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 iliH'
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 ^^^^ a/^zAAk^^:^^^
 
 I 
 
 ATHELSTAN.
 
 ATHELSTAN: 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 LONDON : 
 EDWARD MOXON & CO., DOVER STREET. 
 
 1862.
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
 
 
 BOOK I. 

 
 Noise choked the narrow streets of Winchester, 
 A noise to rouse the mornins: from its bed, 
 When steel met steel, and heart encounter'd heart 
 With the keen hate of hoiu's. The sombre air 
 Was tortured into sound, as arrows whirr'd 
 Like birds of iron beak, and missive spears 
 Knock'd at the breasts that fronted them, to seek 
 An entry into life — alas ! for man 
 That such a scene where ghastly wounds unmake 
 The beauty which God made of face and form 
 Should have a grandeur in it ! 'Tis the stake, 
 The chance of loss in such a mortal game. 
 That tiu-ns red carnage from a murd'rous fiend 
 To a destroying angel. On one side, 
 
 b2
 
 4 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 The smaller number'd, there were ranged a few 
 With better anns, and bearing more composed, 
 For the stern work they handled : at their head 
 Was Alfred, the ambitious ^theling. 
 He, fighting for a crown, of such an aim 
 Fought worthy, throwing into voice and arm 
 The weight of his great venture ; with each shout 
 That chccr'd his friends, he struck a foe to earth.* 
 
 The fight was straiten'd by the little breadth 
 Of the old city's threads of winding road, 
 Where buildings of all sorts, some timber-ribb'd. 
 Tall, and stone-coraer'd, others shed-like, thatch'd 
 With broad-lcaf'd water-flags, stood opposite 
 With slender interval ; where fortress-house 
 
 * Historically the opposition of iElfred to Athelstan's succession, 
 is surrounded -ft-ith numerous difficulties. On what he founded his 
 claims to succeed the son of the Great Alfred, has never been ex- 
 plained, and is, perliaps, not susceptible of explanation ; but that 
 foul play was used toward him cannot be doubted. Eome has always 
 been ready to oblige such princes as have displayed an inclination to 
 enrich its treasury, which Athelstan's policy, as well as his super- 
 stition, induced him to do ; and therefore we are little surprised at 
 the series of tragical incidents which terminated iElfred's career.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 5 
 
 Of noble Thane, jostled the shiv'ring hut 
 That croixch'd beside it ; or the huckster's shop, 
 With all its small display of daily wares 
 Spread out and open to the air and eye, 
 Fronted a palace of the priests of Christ. 
 
 Adown the central lane a wavy crowd 
 Of men pour'd, struggling in uncertain fray, 
 On dashing, or forced backward as the luck 
 Of victory bore them — 'twas the profitless rage 
 Of party-passion, and the taste of blood 
 That turn'd the current of humanity : 
 Men slew their neighbours, and then scream'd for joy. 
 Half-anil' d, and arm'd, and unarm'd citizens, 
 And old and young, struck out, and stabb'd, or tore 
 With naked hands, dyeing their clothes with blood 
 As the true colom- of their loyalty. 
 
 Amid the many combatants were two 
 Pre-eminent in noise and action : one
 
 6 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Was 3'Oung and tall, and angularly built, 
 And strong, and quick of limb, nor over-clothed. 
 His features had a false and wasted look. 
 The ineffaceable stamp of suffering vice. 
 The other was a portlier man, though short, 
 And drest in such habiliments as mark'd 
 A lot which Fortune had made comfortable. 
 His syi'ce was wove of linen ; to his knee 
 Adorn'd with trimmings, loosely flow'd and large 
 His linen tunic, while his feet were housed 
 Witliin an old similitude of shoes : 
 But, to leave free his movements, he had left 
 His decent sagum safely hung at home. 
 'Twas a strong party-feeling which had forced 
 The citizen to risk his gotten wealth 
 And the few years of life which yet remain'd 
 To make him own himself an aged man. 
 The two fought boldly on opposing sides, 
 And 'mid the thick confusion of the fray 
 The 5'ounger sought the elder, for he strove
 
 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 With earnestness as deep as was the taste 
 
 He mn-tiu-ed for the baser joys of earth, 
 
 To take the hfe of the old citizen, 
 
 And by one stroke to cancel for all time 
 
 The moneys that he owed him : — what the use 
 
 Of paying those with sublunary coin 
 
 Whose dead hands close not on it, wdaen 'tis given ? 
 
 At last they met — one desperately brave, 
 And staking all he lived for on a blow ; 
 The other timid, lest from the same hole 
 Whence life escaped, he might let slip the chance 
 Of seeing his lent gold come home again. 
 In the short fight, the elder combatant 
 Let pass some chances, for the miser's soul 
 Restrain'd the arm, from doing all its ill, 
 And strove to overpower the youth, but not 
 Disable him from payment. A strong blow 
 Which broke his guard, and beat him down to earth, 
 Show'd how his wisdom was pure foolishness.
 
 8 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 There lay he iu his imbeciUty, 
 
 And swore to spare the payment of the debt 
 
 In payment for his life. The victor smiled 
 
 A most unchristian smile, and cried, " My friend ! 
 
 One fact is worth ten possibilities. 
 
 The living may keep promises ; the dead 
 
 Can never break them. Thou'rt my prize by right 
 
 Of lawful war, — thus I dispose of thee." 
 
 And with a thud he dropt his heavy maul 
 
 Upon the wTinkled front. The old man's eyes 
 
 Closed in eternal night, and his last thoughts 
 
 Mix'd horribly up the matters of two worlds, 
 
 God's coming judgment, and his stolen gold. 
 
 But now one party — 'twas the weaker one. 
 Which its rash venture without standing-place 
 'Twixt death and victory, had made doubly bold — 
 Was press'd on by the opposite partisans, 
 O'erweighted backwards ; on its flank there rush'd 
 From a side alley an impetuous crowd
 
 ATHELSTAN. 9 
 
 Of fighters, fresh and shrieking for the fray. 
 
 Forced on two points, the others were swept down 
 
 The narrow and uneven street, that show'd 
 
 No outlet at the ending, and there stood. 
 
 Some lacking room to strike, while others fell 
 
 Down-trodden, lying without sense or sound. 
 
