Guthrum the Dane

Home , Guthrum

G UTH RUM TH E DAN E ;

A TALE OF

T H E ﬁH E P T A R C H Y .

R OBE R T T OR Y S .

L O N D O N

LO NG MA N BR OWN G REEN LONG M A NS , , , , — P A T E R N O S TE R R O W .

M I S S R EA N EY

O F B R AD F O R D

(I N T H E C O UNT Y O F Y O R K )

QIbis Elﬁ o zm

I S P R O U D DY A N D G R AT EF U L L Y I NS CR I B ED

B T Y H E A U TH OR .

“7 7 54 60

S OUL o f the Last and Mightiest — O f all the Min strels b e thou blest !

Fo r that thou hast bequeathed to me

A l o ri o us L G Y great and g E AC ,

Such as no other si ngl e mind

’ — Save S H A K sPE A R E s ev er left behind !

n o t o f o r - One , earth , earth born gold ,

o r In acres broad, sums untold,

Which may by heirs be wasted may ,

By lawless force , be swept away

Or meanly ﬁ l ched by legal stealth

But a b e quest o f m ental Wealth

n o t Left to me alone , although

’ As much my own as if twere so

to And yet, high thanks art divine

’ As much the world s , as it is mine

’ o r su n E en like the air, like the ,

en e Enj oyed by all , gross d by none

' D iﬁ used n e , unspe t ; ntire , though shared ;

n n e And u diminished , u impair d ; Ordained to rouse emotions high , And charm— till England ’ s language die

r I saw Oh , when at ﬁ st the Tale

o f Which tells the redoubted Gael ,

And o f the Bard whose harp would wake

To soothe the Lady of the Lake,

a I did not re d . That term were weak

The process o f the hour to speak

o f Page after page , thy words ﬂame — — To me without a medium came

The instant glanced at , glanced the whole

o n si ht so u l Not my g , but on my

And , thus daguerreotyped, each line

Will there remain while life i s mine ' I deemed that lay the sweetest far

That ever sung o f love and war ;

i And vowed that, ere my dy ng day ,

I would attempt such lovely lay .

But I was young, and had forgot

ff S O T ! How di erent were from thine , O C T

My genius , and my earthly lot . ’ m i n What though y ear , boyhood s time ,

Delighted, drank the ﬂowing rhyme

O P n o Though then , like P E , fool to fame ,

m m I lisped in nu bers , for they ca e ,

And waked , uncensured , unapproved ,

? An echo of the strain I love d

e And what though , in matur r days ,

a n d few e With none to j udge , to prais ,

Survived and ruled the impulse strong ,

And my heart lived and moved in son g — Still poor , unfriended, and untaught ,

A o f Cyclops in my Cave Thought ,

o f da Long sought I round, ere glimpse y

n Consoled me with its enteri g ray .

At length it came and then I tried

T i n 0 wake my Harp lonely pride .

w as m ee My Harp ade from stunted tr ,

’ The growth o f Glendale s barest lea

e Yet fresh as prouder stems it gr w ,

n And drank , with leaf as gree , the dew

Bright showers, from Till or Bowmont shed, Its roots with needful moisture fed

13 2 ' Gr ay birds, Northumbrian skies that wing ,

Amid its branches loved to sin g And purple Cheviot ’ s breezy air

- n e Kept up a life like quiveri g ther .

m e From Harp , thence rudely fra d and strung ,

7 Ah h o w should strain like thin e be ﬂu ng

’ a If moved by Hope s mbitious dream ,

i t I struck to some lofty theme ,

A l l harshly j arred its tortured chords ,

’ ’ As plaining such should be its lord s ; But all its sweetness wakened still

To lay of North e rn stream o r hill

’ To C R A V EN S emerald dales transferred

m That si ple Harp with praise was heard .

n th e The ma liest sons, loveliest daughters ,

’ That ﬂourish by the Aire s y oung waters ,

’ By gentle Ribble s verdant side ,

’ A n d Wh arfe s e by the impetuous tid ,

Lan ded . u e its strains And for this ca s ,

While t hrobs my breast to kin d applause

Nay, when , beneath the turf laid low,

No ki n d applause my bre ast can kn ow ’ P o et s b l essi n a - A g , he rt bequeathed ,

’ o f e O er the domains Craven br athed ,

Shall be to every hill an d plain

o r Like vernal dew, summer rain ,

A n d o r stay with her , while bud bell

e n o r u D cks lowla d mead , pland fell

— — There min dfu l stil l o f th e e I strove

To frame a lay o f war and love .

I roused o l d heroes from the urn

Bade buried m onks to day return

w n And waked fair maids, hose dust had lai

Ages in lead, to bloom again

My grateful wish to pou r along

o f Those emerald dales the charm song ,

’ And do for M al h am s Lake and Cave

’ What thou hadst don e for Katri n e s wave .

Not that the pride impelled m e n o w

That h ad inspir e d my youthfu l v o w ;

b u t l ike no tes I would some essay ,

Not rashly wake a ri val lay ! B u t y e ars o f gloom an d strife cam e on

Dark omens girt the British Thron e ;

f th e The Disaf ected and Bad ,

e m Who hop s from wild com otion had ,

e n Gav tow s to tumult and to ﬂame ,

— ’ And tre a son wrought i h WI L LI A M S n am e

was e That no time , in idl lays ,

To kin dle fe uds of other days

’ I m tuned y Harp to Order s cause ,

’ And sung for Britain s Ki ng an d Laws !

For party A y b u t party then

’ Was l e d by E ngland s greatest men

H i m hi s By , to save country born

H i m e e n By , Whom all the p opl mour ;

’ ’ S T Y S n n e Twas graced by ANLE oble am ,

A n d vaunt e d that o f gal lant G R AEME .

— r Men far too high , too pu e , too proud ,

To ﬂatter either co u rt or crowd

M en — e b o mov d y patri tic zeal ,

’ ' And s eeking nought b u t England s weal

D ull w ere the h e ad could style th e m an

Wh o e them n . follow d , a partisa — Far from thy Tweed m y birth that claims

I ﬁnd myself o n regal T H AMES

PE N E R The swans that S S loved to sing ,

Before m e prune the snowy wing ;

In Surrey woods, by moonlight pale ,

’ I list to T HOMSON S nightingale

U se the same walks that poet used,

O P And muse , where P E himself hath mused

What wonder if the wish, that burned

S o strong in youth , in age returned ;

— ’ — And mid such scenes m y Harp again

? Took up the long - abandoned strain

B ut ah when o f the high design

Is traced at length the closing line , — I say n o t How unlike to thine

The forward child of youthful pride ,

That bold Presum ption long hath died But— How unlike to that which ﬁrst

m ue u On y enrapt r d Fancy b rst ,

n e an d Whe , fr sh fair, my untried theme — Rose like a landscap e i n a dream

That landscape hath familiar grown ,

i s i s n And half of t romance ﬂow . e n n ew Thus r gio s , in distance seen ,

m e n Have sunny vales of s ooth st gree ,

m n And ountai s which , as they ascend ,

sk With the blue y so softly blend , — That givi ng nought o f ea rth to V iew

They seem to b e ethereal too

But , visited , the change is harsh

e The vales that look d so smooth , are marsh

Bru shwood an d h eath th e hills array ;

And rock an d quagmire bar the way

n wh o e Yet rou d that marsh , se k the vale ,

e May violet ﬁnd , or primrose pal

o n Yet those hills , who choose to climb

M ay m ee t th e crow -ﬂo wer or th e thyme

’ h as m While e en the rock for ﬂowers roo ,

’ And e en the quagmire boasts its bloom

w ’ And , ell I hope , that Northman ne er

Will lend a cold, fastidious ear ,

n e To hear a ative Bard r hearse ,

I n th e good old heroic verse ,

h o l d o f e an d n d How , h art strong of ha ,

H i s D I S F T R S w o n E R N AN H A HE NO R T H U M B L A D .

I 4 G UTH RU M TH E DANE .

His Mountains wild, and his yet wilder Sea,

h l so n W ich ieth in its might tra quilly ,

wo o eth And with so soft a kiss the shore ,

As if it promised to b e wild no more

— ’ Look to the right Tho u see st the castled steep

’ Of regal B am b o ro u gh b eetl e o er the de ep

’ S ee st , far beneath , the sparkling waters play ,

’ As wins the tide o n Waren s beauteous bay

o f And on the left , the Tower Holy Isle

’ o f Rise , like a rock snow, in Morning s smile

’ e Twas thus that rose the land , thus gleamed the wav ,

’ su n m T was thus that shone the , when Guthru brave ,

G UT R U T H E D H M AN E , from whom , with pride and j oy ,

For ever trace thy princely line , my Boy .

u - e When G thrum led his Danish ﬂeet, well mann d ,

A n d anchored al l his ships on yonder strand .

’

Ti s . s o n ! long ago Men then , my , were men

w as e e I not blind , I was not f ble , then

? n Wouldst hear the tale You g Harold smiled . He knew

The threatened tale , but liked to hear it too

A n d e e had, besides , a gen rous wish to pleas

- M u ch talki ng Age i n its i n ﬁ rm i ti es . E GUTH RUM THE DAN . 1 5

He therefor e answer e d with a prompt assen t ;

n Whe , gratiﬁed , his back the Warrior leant,

Beside the Youth , against a mossy stone That cairned the mountain which they sat upon

t And while, with cheek now sligh ly ﬂushed , now pale ,

his And voice that often changed , he told Tale ,

l There needed not the Harp . That war ike hand

’ n e Could once the sword, but e r the harp command ;

n o t And therefore like Minstrel , but like One

e By whom bold de ds had often , erst, been done ,

e He, as he felt it, poured his varying th me ,

A n d W A S the Bard he would have scorned to SEEM !

I . A hundred Ships , my son , with mast and sail ,

Had caught the im pulse of th e e astern gale ;

o f In every Ship , a score rowers brave

Had backward bent their c ars to brush the wave ;

’ G u thrum s e e n When vess l gav the parti g Sign ,

w a And led herself the y across the brine .

’ o n n m Carved rudely her prow , her drago s for

e u Had , scathless , w eathered many a wr ckf l storm ; 1 6 GUTH RU M TH E DAN E .

n For all along her sides , from stem to ster ,

Th e d e mystic words might every eye isc rn ,

Which held within their characters a charm ,

Of p ower the wildest tempest to disarm '

l - m o f - e e Spe l guarded was her ast roan tr ,

n — And eke her ca vas wove by Sisters Three ,

Wh o , as their ﬂying shuttles led the woof,

With magic songs had made it Wizard - proof !

’ th e G u th rum s From same hands , to safety true ,

- Had come the ﬂag that at the mast head ﬂew,

On whose White fold there soared the Raven Black ,

e n Empowered to sc nt the prey , and poi t the track

n o u r At least, obedie t to Northern creed,

We boldly followed where he seemed to lead !

The weapons used in war o n deck were stored

c h o w - The lan e , the , the battle axe , the sword ;

o f While , as the bearers tall , and framed wood ,

Lashed side by side , the shields around it stood

i n Ever , case of accident , at hand ,

O u r e as u o n n . ﬂoats in wat r, our g ards la d GUTHRUM THE DANE . 1 7

s - e Bright lay each teel blade , bright ach burnished hilt,

so b e With Saxon blood Shortly to gilt , — In n o obscure encounter since there came

Two to m Scalds with us , give each ﬁght to fa e ;

A nl av e o n n and Rolfe their names , Danish grou d

Fo r o f ready eloquence song renowned .

’

Alas, to song no more they lend their breath ,

i n But calmly slumber the arms of death ,

e Th ir very names forgot , their strains divine

mi Erased from every memory but ne ,

o f — Which treasures parts them although it ought ,

to ! Perchance , treasure things more worthy thought

We sailed from Denmark . Thenceforth never more

o f A m u n d Was eye y to behold that shore ,

Which faded from my last and l i ngerm g look

Fo r with strange sadness leave o f it I took !

an d o u r wa Night fell, morn rose still onward y

We made through breaking mist and dashing spray .

n e : we Night fell , mor ros and, as before , found

sea . The Sky above us , and the around 1 8 GUTH RUM T HE DANE .

e The third night cam , and brought a timely blast ,

o ur e Which sped vess ls forward . And , at last

o f n o f Through parting clouds crimso and gold ,

e Through ﬂying mists of whit , transparent fold ,

u n Like some yo g Monarch from his curtained sleep , Arose the Sun from out the shi ning Deep !

o u r He glanced upon ﬂeet, and , glancing , showed The spacious bay near which our vessels rode

Here Bam b o ro u gh Castle caught his earliest smile ;

o f There caught it, too , the Tower Holy Isle ;

— n — While the wild Cheviots dista t to the ray,

A s . if less distant, reared their summits grey

! Fair and familiar sight For oft, before ,

o n Our ships had anchored that goodly shore ,

’ And o ft had thence retraced the foaming ﬂood Laden with spoil— achieved by blows and blood !

was And blood, we knew, soon again to ﬂow,

’ ’ wo e Spoil to be won , mid wailing and mid ;

’ But that good ﬂeet was destined ne er again ,

’ Fo r n ! Denmark s shore , to cross the bou ding main 1 9 GUTH RU M TH E D AN E .

I sailed with Guthrum ever at his side

As kinsman owned , and as a warrior tried ;

T o ask whose counsel he would often bend ,

to And whom he blushed not proclaim his friend .

was By m y advice , a feint that morn made

we we As if feared the shore would invade ,

’ Our ﬂeet to seaward bore from Waren s bay,

Nor neared the Island till had waned the day .

Then , while the vesper bell in distance rung,

O ur we boats we lowered, and to shore sprung

e ec A hundred men , s l ted from the ﬂeet,

Inured each peril fearlessly to meet ;

Guthrum himself, with falchion in his hand ,

The ﬁrst to leap upon the Island - strand ;

m o f Nor dee , all the hundred warriors brave ,

Thy grandsire was the last to quit the wave !

— n o t We sought the Convent , be sure , that w e

Would in its shade do rite o f piety ! 20 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

e e n For we were Dan s , that held the North r Faith ,

n e e And deemed that wreaki g ev ry structure scath ,

’ e m i n e Whate r its na e , which were wont conven

th e n The hated followers of Nazare e ,

an n n n O At y risk , agai st u cou ted dds ,

’ Was for the hon our o f our country s gods .

n e I structed thus from infancy to f el ,

o f Each had the stimulant ﬁery z eal ,

n arm i Which erved his , and gave , am d the ﬁght,

e h u e o f r To deeds o f blackest dy the ight .

Y et e so n ﬁ rm m n nathl ss , , the belief is i e ,

Had th ey n o t been aware h o w rich the shrine

o f Of good St . Aidan the Holy Isle ,

The pious Foun der o f the sacred pil e Their zeal would scarce have brought our warriors

To bootless battle o n th e Saxon shore !

l o o m l l Full g y against the western skies ,

’ wi th ' su n se t s n Still faintly tinged li gering dyes ,

n n e . The Co ve t ros Within , we heard a crowd

e ee Of d vot s at worship , lo w , or loud .

22 GUTH RUM THE DAN E .

And all so fully armed , as well , I ween ,

To v indicate the proud change o f their mien !

n n o f n A chose ba d they were Saxo s stern ,

’ A s , at deep cost, twas shortly ours to learn ,

S ent thither by their Chief on duty hard

The precious treasures o f th e House to guard .

VIII .

n o w m s o n wo t And , y , I thy youthful ear

I S keenly bent a Tale of Blood to hear .

I— e And who lately h aved a sigh , to know

sat so We with scenes beautiful below ,

o f an d sea And all those beauteous scenes land ,

o n e One mournful , unpeopled blank to me

I , by the very loss of sight, have more

Of power the scene , long vanished , to restore .

i s n — The Present now nothi g, Harold, but,

o N o t s from me the busy Past is shut .

I miss , indeed, the common outward day,

But have , within my soul , a clearer ray ,

’ — i n In which , whate er long departed ye ars

saw o r re - I , acted, often appears , TH E GUTH RUM DANE . 23

n o w f — n e And not, , aint and dim as when the shi Of all the bright external world was mine

But bold and brilliant, placed in real light,

e M em o r S i ht ! And l ss , in truth , a y than a g

’ ’ T1 s n o w see thus , e en , I that place of doom ,

With its light fadi n g till it ends i n gloom .

e I see the savage ﬁgures moving th re ,

As ﬁercely they emerge from gloom to glare

Emerge in numbers more than matching thos e

o r To whom this evening ﬁnds , makes , them foes .

’ I see th astonished Danes ; my gaze I turn

To Where the lustres o f the altar burn

hi s There , Guthrum , sternly poising red brand ,

' To ﬁerce encounter anirn ates his band ;

Points to the fresh stain , as an omen sure

Of that which every foe must soon endure ; And is himself the very ﬁrst to give

The stroke , which no man can receive and live !

— ’ A shout i n which stern Valour s hea rt is heard

Shakes the vast fane , as if by earthquake stirred ;

c 2 24 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

r e An answering shout retu n the Saxon fo s ,

And the two lines in deadly con ﬂict clos e

wh o n Few men , perhaps, there be , will maintai

That h o l der is the Saxon than the Dane ;

wh o As few there are will the converse hold ,

And say the Dane is more than Saxon bold .

o n o n e Once adverse races, soil they blend ,

al And, brave ike , no more in arms contend ,

’ e n Exc pt whe , marshalled gainst a common foe ,

They strive which ﬁr st shall deal the vi ctor blow .

’ so n a Tis plain , my , when such in combat st nd ,

’ num b ers n That must the strife s eve t command .

’ G u thrum s Though falchion taught , at every wheel ,

' S ome luckl ess foe the temper of its steel ;

hi s l e And though gal ant band, with qual skill ,

And equal prowess, worked his eager will

’ in Twas soon a certainty, that the fray

The Danish force fell all to o fast away .

’ w as G u th ru m s As my wont, I fought at Side ,

And marked his visage as our loss he eyed . TH E GUTH RU M DANE .

’ O erm atch ed , he said , and barred from all retreat ,

No hope remains to us but from the ﬂeet .

G o — ! , signal them . No words , my friend but ﬂy

w as . For thus to leave him , loath , be sure , I

so Besides , an errand which I deemed safe ,

’ A youthful warrior s mood might fairly chafe .

