards bend with fruit, and harvests rise,
That Commerce draws, with powerful grasp, the stores
Of every clime from Earth's remotest shores,
That navies o'er the obedient billow ride,
That gallant armies shine in banner'd pride.
All that the swelling sail, and cordage yield,
The bark itself, was rear'd on Labour's field;
The radiant arms in War's bright van that shine,
Were dug, by rustic labour, from the mine;
From rustic labour springs the iron frame,
Nor danger can appal, nor hardship tame.
The sons of sedentary Art in vain
Pour ranks, unused to labour, on the plain;
Subdued by toil and want, each sickly form
Shrinks like the flowret from the vernal storm,
While Labour's hardy son the blast defies,
As England's forests brave her turbid skies.
"As now my failing powers your kindness feel,
True guard and glory of my country's weal,
Never, while life's warm current bathes this heart,
Shall the strong image, now impress'd, depart.
And, 'mid the prosperous scenes of regal state,
If prosperous scenes may yet on Alfred wait,
Still shall remembrance cling with ceaseless force,
To Splendour's basis, and to Plenty's source.
Yes! England's future laws shall careful shield
The manly swains who cultivate her field.
Though Commerce spread her boundless ocean wide,
O sacred be the springs that feed her tide,
Sacred the steady rock on which she stands
And views her empire stretch'd o'er distant lands;
An empire built on Agriculture's race,
Firm as the rocky mountain's solid base,
But, fed by waves from Luxury that flow,
Loose as the vapoury clouds that shade its brow."
As thus deep wrapt in wandering Fancy's dreams,
Victim of inward woe the monarch seems,
Oft gazing, passion-stung, with listless soul,
On untouch'd viands, and the untasted bowl;
With hospitable zeal the rustic pair,
By friendly converse, tried to soothe his care.
Deeming his breast by private sorrow wrung,
On public woes their tale incessant hung,
And to his wounded ear their words relate,
What new-born woes on wretched Albion wait.
How horde succeeding horde, in countless band,
Spread desolation o'er the ruin'd land,
Swept o'er the cultured plains in sanguine flood,
And mark'd their course by carnage, and by blood.
His hours, employ'd in constant tales of woe,
Nor beam of hope, nor smile of solace know;
Still heaves his bosom with the heart-felt sigh,
Still patriot sorrow dims the monarch's eye.
Day after day fleets on in cheerless mood,
While, as the swain his sylvan toil pursued,
Sad o'er the hearth the pensive hero hung,
Fix'd his unweening eye, and mute his tongue,
Deeply intent on scenes of present woe,
Or planning future vengeance on the foe,
The objects round him, like the viewless air,
Pass o'er his mind, nor leave an image there;
Hence oft, with flippant tongue, the busy dame
The reckless stranger's apathy would blame,
Who, careless, let the flame those viands waste,
His ready hunger ne'er refused to taste.
Ah! little deeming that her pensive guest,
High majesty, and higher worth, possess'd;
Or that her voice presumptuous dared to chide
Alfred, her country's sovereign, and its pride.
One morn, when yet the opening lids of dawn
Scarce cast a gleam across the dewy lawn,
As issuing from his cot, the early swain
His path directed to the furrow'd plain,
Emerging slowly from the neighbouring wood,
A distant from his starting eye-balls view'd,
Which, faintly glimmering through the twilight shade,
A warrior seem'd, in shining steel array'd.
Trembling to meet a foe in arms so near,
For foes were ever pictured to his fear,
In every shape a Dane his fancy sees,
A Danish shout is heard in every breeze;
Dismay'd, he sought the shelter of the wood,
The stranger's steps with swifter pace pursued;
O'er-ta'en, he stands and waits with panting breath,
And lifted arms, the expected stroke of death:
Yet, as instinctive terror shook his mind,
He call'd that help he little hoped to find.
Nor call'd in vain,for, by the dawning light,
Waked from the shadowy visions of the night,
As under Heaven's blue cope, the monarch pour'd
His wonted orisons to Heaven's High Lord,
The distant sounds of supplicating fear,
Pierced through the silent air his listening ear;
Such sounds that ear unheeded ne'er invade,
To pity prompt, and prompter yet to aid.
Arm'd with a saplin, which his vigorous hand
With generous haste, uprooted from the land,
Instant he reach'd the trembling peasant's side,
And dauntless thus the weapon'd foe defied.
"Whoe'er thou art, whose early footsteps stray,
Thus, in the misty vaward of the day,
To this lone spot,thy purpose quick declare,
Or to receive the stroke of fate prepare;
Vain is the vaunted guard of spear and shield,
If Virtue's arm the rod of Justice wield."
"O Heaven and earth!" the astonish'd warrior cries,
His voice half choked with rapture and surprise,
"Do I aright those well-known accents hear?