 An ancient cross, hewn hastily of stone, 
 
 Arose close by, and up its rounded steps 
 
 Their leader, Alfred, sprang, and stretch' d his arms 
 
 Motioning silence, — 'twas a novelty 
 
 That pleased the crowd an instant — then he cried, 
 
 " What have I done, my countrymen 1 The wish 
 
 To rule brave men like you, is that a crime 
 
 To die for 1 Born of I'oyal parentage, 
 
 And of true man and wife, is that a fault 
 
 To blush for 1 Honest Saxons ! woidd ye have 
 
 A bastard for your king 1 Choose Athelstan ! 
 
 Where is prince Ethelwaldl* — suspiciously 
 
 * It will be immediately perceived, that in my theory of Athelstan's 
 character, I agree with Mr. St. John, who, in his " History of the
 
 10 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 He slipt from life ; and do je love a man 
 Who slew his brother ? — then take Athclstan 
 
 More had he said, but a thick grim-faced man, 
 
 Half naked, and with ngly unshaved skin. 
 
 Uglier with blood, seized a lai'ge log, and luirling 
 
 Hit iElfred on the bi*ow ; the fickle crowd 
 
 Broke into laugh and action all at once. 
 
 And pierced right througli tlie band of followers, mass'd 
 
 Between them and the speaker : him they clutch'd, 
 
 And bore off captive with such lusty shouts 
 
 As would beseem a victory o'er the Dane. 
 
 His friends then, indiscriminately mix'd 
 
 With the opponent rabble, wisely hid 
 
 four Conquests of England," has given a totally new intorpi'etation 
 of this period of our annals. The bastard son of Edward the Elder, 
 succoeding tn the throne by ability, not by right, maintained his 
 position, and delivered himself from all the chances of rivalry which 
 he dreaded, by means the most unscrupulous. There is no actual 
 proof that he made away with the eldest of his legitimate brothers, 
 though the oi)portune rapidity with which he disappeared from 
 the scene, coupled with se\cral instances in Athelstan's life, seems 
 to justify the worst suspicions. The passage in Mr. St. John's 
 history is as follows : — "The brother next to liim in years, and born 
 in wedlock, might perhaps have disjmted his title; but a sudden and 
 mysterious death overtook him at Oxford, and a few days saw him 
 laid in the royal tomb beside his father." Vol. i. p. 332.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 11 
 
 All opposition and its signs, and saved 
 Worse present consequence, till time supplied 
 Sure means of safety in a homeward flight. 
 
 So the crowd dragg'd away their prisoner, 
 Crying, "Down Alfred ! up with Athelstan !" 
 But Athelstan, though eloquent of tongue, 
 Was not found there to speak ; and Athelstan, 
 Although the veiy bravest call'd him brave. 
 Was not found there to strike the blow he could. 
 And the mass, gathering numbers as they roll'd, 
 Conveying ^Elfred with rude hands to front 
 The royal presence, shouted " Athelstan ! " 
 With growing zeal, — and was it not enough 
 That thus the unsolicited populace 
 He sou.ght for subjects should eject his name 
 From their fi'ee throats in clamorous praise to Heav'n 1 
 
 Vain was the royal blood in iElfred's veins ; 
 Vain his descendance from a wedded love.
 
 12 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 The bar he held across the onward path 
 Of Athclstan to pow'r, was snapt in twain 
 As the plant-stems on India's woody hills 
 Are bi'oken when the wild bull, square in form 
 Of bulky grandeur, meets them in his path 
 Resistless, frighten'd by the hunter's fire. 
 But if the wise king press' d with heavy hand 
 Upon the foil'd rebellious yEtheling, 
 How could he shield off the keen arrows shot 
 From blaming lips, inspired by hearts that hate 1 
 
 Where could both-sided justice, firm in power, 
 And strong of eye to see the shades of wrong 
 From crime to flaw, and fit them with a scourge, 
 Be found in Europe if not found in Rome ? 
 There dwelt Heaven's friends — a light thing deem'd 
 
 they it, 
 That by a chance their judgment should be judged 
 By much-mistaken mortals uninspired.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 13 
 
 How, then, dispose of this rebellious Priuce ? 
 Send him to Rome ! — and so to Rome he went. 
 And when men go to Rome unwillingly, 
 Not always can they quit it when they will. 
 
 Yet whence arose the tale which Alfred told 
 About the graceless birth of Athelstan 1 
 
 Fair was Edwina,* she who caught the eye 
 Of royal Edward ; 'twas a simple life 
 The maiden led as guardian of her sheep, 
 Yet could not guard her heart, which Love, more fierce 
 Thau the fear'd wolf, had ravish'd from her breast, 
 Nor ask'd the chui'ch to register the wi'ong. 
 
 She dreamt a di-eam one night of summer-time, 
 
 * The circumstances of Athelstan's birth, which few historians 
 have been at the pains to investigate, are full of the elements of 
 romance, and hardly therefore need any embellislunent from fiction. 
 They already lie within the domains of poetry, and it is only neces- 
 sary to expand the statements of the Chroniclers to render them fit 
 to match with the wildest inventions. Athelstan, by the splendour, 
 if not by the virtues of his reign, reflected lustre on his Shepherd 
 Mother.
 
 14 ATIIELSTAN. 
 
 That she gave birth to a full-circled moon, 
 
 Which, raised aloft, lit England's general land, 
 
 Shining on lordly turret, the round arch 
 
 Of cold cathedral, and on wattled hut. 
 
 So, when the time was come, Edwina bore ■ 
 
 Into the living and substantial w^orld 
 
 The light of England, Athelstan the Great. 
 
 But how the pair, — one regal by his birth, 
 The other by her beauty, — roam'd the woods, 
 And found the rough roads level to their feet. 
 Nor felt the rain-drops pattering on their heads, 
 Nor heeded clammy dews, nor headlong sun. 
 And sufFer'd sheep to stray unwittingly, 
 And let men more unruly rule themselves, 
 It matters not to tell. Time too will bring 
 The weight of years to crush e'en Love to death ; 
 And so they past away, and left behind 
 The memory of an mi wise preference, 
 Which virtue chides, and weakness imitates.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 15 
 
 Wide stretch'd o'er many an acre of rich ground 
 Stood an old abbey, that of Malmesbury.* 
 Wall'd in with arches semicircular, 
 And intersecting each its neighbouring cwi-ve, 
 It open'd its main entries ; northward one, 
 And one to the warm south. In rude detail 
 Of inartistic ornament it rose, 
 Square-mass' d, and shelter'd by quick-sloping roofs. 
 But its small windows, parted each from each 
 By balusters of clumsy-statm-ed stone, 
 Lack'd not for paintings, strongly imaging 
 
 * 'Wnioever is familiar with the " Monasticon," will be aware that 
 in describing ilalmesbury Abbey, I have by no means exaggerated 
 the gloomy grandeur impressed by our ancestors on the favorite 
 dwelling-places of the monks. Scattered aU over England, in the 
 most beautiful of its beautiful woods and valleys, they displayed, 
 from the commencement, all the pomp of the arcliitectural genius 
 possessed by inventive barbarism, which dealt with stone as if it 
 had been clay, and fashioned it into a thousand fantastic shapes, to 
 excite surprise, and dazzle the imagination. Until after the middle 
 of the seventh century the abbey of Malmesbury continued poor, 
 and insignificant ; it was then brought into notice by the genius of 
 a Scotch monk, and soon afterwards received an augmentation of 
 fame by the poetry and preaching of Aldhelm. The man, however, 
 who really rendered it historical, was the florid and flattering monk, 
 William, -sho, in spite of his faults, has contributed a mass of useful 
 materials to English History.
 