- Reluctantly, with ill dissembled wrath ,

I went ; but found that not so safe th e path

As I had deemed it . At the portal stood

to — wo n Armed men bar my exit with blood,

o wn —I Theirs and my quickly reached the strand ,

And gave the signal . Fast they leaped to land ;

o f o u r two And men , at least hundred more

S oon stood, in arms , along the silent shore

Al l sea glad to quit the ships , and drowsy ,

! All proud to rescue , or to die , with me

We marched—but had not from the beach gone

10 When betwixt us and the western star,

o f A column red light to heaven arose ,

Lit, as it seemed to me , by Saxon foes , 2 6 GUT HRUM TH E D ANE .

— A beacon o n some n eighbouring hill -to p m ean t

’ - T apprise the Mainland o f o u r night descent .

we But as , with rapid steps , onward came ,

n o - ﬂam e I soon perceived it was beacon ,

But o f some dread catastrophe the proof

’ ’ ! Twas bursting, Harold, from the Convent s roof

o u r And ever , as footsteps nearer drew , The red ﬂame brighter— broader— grander— grew

- h r Till , in its far s ed splendou , visible lay

! The Isle , the shore , the vessels , and the bay

saw n I the huge Pile bei g thus consumed, And inly said Is Guthrum there entombed

The thought w as maddening ! and at once I lost

’ o er Power myself, forgot awhile my post ,

A n d n , acti g most unlike a leader sage ,

— an d Ran forth impelled by sorrow by rage ,

m e e Ran forth , alone , with bri ful heart and y ,

him o r di e ! And burning to avenge . to

Again I hurried to the postern door ,

VV h en ce c u t m w a n o I had y y t lo n g before . T E GUT H RUM H DA NE .

o u t e The guards were gone ; but a blast there brok ,

Full in my face , of mingled ﬁre and smoke

’ Twas with a sinking heart I backward drew

Fo r I believed its dark foreboding true ,

A n d that beneath the rapid ﬂames had quailed

Alike the brave Assailants and th ’ Assailed

— — — ! And Guthrum h e m y generous Prince m y friend But could such hero thus have met his end ?

e en n The doubt inspired a hop . With light ed mi d ,

’ e I turn d away, the Convent s front to ﬁnd

And gaining that, with pleasure I perceived

My frantic error had been well retrieved .

I heard my followers , heard their measured tread ,

Next moment, I was marching at their head ;

Another, and my voice the order gave

! to — o r With me enter to avenge , save

XIII .

d But scarcely had the order been addresse ,

— n When like a torrent betw ee rocks compressed ,

Which toils and struggles , for a time in vain , Free course and outlet for its waves to gain 28 GUTH R U M TH E DAN E .

Along the vaulted p assage to the door

I saw th e tide o f conﬂict wildly pour ;

’ ’ Pour with the torrent s rage , the torrent s din ,

Its motions reddened by the blaz e within

e d The Danes cam ﬁrst but , coming , backward steppe ,

n fo e - n And still their pressi g at sword poi t kept,

e th e And wh n at last they gained outer space ,

Formed , and still met them bravely , face to face ,

e n e sl o W R cedi g , but with step d liberate , ,

fo r w A n d with strong arm returning blow blo .

u ﬁ rm I saw my Guthr m , and undismayed ,

- Wielding, with scarce less might , his battle blade ,

n And though with force diminished, cheeri g on

m en — His when Hope itself was all but gone .

Brave heart ! he dream e d not o f the strength at hand

That now made victors o f hi s gallant ban d ;

e For weari d, as they were , by lengthened ﬁght

th ’ And daunted by approach of unworn might ,

o ur - It needed little but onset shout,

To put the Saxon remnant to the rout .

th e Scarcely pursued , guardians ﬂed apace ,

A n d l eft the Dan es the masters of a plac e

30 GUTH RUM THE DA NE .

r But no light fancy, in that awful hou ,

’ ’ ’ Held o er my bosom e en a moment s power ; — Nought but that innate instinct life to save

Which moves the basest , but commands the brave .

u n ﬁ re d ran Along the portion yet , I ,

l n Ear bent to isten , eye awake to sca ;

o r o f i ! was But sight sound l fe , alas none , — Save o n e distracted Monk and onl y o n e .

I found the Father in the open air ,

an d Engaged in weeping , , it seemed , in prayer

A n d e more by gesture than by means of sp ech,

n e Him I co trived , at length , my quest to t ach .

’ VV il dered a t th e o l d e ﬁrst man s looks had be n ,

o f e e But soon they bore the marks anguish k n ,

e As if some obj ect , near and d ar, within ,

’ n sin Were perishi g through his , the Father s ,

m n — n o w was He otio ed for it mine , in turn ,

’ The old man s meani ng by his signs to learn

m e e And straightway led to a s cret door ,

’ e By evergre ens a n d shrubbery c ov ere d o r. G UTHRU M TH E DANE . 3 1

n He took my hand , and, darkly enteri g there

We elombe what seemed a steep and spiral stair ,

And when we had attained the highest round ,

m h e . We paused, until a assive door found

That opened, from the cell a dim light broke ,

o f . Through the close air , and haze searching smoke A single glance sufﬁ ced to prove the Monk

- ﬂo o r A faithful guide . Upon the cell sunk ,

fe as A male form lay here , if in death ;

And there , without a movement or a breath

Her che ek against the ﬂashing lattice laid

Half stood , and half reclined, another maid .

Like marble bust the latter leaned in light ,

w ! As still , as beauteous , and , in truth , as hite

To raise them both , and both at once to bear

o f Down the dark windings the same steep stair ,

And in to the fresh breez e of night at length

’ But little tasked my earl y manhood s strength .

e o n To place th m the greensward , far away

’ n From the ﬂame s risk , and yet withi its ray ,

That th e good Father might employ his skill

n e — Se s to restore was task mor e e asy still . 3 2 G UTH RUM TH E DANE .

’ O er m e them I stood, and blessed the welco e blaz

That gave , by ﬁts , the Rescued to my gaze

XVI .

o f A Maiden born to rank high degree ,

Her costly garments showed the o n e to be ;

’ The other s neat simplicity o f dress

’ Might her poor Follower s lowly state express .

o n e When breathed by the air, the latt r soon

Recovered from her deep and death - like swoon ; ’ Twas somewhat longer ere the Lady broke

’

o f th e w . The fetter trance , and slowly oke

saw At length , my son , I returning life Scarce yet triumphant in the dubious strife Returning colour gradually Shed

’ — ’ Through the cheek s whiteness like the dawn ing s red — Gleaming through mist wreaths ! and I saw her ey e — Fair Open on me like the azure sky

n Of morning , when the Mor ing Star beams through

The seeming spirit o f the kindling blue

was Harold, that a moment richly worth

All th e best moments I had passed o n earth T H E GUTH RUM DANE . 33

There are who tell us that true love requires

Time and sweet intercourse to fan i ts ﬁres ;

’ so n w as Then Love , my , not my Passion s name ,

hi W ch , in an instant, blazed from spark to ﬂame ! — — That eye I felt that heavenly eye to me

Thenceforth my Blessing o r my Blight must be ! — The lovely Beam which to my ocean given

T o o r to ! wreck must lure me , must light heaven

XVII .

t o n From such emotions , new me and stra ge ,

I found my spirit lapse with sudden change .

As life in her resumed its wonted sway ,

— o r — It ebbed from me seemed to ebb away .

e as h o My wound , unf lt while yet my blood w t,

n o t And since , if felt at all , regarded ,

’ Had from the very moment it was ta en ,

n Been stealing life with slow , but ceaseless, drai .

And n o w my head grew light ; I fell to ground ;

sk n t The y , with all its rushi g stars , wen round,

! And whirled to utter darkness As I sunk,

- I had some glimpses of the black robed Monk , 3 4 GUTH RUM THE DAN E.

And eke a vague impre ssion of a n e w

And numerous force of enemies in V iew .

The last remembered sounds my ear conveyed,

o f Were those onslaught furiously made .

u Then seemed it me , that people gathered ro nd ,

Who softly touched , and raised me from the ground ;

Gently they raised me, tenderly they bore — Away away . I heard and felt no more .

E N D OF CA NTO I . G U T HR U M TH E DA N E .

CAN T O II .

— — By whom o r whither I was borne away ;

H o w long devoid o f consciousness I lay ;

’ And where I was, when feeling s light again

Came back into the chambers o f my brain ;

! n o Were mysteries and living creature by ,

t o v to Appeared gi e questioning reply .

n o t Nathless , I did feel abandoned all

u The light that glimmered thro gh the lattice small,

Made me , by slow degrees indeed , aware

’ n o t Of some one s rude , but unkindly , care .

saw True, I was in a wretched hut I

o f The walls were built turf, the roof was straw ; 36 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

And yet n o t comfortless its aspect seemed

Fi l ed ﬁ re on the hearth , a of branches gleamed ;

l o w o f And my c ouch, mountain heather made ,

W a s softly strown , and had been freshly laid

i i Wh le various Skins, with all their shaggy ha r ,

’ o er n e Spread it, fe c d me from each blast of air .

The garb that I had worn was near me ﬂung ;

w n The sword that I had ielded, safely hu g

n My wound, too, as I shortly after fou d ,

l - By skilfu leech craft had been dressed and bound . And all were tokens that appeared to Show

I was , at least, not treated like a foe .

? But where then was I Was I boun d o r free

I started from my lowly couch to see . A thoughtless act ! which scarce allowed me time

d T o gaze o n mountains, wil , and white with rime ,

-fo And o n a frost g, which was curling then Up to the brilli ant sunshine from the glen

Fo r Spring, although arrived, was timid still ,

hi s - e And scared by Winter from yet claim d hill .

GUTH RUM THE DANE .

saw an d . w as n I , prized It the kind concer ,

ul i e The doubtf , anx ous glance , that sought to l arn

e n o w e Whether the chang , which in me appear d ,

sh was Sh e . Was that p hoped for , or that feared

e e n u e From those sw t sig s , I then , and rightly , g ssed

i W ’ This Ma d had been the atcher o er my rest ,

T o l n ﬂ a e whom , since that wi d ight of me and strif ,

I doubtless owed that I was still i n life

e s o i n And , d eply grateful for k d a part,

I woul d have uttered what I felt at h eart ;

sh e n li B ut , with ﬁ ger pressed upon her p ,

o rb ade an d saw F me ; away I her trip .

o n all i A shadow seemed th ngs round to fall ,

When sh e withdrew ; but light came b ack to all

r With her retu n And soon the Maiden brought ,

i With smiles , the medicine wh ch the Leech had sought

(As afterwards sh e often used to tel l)

fel l On moor and moss, by river and by

n A precious compou d which , his science told ,

O l d Infused new blood, or puriﬁed the . T H E GUTH RUM DA NE . 39

N — at n — e a e ew blood least new stre gth th re daily c m ,

n By felt degrees , into my la guid frame ;

d But well I weened the strength or blood , conveye ,

m m e Less fro the Medicine ca , than from the Maid ,

b m n From whose right aspect and de eanour ki d , A light began to dawn upon my mind A l ight by which my fancy had ful l scope To frame the visions ever dear to Hope !

’ That evening s strange adventures I recalled ,

h e W en , more than foemen , had the ﬂames appall d ,

— — The ﬁ ght the rescue and at l a st the gaze

O n th e se fair feat ures brighten e d by th e blaze

n n U til the moment when on earth I su k ,

- E w . xhausted , do n beside the black robed Monk

to n n If (thus I tried reaso ) I had bee ,

m e n e e By y own friends , born se s less from the scen ,

the They w ould have , doubtless , borne me to strand ,

Nor left their Leader o n a hostile lan d

I should not in a wretched b u t hav e lain

But in my vessel , and upon the main .

D 9. 40 U G TH RUM T HE DANE .

Or if— provoked by holy treasure lost

n Guthrum had inland led his Da ish host,

hi m — And brought me with , would my Guthrum not ,

’ hi s n m n ? Ere this , have visited ki s a s cot

’ — Twas mystery all I then recalle d the sight Of the fresh warriors that renewed the ﬁght

e e wh o Thos warriors must have Saxon b en , and

? Can prov e to me th ey were n o t victors too

— e I n u But if th y were , then whence fai wo ld know

e Sprung all this car of me , their deadly foe

m e u m u ! Delicious, but O ost pr s p tuous tho ght Had that fair Lady ’ s intercession wrought In my behalf ? And do I — can I err

! This was the Maiden I had saved with Her

n Impatience all , the truth to ascertai ,

o f n I would have tried my power speech agai ,

’ ﬁ n er- But , as before , the Maiden s g tip ,

Imposing silence , pressed her rosy lip .

e My Danish ire was roused . The Maid perc ived

Th e n e n an d . a gry f eli g , , I saw, was grieved GUTH RUM TH E DANE . 41

She gently pressed my hand, she did not speak ,

Save by a tear that trickle d down her cheek !

’ n On this , my heart my co duct gan upbraid

n Wretch this poor girl may be a Saxo Maid ,

sh e i s And if of Saxon lineage sprung ,

How shoul d she comprehen d thy Danish tongue

’ m n e e I begged the Maid s forgiveness with i e y , And the sweet girl forgave me— with a sigh

I smiled— and yet was deeply vexed— to think

N O power I had to seize a sin gle link

n n Of that chai , whose unwindi g was to guide

o r e My future steps to ruin , a brid ,

Unless my youn g attendant ﬁrst could teach

Her invalid the use of Saxon speech , Or I initiate that attendant young

I n to the mysteri e s o f th e Dan ish ton gue

And either , Harold , seemed to me a feat

e L ss easy than an arme d host to meet .

! e n n udg the my wonder , and co ceive my j oy , To hear the Maiden Danish terms employ ! 42 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

t Imperfec , it is true , but Oh , how dear The unexpected accents to mine ear !

’ The Leech s charge was strict, the Maiden said,

That I should keep thee quiet, and in bed ,

m Fro aught that might awake emotion deep ,

In o n e whose only need is rest and sleep .

And I , obedient to his uttered will ,

so . Have kept thee , and so would keep thee still

B ut thou didst save me ! thine the darin g hand That from the very burning plucked the brand !

G O D wh o And , died for us upon the tree , (The Maiden crossed herself) my witness be !

so I would do aught , that it harm thee not,

Do aught to soothe o r cheer thy hapless lot !

’ Assured that, do for thee whate er I may ,

I n ever can that gallant deed. repay .

VIII .

’ To tell , e en now, in thine impatient ear,

n e The arrativ that thou wouldst gladly hear , TH E GUTH RUM DAN E . 43

To me were task most sweet ! But of the tale

’ to A part , at least , I ve sworn from thee veil ;

A n d to thou , in turn , must pledge me thy troth ,

” Never to tempt me from my taken oath . — — W I will I do b y ODEN I replied .

Oh , thou art Pagan still , she said, and sighed .

’ That Woden was , I know , my father s god ,

o u r Until upon English soil he trod,

Where he imbibed the beautiful , the good ,

o f The pure religion the blessed Rood .

”

? . Thy sire was, then , a Danish man I said

He was and I am half a Danish maid !

Like thee , my father crossed the bounding main ,

o f n o o f In quest glory , and, doubt, gain ;

But being taken in a skirmish , he

Was here detained in sad captivity

To o f w which , in lapse time , gro n reconciled ,

o u n He wedded, and y see his si gle child ,

o ft n Who , certes , little thought, when She hu g ,

’ In playful girlhood, on her father s tongue ,

That the few words her young attention caught,

Would ever serve a Danish Captive aught . 44 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

e ? t ! I am a Captive th n Alas , hou art

’ A n d i s bitter, truly , the Captive s part .

But touch not that forbidden theme ! Enough ;

” e n u At l ast thy gaoler is not ster or ro gh .

Kind gaoler thou ! May n o t thy Captive claim

’ ? To know hi s young and lov ely gaoler s nam e

m e n They call Bertha, quickly a swered she ;

c e n My father hos the ame , and gave it me

’ e Because twas that his aged Moth r bore ,

’

hi m o n . Who pined away , for , Denmark s shore

n The , dearest Bertha , not to touch thy vow ,

e m — n d ! Oh , t ll e all thou canst a tell it now

e o n u She s ated her dais my co ch beside ,

A n d kin dly thus with my request complied

’ o r e en Ask not of me the rank , the name ,

’ Of her y o u rescued from the Convent s ﬂame

L et u f sa it s ﬁce thee , if I y , in brief,

m e e She claims so e kindr d with the Earl or Chi f,

4G G UTH RUM THE DANE .

The Chief o f us h ad taken hasty leave ;

The Convent bell had tolled the hour o f eve ;

The eve was slowly fading in to night ;

And we sat , pensive , by our lonely light

e m When rose that mingl d sound , whose i port dread

O ur conscious hearts at once interpreted

Fo r often had we listened to , ere then ,

o f e m en The fearful clangour ncountering ,

n o To which ear hath ever listened yet ,

o r w ! That can mistake it , that ill forget

- High born and proud , the Lady bent to hear

h e o f Wit mor by far wonder , than of fear ;

I In undisguised alarm held my breath ,

A n d drank in every tone that told o f death !

’ o f o n n e I ve heard men , whom the watchi g snak

Had ﬁxed a bright eye from the forest brake ,

m — Who thereby have been drawn al l u red compelled

’ T approach the obj ect , though with dread beheld ;

’ u t E en th s I fel me drawn , by mortal fear ,

o n To look that which scarce I bore to hear . G UTH RU M TH E D ANE .

— I a z ed I saw hardly g , for what I saw ,

o n ! With shriek shriek , compelled me to withdraw A single light beside a column burned

That , in my hasty ﬂight, I overturned .

to Nor paused notice if the falling ﬂame ,

n o r n o t . In its descent, exti ct , became

! was Alas that oversight error dire ,

— o — Which gave w h knows the Convent u p to ﬁre .

’ e n The Lady s cell regained, what I had s e ,

At once she read in my distracted mien ;

A n d w o f having lost all po er utterance , I ,

ﬂ By silent signs, implored her thence to y .

ff But all my e orts were in vain , until

m to ﬁ ll Thick , smouldering s oke began the place ;

— — to we When all too late make escape tried ,

e Descending stair, and threading passage wid .