Or does illusive fancy mock my ear?
Do I once more behold my regal lord,
To wretched Albion's prayers again restored?
When Death, in sanguine triumph, raged around,
And blood of slaughter'd myriads strew'd the ground,
What guardian angel bore our king away
From the dread scene of Wilton's fatal day?
Through various perils since, what hand has led,
Sacred to Albion, thy anointed head?
O Alfred! O, my friend, my monarch! see
Thy faithful Ethelwood here bend his knee
To that eternal Power, whose mandate brings
Or weal, or woe, to nations and to kings;
Hailing the pledge of happier hours it gives,
And England's better hopes, that Alfred lives."
"My bravest soldier, yes!" the King exclaims;
"Once more the light of glorious vengeance flames,
Once more my bosom feels assurance given,
Of brightening prospects, and relenting Heaven:
What better omen could my fortune send,
Than, for a threatening foe, a long-lost friend.
Yet, o'er the cheering scene my fancy forms,
Steals a dark cloud, portending fiercer storms;
Still, still, alas! on these unhappy lands,
Supreme, Oppression's proud Colossus stands;
Still o'er my wretched people's prostrate race
Waves, with gigantic arm, his iron mace.
My loved Elsitha, too!" The patriot here
Wiped from his moisten'd cheek the husband's tear,
With struggling sorrow heaved his manly heart,
And smother'd sighs avow'd his inward smart.
"O that my words," replied the chief, "could heal
The bitter wounds thy anxious breast must feel.
But ah! too surely, o'er our ruin'd fields,
His crimson sceptre Desolation wields.
To the fierce foes, from Scandinavia's shore,
Whom every breeze impell'd, and billow bore,
From Erin's coasts, and Clonæ's hostile bay,
Erin, long subject to the Danish sway,
The swelling numbers urge their destined way;
O'er the blue wave, by furious Hubba led,
On fair Dimeta's vales their ravage spread;
Thence to Danmonia's vales they sped their course,
No power to check their march, or meet their force:
While pent in Kenwith's walls, his waste domain
Oddune, with eye indignant, views in vain.
Oddune, with me, from Wilton's day of woe
Preserved, to perish by this cruel foe,
Deeming, of succour hopeless, bless'd his doom
To fall, with slaughter'd thousands for his tomb.
"To me;through barbarous hosts, and scenes of blood,
By cruel foes, and treacherous friends, pursued,
Wandering with wild and desultory pace,
Far from the haunts of man's mistrusted race,
From Day's bright beam, in forests drear, conceal'd,
Or by the shade of Night's dark curtain veil'd;
To me, unknown, if Chance some hallow'd seat
Yield to Elsitha's charms a safe retreat.
Yet surely Heaven, with watchful care, has placed
A guard celestial round the fair and chaste.
"But other cares the patriot now demand,
A captive people, and a ruin'd land.
No safety here:assiduous to betray,
The insatiate blood-hounds wind their destined prey.
For Fame's, for England's sake, O deign to save
That life which Heaven's protecting favour gave,
What time, on Wilton's field, the victor Dane
Mid thousands sought thy sacred breast in vain.
The hour will come, I trust, when, flaming high,
In the bright van of blazon'd chivalry,
The crest of Alfred, like the leading star,
Shall guide to conquest through the waves of war;
But now, when toils are set on every side,
When every glen an ambush'd foe may hide,
When treason foul may lurk in friendly shape,
O 'tis our happiest triumph to escape."
He ceased, when thus the swain;"I know a seat
Where Thone and Parret's eddying currents meet;
A marshy space, with alders fringed around,
Skreens a few roods of habitable ground,
Closed from the view, and fenced on every side
By the deep waters of the circling tide;
Save, that when summer suns, with torrid beam,
Drink the smooth bosom of the failing stream,
A narrow ford, across the sand, is shown,
Where one adventurous breast can wade alone.
Here, long sequester'd from the hostile Dane,
Unseen, and safe, our monarch may remain.
And O, dread Sir! if aught my rustic guise
Has seem'd ungracious in my Sovereign's eyes,
The involuntary fault forgive, and deign
To let your vassal join your menial train;
So faithful care shall show, and zealous truth,
A loyal bosom in a garb uncouth."
The generous hero look'd with aspect bland,
Raised him with air benign, and press'd his hand.
Nor small the woman's terror, when confess'd,
She saw the monarch in her rated guest.
Nor less his kind attentive care, to cheer
Her trembling heart, and cancel every fear:
With friendly jest her terror he beguiles,
And rallies all her doubts in sportive smiles;
But with a graver, though a milder tone,
His thankful words in soothing accent own
Of poverty, the hospitable worth,
That took the houseless stranger to its hearth.