 16 ATIIELSTAN. 
 
 The works of saints, and stranger miracles 
 Than their first Master, in the exercise 
 Of His great sympathy, divinely wi-ought. 
 
 Nor -wanted there, as elsewhere, the chill sense 
 Of an vmcarthly presence, felt by men — 
 Material things of limitable days — 
 In the dread temples of the unseen God, 
 Around whose precincts, and within whose walls 
 The formless dead, we fancy, crowd the spots 
 Where lie their bodies, lifting bony hands 
 To Heav'n, in fearful and perpetual pray'r ; 
 While through the aisles past ages seem to roll 
 In cloudy sequence, from whose depths a voice 
 Mui-murs, " Tho' ancient, we are naught when strctch'd 
 Against the measure of eternity." 
 
 So rose it, strong and bcautifid in stone. 
 And arch'd and aisled and flank'd and intercross' d, 
 And many-chamber'd inwai'dly, being made
 
 ATHELSTAN. l7 
 
 For uses of a comfortable faith, 
 
 That fills the body to sustain the soul. 
 
 It was much blest with relics, also blest 
 
 With the earth's perishable wealth, the dross 
 
 Which answers all things, and is sought by all. 
 
 There came the man of mind, who deem'd the world 
 
 Too wicked, and himself too good for work, 
 
 And found a shelter in those holy aisles, 
 
 From his contaminating brotherhood. 
 
 There came the man of action, who had sinn'd 
 
 Until the wish, if not the means, for more 
 
 Had vanish' d with the practice. For example, 
 
 Take the old Thane, the high-born Sigeric, 
 
 Well cut and polish'd to the social scale 
 
 Which the world uses in conferring rank, 
 
 And measuring out admissibilities. 
 
 He sinn'd no more than the indulgent times. 
 
 Coarse in themselves, and human hearts at large. 
 
 Still coarser in their passions, thought was fair. 
 
 Rich was he, and being noble too, was deem'd 
 
 >1
 
 18 ATHELSTAN, 
 
 To have no balance for mere chai-ity, 
 
 And such things, when the year's expenditure 
 
 Had satisfied the exigence of rank, 
 
 And the stem claims which self had made on self; 
 
 For Pleasure ask'd large outlay for her needs, 
 
 And was allow'd it ; yet he was not bold 
 
 In vicious life, for his timidity 
 
 Of nature forced him try to outstrip thought 
 
 When in pursuit of some luximous sin. 
 
 And so when old, and satiate in taste, 
 
 And worn in purse, his feeble spirit took 
 
 Another turn — another phase of fear, 
 
 Of possibilities of untried worlds, 
 
 And troublesome examination-days. 
 
 With conscience to give evidence in court, 
 
 Perplcx'd him, then within the abbey walls 
 
 He shut his body, and contrived to hope 
 
 He shut all further conseqiience without. 
 
 What could he better do than thus to spend
 
 ATHELSTAN. 19 
 
 The balance of his wealth and life, — the one 
 He gave the monks to use for Heaven and him ; 
 The other he wore out in harmless sleep, 
 And days of penitential idleness. 
 
 On a hard seat of carven wood that graced 
 The abbey's inmost chamber, sat a man 
 Of middle height and years, for action framed, 
 And in whose form was strongly prominent 
 The power to serve the soul, that on his brow 
 Like a king throned, thought quickly, and then gave 
 Its edicts forth for action, crying " Do ! " 
 And it was done. His sire and mother both 
 Had past their beauty down to him ; but still 
 There dwelt upon his gi-acious lineaments 
 A something all his own, an anxious look 
 Such as the brave might wear, who fear, though brave, 
 Being sensitive, lest they be thought to fear : 
 His cloak, of double silk, and with an edge 
 Of precious ermine deep, was drawn with art 
 
 c2
 
 20 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Across both shoulders, while in front a brooch — 
 A dazzling diamond, set in golden rays 
 Alternating with ebony, like sun 
 With shade — confined it to his manly breast, 
 Down to his bosom, ringleted in gold 
 And interlacen much with golden thread, 
 Flow'd the long twists of his luxuriant hair. 
 Such was the princely man who sat and spake 
 To the meek abbot standing by his side. 
 Meek as a listener should be when the speaker 
 Was the crown'd king of Wessex' broad demesnes, 
 The light of England, Athelstan the Great.* 
 Then said the king, " Sir Abbot, it was fit 
 That the loud jicople's throat should consecrate 
 
 * In person, Athelstan was of middle height; his countenance 
 displayed the hereditary beauty of his family, and was shaded by 
 that luxuriant golden hair for which the Anglo-Saxons were so long 
 remarkable ; and, to augment its splendour, he habitually wore it 
 intertwisted with thi-cads of gold. (" History of the Four Conquests 
 of England," vol. i. p. 351.) Nothing can exceed the meagreness of 
 the Chroniclers when they speak of costume or personal ornaments ; 
 so that when we desire to form an accurate idea of our ancestors in 
 those respects, we are compelled with the anti(iuarians to descend 
 into theii- graves, where, as a provision apparently for the future, 
 they habitually deposited whatever they regai-dcd as most precious.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 21 
 
 Our name with clamour, that the Church should bless 
 
 Our title to the throne, and smooth the seat 
 
 Which, at the best, jolts eveiy sitter there, 
 
 Suo;Q;estinof rubs and falls." Now he, the abbot, 
 
 Was a man blest with that good substitute 
 
 For better things called tact, which can so hide 
 
 Its isntiorance behind a veil of hints, 
 
 And decent silence, and sly-featured looks. 
 