0 G o d ! the passage into which we came ,

Blazed ﬁercely with impenetrable ﬂame !

Then sank at last the strength which seemed divine ,

’ a s m And left her Spiri t s nerve weak as ine . 48 GUTH RU M TH E DANE .

sh e d Backward rushe , her cell again to seek ,

e o n e n . And spok her terror in lo g , loud shriek

0 ! n all to me is bla k , that shriek between ,

And my awaken ing on the Abbey Green .

XIII .

— w ?” But then what follo ed then I wildly cried ,

” w n ! d Mad ith impatie ce . Oh , be calm replie

o r The Maid, I must stop . The skilful Leech

o f him ! Oh , tell me not Resume thy speech

I marked thy sudden fall ; I thought thee dead ;

I saw the Abbot hold thy drooping h e ad ;

e I h ard the moan my gentle Lady gave ,

A s sh e ! ! forth faltered Save his life Oh , save

” sh e ? n Did I inly cried, with boundi g soul

B ut o n my tongue I kept a ﬁrm control .

Twas then , among the band of Danish foes ,

A sudden clamour and commotion rose ;

- saw m A hasty battle line I the form ,

As if preparing for a comin g storm ;

A n d n e e e pressi g , c rtes , soon app ar d the need

Of all their pr eparatio n and their speed ! TH E GUTH RUM DANE . 49

XIV .

C I told thee , that at eve the hief retired ;

’ By early night the M o n ast ry was ﬁre d ;

’ The burn ing M o nast ry lik e beacon blazed ;

e Through all its val s , the Mainland thus was raised ;

’ An d mailed warriors , as by signal s light

Aroused , were marching through the silent night .

’ n d Mea time the Chief, by his Ward s fate appalle ,

m e Had, by the ﬂa s , been to the Isle recalled ;

wh o n And he it was , , with a numerous trai ,

n Had now arrived before the bur ing fane .

n At o ce his martial band their weapons drew ,

o h And n the Danes wit headlong fury ﬂew .

Tinged by the blaze , the struggling warriors then

To me seemed more like demons than like men !

Thy countrymen gave way . Forgive , if I

u Confess the truth , that then , witho t a sigh ,

I saw thy Danish friends , man after man ,

’ O ertak en and cut down, as forth they ran . 50 GUTHRU M THE DANE .

The Moon n o w rose above the silver sea

i m e And , all betw xt her broad , bright orb and , — — — I saw dark ﬁ gures strugglin g striking urg e

’ P ursuit and vengeance to the ocean s verge !

— — I heard o r de emed I heard the plun ge and moan

e wn Of hapless men into the wat rs thro ,

A n d the exulting cry that cam e from those

Who had regained their ships i n spite o f foes !

Then all grew hushed . Each loosened sail , outspread ,

Caught from the dying ﬂames their faintest red , Caught from the risen Moon her softest white And the ﬂeet calmly sailed away in l ight !

r Then some , at least, su vive the fatal day ,

u I inly reasoned, and my G thrum may .

But why not signal give with voice , or hand ,

An d call fresh numbers to assist his band ?

A n d n wherefore spru g not these , uncalled , ashore ,

To u check the sla ghter, if they could no more

fo r Doubtless , because the spoil which they came ,

w ’ All kne , had perished in the Convent s ﬂame ,

And nothing, now, remained for men to do ,

” Who to o ! ﬁght for glory, but for booty TH E G UTHRUM DA NE . 51

XVI .

‘ 3 : e The Maid resumed Back came the victor Chi f,

f t o e . And, touching thee , us put question bri

’ was so The Lady s answer softly made ,

n I could but guess the meani g it conveyed ,

By what thereto succeeded . As she spoke ,

He from his shoulders stripped his martial cloak,

A d o f n four , the stoutest his train , he told

To place thee softly in its ample fold ,

And bear thee forth . It chanced that then a Dane ,

’ Wh o n in the skirmish had bee Captive ta en ,

Was brought into his presence . Him he bade

Thy visage note . Downcast at ﬁrst, and sad, I saw the man extreme surprise evince

To o r R I recognise his dead , dying P NCE

r o e Fo s the Captive styled thee . I perc ived

was d The Chief not , by that iscovery , grieved ;

But rather seemed it me , that, after this ,

o f With more energy and emphasis, The Earl commanded his attendants there

e To treat their noble charge with gentlest car , 52 GUTH RUM THE D A N E.

— w a s — an And resting when and where need hour,

To e bring thee safely to his Mountain T ow r ,

n a n d m Where , placed in hut from oise tu ult free ,

Bertha, he added , should attend on thee .

e n My simple tale is done . H re thou hast lai ,

Fo r l r i n ! days and days , de i ium thy brain

n But tha ks to Holy Mary, mother mild,

i n n Who hath , a swer to her asking child,

Restored to thee , in part at least, thy health A blissful change ! to Bertha more than wealth ! ”

XVII .

The kindly Maiden , pausing , dropped a tear ;

i n n n And if, then returni g tha ks sincere ,

— e My harder eye was wet, thou mayst believ ,

o r e ! I did not , Harold , therefore blush gri ve

’ e n - ? Am I , then , n ar the Chieftain s mou tain hold

Thou art, she answered, and I might have told

b u t That scarcely ever passed a day, he

o r o f Or came himself, sent , to hear thee ,

Till called away by other cares , which still

hi s . Detain footsteps from this Northern hill .

54 GUTH RUM THE D ANE .

n eff But i stantly , as by an ort , She

n . Resum e d her wonted , ative gaiety

XVIII .

sh e If thou art apt , archly said , my skill

Shall quickly ﬁnd thee words to u se at will ;

For w e ll and sooth our Saxon proverbs teach

’ Women have nev er an y lack o f speech .

’ Besides , I ve often heard my father tell

n o u That the far cou try where , it seems , y dwell , Is neighbour to— if it be not the same

f AS that from which , at irst , the Saxons came .

A n d hence , he would go on , of many a word

en n so The s se and sound, in both to gues , accord

That Dan e or Saxon very soon may know

A n d hi s speak , the kindred language of foe .

n e e The , B rtha, cri d I , we will that amend ,

” n o f ! Si ce I Shall learn it , not foe , but friend

XIX .

’ I foun d it as the Maiden s sire had said

A com m o n ori gi n th e tongu e s display ed ; 55 G UTH RUM TH E DAN E .

th e e th e Alike in both the trunk , sam roots ,

n Th ey varied only i n the spr e adi g shoots .

’ ’ th e u And such Teacher s , s ch the Pupil s zeal ,

’ n o er u Ere many su s were us fo nd to steal ,

th e a n d e e e I had pleasure , r c iv d the praise ,

Of mastering m any a Saxon word an d phrase .

e e ! b u t o u r S weet t achings thos that lowly home ,

I s eldom had a wish or tho ught to roam ;

en m n e m Though wh y wou d p r itted me to stir ,

w e n th e h er I gladly alk d alo g hills with ,

A n d u n m e learned , by other so ds , or words , to na

’ Whate er within o u r scop e of visio n cam e .

O F C TO II AN .

GU T HR U M THE DANE .

CA N T O I II .

— Spring was full Q u een her beautiful domain

n o w Comprising mountain , as well as plain .

o n - Bertha and I stood that green hill side ,

o n e Where stood the cottage , sweet morning tide ,

And gazed with pleasur e o n a hun dred hills

The nearest green , and streaked with glittering rills ;

o f The farther distant bleak, wilder forms ,

And trenched and furrowed by a thousand storms ;

W o n hile One , that towered high above the rest ,

Had a deep gash upon its ample breast,

In which a wreath of lin gering snow still shon e

The single relic o f the winter gon e ! 58 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

i n n m d b e Which se em ed , my despo ding oo s , to

— m e Left by its false , or happier friends like

n Conspicuous , lyi g there day after day ,

a n i n e ! A n d slowly w sti g , its plac , away

e e Fair w ere thos hills , and still th y looked sublime ,

Although no long er in the garb o f rime ;

n Fair were those gle s , that deeply wound below,

— n o t Still white b u t white with daisies , with snow ;

m And fair those streams , that lay as s ooth as glass ,

e o f m ! R ﬂecting banks broo , and hills of grass

n These Mountai s wild, began the Maiden , claim ,

e . Each for its lf, a separate local name

We stan d o n Lan ton Hill . Not far b ehind

d n H o wsden e The ver a t woos the summ r wind .

m n i ts That ou tain , with three wild peaks , before,

Is styled by dwellers near it , Newton Torr .

Th e - e o f oak clad ridg s , there , Akeld swell,

’

e th e b o l der Y ev eri n And h re , slopes of g B ell .

e Whil towering , yonder, with his patch of snow ,

A n d e n p roudly ov rlooki g all below, GUTHRUM TH E DANE . 5

’ I s V IOT S n wh o CHE mighty self, his thro e ﬁlls

’ Th admitted Monarch o f Northum brian hills !

Two see o n e e streams, you , , winding still and cl ar ,

The other hastening on its wild career ,

As glad y o n deep and sunless glen to miss

The College that we call, the Bowmont this .

Beneath that clump of trees they meet, and then

Their mingled waters take the name o f Glen

A humble stream ! which yet to pious fame

’

Is not without its pure and gentle claim .

th e - e For men relate , that when Gospel b am

e B gan at ﬁrst across the land to stream ,

o n e A hundred Saxon converts , in day , Washed in its tide their crimson Sins away

- n While angel ba ds , revealed to mortal sight, From cloud and mountain watched the sacred rite

’ ’ On Glen s fair ban k stands Coupland s massive Tower

Yonder you see its darksome turrets lower !

n i n N . There makes the Chief, whe the orth , his stay

? And mark you n o t y o u modest structure gr ey 60 GUTHRUM THE DANE .

’ e It is an ancien t Church . Around it wav

’ Green y e ws o n m any a peasants lowly grave

’ n e - S o c all we ma s last r sting place , the still

A n d certain refuge from all earthly ill !

— u an d s e The gracef l shrubs that tall, clo , and rank

’ th e B o wm o nt s t Extend along nor hern bank,

A n d gaily cloth e it with th eir y ellow bloom

’ are i n These graceful shrubs , our language , broom .

thi s And The Maiden stooped, and hand and foot

Em ployed to pluck the vvi l di ng from the root

’ n o f sa And this is mountain fer , which they y

i n th e It had high honour Olden day .

e Its root still b ars the marks thereof, indeed ,

But those our learned clerks alone can read .

When the Redeemer deigned to visit earth ,

o f m And , though divine , to be ortal birth ,

an d e Lowly me k of heart , on foot he trod ;

I n o nce all his blameless life , but he rode .

A nd then no stately chariot marked his pride ,

No pompous steed that Monarch might bestride ;

G2 GUTHRUM TH E DANE .

I would repay thee ; for I too fu ll well

The n ative legends of my land could tell .

But most o f th em are of a nature stern

n Un like thy story of the mountain fer .

I n e h m e sooth , the me k god w o thy tale d scribes ,

Would little suit o u r rovin g Northern tribes !

n e Alm ighty Wode , when on arth alive ,

In glorious battl e ever loved to strive ;

- i n And still, high seated Valhalla , saves

The fullest cup for him wh o nobly braves

th e wh o Death on ﬁeld of heroes , and goes

Most deeply crim soned with the blood o f foe s !

H e n n war we , when the iro ra ks of pierce ,

e Breath s into every breast his spirit ﬁerce ,

— ﬁ l l ed Till with his divine , inspiring breath

W e m ff n w e e ock at su eri g , xult in death ,

A n d n o f e , proudly passi g from the ﬁeld fam ,

! I O R T oin the MM AL whence our valour came ,

’ A n d th e , ever in god s own presence there ,

By tur n s the battle and the ban quet share !

— B u t there n o lo nger ran ked with mortal m en

O u r dail y battl e s will b e pastim e then ; T GUTH RU M H E DANE .

Then will o u r nightly banquets have a zest

No earthly ban quets ever yet possessed

’ ’ For we shall qu aﬂ from o ut Valhalla s horn — Mead - draughts immortal pure as dews of morn

e n Such glorious god, such future lif , be mi e

e e o f . Yet, lov ly B rtha, I would hear thine

Alas , said Bertha , very ill would be

o f G o d s et n The spell forth , if do e by me .

e For spell indeed it is , a pot nt charm

- e o f All ghastly D ath terror to disarm ,

A n d chan g e the Spectre to a Seraph bright

That Opes t o us the gates o f Heaven an d Light

o u ask Yet it is simple too ; and since y ,

To try to tell it will be pleasing task .

— o f n But ﬁrst, no god wood or sto e have we ,

o wn a . No Idol , no loc l Deity

H E we whom worship , ﬁlls unbounded space

He ﬁxed the stedfast Ch e viots in th eir place ;

o r S treams, small great , took currents from his hand

The winding Bowmont ﬂow e d at hi s com mand . G4 GUTHRUM THE DANE .

u He made the S u n . Yon az re Sky above

Is the blue curtain w oven by his love

’ w Spread o er the orld by day , and in the night

o B esprinkled with his thousand stars f light .

m n He for ed the Moo ; and, what may seem to thee

e o f S E A A gr ater proof power , he formed the

’ Which, though tis able to engulph in brine

n e Ten thousa d ﬂ ets as numerous as thine ,

Fills not th e hollow of the Mighty Hand

That ﬁxed its boundaries , and curved its strand

— Then di d sh e tell h o w M AN he made i n mind

Fair as the universe for him designed ;

And how man turned aside , and , in brief time ,

Fell from his state o f purity to crime — How blood how kindred blood for vengeance cried ,

A n d h o w with blood the very earth was dyed

Till God grew weary o f a stubborn race

e That lived to griev his soul , and scorn his grace .

l e few How then the wor d he drown d , but saved a

m By who was peopl e d all th e earth anew ; TH E GUTH RU M DANE . 65

h o w - And the second race , still self accursed ,

Were soon as wicked as had been the ﬁrst .

fo r Again did kindred blood vengeance cry ,

M R Y sk ! But there was E C , this time , in the y

VIII .

S o n o f hi s The God , she said, only Son ,

S o n His Beloved , and with the Father ONE ,

Came down into the guilty world, was born — Of WO M A N (still o n every Christmas morn

- To We celebrate that birth) . men he showed

d wa G o . The y of life , the certain path to

m en e an d The he would hav taught saved, ingrate ,

n b Retur ed him oundless scorn , and bitter hate

H i s a dr pure and priceless gold ccounted oss ,

’ And seized , and nailed him to the felon s Cross

- i n n Eclipse and earthquake , his dyi g hour

Marked the sad triumph o f the Evil Power

n n t The sicke i g Sun beheld the ragic spot ,

— Beheld and trembled madm en trembled no t 66 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

’ The Tomb received the Saviour s relics cold ,

— The Tomb rec eive d th e m but it could not hold

O n e e - the third morn , b for the day light broke ,

e - e as m e ! S lf animat d, fro sl ep , he woke

e - e ! H e e as S lf rais d , he rose ros , all the wise

! Who place in him their trust, shall one day rise

- Two m wh o e n wo en , , before his d ath , had hu g

o n m c e Oft the usi of his heavenly tongu ,

et m S ought , while it y was dark , the S acred To b ,

n w an d e um Lade ith spices rich , swe t perf e ,

H i s . e c m e saw body to anoint Th y a e , th y

e e e u b u t e Not the d ar corps th y so ght , , ﬁll d with awe ,

e e n n B h ld , i stead , two A gels , by the light

o wn w as n h Of their raiment , which ﬂowi g w ite

— A n d glistering ﬂo wi n g ov er form and limb

To which th e whiten ess of y o u sn ow i s dim

’ e e e e e n e Wh r for se k y , the shini g Ang ls said ,

n e e n e th e e The Livi g here , wh r o ly dw ll D ad

L O H E en — I n e w m en u n e , is ris f ar the o t r d ,

em n n H e e e m u n e Tr bli g , away ; whe whose d ath th y o r d , T E GUTH RUM H D ANE . 67

e e ! S tood, as in lif , b fore them living, stood ,

Himself, a breathing form of ﬂesh and blood

Nor but to them did he in life appear ;

He talked with others who had love d hi m here

h o w H o f Showed them eaven , by virtue his death ,

Was made, to man , accessible through Faith ; And bade them bear the glorious tidings forth

To e very quarter o f the peopled earth

n The in their sight, and in the sunshine broad ,

Rb se to an d e — to G O D the clouds, disappear d

-W o e R I to the P NCE , however wide his sway ,

! Who hears the tidings , and then turns away

’ ! o S T h o wso e er e y to the PEA AN , despis d ,

Wh o t ! hears with faith , and is with faith bap ised

e n n Such P asa t , dyi g , to a state shall mount ,

Where thrones and sceptres are of n o account

With wonder , Harold, doubtless , thou hast heard

’ fo r Poor Bertha s story almost word word,

she n — When has long been tur ed to dust as I ,

n o w e e e Who r p at it , v ry soon shall lie 8 6 GUTHRUM THE DANE .

n ew But the relation was so to me ,

n S o simply told, and yet so feeli gly , — That more than I to Bertha then confessed,

— Or even cared to think i t touched my breast .

h Hence every word, wit every shade of tone — Th e Maiden gave i t as we talked alone

- — i n On that green mountain side is my ear,

Distinct as o n the day I stood to hear !

N n b e ot very wro g , I said , the creed can ,

Swe et Bertha ! si n ce it is beli eved by thee ;

’ A n d e er o r m should it be mine , the praise bla e

(But be i t praise shal l rest upon thy nam e ;

A n d m e e m en , trust , I will com for baptis th ,

To the pu re waters o f thy favourite Glen !

’ ti s I said it half in j est, and yet, odd ,

saw Those very waters me given to God .

e saw Mor might my tongue have said , but that I

n an d A movi g Form betwixt us the haugh ,

N o w n n brightly va ishi g by bush or tree ,

Then shaming sunshine on th e O pen lea !

70 GUTHRUM THE DANE .

o f s The Vision my wildest dream tood there ,

’ There stood th Inspirer of my warmest prayer

I — wh o t And had , in hours of silent hought ,

in an d n o t n B eﬁ tt g term phrase vai ly sought ,

’ — e th e To me t expected tim had trained my heart ,

When it should come, to play no timid part

A n d wh o th e had ever, in front and van

n as Of co ﬂict, borne me becomes a man

so Now found my spirit , erst high and proud, In presence of that Lady changed and cowed !