 To seem like knowledge in disguise, prepared 
 
 To throw its mask off when it wants to shine : 
 
 Yet, when the path was clear, he could advance 
 
 With rounded tongue in unimpeded talk 
 
 To please the listener when he sought to please. 
 
 And knew the method. "Who that heard," he cried, 
 
 " The voices raised at Kingston, when the crown 
 
 Was fix'd on brows which Nature built for it ; 
 
 (After the due and solemn obsequies 
 
 Of thy great sire performed at Winchester ;) 
 
 Who that there saw the bonfires shooting forth 
 
 Their myriad tongues, and piled by myriad hands.
 
 22 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Could doubt the general suffrage ? Some there were 
 
 Who zealous for a grander light to grace 
 
 The joyful day, rush'd to the hated house 
 
 Of ^illfred the rebellious /Etheling, 
 
 And wrenching all the wood-work from its place, 
 
 Rafter and door, and pillar'd bannister, 
 
 Heap'd up the hasty monument, and thrust 
 
 The reedy thatch in intervals betwixt ; 
 
 And when 'twas kindled, how the giant flame 
 
 Crush'd the poor timber in its fiery arms, 
 
 As if to extirpate avcngingly 
 
 The last remains of treason : had e'en he 
 
 Thy brother Ethelward been present — " " Nay ! " 
 
 Return'd the king, as on his earnest look 
 
 The shadow deepen'd, " Talk not now of him ; 
 
 Too recently hath fallen the sudden death 
 
 Of one so dear, who would have worn the crown 
 
 More worthily than we. But now our grief 
 
 Lies buried with otu- brother Ethelward. 
 
 Let the two die if one cannot i-evive."
 
 ATHELSTAN. 23 
 
 Then said the abbot, "'Tis your Grace's will" 
 (Meaning the will of monarchs must be right) ; 
 " But who so blinded by ambitious hate, 
 As not to see your Grace could ne'er have reach'd 
 So gi'eat a height, unlifted by God's arm 1 
 At Kingston — that old town of kings, fit place 
 For turning men to monarchs — with one heart 
 Stood forth the mitred princes of the land 
 Signalling Heav'n, and in their wishes call'd 
 Its lightnings down, to consecrate thy rule 
 And fall on heads of traitors." " But they fell not," 
 Cried Athelstan. " Not so, my liege ! " replied 
 The abbot. " Heav'n hath other messengers 
 Than visible flame, to blast its sinners with. 
 It sends a slow disease to sap the strength, 
 Or checks the play of some organic pulse 
 Whereby hangs life. Beflect, my gracious lord. 
 On iElfred's fate. When prison'd by the people 
 After some little brush of opposition, 
 Convey'd to Bome, he pleaded for himself. —
 
 24 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 But he were more than man who could impose 
 
 Upon that conclave of celestial wit — 
 
 What were his ai'guments, what matters it 1 
 
 For when he claim'd to swear his innocence 
 
 Upon St. Peter's altar, his voice broke, 
 
 Cut into stammers, and his eyes look'd mad, 
 
 As if some pain were pushing at their roots. 
 
 Then the high pontiff (in whose Heav'n-purged sight. 
 
 Your Grace, as the legitimate heir of Virtue, 
 
 And eldest-born of Wisdom, rules by right 
 
 More strong than chauce-birth gives to knaves and 
 
 fools) 
 Threw at the wretched noble such a look 
 As hath a venom in it for the bad, 
 But leaves the good unscathed ; and through his veins 
 There coursed a flood of fire retributive, 
 And shrieking, on the marble floor he fell, 
 Confusing prayers with curses, shifting back 
 From guilt professed to clamorous innocence 
 As the pains lessen'd. Carried thence away
 
 ATHELSTAN. 25 
 
 To his own home, he pined exceedingly, 
 
 And ou the third day died. Thus God remoyes 
 
 The mortal checks that do oppose His will — 
 
 And His will is to humble every foe 
 
 Before the footstool of King Athelstan ! " 
 
 Half-pleased the king was, yet half-wearily 
 He listen' d, wiser than his age, but still 
 Not unimpress'd with small belief that Heav'n 
 Had lent the keys of Wisdom to a tribe ; 
 And joy it doubtless was to think his path 
 Was clearer by one foe, whate'er the means. 
 Then said he, " Now that we advance in arms 
 Against Northumbria, our insulted Church 
 Should let its blessings back the soldier's hope 
 Conclusive of success. Thou knowest how Sihtric, 
 That fierce unmannerly Dane to whom we gave 
 Our sister and our holy faith at Tamworth 
 In marriage to the two, hath burst the bonds 
 That bound him both to Christ and Eadg;itha.
 
 26 ATDELSTAN. 
 
 Again tlie hog hath sought his sensual sty, 
 And wallows in the mu-e of paganism." 
 
 For true it was that Sihtric (who had donn'd 
 The pure white habit of a neophyte 
 To dress his new-born faith in) had embraced 
 A creed as lightly as he took a wife — * 
 For a convenient season, — tiU his taste 
 Or worldly interest prompted him to try 
 A fairer partner or a kinder god. 
 So when his evil thoughts resolved to change 
 Good things for chance of better, he bade lead 
 King Edward's daughter in barbaric pomp 
 Of noble and of priestly company, 
 
 * The relations of Sihtric with Athclstan are full of stranffo 
 interest, chiefly because they gave rise to that war, and scries of 
 ■wild adventures which history is now only beginning to relate, and 
 wliich chariiicd me into the choice of the subject of my present poem. 
 Fratricides, marriages, siulden deaths, the overthrow of princes from 
 their thrones, the descent of princesses from the palace to the cloister, 
 the freaks of piracy, the wild gatherings of the north, the measuring 
 of the strength of England against that of half-a-dozen states 
 combined, — all these things arose out of one act of Sihtric, though 
 he disappears from the scene before even the immediate consequences 
 of his deeds : the remoter may aflect us still.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 27 
 
 Where Odin's temple stood, scoop'd half from earth, 
 
 And half piled up of rugged blocks of stone, 
 
 Like fragments nipp'd by giants from the rocks 
 
 To serve their warfare. Dark the cave-room spread 
 
 Its damp extent and vast, till placed around, 
 
 A thousand torches, like dumb voices, woke 
 
 Its silence into light. Then one might see 
 
 ^Vhere, on a marble pillar, helmeted, 
 
 The idol stood, the Pagan saint of war. 
 
 When Sihtric raised his right hand as to speak, 
 
 Suddenly every torch went out, as if 
 
 It closed its eyes upon the deeds to come. 
 