XIII .

’ Tis vain , my son I cannot half express

The charm o f her imperial loveliness

th e She had look , the manner , and the mien ,

Th e step and stature o f a Virgin Q u een !

e b ut She hardly s emed to walk, rather glide ’ Twas the swan ’ s motion on a gentle tide

The summer wind was playing with her hair

’

sa thi ne . I ve heard them y , my son , that is fair

I doubt if o n another hum an head

Tresses so beautiful were ever shed ! TH E GUTH RU M DAN E . 7 1

Did craftsman skilled the precious secret hold

To l work with sunbeams , as he works with go d ,

n He might, perchance , collect, arrange , and twi e

! A gossamer - wreath that s o would curl and shin e

to o Thus , her perfect form , her faultless face ,

A sculptor might have well essayed to trace

n But then he could not have i formed the whole , And lighted up the countenance with Soul !

to With S oul , that gave lip , to cheek, to eye , E ach its expression , rich , or soft , or high ,

0 e en T every glance and ev ry movem t grace , — To all a p o wer which is den ied a place

o f In the mere living piece soulless earth ,

Whatever be its mould , its rank , its birth

XIV .

n - e I see her , Harold , on that mou tain sid ,

’ In al l her virgin beauty s bloom an d pride !

I see her, Harold, in the dearer light — Of many an after year, when scarce less bright ,

B ut somewhat softened, mellowed , by the lapse

Of time , and touched by passing grief, perhaps

F 2 2 7 GUTHRUM THE DANE .

o f an d m She shone in hours sadness of gloo , 2 ?

’ Like Bertha s An gel in the Sacred Tomb

n o f e Speaki g to me of life , of hope, che r ,

Of blissful worlds that n ever saw a tear !

— i f e Worlds into which tru the Christian creed ,

’ And if not true , twere very sad indeed

S h e long hath passed Her high and queenly brow

Is crowned with fairer, brighter tresses now ;

e And, hardly l ss than Seraph even here , — She i s a Seraph i n a happier sphere

set She came . Her ﬁrst look almost at rest

The wild wave o f commotion i n my breast

— Her ﬁrst word frank and destitute o f art

re- Completely assured my settling heart .

She named the peril I for her had braved ;

She thanked me for the life my arm had saved ;

n And, lightly passi g all I owed to her,

Entitled me her kind Deliverer .

She m arked the deadly pallor o f my ch eek

She noticed that I still seem ed faint and weak TH E GUTH RUM DANE . 73

And said she dreaded I shou ld brook but ill

e e b o l t A l ngthen d j ourney over and hill .

o f u n sh e a For s ch le gthened j ourney , verred ,

S h e ! n n had, alas that very mor i g heard,

e And the ﬁrst chanc , in gratitude , had sought ,

To give me warning of the tidings brought .

XVI .

My countrymen , she said, with torch and brand ,

Had ravaged all along the eastern strand

Had ﬁrst laid waste the peaceful banks of Tyne , Then made the billows of the Humber shine

With midnight ﬁres . Thence marching , they had

’ O erco m e , in arms, the bravest Saxon prince

And n ew advanced their high and daring claims

’ - — To hold e en London , and its sea way Thames ,

Where n o w their ﬂeet was moored . Her kinsman

’ She added , zealous for the Land s relief,

Esteemed my presence with the royal host, As what would serve the patriot cause the most

And had himself arrived , that morn , to bring

His valued Prisoner to the Saxon king . 4 7 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

XVII .

’ Conﬂicting thoughts the Lady s n e ws in spired My friends ’ bold raid my mounting spirit ﬁred

e I heard the tal of battle far remote ,

As charger lists to distan t tru m pet-note ;

n n My hand, i sti ctively , essayed to clasp

— The trusty steel which was not near m y grasp

A n d wi th . that bitter consciousness recurred

’ The truth , as bitter, of the Lady s w ord

That I was in captivity , afar,

— — And scarcely ﬁ t if near and free for war !

th ’ Until announcement made to me that morn ,

My fetters had been light, and lightly worn ;

N o w n u , for the ﬁrst time , pai f lly I felt

n Close rou d my every limb their iron belt,

e e Thenc forth to gall me , and to gall the mor ,

’ ! That my brief, brilliant dream of love was o er

a For ﬁn l seemed the mandate I had heard,

’ And thence my lover s fears at once inferred , — That pass but some few minutes few and ﬂeet

W e wh o e m e t m e , had scarc ly , no or Should meet H GUTH RU M T E D ANE .

o f From the sharp spur and torture that thought ,

A desperate energy my spirit caught ,

Which made me overlook , it may be , slight

Th e wily arts employed by lover light

’ A gentle Maiden s gentle e ar to please

m . But served my purpose , haply , ore than these

For genuine Passion breaks obstruction through ,

And wins- where Prudence is afraid to woo

XVIII .

n o n u Half kneeli g the sward , with pturned look , — — Her fair h and not withheld i n mine I took ;

She , slightly bending forward, seemed to hear

s . The word I spoke , with no reluctant ear

! n Lady a chilling frost thy tidings bri g ,

h ’ ! T at falls , and withers all my bosom s spring

I gaze on thee ; but the sad time comes fast ,

! Nay , it comes now , when I may gaze my last

! n o w Then Oh forgive me , if I reveal

! The hope I cherished , and the pang I feel

! I love thee, Lady deeply, madly love

And knew I any word that word above , 76 GUTH RUM TH E DA N E .

e e n In d p or wild sig iﬁcance , its use

n ﬁ n d Would , in my passio a ﬁt excuse

— — I love And hear me I am o f a lin e

That boasts a rank , it may be , high as thine ;

- A n d though to day a Captive , I may be ,

n m . By battle or by ra so , soon as free

’ — e e e Oh , say wer ev r that my fortun s chance

Might I n o t h Op e to me e t thy favouring glance

If too abrupt my earnest question fall ,

— — Blame the ill - sorted time not me for all !

e o r m e ho e Blame tim , but, fairest , bid me p ,

A n d I with more than fate will boldly cope

e a an d With more than fat w ge battle haught high ,

— And for thee live , or more will for thee die

XIX .

Deep , undissembled anguish thrilled my breast ;

Close to my burn ing lips her hand I pressed Nor to withdraw it thence essayed she—nor

Appeared a frown upon her brow therefor .

ff red A high and quick su usion , rosy ,

’ O er her ﬁ n e counten ance j ust came and ﬂed

78 GUTH RUM THE DA N 8 .

”

n n o t ! . o f Oh , ame it I cried Deprived thee ,

u e . Lady , no f rth r part remains for me

the e n Go , ask hapl ss wretch , co vulsed with pain ,

The rugged precipice to climb again ,

hi s o r Down which madness, perchance, his fate ,

n Has headlo g hurled his unresisting weight . — Alas his trembling limbs all feebl e n o w

o n o r Can ill retain their stance ledge bough .

r The springing shoots , by which uninj u ed hand

Might, at the slightest risk , the top command,

Grow there all vainly, and but mock the eye

Of hi m - predestin ed at the base to die

o f And even if my heart , in spite all

hi Its bruise and its exhaustion from t s fall ,

o f Had yet enough power, once more to climb

h O e The precipice with p and aim sublime ,

’ ! Lady , how vain were e en success when Thou

Th e glorious Vision which above its brow

e — Sh d there a splendour bright and pure art gone ,

A n d m e is e all to dull and blank , and lon TH E G UTH RUM DANE . 79

o n No , Lady , no That light no more high ,

N ! erveless and hopeless , I have but to die

XXI .

! ! Die Thou shalt live she said , and give me

To o we a deeper and a dearer debt !

My life is little ; but, Sir Dane , to save

’ N o f ! A ation s life , were worthy the brave

Hear me . My Country bleeds at every pore ;

’ The ! e e deadly strife , alas s ms all but o er

wo e Our ancient glories vanished, and shame Are all that wait the Saxon power and name

Gorged with o ur people is thy Raven Black

I t rests with thee , perhaps , to turn him back ;

t o It rests with thee bid these inroads cease ,

o ff And leave ur su ering Land its wonted peace .

D o wi n ! this, and thee honours , pure and proud

?” B ut wherefore cometh o n thy brow a cloud

XXII .

She saw aright . My Danish spirit burned

The part assigned , indignantly it spurned ; 0 8 G UTHRUM T HE DANE .

No longer there a kneeling suitor , I

m m Stood up , erect , and ﬁr ly ade reply

! ” N thee n o t l o v e . o , Lady , not for for thy

’ Though valued all earth s wealth and fame above

’ e Though all earth s w alth and fame , against it, weigh

n — th e As less tha nothing would I see day ,

Wh en treacherous word or deed o f min e turned back

To ! his own ﬁelds, my glorious Raven Black

Strong let him soar , and high , till he survey

The Saxon Island as his o wn wide prey !

n an d ! ! Stro g let him soar, high or, feeble, sink

o n e But let no who fears or loves me , think

e en e That I the bas , deg erate wretch can prov

Who gives hi s COUNT R Y for his s elﬁsh LO V E !

XXIII .

m i Some ad ration , and no small amaze,

’ saw I , were blended in the Lady s gaze ,

! ” As thus I spoke . Brave Dane at last she cried , Couldst thou imagine that my words implied Dishonour ? Mine ! who idolise the fame

’ e That gilds the patriotic warrior s nam , GUTH RUM TH E DANE . 8 1

N o r lightly thine ! I should most deeply grieve

But here comes One wh o soon will undeceive

n Thy mind o n this . I tur ed me round to see

A troop o f armed horsemen scoured the lea ;

to o u r - Up hill Side stance , like light, they ﬂew,

! Wheeled , and a living circle round us drew

XXIV .

The young and graceful Leader o f the troop

R u hi s o u r eined p steed beside little group ,

To Bertha cast familiar smile , to me

o r two o f r A word studied cou tesy ,

B ut to his lovely Ward such phrase sincere

s e As gentle brothers u e to sister d ar .

o n And , certes, Harold, as I gazed both ,

u to I co ld, it seemed me , have ventured oath ,

r th e That nearer kind edship parties claimed ,

o r Than either Bertha herself had named .

’ t o Twas singular see their aspects strike ,

ffe n ! At the same time , so di re t and so like

T o o f see the lines beauty in her face ,

Become , produced in his, heroic grace , 82 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

And that sweet dignity of look and mien ,

Q n Which might , in her , have graced a youthful uee ,

Roughen in him , until it took the air

! Of martial Leader, prompt to do and dare

l Moved by the semb ance, though a haughty Dane ,

’ to I almost longed j oin the Chieftain s train ,

’ b - m Take , at his side , a rother warrior s na e,

m A n d link with his my future fate and fa e .

Such in consisten cy can Love awake !

’ My heart was with him for the loved One s sake .

XXV .

’ n h a d A mome t s space some talk, apart, they

sad His look was earnest , and his tone was ;

’ While from his lovely listener s raised eye - lid

- The frequent tear drop gathered , gleamed, and slid .

Meantime, two armed attendants came with Speed ,

O n e o n e brought my arms , led a saddled steed,

When I , by them accoutered soon , and horsed ,

Sat ready for the ride by fate enforced .

n as sat o n Half rou d I turned me , I selle ,

— — That I might say at least might wave farewell ; GUTH RUM TH E DANE . 83

! But sh e my glances sought , had disappeared

wh o n o w And I , some treachery vaguely feared , Was falling fast into a sullen mood

When lo ! poor Bertha at my stirrup stood .

sh e It seemed as if my very soul read,

Fo r n sh e , speaki g in the Danish tongue , said

n o r ! . Droop not , dread There is no need Of those

Who . lead thee forth , not all , be sure , are foes

- e There ride to day , along with them and th e ,

S wh o to set ome would perish , but thee free,

o n e Were freedom wished . To this sign attend

k h e i s a ri en The m a n who sp ea s t y l a ngu ag f d .

— ! Farewell farewell and Oh , through life and death , Thy guide and guard be He of Nazareth ! ”

’ o f E en while she spok e, the line march was made ,

And swiftly forward moved the cavalcade .

I I I END OF CANTO .

GUTHRUM THE DAN E .

o f u n I marked the rude huts the labo ri g poor ,

n e ce That stood by shelteri g crag , or f n less moor

e n m e And scarce less rud , but stro ger , assi r far ,

The castles o f the Chiefs who led in war .

e an d But far apart those castles wer , few,

And seldom came those lowly huts in vi e w .

w While all the land between lay waste and ild , — — Where save lon e Nature nothing ever sm iled !

Th e savage wild - boar roused h im from his lair ;

a rm m e ; Leaped from its. gr ssy fo the ti id har

The deer j ust gazed and ﬂed ; the tawn y fox

’ n n Showed his lo g brush , and va ished mid the rocks ;

’ Th e e bold r bison led his wild herd s van ,

A n d dl l e o n , lou y bel owing , glar d horse and man ,

While , mustering close behind him , every brute

o ur S eemed bent right of passage to disp ute . — These passed before us , as we onward rode ,

Wild birds th eir various form s and plumage showed

Th e lon g - wing e d heron left th e lon ely spri n g ;

The raven soared away on sooty wing ; GUTH RUM TH E DAN E . 87

Providing for its young and clamorous brood ,

The rook was busy in the ancient wood ;

The curlew sent his whistle wild and loud

Down from a clear blue sky without a cloud

A n d sun - far above them all , in broad light ,

The royal e agle sped his arrowy ﬂight .

Whether in tendin g thereby to confer

o f n o n n A mark ho our his priso er , — Or fo r my safer keeping a t his sid e

The Leader had arranged that I should ride .

W e e saw rod along in silence, till he

The sullen shadow from my brow withdraw,

n o f e When , taki g my altered humour he d ,

— H e as on risin g groun d we slacken e d speed

m e te an d n Accosted with cour ous air bla d ,

e the ? And , smiling , asked me how I lik d land

I answered him that , Captive as I was ,

Fo r liking , I , in sooth , had little cause

B u t the n e i ts for la d , thre words might give state

’ —’ — ’ Twas b eautiful twas wild twas desolate .

G 2 8 8 GUTHRUM TH E DAN E .

” h e an d It is so , replied ; I , Sir Dane ,

Should l ik e to see it made the fair domain

- m an an d n o t . Of , of wild beast It is well

’ In Nature s charg e to leave the rugged fell

’ h er e e e en as sh e l To let ch rish ther , wi l ,

! The heath , the gorse , the fern and bramble still

’ B u t pity tis , that ample vales like these ,

Which skilfu l cultur e could tran sform with e as

e e en To f rtile ﬁelds , to meads , and pastures gr ,

n o w e an d n e . Should lie, as , a bl ak barren sce

’ e m Tis pity too , to see each str a let here

u i n e an d As liq id crystal br llia t , pur , clear

n b e a n d Wi ding its way through marsh , and g ,

Or wildly dashing down a savage glen .

ff e e o u How very di erent, w r y thorny brow

n o w The fair seat of some peaceful Chieftain ,

Who with a ﬁrm , but still a friendly hand ,

Might rule the happy t en an ts of hi s land !

ff n e How di ere t too , if on this lov ly spot

’ Rose the poor peasan t s neat and sheltered cot GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

e Himself employed in ch erful toil , his wife

e At home preparing all that sweet ns life ,

ff o n dasi ed And his hale o spring the lea,

E ngaged i n gambols held with noisy glee !

e saw Would that such peasant verywhere I ,

’ l aw Protected by his country s equal ,

’ n n Rej oici g in his Ki g s paternal care ,

— And farin g as a poor m an ought to fare !

m But I , Sir Dane , in talking thus , ust seem

’ h i n . To t ee , indulging a waking dream

’ to Twas new indeed , I owned, hear the fare

’ Of poor men counted worth a great man s care ,

’ E en in a passing word . The hard, the rough ,

f Dull boor might be o consequence enough ,

war In work a requisite , a want in ,

n In all beside , beneath attentio far

I checked me , Harold ; for , this strain to hear,

’ n o t e . The Chieftain s look turned grave , if sev re

e m n Strang r , he said , I our , but marvel not ,

’ To hear you lightly hold the rustic s lot . 90 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

e A feeling that , which oft ntimes ﬁnds way

e With the unthinking heirs of arthly sway .

B u t I , Sir Dane , have lived among the poor ,

e Have been the inmate of the rud st boor ,

m Have Shared his frugal meal, his te perate bowl ,

e n Have watch d the worki gs of his inmost soul ,

hi s e And thence have learned to understand stat ,

hi s And all worth aright to estimate .

Take this for truth . The difference that may lie

e Betwixt the humble class s and the high ,

n e Consists far more in man r, and in art ,

th e o r i n e Than it doth in Head, the H art .

Th e hi s peasant, happy in station low ,

Knows all that it concerns himself to know ;

Has loyalty ; h as faith at least sincere

l n Has daunt ess heart , and conscie ce Oh how clear !

The sen se o f kindness in his breast is strong ;

i s Strong his love of right , his hate of wrong ;

o f And , maugre all the hardships his fate ,

H e bears a heart - fel t reverence for the great ;

u b e Tho gh , if a true confession must made ,

H i s heart - felt reverence oft i s ill r epaid ! TH E . 9 GU TH RUM DANE l .

— I hold , the Monarch , who amid his zeal

And well -planned efforts for the public weal

’ O erl o o k s his welfare , in that act alone

Shuns more than half the duties o f his thron e !

Oh , when thou shalt regain thy high command ,

Look ever to the lowly o f thy land ;

For know— whate ’ er the thoughtless proud may

! ” They form its very strength , its very stay

Thou canst not mean an insult ; but to me

Thy words, at this time , sound like mockery ;

Fo r ho w , I said , regain my lost command

— — My freedom nay , my life is in thy hand .

I wot not whither n o w with thee I wend ;

N ’ or if, when it is reached, this j ourney s end

Shall hasten , or retard , my destined doom

o r m ! Unbar a prison , unclose a to b

e Then , gen rous Dane , he cried , most glad

To bid suspicion and foreboding ﬂy .

wh o This j ourney leads thee to a Monarch ,

’ — E en in a foe to valour gives i ts due . 92 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

KIN G AL F R ED hath been told of thy brave feat

di e At Lin sfarne , and d ems it just and meet

e e k Such recompense for that brav f at to ma e ,

A s can . he give thee , and as thou mayst take

’ ? n thi n k st o f T IS L D Look rou d . What thou H AN for meed

— — ? This land th e whol e from Humber to the Tweed

! e You smil , Sir Dane . Not less the scheme is ﬁxed

— — All vale and moun tain those fair streams betwixt ,

The King makes over to thy Chief and thee ,

n To hold of him in equal sovereig ty .

! By mighty Thor I cried , a princely gift

’

n . But tell me , if thou canst, the Do or s drift

m n e No o arch wis will his dominions part,

Withou t som e m otive prompting at the heart And gift less splendi d would by far exceed

The value of a m ere i n stin ctive deed .

Unfold that motive , or at least unfold

e o n w The t rms hich a Kingdom we may hold .

n Brave Dane , when I Shall thee in presence bri g,

e e o f n Th r mayst thou learn the secret the Ki g ,

4 9 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

But that my mission can , or will , succeed ;

That Guthrum will adep t your Christian creed ;

Will to your King required allegiance give ;

Or stoop beneath your Saxon laws to live ; (For that your sense I apprehend to be

’ Of the two term s o f faith and poli ty )

i — Is what I l ttle hope , and hope still less ,

When , as I hear , unchecked and high success

’ s Attends hi arms . The Victor s towering soul

Accepts no part . It claims and grasps the whole .

ﬁ n d Then he may , the Leader sternly cried,

’ Sharp lesson taught to his o erween i ng pride !

A stubborn soul the English Saxon hath,

N o t o r very soon , lightly , roused to wrath ;

n e But, once enki dl d, your proud Chief may know,

r — o r It bu ns till it consumes himself, foe

i n Believe me, were our youthful K g to meet ,

’ n E en in a hu dred ﬁelds to come , defeat ,

l There stil would gather round him , near and far ,

Fresh force to feed the patriotic war .

’ u E G D S For never pon N LAN soil, Sir Dane ,

Shall foreig n foot i n quietude remain ! GUTH RUM TH E DANE

e Exc pt it be by such agreement fair ,

e As thou art destin d by the King t o bear .

’ o er The long ascent, by this time , was passed ,

e And level stretched , for mil s , the land before .

to Again , at signal given , wonted speed

E hi s ach bending horseman spurred willing steed . We crossed the Coquet ’ s blue and winding stream

Next hour we saw the wooded Wansbeck gleam ;

T o o f miles moor day lent its failing shine,

But ceased to light us ere we reached the Tyne ,

Whose surface broad , as liquid silver bright ,

’ Was softly rippling in the Moon s calm light .

o f The passage the river soon made good,

We halted there beside a black pine -wood ;

Turned loose o u r weary steeds to graze at will ;

n o f S at down upon the margi a rill ,

T o moisten thence our welcome crust o f bread ;

o u r b e d Then pulled the mountain heather for . And— laid a glorious summer Moon beneath

Tell me what couch can vie with couch of h e ath 96 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

th e S k His cloak his covering , and wide blue y ,

W i ts e ith all stars , his stat ly canopy ,

! Each hardy warrior proudly lay , and well

One only, waked and walked as sentinel .

e e Sunk on his couch of heather, soft and d p ,

The gallant Chief was not the last to sl e ep ;

hi m I , stretched beside , wakeful vigil kept , — — And would not even if I could have slept .

f The of er fair of country and of sway ,

’ i n Made the Saxon Monarch s name that day ,

Had , while it banished all my doubts and fears ,

e — R vived my hopes . Years long and brilliant years

m My fancy drew, of po p , and power, and pride ;

Nor failed with that loved One to grace my side ,

w Without whose presence , pomp , and pride , and po er ,

Were but the showy nothings o f an hour !

m u AS thus I sed , and wore the night away ,

m A lovely night that see ed a softer day ,

98 GUTH RUM TH E DAN E .

o n He softly left my side , and the ground

A S n n . sentinel , resumed his moo light rou d

- Unlooked for freedom placed within my view ,

en Gave to my stream of thought a curr t n ew .

My long - lost friends to mingle with again ;

Once more my Guthrum to my bre ast to strain

e And by some f at in future battle shown ,

For past in action something to atone ;

e e e Would , of themselv s , have pow rful motives prov d

e To prompt me to escape . But oth rs moved .

I saw a great advantage to b e gained — i f . To me , by liberty now Obtained

Admitting that in perfect faith w as made

ff u The royal o er thro gh the Chief conveyed,

n o t e u to I doubted , if fre my co rse trace ,

f I could with more e fect and better grace ,

e o n Impress its prompt acc ptance my friend ,

e Than if as Captive I were forc d to wend .

n n o While with the Saxon Ki g , longer bound

o n I then should treat high and equal ground , TH E GUTH RUM DAN E . 99

fo r n And thus Obtain Guthrum terms , percha ce ,

Fairer than he could win by sword and lance .

o f Or granting aught the hope concord mar ,

’ th at h e And that event , last , left to war ,

My arm , my counsel , not to say my skill,

Would , in the strait supposed , be useful still ;

n o t And I might conquer , fair lands alone — But a fair Bride to grace my future thron e

o f Spite such inward visions , sleep at last

My heavy eyes began to overcast ;

Which yet closed most unwillingly , and oft

o n Again would open the moonlight soft,

see an d And snowy garments , shapes divine ,

Blend with the ﬂashi ngs o f th e streamy Tyne !

XII I .

’ o er o f n The eastern beam , vales moorla d borne ,

o n o u r e n . Shed beauty march , r sumed at mor

We passed the valley of the Wear at noon ;

n n And couched , by Swale , agai beneath the moo .

n n Th e third fair day was setti g , calm and Shee ,

’ When neared we C R A V EN S pastoral moun tains green ; O I O GU TH RUM TH E DANE .

o n u s And gloom fell , as we slowly went

’ Down m ighty Wh ern sid e s long and steep descent .

’ But twas a gloom that sudde n ly gave w ay

an d To the mild , soft , unobtrusive ray ,

e Which now began , along the quiet d ll ,

To gleam o n rocky p e ak and pin n acle

XIV .

n di m Behind the easter mountain , huge and ,

The Moon j ust showed to us her risi ng rim

th e By slow degrees misty barrier cleared ,

n sh e At le gth a circle , full and broad, reared ,

l n And, sti l ascendi g , upward calmly rolled

— A n o rb y e t beamless as of dusky gold !

n u e A mome t more , and from her az r way

sh e In ether, smiled with unclouded ray , Far down into the depth of that long dell

— Which overlooked by mountain and by fell

n Is watered by the Wharfe , whose murmuri g Was audible— not visible— below

For all along the winding dell , that night,

A wavel e ss lak e of summer m ist lay white

1 02 G UTH RUM THE DAN E .

Now over quaking moss we lightly sped ;

n n n o w o u r e e l ed . Dismou ti g , weary st ds we

u n And thus w e reached a copio s mou tain brook ,

Which pu rely gushed from what appeared a nook — Form ed by two m eeti n g hills a sh eltered place

Affordi ng pastu rage an d am ple space ;

— h — c But which approac ed threw wide its ro ky j aws ,

And by its gloom y grandeu r made u s pause !

c m e - saw Half cave , half has , it yawn d Absorbed , I ;

i n n e n o t w awe . And gazed wo d r , unmixed ith

XVI .

Like the extensive area o f some Tower

e e e Which giants might hav made their plac of pow r ,

h e o r n But whence the and of Rag , Rui , all

o f h Had torn away eac interior wall ,

A n d yet had spared the outward barriers still ,

High , massive , rude , and indestructible

o n n Opening my astonished gla ce , at ﬁrst ,

The rugged glooms o f savage G O R DAL E burst !

n an d o n th e In fro t , right , abruptly sprung

n an d— n — n The livi g rock , slanti g forward hu g , 3 G UTH RUM TH E DANE . 1 0

E xte ndi n g from its deep and cavern ed bas e

m w h A darkso e shado over alf the space ,

o u r Till , far above heads, it almost closed

With the gigantic rocks that stood Oppos e d

e th e e e m L aving small space , through which y ight view

’ The sky o f night s bestarred and te n der blu e !

en was n B eath , the level ﬂoor all bestrow

th e f n With numerous fragments , which clif s had throw ,

’ n As slow decay , or light ing s sudden dint ,

u n -ﬂin t Thro gh years disj oined them from the pare t .

With some alarm I gazed u pon the proof

th e Of possible peril from peaks aloof, And looking round me to descry a place

Of greater safety, gained the gloomy base

- — Of that far slanting rock , where feeling free

’ From aught, except an Earthquake s j eopardy

n e w I stood and saw , with marvel ever ,

— — ! A scene yet wild e r strang e r given to view

XVII .

n — Right , left , in fro t still towered all rudely piled

h e i n T rocks masses , rugged , high , and wild

H 2 1 04 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

o rm l ess cast e m F , or in ev ry varied for ,

The mountai n crag can take from tim e an d storm

A n d w e d an d here they towered most rugg d, wil , high ,

A n sk oriﬁce I saw , that Showed the y ,

— And pour e d as if fro m out the sky itself

m en n th e e A ighty torr t dow rocky sh lf,

n m e d Which , bei g dashed fro l dge to le ge , at last

th e e t Became qui t brook we j us had pass e d .

’ ’ en m i d n Desc ding the caver s gloomy night ,

The broad an d broken fall of waters whit e

m m Resembled ost a gush of oonshine clear ,

S treamed throu gh a thickly - cloud e d atmospher e

The si n gle in timation which is given

That there is th en a lovely Moon in heaven !

XVIII .

o f e B ound by the wild power the scene , amaz d

e While Chief and follower stood, like me , and gaz d ,

n n I felt a sudde touch , and , turning rou d ,

- My self announced Deliverer I found .

— i t It is the time is the place, he said ,

” ! u Follow and q ickly gliding forth , he ﬂed .

1 06 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

n an d e Hard was the couch ; but , bei g safe fr e ,

That couch of m ountain stone was soft to me .

— — The bafﬂe d troop without might search the rocks The dogs might bay — when snugly earthed the fox !

V O F C ANTO I . GU T H R U M THE DANE .

CA N T O V

e m e t R ﬂected light , as if fro wat r cas ,

’ O n o f e n t the Cave s vault stone was quiv ri g fas ,

And the fr e sh fa ll and ﬂ o w of water n ear

n n Was murmuri g and dashing in mi e ear ,

n When I from sleep awoke , and , looki g through

e The screen of hazel , I beheld a vi w

’ n e m Of sylvan swe e tness . Morni g s glorious b a

o n o n th e m Was the pool, and falling strea ,

th e - n And , as whitely dashi g spray it kissed ,

Made shiftin g rainbows o f the rising mist !

Each tree hung o u t its branches all unstirre d

I n n the calm air ; each bra ch sustained a bird , 1 08 G UTH RUM THE DANE .

That sat and sung ; each green leaf in its curl — H eld drops of dew ! each drop a trembling pearl

n e Tree , water , crag , in sunshi and in shade ,

’ sk With the blue y o er all , a picture made ,

o f m s et Which , in the faithful glass Me ory ,

! Is gay and green , is fresh and sparkling yet

e e Bri f gaze I took ; then turned to rouse my guid ,

Who still lay ﬁxed in slumber at my side .

h e was n A man , whose sca ty locks of grey

Showed he had passed o f life th e m iddle day

n e e e m e But whose black, pierci g y , and activ fra

’ e Advancing years had little vail d to tame .

I told him day appeared already high ,

A n d asked hi m if it n o w was tim e to ﬂy

” o l d Not yet, the man answered . While we stay,

w e sa Here are safe ; for soothly I may y ,

’ No mortal man , except with Satan s aid,

Can ever ﬁnd the place where we are laid !

’ e I knew the cave of old, and think tis styl d ,

e e n By the few Dw ll rs round these mountai s wild ,

1 1 0 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

’ e i n And h re thou art Gennet s rocky cave .

e But this , my friend, thou didst at hazard grav

i s Why, that true . If taken by my lord ,

a n d A hasty shrift, a tree , hempen cord

’

. B u t m a Were Eric s doom what y hap to me ,

— I fe el as nothing I have r e scue d the e

’ O l d n Moved by the man s cunni g and address ,

e n But mov d yet more by his devoted ess ,

Tell me , I said , whence springs the friendly zeal

Which for the safety of a man you feel ,

e m m n Whose visage , but thr e su er days ago e ,

e . Thine yes had , certes , never gazed upon

h e wh o m A man , said , fro the proverb learns

’ O n e n e n ge erous de d a other j ustly earns ,

Fi n ds that o f force sufficient to enlist

— e e His kin dly efforts wh re none lse exist .

e n e But wouldst thou clos r i to this enquir ,

’ ’ i n D B E R TH A s S I R Thou see st me a AN E, and E .

en x m th e Th , I e clai ed , by all mighty gods

’ V al hal l a s e - h e That crowd ver brig t abod s , GUTH RUM THE DANE . I I I

n ! e I tha k thee not but rather , while I liv ,

Must rue the liberty your efforts giv e !

Since it i s p u rchased at the too high cost

e — a ! Of thy poor daughter l ft y , left and lost

’ e e Lief r would I r j oin thy Chieftain s train ,

’ e th e Li fer for life Saxons slave remain ,

b efel ! tho u— Than harm that Maid And Oh , thou

Art that Maid ’ s sire ! — I almost hate thee now !

That fault , if fault there be , thou mayst forgive .

’ e an d n B rtha is safe , he said , lo g will live ,

u m Ere the young Chieftain , wise , and j st , and ild , Will for the guilty Father harm the Child

i s so o o d l — I n Oh sir , the Chieftain g me ,

o f A man simple , untaught mind you see ;

en But when I have observed him near , and wh

I have compared him with the herd o f men

H e as so u , I said, good , a so l of light,

ce m b At on with virtue and with wisdo right,

The n m e an d i n y uni for d savage , dark mind ,

More like to demons than to human - kin d

’ n hi m I ve almost fa cied , at such a time

n e n e A si l ss ative of a sinl ss clime , 1 1 2 GUTH RUM TH E DAN E .

Fo r some mysterious end or purpose hurled

Down thence into a base and wrong - ﬁ l l ed world !

Wh o i s o u the Chief, whose praises thus y press ,

i n ? And whom , truth , I value hardly less

e I ask d the question , but I vainly asked .

’ n A moment s space he mused . At le gth , I tasked

an d My brain , risked my life , he gravely said , In thy escape to lend my humble aid

n Partly because I knew thou art a Da e ,

e But mor , and chieﬂy , that, in yonder fane , You snatched my Bertha from the ﬂames away

s erv e thee hi m b etra For this I , but not y

e And if you knowledge of the Chief would se k,

n o r . Eric , be sure , can neither hear Speak

o n . o n Talk we other theme The time ﬂies ,

H G IST I judge young EN must be here anon .

ffe Young Hengist But it may , perhaps, O nd — To he . N a ask who is o faithful friend,

Bound to thy interest by as strong a ti e

A s warm an d pure Affe ction can supply .

1 1 4 GUTH RU M THE DANE .

e e n an d e Of y quick , sparkli g , keen , glossy blu ;

Of cheek that b ore of health th e fre shest h u e ;

Of hair that ov er all his sho u lders broad

I n fair an d yellow clusters wave d and ﬂow e d

u was e u Prof sely ; Hengist , in v ry tr th ,

e A gay , a gallant , and a grac ful Youth

’ Disposin g o n th e Cavern s r u gged ﬂoor

u u n e e Of r ral food an expect d stor ,

’ h e Which had purveyed , for the morn s regale ,

e co t l M al h am dal e From some lon in love y ,

w e o l d He , while sat at meat, to Eric

His n ight - adven ture with bl u nt humour told

n m e th I On missi g , ndignant Chief, he said ,

Had given com mand that instant search be made

— That he , the Youth to each suspected spot

h e w as n o t The ﬁrst to lead where I , knew,

— n e Had managed to detach u seen , ungu ssed

The n m e horses we had ridde , fro the r st,

And stable th em am id the green wood glade ;

That he had couched him , till the cavalcade ,

m n e saw e Di i ish d thus , he resum their march

’ As the ﬁrst dawn - rays streake d th e sky s bl u e arch T HE I’ G UTH RUM DAN 1 1 .

d w e wa That he had followe , ith his eye , th ir y ;

A n d n e i n en n o ly left them wh n , bright i g day ,

l e m n o n They crossed the va of Aire , and , glea i g ,

e B gan to vanish on the line of Colne .

The sense of freedom thus achieved at last ,

n Gave double relish to my plai repast .

W e o u r left the Cave , saddled steeds bestrode , l Ahd ’ f o er the emerald dales o Craven rode . But let me not delay my onward tale

By needless note of river o r of dale .

’ sa o er Enough to y that , hurrying the ground ,

m I patient till the distant camp I found ,

! en We scarce took needful rest . And Oh at l gth

We came where lay in sight the Danish str en gth

e S W OOD O R ST far an d w Her EL F E stretches ide ,

e o l d And there thy Danish fri nds , Eric cried ,

En trench them i n their camp at E T H A N D U N

S e e ! their te n ts whiten in the settin g su n !

And see ! aloft the pennons wave and Shine

— ? In the fair evening ! Can st distingui s h thin e 1 1 6 GUTH RUM THE D AN E .

VIII .

I looked, but natural emotion thrilled

u n . My inmost so l , and j oy mi e eyes had ﬁlled

Canvas and banner waved, and armour gleamed ,

an d n . But blended all , i distinct they seemed

’ o er e High the rest, at length my clearing ey s

o f Beheld the tent noble Guthrum rise ,

Central and huge . Above it bravely shone

’ My country s ﬂag , in many a battle known ,

In whose white ﬁeld appeared the Raven Black , — That soared as if his prey he scorned to lack ;

For of such stern resolve he s e emed to speak

! By outstretched pinion , and by open beak

N o r w as th e w , though his aim foiled follo ing day ,

Can it be said the Raven missed hi s pr ey

— To wi n Two Kingdoms and this feat did he

di sco m ﬁ ture ! Was not , but victory

A n d o f e certes , Harold, not failur spoke

’ The sounds that then from out th En campment broke

1 1 8 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

th ’ Passing from hand to hand accustomed horn ,

an d ! Which each in turn must drain , none might scorn

’ For twas of ample depth , the j uice to hold

e e u m Whos g nero s beverage bolder akes the bold .