 But the fierce monarch, with his ai-m'd heel smiting 
 
 The hard soil, raised his loud incensed voice, 
 
 Foreswore his double covenant, and cursed 
 
 The blameless Son of God : whereon a shudder 
 
 Ran over all things thi-ovigh th' invisible night ; 
 
 And the tall statue, breast-plate, shield, and banner 
 
 Shaking, men shriek' d lest it should fall on them. 
 
 And, by the seeing of fresh-kindled lights.
 
 28 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 His casque appear'd so cloven, as in battle 
 Would have kill'd any warrior -wearing it. 
 
 But the rough Dane held on to his intent, 
 And Eadgitha went back to Athelstan. 
 Simple she was in manners, with a heart 
 Not bold in riglit, but indolently kind, 
 She fenced herself within a little ring 
 Of pious forms and unoffending acts. 
 And, as she did no harm and wish'd no ill, 
 Seem'd comfortably credulous of Hcav'n. 
 
 So when the king demanded from the Church 
 Its help to curse before he kill'd his foe, 
 " Sire," cried the abbot, " had your pious love 
 Not dower'd the church so richly with earth's goods, 
 (Among the rest the forfeit property 
 Of iElfred, the rebellious ^theling). 
 That, raised above the gross necessity 
 Of thinking for the morrow, she can give
 
 ATHELSTAN. 29 
 
 To souls of men all dues of loving care, 
 
 In such a war, begun for Heav'n, her prayers 
 
 Would fill your banners with victorious breath ; 
 
 But now — " Here entering spake a monk, and said, 
 
 " A lady come from York, the capital 
 
 Of Deira and Bernicia, where the Dane 
 
 Hath sinn'd the double sin 'gainst God and man. 
 
 Handmaiden to the princess Eadgitha, 
 
 Craves leave to utter what she hath to tell." 
 
 Admitted then spake Bertha, reverence made 
 Unto the king and hig good counsellor, 
 " Sihtric, the royal fratricide, is dead ! " 
 Here her speech stopp'd, in too impetuous flow 
 Tlu-ough the full channel of her utterance ; 
 And the king, rising quickly, look'd as one 
 That struggles with a foe whom in his soul, 
 He knows to be far mightier than himself, 
 Yet will not, in his pride of nature, show 
 The sense of a subordinate quality.
 
 30 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 " Ay," went on Bertha, hastily, " the man 
 
 Who stept upon his elder brother's coq^se 
 
 To mount a throne, hath been erased, they say, 
 
 By Heav'n's ovai finger, as a blot on Nature." 
 
 Then the king seem'd like him who hath obtain'd 
 
 A masteiy o'er himself, and set his nerve 
 
 To rigid hardihood of suffering ; 
 
 And slowly back his spirit came to him. 
 
 And swell'd his chest, and lit his light-blue eye 
 
 With the pleased sense of thinking how the death 
 
 Of the apostate Dane had smooth'd the path 
 
 'Twixt Wessex and the doom'd Northumbiia. 
 
 Then, crying " Tell thy tale out," Bertha spake. 
 
 " Seven times the seventh night from that wherein 
 The Danish king forsook his covenant 
 With God and with your Grace, low in the heav'ns. 
 Where the North joins the East, uprose a cloud, 
 Leaving blue-bright the sky 'twixt it and earth. 
 Bow-like in shape, slowly its dark form grew
 
 ATHELSTAN. 31 
 
 Instinct with light, when from its upper edge 
 
 Shot jets of flame, which, to the startled air, 
 
 Like to a fiery liquor spurted up. 
 
 From its cleft breast then brilliant pillars sprang, 
 
 Wid'ning and changing colours as they rose 
 
 From dazzling white to the deep hue of blood, 
 
 Till their high tops saluting the mid heav'n 
 
 Spread like an arch of fire. Men gazed and shook 
 
 Beneath their idle armour, as thi'ough air 
 
 There rush'd a sound like that of hissing tongues 
 
 Chasing each other. That same night the king 
 
 Was missing from the banquet — when at length 
 
 They forced his chamber-door, they found him cmi'd 
 
 Upon the bed, with large round eyes, and arm 
 
 Stretch' d with the right palm outward, as in fear 
 
 Of something which he strove to keep from him. 
 
 Sihtric was dead ! — So die all enemies 
 
 Of God and of the king !" Then Athelstan : 
 
 « 
 
 " Who hath succeeded to this stricken prince 
 To bar the tide of our invading host,
 
 32 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Lest it o'erflow tlic land, and York be joiii'd 
 In stricter bond to London, than the tie 
 Which bound the Dane unto our sister's bed?" 
 
 " Anlaf and Guthforth," she rejoin'd, "the sous 
 Of the dead king, but chiefly Anlaf grasps 
 The reins of rule, as doth a charioteer 
 Who o'er the course with prudent courage guides 
 The hasty chariot." Then her quick tongue ran 
 Over the young Dane's princely qualities, 
 As a fair field, where no unfriendly doubt 
 Check' d her expatiating ; without a fault 
 She found him, but the fault, perchance, of virtue, 
 Which, with excess of impulse to one end. 
 Heeds not the things that in a crowded world 
 Should slacken action, and o'erturning wrong, 
 O'erturns the right too in its midway rush. 
 Then Athelstan, half-wond'ring, look'd at hei", 
 And said, " So good, and yet an enemy 
 Of England and its king ! " And Bertha blush'd.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 33 
 
 " A Pagan !" cried the priest, and Bertha sigh'd. 
 And the king said again, " Thou didst not leave 
 With thy good mistress when she left. Great grace 
 It was that thou shouldst linger at thy choice, 
 And, when thou wouldst, couldst go by sufferance !" 
 He sought no answer, and she answer'd not. 
 " Lo ! " cried the abbot, " Said I not that Heav'n 
 Strikes dowTi the enemies of Athelstan 1 
 Advance, my lord, and grasp the good its hand 
 Miraculously tenders." And the abbot 
 Added in thought, and thoughts occasionally 
 Prelude the wish, and this in active men 
 Runs into action ; but inertly shi-ewd 
 The abbot was, and so he merely thought 
 " The king will take Northumbria, of its spoils 
 A part may find its way to Malmesbury." 
 
 Then rose aloud throughout the general land 
 The cry, " To arms ! to arms !" In Winchester 
 It burst, and onward roll'd to London town, 
 
 J)
 
 3-4 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 And Loudon liui-rd it back to Winchester. 
 From village-huts the siunmons gather'd up 
 The soldier-peasants ; slightly clad they came : 
 Close-coated to the knee, a short cloak hung 
 O'er the left shoulder, buckled on the right 
 With clasps whose ornament bespoke their means. 
 For dull white linen most did substitute 
 The brown defence of leather ; heavy-limb'd, 
 Light-hair' d, light-eyed, they flock'd ; and some there 
 
 were 
 Averse to turn away compelledly 
 To war from the safe industry of fields. 
 And from the unwash'd beauties of young wives. 
 But when they heai'd the din of driven nails 
 Upon rude breast-guards, and the shiv'ring twang 
 Of tested bow-strings, and beheld the gleam 
 Of pointed pikes, and held them in their hands, 
 They suck'd the common atmosphere around. 
 And from each other's presence, and the shouts 
 Of brawny throats, and stories of won fights,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 35 
 
 Catching the bloody sympathy of war 
 Like fever in their veins, they thought no more 
 Of home, and the small children training up 
 To take their places if themselves -were slain. 
 
 A knot of talkers sat or stood or lay 
 Round a huge fire one night of early spring. 
 'Twas in a hall — or call it otherwise — 
 A room low-roof 'd, small- window'd, and thick-wall'd. 
 The men who fiU'd it were a mingled set 
 From town and field ; hand-workers in the arts, 
 Or at the spade and plough, while on them hung 
 A certain air of half-bred soldiery. 
 One, of thin face, and unheroic build. 
 Was grumbling somewhat at the turn of things. 
 When a huge man of muscle-twisted arms, 
 As one might get from laboiu'ing at a forge, 
 Shouted, " Whoever skulks from moving on 
 When the king orders ' March,' — why he's not worth 
 The liquor in this horn !" and down he turn d 
 
 d2
 
 36 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Its gaping moutli, from which, as twice his Ups 
 
 Had piill'd at its contents, not a drop flow'd. 
 
 "I think," rejoin'dthe other, "you're the same — 
 
 A year or so ago, at Winchester, — 
 
 Yes, you are he who thi-ew at Alfred's head 
 
 A log that did good service. How much coin 
 
 Did the king price it at V "You hare-heart, you !" 
 
 Rephed the smith ; " you wei'en't at Winchester. 
 
 And if you were, what, has your back got eyes ? 
 
 Yom- face was surely furthest from the fight. 
 
 The king's a good man !" " Pshaw !" rejoin'd the first. 
 
 " I tell thee," cried the other one in wi-ath, 
 
 " I come from Ripon, and King Athelstan 
 
 Hath richly dowcr'd a monastery there. 
 
 The hospital of Maiy Magdalene 
 
 Adjoins it close, and round and round the church 
 
 A sanctuary spreads outwards for a mile. 
 
 A good man he who could do this, say I ?" 
 
 So too his hearers said or seem'd to say. 
 
 " Yes," muttcr'd his antagonist again.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 37 
 
 " Yoli doubtless found the sanctuary of use. 
 But if you live at Ripon, what a way 
 It was to come uncall'd to Winchester !" 
 "The hospital will cure you of the mange !" 
 Return'd the big man. " Where's yoxu' loyalty ?" 
 "Where's Ethelwald ?" said he. " You skinny traitor !" 
 Thunder'd the smith. " What matter where he is 1 
 We have a better man in Athelstan. 
 Who is the soldier's friend ? — ^why, Athelstan ! 
 Who puts the nobles down, and gives the Church, 
 That takes the poor man's part, a lift on high 1 
 Who fights as if he loved it ? — Athelstan ! 
 Who leads liis men where plunder can be had. 
 Then shares the spoil 'mid all ? — King Athelstan ! 
 What wouldst thou more, thou needle-threading 
 slave ? " 
 
 The latter fact had such authority. 
 Made weightier by raised arm, and voice that seem'd 
 To hammer it into the hearers' heads,
 
 38 ATHELSTAX. 
 
 It took the breath from opposition, 
 
 If auglit there was to fight such sentiments. 
 
 So gi'ew the wave of preparation 
 Blown up by valorous words, the wind of talk. 
 And swoll'n by floods from many a countiy spring, 
 Until its crest rose up exultingly, 
 Foam-tipp'd with rage, but not directionless, 
 And with an ominous mumiui' onward roll'd 
 Towards the luBits of Northumbria.
 
 BOOK II.
 
 A SHIP was toilins; in the shore-bound sea 
 That rolls between old England's dommant isle 
 And green Hibernia. Narrow-form'd it was, 
 And with high scythe-like prow, that, as it dipp'd, 
 Mow'd down the frothy herbage of the waves. 
 Already to the sailor's eye appear' d, 
 Though distant yet, the vapour-sheeted hills 
 That with their rugged outlines tore the mist 
 And stood like gloomy giants at the side 
 Of deep-bay'd havens ; with a sideway course, 
 The ship work'd on its foamy way to land. 
 Slow, and finessing with the western wind. 
 Thus may a lover strive by tortuous arts. 
 And diplomatic tin-ns of countenance,
 
 42 ATIIELSTAiV. 
 
 And wise embarrassments of doubtful talk, 
 To take by stcaltli the A-irgin citadel 
 Of some proud beauty's heart, that won't be won 
 When it can see th' invader and th' advance. 
 
 Over the vessel's side there leant a youth,* 
 Who look'd into the waves with steady gaze, 
 As if he strove on their unrulincss 
 To fix the motion of his will ; but they 
 Who glanced into his face saw legibly 
 That his thoughts were not with the winds or waves. 
 Or with hard present things that to the brain 
 
 * Wlien Sihtric had perished, his two sons, Guthforth and Anlaf, 
 one with the propensities of a buccaneer, the other with the ambition 
 of a king, took the courses traced out for them by the destiny of their 
 natures. No two characters could be more strikingly nnlike. 
 History, when dealing with such persons, appears to be converted 
 into romance, or thrown back into the heroic ages when men were 
 actuated by motives now scarcely recognised as sources of human 
 action. Guthforth's career, of which however we obtain but casual 
 glunpses, is a poem in itself — his flight fr<im Northumbria, his 
 asylum in Scotland, liis meditated surrender, his piratical life, his 
 visit to the court of Atlielstan, his preference of sea-roving to tame 
 dependence, all tliese things impart a flush and a glow to the early 
 history of England which gives it a striking resemblance to that of 
 Hellas. Of Anlaf I shall speak further on.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 43 
 
 Transmit their portraiture. He thought (if such 
 
 Can be call'd thought, when past and futui'e scour 
 
 With a long train of ghostly followers, 
 
 Of jumbled facts and possibilities. 
 