’ O er o ed j y to see the warrior friend restored ,

’ n e Whom he had lo g b lieved at Woden s board ,

n m The King, arisi g from his seat , ade sign

o To change the mead for draughts f purple wi ne .

e Th reafter hasty dais , by his command ,

For me ascende d at hi s o wn right hand

an d n Eric , my rescuer, himself a Da e ,

For seat beside me waited not in vai n

u o f n And youthf l Hengist, though Saxo race ,

e n e Receiv d with us a like disti guished plac .

n e m The ros the festal glee . Brave Guthru called ,

u With j oyo s voice , for harper and for scald ;

ui And scald and harper q ckly came . But ere

i n o r e They str ng could wake , could song prepar ,

m Had I , aside , to noble Guthru told

’ n Twas min e important message to u fold , Which— premature as yet for others ’ ear

I t de eply touch e d his in tere st to h ear . GUTH RUM TH E DANE . I N)

u u Retired apart, I told to G thr m all

’ ’ Tha t had b efal l n m e si n ce the Convent s fall

m e Of Bertha told him , and the noble da

Whom I had chanced to rescue from the ﬂame ;

— A s well as of the lore which sprun g from Heaven

o l d To my faith a sudden shock had given .

e I th n detailed to him , in terms less brief, ’ My conversation with the Northern Chief ;

The kingly offer from his King con veyed ;

’ And my escape by Eric s friendly aid .

” Loud Guthrum laughed . Tis very well ! he cri ed

th en fo r S o , wouldst barter a Saxon bride

e t n Thine ancient faith , and y , forsooth , prete d

That tru e an d deep conviction wrought that end

’ Confe ss it ! from th e Lady s eye was sen t

e ! By far the clear st , subtlest argument

’ A m u n d e u e And tell me , y , w re not tr th s d mands

Pressed somewhat by the weight o f Saxon lands

e e Well , thou art prud nt H re his banter stayed

A n d a e e n e h e gr ve b cam his man r, as said 1 20 GUTH RU M TH E DANE .

A m u n d y I need not say , I am a man

Who have no time deep mysteries to scan .

e l I worship , lik my war ike sires , therefor ,

n o f The honoured names of Wode and Thor .

th e u Though , to confess tr th , I hold the bark

’ That b ears me boun ding o er the ocean dark

I hold the covering shield an d trusty brand

m e v i cto r That make , and keep , on the land

I hold these sinewy arms , by which I wield

e th e n Alike the h lm , falchio , and the shield

As my b est gods nor do I care to su e — For help to Idols b e they old or new .

And did the changeful fate Of war d emand

n That I must either quit this lovely la d, Or be immersed in water— stream or spring

as And rule a portion a Christian King ,

’ A m u n d e e y , be sure my choic were quickly ta n , And all my fathers ’ gods would frown in vain !

1 22 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

- an d e n n e th e By all the camp cert s , o less

the th e e u b u t e That half sense h arers co ld gu ss ,

n - Of each quai t legend, and each old world lay ,

With which he sought to wile the tim e away

th e n Much to fretting of the ative scald ,

e Who eagerly aros , as soon as called ,

n . e . To wake the so g The foremost , Rolf upsprung

’ Th e sea - n a n n ki g s wild , dve turous life he su g ,

Who n ever unde rn eath a p e aceful roof

th e wh o - Drains full horn ; but , still terror proof,

n h e e E j oys the peril that boldly brav s ,

And makes hi m vassals of the winds an d waves !

s He bids those va sals bear his bark along,

n n And well he k ows they cannot bear it wro g,

Since , waft him to whatever shore they may ,

h e t h i s . There lies land , and there certain prey

e n The warriors , s ated rou d , at every pause ,

- n Rung on their hollow soundi g Shields applause .

’ u But lo der rose the listeners wild acclaim ,

’ h n e n G u thru m s W e turn d the so g to noble name , T H E GUTH RUM DANE . 1 23

— And told ho w h e their sea -kin g bold and stern

as n At Croyland Abbey , at Li disfarne ,

hi s m Assisted by nu erous compeers,

Had sung the won dering monks the mass o f spears !

o f How service , with the dawn day begun

Had ended long before the mid - day su n ;

h o w o f e And the holy brethren the plac ,

’ m Char ed by the Chieftain s ministry and grace ,

Into his open hand the sacred hoard ,

The precious treasures Of the shrine had poured !

The warriors , seated round , at every pause ,

n - Ru g on their hollow sounding shields applause .

XVI .

’ h o w Twas sung , leading thence his victor host,

Guthrum at length had reached the southern coast ,

’ And come where, under Alfred s Saxon blade ,

The force o f England stood for ﬁght arrayed .

o n How he had met them ; how , meeting, rose

The stirring mu sic o f encountering foes

’ Music more sweet, more dear, to warrior s heart,

’ ’ u n ! Than Maiden s voice , or Minstrel s t eful art 1 24 GUTH RUM TH E DA NE .

H o w h e had left (that stirring music c e ased)

u u an d w e For dogs, for v lt res , for olves a f ast ;

A n d e how , upon that greatest of his ﬁ lds ,

’ ’ n mid n Mid shouti g warriors, and clashi g shields ,

H i s e n e chi fs had rou d th ir Leader formed a ring ,

’ A n d hail ed him En glan d s Con q u eror an d Kin g !

Th e u e u e warriors , seated ro nd , at very pa s ,

- u Run g o n th eir hollow soun ding shields appla se .

XVII .

’ en Th , with the bard s accustomed tact and skill,

n hi s ﬂatteri es w Who knows to cha ge at ill,

Th e n e e : Mi str l add d While , without a peer ,

n u The valia t Guthr m ran this bright career ,

e was A Y M U N D ? i n Wher , where He , every ﬁeld

m an d e ! The ﬁrst to co bat, the last to yi ld

Th e . A nl av e n He paused harp of loudly ru g ,

And thus that scald his r eady answ e r sun g :

’ I dreamed a sole m n dr eam ! I n Woden s hall

! Methought I stood , among his warriors all

A l l n an d stood in ordered ra ks , all stood dumb ,

A s if th ey waite d gre at e vent to come !

1 26 GUTH RUM THE DAN E .

e D ep Thought and Sadness . Ere a note he sung,

His simple harp the Minstrel softly rung,

en n Th wakened , as a prelude , low yet stro g ,

A something hovering between speech and song .

! fareth With Saxon bard, alas it ill ,

hi s Who claims, he said, to love Country still .

— ’ — He wears instead of Freedom s radianc e now

! Th e brand of serfdom o n his burning brow

’ His Country s brave Defenders ceased to live ,

’ His Country s King a houseless fugitive , While o ’ er that King ’ s despoiled and waste domain

S oars the dark Raven o f the victor Dane !

’ m n u S uch bard , when placed a o g his Co ntry s foes ,

her r hi s Must veil w ongs , and must suppress woes ,

c Ea h patriot thought must stiﬂe as a crime ,

And frame a prudent lay to suit the time .

Y e t Guthrum hath a noble soul , and can ,

I trust , forgive a Minstrel and a Man , Who fain would make an effort to prolong

’ o f A nl av e s The high conceit northern song ,

’ But fears to wake , mid foes and weapons sharp ,

hi s The daring strain that hovers round harp . T H E GUTH RUM DANE . 1 27

XIX .

n m I swear by Wode Guthru loudly cried ,

e o f e That , Minstr l , nought harm shall thee betid ,

n ! — if Si g what thou wilt Nay, farther thy song — B e worthy even though our name it wrong ,

’ By my good steel , and Denmark s Raven Black ,

I swear that ﬁtting meed thou shalt n o t lack

B h ard ythese frank words the emboldened seemed ,

An d : ! sung I , too , a solemn dream have dreamed

’ A nl ave I stood , like , in high Woden s hall ;

A nl av e Like , I beheld the warriors all ;

The awful silence o f the vast abode

! I felt , like him , and saw the martial god

e e Suddenly came a ﬂying F mal Form,

She came , as sometimes comes a summer storm,

When winds are brisk , when slender trees are bowed ,

A n d rainbow - fragments tinge the moving cloud !

’ o n . E en s her coming stirred , e livened all

e Half ﬂew, half walk d she through the spacious hall ,

’ e - And fronted Woden s thron . The warrior train ,

! In her , knew one of those that choose the Slain 2 1 8 G UTH RUM T HE DANE .

’ th e I come , Damsel cried, from yonder Isle ,

m m n e . I co e fro battle , and from burni g pil

e A m u n d Blood ﬂowed like water . Nobl y there ,

n i n For breath was gaspi g the smoky air .

e . His blade , besid him, dripped with Saxon gore

Him I had chosen for mine o wn b e fore ;

n e e And , ﬂyi g wh re the hero bl eding lay ,

I swiftly stooped to h ear hi s soul away .

m e Alas , I found before there , that hour ,

’ Th un welcome Spirit of a M I G HTIE R POW E R !

! ’ Ha Mightier Power the startled god exclaimed ,

? Then it was not brave A ym u n d that you named

’ H e i s m ! n y son Trai ed up to shed men s blood ,

Since he was boy he hath i n battle stood !

’ A — so y the Spirit said to me , again

u Took p the word the Chooser of the Slain ,

n o w But his part, she said , that warrior brave

! Shall learn , is not to slay mankind , but save

e o f o f The s nse Beauty , and the power Love ,

u S blimed in him , and hallowed from above ,

1 30 GUTH RU M TH E DANE .

XXI .

You guess , my son , of all the listening throng ,

th e o f I understood most that strange song .

was n But what evide t to me alone ,

? H o w came it to th e Saxon Minstrel known

h ard e e e Had he indeed , as , the gift d y , Before whose Sight both Past and Future lie

n o t . I doubted How , otherwise , could he

Have any knowledge of my fate o r me

hi m to e I called my Sid , that I might say

e Such courteous word as Chi ftain , praised, must

For courte ou s song . I bade the Minstrel take

an d m e A valued ring , wear it for y sak

n i n n Hinti g the while , but an u der tone

e th e c That it were wis to quit amp anon .

H e e was fo r ! stole away, and w ll it him

e n v For lower d had ma y a isage , darkly grim ,

m e Upon the bard . I could but s ile at thos

The — m hi s scalds whom rivalry had ade foes , And whose vain j ealousy itself expressed

m n n . In gibe alicious , and in tau ti g j est GUTH RUM THE DANE . 1 3 1

n A n l av e th e Tis plai , said , that man hath quaffed

th e — n The pure , genuine, bard creati g draught .

’ Oh , doubtless , Rolfe replied , the thing s of course ;

’ But then twere best say nothing of the source

’ But graver character th e warriors ire

’ Took gainst the Master o f the Saxon Lyre

e d The wretch , they deeply swore , d serves to blee ,

’ Fo r doing insult to o ur Cou n try s creed !

o n e Even me their gloomy looks th y bent ,

’ An d muttered , audibly, their discontent,

That Danish bounty should a m eed supply To vagrant Nazarene— p erchance a Spy !

XXII .

n o t Their wrath which , if its obj ect had ﬂown ,

t n e Might into ou rage i stantly hav grown ,

— Died by degree s away th e bard withdrawn

When through the can vas gle ame d the summer daw n

’ ’ e e To sle ep s d mands the revellers gan to yi ld ,

hi s o wn e Each taking for a couch broad shi ld,

’ n o e r Where he had sat . Now reig ed but stillness

The scene , where wildest mirth had reigned before . 1 32 GUTHRUM T HE DANE .

e But soon above th ir slumbers , from without, Broke other sound than song or wassail shout

w m Each startled arrior caught the loud alar s ,

A n d - ! , half awakened , grasped his ready arms

EN D C TO V OF AN .

1 34 GUTH RUM TH E DAN E .

n The instant that the warlike summons ru g ,

That instant G uthrum to his feet upsprung ;

n n Upspru g his valia t Chiefs, and hurried thence ,

’ hi s e e Each to secure s veral post s def nce . — My earliest thought was faithful Eric h e

Who had imperilled everything for me ;

Nor was my other, younger friend forgot

saw . I looked around for both , but them not

No time it was to question whither gone

In o n haste I rose , and did my armour ,

’ — An d j oin ing G u thru m s side m y ancient wont

R ’ ushed forth with him to meet the battle s brunt .

m et We , instead, our men recoiling back

’ From the foe s ﬁrst, and not least ﬁerce attack ,

th e Which , with utmost skill and vigour j oint ,

’ Had been directed gainst our weakest point .

m By threat, by gesture , there co pelled to halt,

We led the fugitives to fresh assault,

Repulsed, in turn , the coming Saxon might,

Rolled back the entering current of their ﬁght, GUTH RUM T H E DANE . 1 35

e o w n c m n e Cl ared our tren h beti es , at poi t of blad ,

! And manned the breach which there the fo e h a d m ad e

Then ﬁrst I saw the wildly - moving ﬁ eld

The marshalled foe by hundreds stood revealed ;

e e On many a burnished helm and bright ste l blad ,

o f m n The brilliant beams early or ing played .

O saw n p their broad banner , which I adva ce ,

Th e Charger White o f We ssex seemed to prance

A symbol that to every eye made plain

The Saxon Alfred was in arm s again !

u t e I did not think , the valiant G hrum cri d ,

e As with stem glance the coming Steed he yed ,

n so o n n Whe he swiftly ﬂed, y burni g noon ,

— ! That w e should meet again a t least so soon

A m u n d ! see y , be ﬁrm For , with greatest force , The Saxons this way bear their heavy Horse !

— - Now mark me ere this day light fair hath ceased ,

’ ” My Raven on their Charge r s ﬂesh shall feast ! 1 3 6 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

war Wave after wave , the surging came on ;

— Wave after wav e dashed ﬁ ercel y an d was gone !

we o u r sea - n For were rocks , beat sta ce that held ,

A n d e e— n — each succ ssive w av u moved repelled .

ﬁ rm es t n m Yet rocks that ma y a stor outbrave ,

I n lapse o f tim e must fall before the wave ;

n And mortal nerves, whatever be their stre gth ,

n If pressed continuously , must fail at le gth .

o u r Scarce could arms the heavy falchion wield ,

An d u s scarce , before , bear the heavy shield ,

Yet still fresh numbers , vigorous as the ﬁrst,

Against our frail and sinking barrier burst .

n The tre ch , besides , that void erewhile had lain ,

Now ﬁlled and heaped with bodies o f the slain

o u r Supplied foemen with a ghastly bridge ,

A n d readier access to the earthen ridge

n wa On which we fought . Our ba d , perforce , gave y , And in they rushed with more than torrent sway !

1 38 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

th e . I said , before Saxon King they bent

o f e e ! I dreamed not , Harold , the bas d scent

’ an v an Proud as if still I led army s ,

I scorned to bend the kn ee to m ortal m an

i n saw And though regal presence , hardly

The Prince to wh om my captors k n elt in awe .

e o wn Cont mning my fate , aside I looked

To see h o w hi s the noble Guthrum brooked

His soul was strung up to the highest ton e ;

His glance was free and fearless as my o wn

h a d And the Monarch given , that moment , breath

o n e a n d — To brief word, that brief word been Death

H e m e so n n o e - would have ark d , my , t rror sign

’

e G u th ru m s e o n . Eith r on visag , or mine

e Brothers in many a former ﬁeld of strif ,

A n d more than brothers now in partin g life

n e n a n d n Fixi g on Alfr d ster scor ful eye ,

— Both would have died as heroes ever di e !

m t m u While glanced across y spiri so e s ch thought ,

My stern and scorn ful eye th e Mon arch sought : TH E 1 39 GUTHRUM D ANE .

But scarce I gave to my own sight belief — — I saw I saw the youn g Northumbrian Chief

so n And the same instant I perceived , my ,

The Saxon Monarch and that Chief were o n e

The sullen mood , the dark and savage pride ,

o f Which had all form reverence denied ,

A t e once gave way . Respect , esteem sincer , ‘

An d certain recollections , did what fear

Could never have achieved . I ﬂew to bend

ri end B efore my Victor, and to hail him f ;

n o w Though I had reason , as you must know ,

Fo r doubting if I still should ﬁnd him so .

saw n hi s B ut Alfred , and, i stant , from seat Started— as if an honoured guest to greet

o f My act cordial homage stayed , and took

! an d My hand with warmest grasp , kindest look

! I thank my G O D with emphasis he said,

’ n e That thou, my friend hast scaped the Saxo blad

A n — ! d that brave Guthrum this , I know, is he

n ! Survives it too, my other frie d to be 1 40 GUTHRUM THE DAN E .

— All we o f late discours e d o f I and thou

The righteous Hand o f Heaven hath altered n o w

’ n Hath left me free a Mo arch s power to use ,

o r e Gently sternly , as mys lf may choose

’ And, doubtless , thy escape s implied distrust,

m e m en Or worse , ight s e to r der sternness j ust .

en But spok word, whatever may befall,

A Kin g o f England never must recall !

n ff e m Va quished , to thee I o r ade , and will ,

A s m e Victor , trust , every part fulﬁl,

th e n n d — On co ditions which we ame Meantime ,

i Not to arrest pursuit , were deepest cr me

! ! Ho Kenric , Cerdic haste ye both away A white ﬂag in the sight Of all display

o u r e And let the heralds , in royal nam ,

m A truce , an instantaneous truce , proclai

VII I .

’ Obedient to the Saxon King s behest ,

e Had scarcely parted the brav Chiefs addressed ,

When tent - ward came a crowd with c lamorous din

Who roughly dragged two other captives in ;

1 42 GUTHRUM THE DANE .

: I interposed Brave Prince , I humbly said ,

hea d Thou hast , in me , excused the acting And having kindly pardoned that which planned

h Mayst well forgive the purely passive and .

n m Go , search thi e army , and , fro rear to van ,

ﬁ n d Thou shalt not , believe , a truer man

’ Than this sam e Eric Twas hi s Danish blood

fo r hi That a moment checked s loyal mood .

And Hengist, I have ample proof to Show ,

o f hi s Holds every foeman Prince his foe .