 Through the submissive mind), much then he thought 
 
 Of that foul day when he and Guthforth fled 
 
 Before the Saxons in Northumbria. 
 
 'Tis pity that brave men should fight in vain. 
 But of two combatants the losing one 
 May be the braver, and a loss like that 
 Be but a gain of honoiu' and of fame, 
 And a pleased sense of having struggled much 
 For what is so much to be coveted ; 
 Of greater wisdom too, and keener hope 
 Of feeding one's ambition to the full 
 At the next feast which slaughter celebrates. 
 
 For brave was Anlaf, and right bravely risk'd 
 His royal blood to overwhelm the hosts
 
 44 ATIIELSTAN. 
 
 That to Northumbria brought the choice of war, 
 To fly, to die, or j-ield ; and oft he led 
 His followers, gather'd from the dreadful field 
 In warlike knots of men, which he unloosed, 
 Watching occasion, on the thinnest foe. 
 To spread destruction round, and desperate rout. 
 But with each rush of force, or politic snare, 
 Framed to entice aside and kill at ease. 
 There, like a Fate, was present Athelstan ! 
 And, as the billows on a rock-arm'd shore. 
 So the fierce waves of battle broke in spray 
 Before the might of his compelling arm, 
 Before the wit of his soul's providence. 
 
 And Anlaf rush'd at danger, as if bent 
 To snatch a crown from out it, or to lose 
 All memory of its loss, but 'mid the storm 
 Of spears and arrows, and the clashing fall 
 Of sword and battle-axe, when all the air 
 Was dark with missiles, or confused with cries,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 45 
 
 Unhurt amid the wreck he past, and, turning, 
 Saw his best friends lie stiff and passionless. 
 Never agaia to counsel him with words, 
 Never again to strike a blow for him, 
 And with large wounds, whose hideous gory mouths 
 Seem'd to cry out " This have we done for thee ! 
 Hast thou yet better left than we, that life 
 Can keep thee from thy seat in Odin's hall, 
 Where Death will make thee free, if nobly dead !" 
 
 Thus as lie stood despaning, and content 
 To be as one of those he look'd upon, 
 A Saxon warrior rush'd on him, and swung 
 His weapon at him, crying out " All hail. 
 Prince of Northumbria, King to come of Wessex ! 
 Thus do I dub thee monarch !" and the blow 
 Bow'd Anlaf to his knees ; but, springing up 
 With vigour, which the suddenness and shame 
 Madden'd to fury, " Thus," he shouted, " I 
 Accept the omen and commence my reign !"
 
 46 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 And, -with a backward sweep of his long sword, 
 As the man past him overstretch' d by force 
 Of his own stroke, he cut the babbHng head 
 Sheer off the shoulders. As it fell to earth, 
 The boastful lips still moved as if in talk, 
 While on the scarce-dead features there yet dwelt 
 The look of valorous scorn, but on tliem soon 
 Darkness and silence dropt for evermore. 
 
 Then Anlaf, in whose mind the heated blood 
 Had kindled new desires, was roused to hope. 
 And, turning from the dead, secured in life 
 A second chance for empire, and he fled 
 Far from the regions where his sii*e had reigu'd. 
 
 Nor was Prince Guthforth wanting in that day 
 Of bloody efforts. With a dogged pow'r 
 He beat down those who would oppose his path. 
 Or sought to vex his rest when rest he sought. 
 But when he saw his brotlier Anlaf fly
 
 ATHELSTAN. 47 
 
 From the lost field, he deem'd it profitless 
 
 His fui'ther presence there, and so he left ; 
 
 But took a different path, and tui-n'd his steps 
 
 To Scotland and the Coui't of Constantine. 
 
 There did he live some time as pleasantly 
 
 As his taste suff"er'd, for he better loved 
 
 Than the land's flowery atmosphere to sniff" 
 
 The pungent incense of the briny wave. 
 
 But, after months, there came to Constantine 
 
 A letter, full of counsel, kind and wise, 
 
 From Athelstan, the king and conqueror. 
 
 Which, when his wily host read, instantly 
 
 He sent to Guthforth, warning him that those 
 
 Who sought his person were abroad, so he, 
 
 For his own good, would shut him up at home. 
 
 Then Guthforth was not wrath, but shi-ugg'd himself, 
 
 Crying, " I wonder how much Scotland gets 
 
 For selling me to England ! 'Tis a change, 
 
 And may be not the last. — My lady-love ! 
 
 Poor thing ! She'll weep her eyes out at the news.
 
 48 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 They say that tears are salt." Then lay ho down, 
 Willing to wait, and thinking of the sea. 
 
 And now the ship where Anlaf sat had work'd 
 Its weai-y way within clear sight of shore. 
 Rugged it was, and coldly prominent 
 With treeless mountains, and indented nests, 
 Which the sea made itself betwixt the hills. 
 Straight for a vale the vessel steer'd between 
 Two guardian heads, tall pillars at the hoi'ns 
 Of a great bay, whose ample cuiwature 
 Had room to shelter from pux-suing winds 
 The ships of Denmark trebly told and more. 
 From out its breast three islands rose, which check'd 
 The forward waves that roll'd like riotous guests 
 To break the quiet of a sleeping house. 
 
 And Anlaf in that island found a home, 
 Growing his pow'r for years, and won himself 
 A small dominion for immediate want.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 49 
 
 Help'd by his brother Danes who cluster' d there. 
 
 But never did the lost Northumbria pass 
 
 From out his memory, and beyond e'en this 
 
 The vision of a greater kingdom rose. 
 
 So, drop by drop, he mass'd the elements 
 
 Of war and enmity to Athelstan ; 
 
 Thus by a dam the waters are heap'd up 
 
 From many a rill, led down from many a source, 
 
 Until, the check removed, the dangerous flood 
 
 Bursts in its aggregated might, to wreck 
 
 The industry of pastures and of fields. 
 
 York's castle had changed masters, and within 
 Oft was the banquet set for Athelstan. 
 And, like a king attired, there sat the king. 
 Dark-blue his cloak, and warmly delicate, 
 Hung from his shoulders ; soft it was, and gleam'd 
 With its broad golden binding as he turn'd. 
 His inner cuat was crimson, deeply-toned, 
 And loosely fitting to the stalwart form.
 