! N O ! Forgive them , brave Dane , it may not be

— Yet hear me yield th e traitors up to me

’ hi s To take the Old Man from Monarch s sight,

Will not by him be deemed a penan ce light ;

m And for the Youth , I know a si ple spell

’ Wherewith to ﬁx that Youth s allegiance w ell

Then deepest treachery were a virtue made ;

so n . But be it , the King , relenti g , said

o n At this old Eric threw him the ground ,

’ e n And , clasping good King Alfr d s knees arou d , TH E GUTH RUM DANE . 1 43

’ o f o n ee e e e With tears j y the Mo arch s f t b d w d .

e h u n Er ct the while , the yout f l He gist stood

’ e ea n I hav but little skill to pl d or plai ,

Th e n th e e Stripling said, but bri g brav st Dane

e — o r n B fore my falchion the slanderer bri g ,

t o n Who dares call me traitor to my Ki g ,

wh o m e And he , in combat , beholds ﬂinch , — Like vilest sn ake shall scotch me inch by inch

o f e u n A murmur suppressed applaus went ro d ,

N o r th e n royal Alfred at blu t speech frowned .

o n The noble Chiefs , peaceful mission sent

e n By this tim had retur ed into the tent ,

n o w e e e And th y mad r port, that , near and far ,

h o t a n d . The pursuit was checked , stayed the war

’ Here stood the S axon s victor ranks , they said ,

Impati en t all to ﬁnd revenge delayed

n While there , recoveri g heart , the routed Dane Was mustering fast his broken bands again

A n d n , undismayed by rece t overthrow ,

e w . Was ready to inﬂict , or tak , a blo 1 44 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

so e In sooth , high appeared their mutual rag ,

’ Twas feared the armies yet might re - en gage !

The Monarch heard the risk ; he heard appalled

And quickly to his standard - bearer called :

H O u s ! An d , forth with forth , with hasty stride ,

Across the ﬁeld , where war had raged , we hied,

Until we reached the narrow strip o f green

That stretched the dark and scowling ranks between .

l Here , cried the Monarch , fu l in every eye ,

The Saxon banner let us raise on high ;

And, high beside it, give the ﬂag to wave ,

o f u ! Dear to each Dane , the ﬂag Guthr m brave

’ — Twas done and fairly ﬂoated into light

The Raven Black b eside the Charger White !

’ ’ e Th exulting Dan s the signal s import knew ,

And loudly shouted as the banners ﬂew .

With fainter cheer the less - pleased S axon s hailed

The sign that peace and amity prevailed .

Th e en g erous Monarch then , with air benign ,

’ hi s e G u thru m s Took in own brav hand and mine ,

1 46 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

o f ! No more battle and of blood , my boy

was . Thenceforward, all was triumph , all j oy

Men that had lately mixed in deadly fray ,

Were seen comminglin g now in friendly play .

Guthrum , who in his secret soul despised

Both creeds alike , was soon , with pomp , baptised ,

The King himself, beyond his royal wont,

Responding for him at the sacr e d font

n e And , daily walki g in his garment whit ,

N eO h te ! Full grimly , Harold , looked the p y

Fo r e me, I waved the wished imm rsion then ,

fo r Reserving that holy rite the Glen , And hinted my desire that all the Danes

u o f Who pleased, sho ld cleanse them their moral stains

w In the same pure Northumbrian stream ith me . — It shal l be so and more Ourself will see

The rite performed, the generous Monarch said,

And instant order for the voyage made .

e Nor roll d there many summer suns away ,

— ﬂ i n m Ere y g all with ﬂags and strea ers gay , GUTH RUM TH E DAN E . 1 47

’ And followed b y the city - crowd s acclaims

n n th e e Two stately ﬂeets were saili g dow Tham s ,

Whose gallant Leader waved her canvas wings

’ o e r A m und— Proudly Alfred, Guthrum , y Kings !

XIII .

w w e As round the fair and inding shores went,

- o n o u r o f . Rose, right , the wood crowned hills Kent

The Essex marshes chanced that morn to b e

- n sea A bluely sparkli g, spacious , inland

For as the tides their daily changes make ,

e . Those grounds are sometimes land, and sometimes lak

King Alfred praised the glorious scene , and I

o f Withheld no term ﬁtting eulogy ,

But said No lands in lovely England shown ,

Can match the region which i s n o w my o wn

The varied land that fronts the eastern waves ,

” o f o f ca v es The land mountains, and Why not ,

The Monarch slyly interposed , and laughed .

’ : N o t Then added, gravely all Eric s craft,

And n o t the deepest cave in northern glen ,

’ to Could from my search have vailed hide thee then , 1 48 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

Had other cares m y lon ger stay allowed

A m u n d e e I told thee , y , by d f at unbowed ,

H o w willingly my faithful people all

’ Would arm an d muster at their Monarch s call .

’ — I had e en then a n d by a surer scout

— en n o u t Than thy friend , Eric , proved s t summo s

n o n - And well I k ew that , met Selwood lea ,

en i n m m e . My fri ds , ar s , already waited

n u m w That thou shouldst see their bers , and thence kno

fo e They were no feeble , despicable ,

— And so report th em thi s I did in tend

’ Ere thou to G u th rum s Danish camp shouldst wend .

But this thy fond escape was found to mar ,

e n o u t war And I had l ft me resource b .

XIV .

wh ?” w — But y conceal thy rank A him perchance ,

” n n The more , he said , thy wonder to e ha ce ,

‘ u d When thou sho l st ﬁnd , no doubt to thy relief,

n The E glish Monarch in the nameless Chief,

— Prompt to fulﬁl his word M y friends I foun d

’ o n th In arms assembled appointed ground ,

1 50 GUTH RU M THE DANE .

The Monarch smiled the honest truth to hear ,

Rough from a h eart that never kn ew a fear .

e Didst ver mark , in early summer , when

The mist, at dawn , had ﬁlled some mountain glen ,

A n d o n , standing its verge of dewy heath ,

i You could but d mly see what lay beneath ,

n u How soo , when Morning had beg n to stream ,

Melted the mist before the warming b eam ,

n m And gave the gle , wi th all its varied bloo ,

o f m Its depth woodbine, and its sides of broo ,

’ o f With its long rivulet s links rosy light,

e ? As if by magic , to thy w ond ring sight

’ E en so the words o f Alfred rolled away

The veil O f mystery fr om his m in str el - lay !

’ I ts h inspiration s source , erew ile concealed ,

In sudden sunshine lay at on ce r evealed ;

e so n And judg , my , with what a thirsty ear

— — I drank disclosu res new unhoped— and dear ! XVI .

” A m u n d ! h n n y said Alfred , W e , at Lindisfar e ,

n n It was my hap thy pri cely rank to lear ,

o r Thy life, ransom , was at ﬁrst with me

ff o f o r A cold a air pelf policy .

But warmer feelings soon replaced the cold, When that poor Maiden innocently told

S IST R The Maiden , Bertha, whom my E chose

o f To be the sole companion her woes ,

Resigning without o n e regretful sigh

The proud attendance o f a time gone by !

When Bertha told in what way ran the stream

Of fancy , during thy delirious dream ,

And when , by certain words that chanced to slip ,

’ e In private convers , from my Sister s lip ,

w I found , ith some surprise , that in her heart

Her bold Deliverer held an hono u re d p art .

’ Fo r e Woman s gratitude , my friend , will mov ,

Ere well herself perceives it , into love ,

And sometimes all too quickly fo r control

Yet is R O W ENA n o t inﬁrm of soul ;

L 2 1 52 G UTHRUM T HE DANE .

su e And wert thou now to as Heathen Dane ,

e A m u n d n . B lieve me , y , thou wouldst sue in vai

sh e e But will w lcome , with a calm delight , — Her Lover com in g as a Christian Knight !

XVII .

e Here the King l ft me , for my heart , he knew ,

r i ts u Requi ed some time transports to subd e ,

’ : f And then , returning , said Thy realm s af airs ,

ask— e Henceforward , demand thy gravest car s . — Look n o w thou hast regained thy high command

’ H e sm il e d look to th e lowly o f thy land !

Th e rich and gre at have power thems elves to guard ;

’ The hon est poor man is his Sovereign s ward !

e To him thy bounti s , with free hand , dispense ;

e e S e j ustice done him ; be his provid nce .

so n Yet be from behi d a prudent screen ,

e e . That makes thy goodness rath r f lt, than seen

— Y o n u n di m i ni sh ed Sun himself, with power,

Is ever ﬁnest in his shaded hour , When his bright place in heaven is only known

By the ﬁ n e splendours all around him throw n

1 54 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

XIX .

Akin to lofty song , its source the same ,

But speaking in a higher, holier name ,

— e And with superior power Oh , rever nce thou

! The Holy Faith that hath been taught thee n o w

Walk by its rule thyself, and gently draw

Thy erring people to embrace its law ,

- Who thus made happy by thy peaceful sway ,

’ To thee through life shall willing homage pay .

: He smiled again , then said B e duly checked

r o f In thee , the p ide wakening Intellect, N or be thy reason borne along by it,

i An inch b eyond the scope o f wha t s wri t .

A m u n d o f The virtue , y , a humble trust

Becometh bein gs who are made o f du st .

What we are here , to us, my friend, is known

G O D n What we shall be , belongs to alo e

B ut safely in His care we may repose ,

Wh u s o cared for ere Earth itself arose ,

o f Without presuming more aught to know,

H e Than , to us , hath seen it good to show . TH E GUTH RUM DAN E . 1 55

Searching Eternity , the strongest Min d

ﬁ d Its perfect emblem in the Thames may n .

! h o w— a S ee current deep , and swift , and strong

A m u n d It rushes , y , in its might along , — As if o f power when it at length shall gai n

The foamy margin o f the onward main

To m e make a felt i pression , far and wid ,

Upon green Ocean ’ s unresisting tide !

’ fo r e Alas pride Tis met by mightier forc ,

Met o n , and rolled backward its distant source ,

to re- Compelled survey each inland shore ,

so ! Which it had passed , with much pomp , before

Much more the Monarch said , and I could tell

’ Fo r tis a mournful privileg e to dwell

o f On these Memorials a noble Mind ,

o n i Which shone , earth , a Star among mank nd

to — e But which , earth , has long been set to ris

! With fairer beams , and shine in other skies

Leaving an honoured name behind it here ,

o wn n to ! To his E gland , and Glory dear 1 56 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

But the chill breeze that blows from Lindisfarne ,

so n o f Begins , my , coming night to warn ;

do n And I , it may be , thy patience wro g,

so n By tasking it with narrative lo g .

few m w n o w A very ore words ill close it ,

’ An d e a n then we will desc nd the mount i s brow .

XXI .

Fair winds and rowers stout soon brought to land

’ o n n n u Our ships Li disfar e s acc stomed strand ,

o f Where the good Abbot the Holy Isle,

O n promise to rebuild his ruined Pile , With j oy agreed t ’ administer the rite

Of baptism to each Danish proselyte .

a n e Then m rched we forth with ba n r and with brand ,

A s to if war , across the lovely land .

e o n e P asants , in groups , very verdant hill ,

l S tood to behold us passing , mute and sti l ,

I n w onder , doubtless , why such numbers then

Should seek, in arms, the Valley o f the Glen

u A peacef l vale and sweet , whose every lea

i s e b ee All day rife with butt rﬂy and ,

1 58 GUTH RU M TH E DANE .

XXIII .

Oh, rather say , the holy Abbot cried ,

As , rapt, the dim and quaking hills he eyed , Say rather that— unseen— the Heavenly Hosts

’ - Have on these mountain summits ta en their posts ,

n o w And , by turns , are uttering , from each height ,

’ o er Their gratulations this sacred rite ,

Which brings the hundreds their glad eyes behold ,

’ Within their glorious M ASTE R S ransomed Fold !

H o wsden Green mutters , but the solemn tone

’ n o t o wn ! Is not the thunder s , and is his

N o r are these rapid gleams mere lightning ! nor Mere echoes these that come from Newton Torr !

Lan to ns Their gladness now the loudly tell , — And hark h o w loudly answers Y ev erin g Bell !

i s In every ﬂash , in every peal given

o ! A Sign , a proof, that there is j y in Heaven

’ He ceased . Poor Bertha s tale to me recurred,

’ And n o w was sanctioned b y the good man s word ;

— — to His accents like the thunder seemed roll , — — His glances like the lightning ﬁ red my soul ! GUTH RUM TH E DANE . 1 59

A n d e e from his lips wh n thos brief words had ﬂowed ,

th e e G O D Which dedicate futur life to ,

— ’ ’ I ste eped the Glen s pure waters o er me ran

so n And I emerged, my , a Christened Man !

— I n eed not tell thee that each warrior brave

e At the same time partook the cleansing wav .

XXIV .

! ESU ! at once the rolling thunder ceased ;

’ The clouds gan part , and gather towards the east ;

su n n Out burst the , with brilliancy divi e ,

Once more o n mountain and o n stream to shine ;

And, while bright showers were glancing down the A gorgeous Rainbow spanned the glittering vale !

N O o n o f longer gazed as the bridge gods ,

w sk - By hich Immortals reach their y abodes ,

n o w But believed a holy sign to be ,

d o f o f ! The ple ge peace to men , j oy to me

o f Beneath its arch glory, darkly stood

That Castle strong , begirt with wave and wood ,

o f Which held, I knew , the all human birth

’ I longed to meet with n o w on God s good earth . 1 0 6 GUTH RUM THE DANE .

— And 10 ! from forth its portal while the b o w

Of h eaven above them kept its freshest glow Issued a long bright train of maidens fair

I asked not , Harold, if my Love were there

’ e o n But ﬂew, and , kneeling, clasp d , Glen s green

The fair hand o f my b eauteous Saxon Bride !

h e — Here ended his Tale that Warrior Old,

’ A n d twas the last time that the Tale he told ;

o f For soon thereafter , in his Fort pride ,

B am b o ro u h . In g Castle , he fell sick and died

was n o t He buried where he died, although

o f r . The dust kings reposed, in ea th , below

’ N was or he ta en to royal York, where he

e o f Had wielded long the pow r sovereignty ,

1 62 GUTH RUM TH E DANE .

u e Until in scription , sculpt re , even ston

! an d th e Had disappeared , left spot unknown

Forgive one lingerin g note A thousand years

’ A m u n d s n — From y death were ending , whe with tears

I hi s saw an Old Man from home conveyed ,

h And in t e same place reverently laid .

was n He a peasant , whose lo g life had been

o n e Of toil and labour unvaried scene .

e He fought no battles , save with Want . His nam

N o s o f . splendour had , ave that honest fame

And when he died, no stone arose to tell

e e Wher , after all his ills , he sleeps so w ll .

— wh o hi m hi m To me missed longest , mourned most

’ to Even me , that Old Man s grave is lost,

A s much is lost to all that would explore ,

H i s wh o As , died a thousand years before . — B oth equal n o w no vestige to evince

S T was R I Where lies the PEA AN , where laid the P NCE

E N D F A T I O C N O V . NO T E S .

My Harp was made from stunted tree , ’ l — The growth o f Glendale s barest ea p age 7 .

G en e o n e th e m n i i i n th e un N um e l dal , of i or d v s o s of co ty of orth b r

n e its n m e m th e m e m th e G n . Th la d, tak s a fro s all str a of le e writ er

e hi s i e o n n i h e m e in pass d boy sh y ars its ba ks , wh ch has ad a pr cipal H scen e of hi s poem . e has n ever b eh eld anythin g so ﬁ n e as th e m un n e m L n n H i e i n o tai prosp ct fro a to ll , of which a d scr ptio is em e in th e e n n n n II I att pt d b gi i g of Ca to .

’ n e e I tu d my Harp to Order s caus ,

’ n — a And sung for Britain s King a d Laws p ge 1 0.

Th e writer trusts that thi s will n o t b e considered a too ost entati o us

u i n num e and i u e e y all s o to a b r of loyal patriotic lyr cs , which s cc ssiv l

e e i n m th e e n u n th e da an d i i n app ar d ost of l adi g jo r als of y , wh ch ,

e e e m e n e u ee e i i n . th ir coll ct d for , hav go thro gh thr d t o s

’ — a e I list to Thomson s nightingale . p g l l .

’ Thom son s fon dness for th e song of th e nightingal e i s well k nown . H e was in th e habit of sittin g at hi s op en win dow half th e sum m er

n en n e i its un i e m u . ight , tra c d w th r vall d sic

— e ed a e 1 1 . And muse , wher Pope himself hath mus p g

I B e e th e n e an d o f m u e een all u de to att rs a , la s walks which st hav b th e e m hi s e uen i th e m n i n fam ili ar to e gr at po t , fro fr q t vis ts to a s o of hi i en L B in e e . s fr d , ord ol gbrok , at that plac — As if it prom ised to be wild no more p ag e 1 4.

I im e i n n e m n e n e have a d recoll ct o of havi g r ad , a y y ars ago, this li ,

m in e i e it in em I e th e or so eth g v ry l k , a local po of which hav forgot n am e . 1 64 N O TE &

’ - a e 1 Her dragon s form . p g 5.

The so l di ers o f e ee e e i n en e o ne e ach ﬂ t ob y d g ral chi f, whos e vessel

i n ui e m th e e b m e u was d sti g sh d fro r st y so partic lar ornam ent . H e

u u e hi s e e th e em n ee an d th e co ld g id v ss l as good hors a his st d , to asc en den cy Of courage an d skill were added for h im th e inﬂuen ce creat ed by sup erstition h e was in itiated i n th e sci en c e of th e runes h e n ew th e m e en e u n e u e k ystic charact rs which , grav d po swords , s c r d th e i an d e i in i e o n th e an d o n th e v ctory, thos wh ch , scr b d poop oars , ’ — T N r e e e m . pr s erved v ss ls fro shipwreck hi erry s o m a n Co nqu est.

- w s - — a m n a e 1 6. S pell guarded her ast of roa tree . p g

Th e n - ee m un n eem e an n e m roa tr , or o tai ash , was d d i fallibl char “ I n again st th e power Of d em on s . th e Ol d Bal lad of Th e Laidley ” ’ “ ” i nd s - W m C e W e m n ee . or , h ld y ship had a ast of rowa tr

a k — a e 1 The R ven Blac p g 6.

i n Th e n e o n n n u n u e m . I Da s , la di g , f rl d a yst c sta dard t was a ﬂag e i n th e en e i e e th e ﬁ u e of whit silk , c tr of wh ch app ar d black g r of a ’ R en en e an d u e w n ree i n en av , with op b ak o tspr ad i gs ; th of K g Sw s e e it in o n e n m n n e u sist rs had work d ight , acco pa y i g th ir labo r with m n nd ur I u e n its m i n a e e . e agic so gs g st s t was s ppos d to i dicat , by ot o s , th e direction i n whi ch a su ccessful adventur e m ight b e m ade . ’ Thierry s N o rm a n Co nquest.

— a e . Th e weapons used i n war. p g 1 6

T e ff n e e n e e m m n th e an d r th e h ir o e siv w apo s w r co o ly bow a rows ,

- e axe an d th e . ei e en i e m u th e S e battl , sword Of th r d f s v ar o r, hi ld or

u th e hi e . T m m m n b ckler was c f his ost co o ly was of wood , bark , or I n n m u th e ei th e . e e e l eath r t was g rally of a lo g oval for , j st h ght of n t i u u s e n in n en u n e b earer . It was o w tho t its e ve aval co t rs ; for if ’ th e fear of fallin g i n to their en em i es han ds obliged o n e of th e warriors im e i n th e sea h e ul e l e e m m i n u n to cast h s lf to , co d asi y scap by swi g po — ’ M N rth n A nti uiti es . his buckl er . a l l et s o er q

— u s a e 1 7 . Two Scalds w ith . p g

Th ey (th e poets) were m ore esp ecially hon oured an d caress ed at t h e u h e n e d n ui e em e e ei co rts of t os pri c s , who isti g sh d th s lv s by th r

n n u great actio n s a n d passion for glory . S uch pri ces ever set o t o n — I . a ny considerabl e exp edition without som e of th em i n their train . bid

1 66 N O T ES

— a 59 . The Glen . p g e

Paulin us comi ng with th e kin g and queen into a m anor or hous e of ’ ’ th e in e A d—G eb n n no w Y ev erin e em k g s , call d , g, abod with th

i - six em e w l in e i in a nd in u in th rty days , ploy d hol y cat ch s g baptis g ; d r g whi ch th e h e did n othin g from m ornin g to eveni ng b ut in stru ct th e e e in th e i n C i an d e n u n u e h e p opl sav g word of hr st ; b i g th s i str ct d , e em th e ene eir n i n th e i e G en baptis d th to forgiv ss of th si s , r v r l , which — b . H isto r o N orthum b erl a nd was hard y y f .

- — m n a e 6 . The ountain fer . p g 0

Thi s tradition resp ecting th e fern is stil l current am ong th e p ea

n r th e di ri in th e en e i s . I e O en en sa t y of st ct which sc laid hav ft , wh

cut th e e n - and e O en u ee e in n i n n a boy , f r root , hav as ft s cc d d co v ci g

l I h ini I C . e eﬁ n e in its ei n an d m ys e f that saw t e tials . cl arly d d v s

in Th e im e i n e n o n th e ul e th e i s shad gs . pr ss o of a f r sho d r of ass , a fact equally accredit ed . — a e . Almighty Woden . p g 62 h i i n W en t e e th e n in i n . H s Odi , or od , was ch f god of Sca d av a s e V e e h e e e u i e i n palac was alhalla , wh r r ward d all s ch as d d sword i ar e r in th . m n han d . Th e rewards e d sc b ed e t ext There re ai to ” “ M e m e e th e i W en i n this day , says all t , so trac s of worship pa d to od th e nam e given b y alm ost all th e p eopl e of th e n orth to th e fourth day h w m n h i s t e ee e e e im . I e b of w k , hich was for rly co s crat d to t call d y ’ ” ﬁ n th a n am e whi ch signi es Wode s day . TO which I add that e

N r um n e n th e e en m e n un e th e o th bria p asa try of pr s t ti , probably pro o c n am e Of th e day in precis ely th e sam e m ann er as did th eir an cestors in th im n m T e l a densd a — un in th e a in e t es of paga is . h y cal it W y so d g th e ﬁ rst syal l ab l e as i n f ather .

o f G o d — a e 63 The spell p g .

A m C e i e th e o s el m n w Dr . da lark d r v s word g p fro two Saxo ords , — ’ o d and s el l i . e. G e o r m . G p od s sp ll , char — . a e 7 8 . Go , ask the hapless wretch , convulsed with pain p g

I n hi e in ee e m e m e e il t s passag , as two or thr oth rs , so of y r ad rs w l

m n e t o e in m e u i n m in recogni s e res e bla c s passag s for r p blicat o s of e . O n whi ch I b eg leave to rem ark that n early al l m y previ ou s poetical att em pts were p rep a ra to ry to m y pres ent ; an d that these passages are no w i n th eir prop er plac e . N O TE S . 1 67

h o l - d er . a The bison p g e 86.

Th e Wild Cattle still foun d in th e parks o f Chillin gham and

G urn a re o th e nl em in o f th e ue an d nuin d isb , pr bably o y r a s tr ge e bree

S e e e an d n e M nz e in his H o f of that p ci s of cattl , a sw r, says ack e i ist ry O

N um e n in e er r i ul th e e i n n B hi orth b rla d , v y pa t c ar, d scr ptio give b y oet us of these anim als .

— a e 90. The humble classes and the high . p g

I i s n o t F r un e it i s N u e has m e th e e en i ff e en e t o t , at r , that ad ss t al di r c s b etween M en ; an d what ever app ellation a sm all num b er of p ersons

e u uffi en e e o n m a ffi th e en e d who sp ak witho t s ci t r ﬂ cti , y a x to g ral bo y ei el - e ur e th e e if e en e e een th e e m n of th r f low cr at s , whol d f r c b tw Stat s a , an d m n Man m m n e th e e th e e e a y a fro a o g what th y call dr gs of p opl ,

n in h — L m o n oft e lies t e rough outside of th e latter . D e o l e on the C sti tu tio n of E ngl and .

’ — a e 99 . Craven s pastoral mountains . p g

Th e e u u an d m n i di Of C en in th e We R d n b a tif l ro a t c strict rav , st i i g

Y i e e e e e an d em i el . Wh ern side m en of orksh r , d s rv s a po t a po to ts f , ti o n ed in th e n e e th e e m un in and th e e xt pag , is high st of its o ta s dal

n h il an d m e u i u f n Th of th e Wharfe o e of t e w dest ost b a t f l o its gl e s . e

e i s e e o n th e u i l n C — a u e latt r ov rlook d , so th , by K say rag h g rock of ﬁ h im e ne e and e t e e e e e e e . l sto , that arr sts x s y of v ry trav ll r

— Gordale p age 1 02 .

T i e th e e i i n i I e ee em e h s plac , d scr pt o of wh ch hav f bly att pt d, is , “ e i m i m e ne e un e m e says Dr . Whitak r, a sol d ass of l sto , cl ft as d r by so ‘ n u i n n ure and enin n e u an d m e great co v ls o of at , op g its po d ro s arbl ’ Th e en n Of o n n jaws o n th e right and left . s satio horror approachi g

i s n e e th e e n e e i e om e it , i cr as d by proj ctio of ith r s d fr its bas , so that nn n u n e n th e m th e two co ive t rocks , tho gh co sid rably dista t at botto ,

- A t th e e en n e adm it only a n arrow line Of day l ight from above. v ry tra c

u u n i e th e i an d are u n in m u in y o t r a l ttl to r ght , str ck by a yaw g o th h i e en e th e en en u e n th e face of t e oppos t crag, wh c torr t , p t p b yo d , n th m em m an e e su ddenly forc ed a passage withi e ory of , which , at v ry

e n inue u o ut o n e th e e an d m e u u sw ll , co t s to spo t of bold st ost b a tif l ” “ h e . I am e e cataracts that can b e con ceived w ll awar , adds , how im p erfect th e foregoing acco unt will b e thought by every o n e wh o has 1 68 N O TE S .

m e hi s i h e o n t e . I m u o e e b e em em e e for d d as spot t st , h w v r, r b r d that th e en i e th e en e i e in e e en in i p c l , as w ll as p , has hith rto fa l d r pr s t g th s ” i n — o n en e . H isto r o ra ven ast shi g sc y f C .

’ — n a e 1 09 . Ge net s Cave and Waterfall . p g

T e e uffi i en e e in th e e m a b e un th e u i h s , s c tly d scrib d t xt , y fo d by c r o us few un G m . , a h dred yards fro ordal e

’ h r — G u t u m s a e 1 1 7 . Tent . p g

Th e Chief was Ki ng only o n th e sea an d in th e battle fi eld for i n th e u th e n u e th e e in i e and th e ho r of ba q t whol troop sat a c rcl , n fi l e i ee e m n n u an hor s , l d w th b r, pass d fro ha d to ha d , witho t y dis ’ - in i T r N r an o n t. t ct on of fi rst m an or Iast . hi e ry s o m C ques

li I worship , like my war ke Sires , therefor,

The honoured names o f Woden and o f Thor . — n u & c . a e 1 20. Though , to co fess the tr th , p g

S up erstition did n o t blin d all th e an ci ent Scan dinavian s without m n em m en i e en u i e th e exc eption . Th ere were a o g th w s o gh to d scov r th e e ei e O in n an d u e u en u n em n folly of r c v d p io s , co rag o s o gh to co d

I n h n ri em i u e e . t e T th w tho t res rv history of Olaf ryggvaso , a war or

e n o t sa u h e e e m e o n o wn en an d f ars to y p blicly , that r li s or his str gth — ’ o n hi s m n u o n T in . M a l l et s N o rthern A nti uiti es . ar s , tha p hor or Od q

- — a e 1 22 . The sea kin g . p g

Th e sea - kin g was every wh ere faithfully followed an d z ealously e e e u e h e en n ed th e e th e e ob y d , b ca s was always r ow as brav st of brav ,

o n e n e e e un e m e- e o n e e as who had v r sl pt d r a s ok dri d r of, who had v r

em i e u i n i m n - — I i . pt d a c p a ch ey corn er . b d — . a 1 e 23 . At Croyland Abbey , as at Lindisfarne p g

All th e e- i e m en th e m m un th e num e i abl bod d of co ity, to b r of th rty, e rt e and i n e i th e e e e an d d pa d , hav g load d a boat w th r lics , sacr d vas s, e u u i n th n i T e e e e e o urin m e . oth r val abl s , took r f g ghb g arsh s h ere

em in e i n th e i n an few inﬁ m o l d m en r a d cho r o ly abbot , a r , two of m e e u un e e and s m e en m who w r pwards of a h dr d y ars old, o childr , who ei en in th e e n u m th e e th r par ts , accord g to d votio al c sto of p riod, were in n u in th m n i n in u br gi g p e o ast c habit . They co t ed to chan t psalm s th e e u u en th e m e th at all r g lar ho rs ; wh that of ass arriv d , e abbot m placed hi s elf at th e altar in his sac erdotal robes . Al l present

1 70 N O TE S .

ﬁ nd th e Scald singing hi s verses at th e courts of prin ces wi thout bein g e m n wi en i n n m s and i e e e e . r co p s d th gold r gs , glitt ri g ar , r ch appar l

I b id .

- — a e 1 The bard creating draught . p g 3 1 .

Th e ni e th e n e m a b e i e i n Da sh fabl of origi of po try y br ﬂy g ve here. K v asir e n m e th e m u e e an d hi s , a b i g for d by gods , was rd r d , blood

e n m i e u wi n e m e i u u r n b i g x d p th ho y , co pos d a l q or of s ch su passi g l n n ui h i e e e e e e i a e t e n . in xc l c , that who v r dr ks of it cq r s g ft of so g Od ,

em u ee e in e in e n it an d n by a stratag , s cc d d g tt g poss ssio of , havi g

e th e e ra n m e m e n an e e an d ﬂew o ff swallow d whol , t sfor d hi s lf i to agl ,

i n u him . B ut S uttun m m h e as fast as his w gs co ld carry g, fro who h ad en th e i u o n m el th e m an e e and stol l q or, also took hi s f for of agl , in flew e hi m . Th e o n ee n set o ut in th aft r gods , s i g Od approach , e th e e ul fi nd in fi l e di in yard all jars th y co d , which Od l d by scharg g

h n - i n i u h u hi s e t e e e d unk . H e thro gh b ak wo d r work g l q or had r was ,

e e n e e n u Sutti m m e th e i u how v r, so ar b i g ca ght by g, that so of l q or e e an im ure en an d no e was en this—it e scap d by p r v t , as car tak of f ll to th e share of th e poetast ers

f — h o . a e 5 T e Charger White Wessex p g 1 3 .

I n o t n ere e th e Whi e H e th e nn e t was lo g th y saw t ors , ba r of

e e e in n u n em . A e e ei e u W ss x , b ar g dow po th lfr d attack d th r r do bts at

Eth au dun in th e e e in r i e em e o ut th e n e w ak st po t , ca r d th , drov all Da s , an d th e n ni e e e it em in e m e th e , as Saxo chro cl s xpr ss , r a d ast r of car — nage The N orm a n Co nquest.

That fair Northumberland Should us obey ,

’ en Nor e the Humber bound the Danish sway .

a e 1 4 p g 5.

Al f e n e em th e m i e e m vin u to Gu um r d gra t d th ost l b ral t r s , gi g p thr , i n th e e ri i es E A n i and N um i b e th e r ki g , all t r tor of ast gl a orth br a, to h eld tributary upon th e easy con di tions of hi s evacuatin g al l th e

- n min i n an d e ei i n i m n i th e in i West Saxo do o s , r c v g bapt s alo g w th pr c pal — ’ B r o n B ea uti o i l tshi r . chi efs of hi s arm y . i tt s es f W e

o n At ﬁrst ring and bracelet vowed to Thor , — o n a e 1 45. And then holy relics . p g

“ drun T i e i hi s in e o n e e G o , says h rry , w th capta s , swor a brac l t

t o ei e u in i e ei con s ecrat ed th r gods , that th y wo ld all good fa th r c ve N O TE S . 1 7 ]

“ i m . An d A e in L e Al e : A bapt s ss r, his if of fr d , says lso they swo re an e th e C n e i i i i n A oath ov r hristia r l cs , wh ch w th K g lfred were next in ne i n h i m e ve rat o after t e D e ty hi s lf.

’ O er the glittering ﬁ elds

o f — a Rung Wide the clangour assenting shields p ge 1 45.

. To strike hi s shi eld was invari ably th e way i n which a Northm a n hi s en an i i express ed ass t to y propos t o n .

n The ki g, himself, beyond his royal wont, — Responding for him at the sacred font p age 1 46.

i n A e o fli ciated i i u e th e n e K g lfr d as sp r t al fath r to Da ish chi f, who , u n th e n eO h ti ca] i e e e rm ur e e i the p tti g p y wh t rob ov r his a o , d part d w th e hi s rm Th e imi th e u i n e e fi e wr ck of a y . l ts of two pop lat o s w r x d by efi n i e e n its e m e set r Al e i n d it v tr aty, swor to, as pr a bl fo th , by fr d , K g ; G o drun i n th e A n - n i e m en and th e n , K g ; all glo Saxo w s , all Da ish — p eople The N o rm a n Co nquest.

Those grounds are sometimes land , and sometime lake .

a e p g 1 47 .

m e E e i e u m m n ﬁ en Th e arsh s of ss x , at h gh wat r, wo ld for a ag i c t — scen e for centuries after th e death of Al fred th e em bankm en ts whi ch

T m e m e i n em n een n u e preven t th e ha s fro ov rﬂow g th , havi g b co str ct d only about a hundred years ago .

’ i d — a e 1 The honest poor man is his sovere gn s war p g 52 .

in hi e e e e e are ee e Th e s entim ents express ed t s passag , as ls wh r , agr abl

n u th e G e Al e e r e to th e charact er an d co d ct of r at fr d, as d sc ib d by

“ i n e e e u G th e hi s d l A ss er : Th e K g , ag r to giv p to od half of ai y

r i e and m e if hi s i o n th e o n e n and m se v c , or also, abil ty ha d his alady u him e im e m inu e in e i o n th e oth er, wo ld allow , show d h s lf a t v st gator m n an d i e e th e e of th e truth in all his j u dg e ts , th s sp cially for sak of h e n e e an d ni m n e u e t e poo r, to whos i t r sts , day ght , a o g oth r d ti s of this

e h e e e n e u en i e. lif , v r was wo d rf lly att t v — s a e 1 59 . N o longer gazed o n as the bri dge of god p g

i Th e gods m ade a bridge between h eaven an d earth ; th s bridge is — i . th e rain bo w N o rthern A ntiqui t es 1 2 7 N O TE S .

1 m an saw an old from his home conveyed , — A nd i n the s am e place reverently laid p age 1 62 .

’ Th e ri e e e in 1 809 an d was u i e in th e u w t r s fath r di d , b r d ch rchyard i I of K rk Newt on . m ay b e pardon ed for adding a single m em orial of him . H e and e en en een e r n two broth rs , wh childr , had b l ft o pha s , of

m m e th e e e an d n u en th e m e who y fath r was ld st , co s eq tly ost capabl of e i n th e e u i n H n e fe l g loss th y had s sta ed . aving b ee told that his fath r and m e n e H e en h e u e e o ut an e eni n oth r had go to av , s d to st al of v g , and th e ﬁ e e in th e e n e m in watch rst stars that app ar d w st , fo dly dr a g

e mi b e th e e e th e e ed z n u o n th e so n that th y ght y s of D part , ga i g p of ei e ! Th e u ﬁ e hi s o wn e e i e an d th r lov tho ght always ll d y s w th t ars , en him en e m e an d b ed ee im e ee ! s t to his par tl ss ho , to w p h s lf asl p ’ There was poetry i n that child s soul .

F I N I 8 .

Y LO N D O N P R I N T E D B ! . D A V ? A N D so n s , 1 3 7 , L O N G a c m e.

U N I V ER SI TY O F C ALI FO R N IA LI B R AR Y Lo s An gel es

a te stam ed T h is b o o k is D U E o n th e l a st d p b el o w. m REC?“

—1 00m ( A 3 1 05 ) 444