 50 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 His dark -brown hose, like a rich garden-bed, 
 Grew silver flowers, and from his regal brow, 
 'Mid his tliick ringlets, rose a small thin cro'ft'n, 
 Like a dwarf tuiTet miniatured in gold. 
 
 Time on his face had deeply character' d 
 The sense of his position, — there was there 
 Knowledge of strengthen'd pow'r, and stem resolve 
 To hold the gain though Europe should gainsay. 
 Yet with a restless look, that spoke the love 
 Of doing something, rather than to sit 
 In one's own chamber communing with self, 
 And asking questions asked too easily. 
 
 Bai-e was the ample banquet-hall where sat 
 The Saxon warriors, for the savage Dane 
 Was savage in his tastes, nor yet had learnt 
 The arts of peace ; the luxuries of the eye ; 
 Gradations of proportion' d magnitudes ; 
 And various colours wedded happily.
 
 ATHELSTAiS". 51 
 
 Space mark'd with strength the featiires of the Hall, 
 Space for a friend to feast within, and strength 
 To keep a foe without it. Saxon polish 
 Had stretch' d a cloth on the stout board that bore 
 The weight of viands, where great flesh of deer 
 Shared the day's honours with more general swine.* 
 Nor wanted there the dairy's harmless fruits, 
 And the sweet products of the patient bee. 
 Large cups of beaten gold convey'd rich wine 
 To noble lips, while others sat and quaff'd 
 With equal relish from the humble horn 
 Ripe ale and mead. And equal was the zest 
 
 * Our ancestors were scarcely more remarkable for anytliing than 
 for their passion for feeding on pork. Swine shared the island with 
 them, and indicated, perhaps, to themselves the fairer portion of it, 
 the woods, the fens, the forests, where they roamed like gentlemen, 
 attended by troops of valets. Philosophers may perhaps discover in 
 the prevalence of this peculiar diet one cause of that absence of 
 refinement which marked then- manners. Stalwai't and vigorous 
 they were, but withal somewhat coarse and sensual ; much given to 
 drinking, and in. their treatment of women anything but chivah'ous. 
 The drinks with which they washed down their pork were strong 
 ale, mead, and wine, heated and spiced, the more readil}' to inflame 
 their blood ; yet they protracted their feasts during several days, 
 probably until they had completely blunted their appetites, and 
 required a considerable period of repose to qualify them for renewing 
 the conflict. 
 
 e2
 
 52 ATHELSTAN, 
 
 Wherewith the Thane, and he of lower rank 
 Who follovv'd where his betters led, and foiight 
 When his lord bid liim fight, in half-drunk tones- 
 All liappy thus 'till they should fight again — 
 Scream'd out their joy for the great victory 
 Won by the Saxon English o'er the Dane, 
 And which to Wessex bound Northumbria 
 In firmer bonds than those that, fancy-burst, 
 Tied Sihtric to the bed of Ead"-itha. 
 
 The sun was high in heaven one autumn day 
 When 'mid the general voices of the feast 
 And the long fumes of brain-confounding wine, 
 A man without sought audience of the king : 
 And when before the Saxon prince he stood 
 Less in his height he scem'd, and less in years. 
 Coai-se-framed he was and beaten by the winds. 
 And burnish'd by the sun ; nor did his dress 
 Betray the hand of one whom leisured taste 
 Had dcck'd to turn into a drawing-room
 
 ATHELSTAN. 53 
 
 To be admired by peaceful coxcombry. 
 More like a fighting man by land or sea 
 He did appear, whom haste forbade to change 
 His toil-worn cloak, as all unarm' d he stood 
 Before the king, yet wanted not the look 
 Which drew attention to him, though unfurnish'd 
 With trappings of defence or ornament. 
 " Thy mission and thy name ! " quoth Athelstan. 
 " ^ly mission to seek pardon from a foe, 
 (And I shall find it, if a generoiis one,) 
 And my name Guthfoi'th ! " thus replied the Dane, 
 Then the king question' d him with steady gaze, 
 But not again with words ; and when his mind 
 Was settled into act, " Here find," he cried, 
 " A freer home-berth than with Scotland's king. 
 How didst thou baffle thy fi-iend's kind compulsion 
 That woidd have made thee come unwillingly 
 Where thy bold willing-ness hath made thee welcome ?" 
 "Nay!" said the blunt-speech' d Dane, "to tell the 
 arts
 
 54 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Which loosed mc from the liokl of Constantino, 
 
 Might, by gi-eat Odin, hazard their success 
 
 On the next chance of like occasion." 
 
 Then the king, smiling, " Rest thee, noble Dane, 
 
 Long as thou wilt, and find a roof secure 
 
 From the rough weather, and a well-spread board. 
 
 Though stormy weather little vexeth thee. 
 
 If what men say be tnie, that thou hast reign'd 
 
 A predatory sovereign of the seas 
 
 Since quitting Scottish hospitality." 
 
 And the king look'd him over, as a book 
 
 That is look'd over by some learned man 
 
 Who can alone make out its character ; 
 
 While Guthforth, lounging to a vacant seat, 
 
 Seized the next cup, and filling it with drink 
 
 " To this last change of life, and may it thrive ! " 
 
 He drank, and humm'd a sea-tune carelessl}-. 
 
 And day by day the king conversed with Guth- 
 forth,
 
 ATHELSTAN, 55 
 
 To bind him to him by good offices, 
 
 And daily Guthforth drank with Athelstan, 
 
 Who talk'd to him of York, and how he needed 
 
 A tributary Prince as President 
 
 Of his demesnes in that vicinity ; 
 
 And how 'twould be fair measure that a son 
 
 Of its late Prince should be its Prince again 
 
 With a changed title. But the ears of Guthforth 
 
 Were somewhat dull to what his heart desired not. 
 
 Then spake he in return, and spake of Anlaf, 
 
 Of Anlaf's many virtues, strangely form'd 
 
 To reach to the extreme necessities 
 
 That lie 'twixt peace and war ; whose voice could 
 
 hurl, 
 With its inspu-iting shout, a hu.ndi'ed men 
 Against a thoiisand, in a hopeful fight, 
 Or could unravel a self-woven song. 
 And use its threads to snare a maiden's ear. 
 But Athelstan thought Anlaf's tastes too large 
 To be shut up within Northumbria ;
 
 56 ATHELSTAN, 
 
 So said to Gutliforth, " Why, thy brother rules 
 
 A principality of Irishmen, 
 
 And plots and plans with Scandinavian heads. 
 
 In order that his own be crown'd in London ; 
 
 But, if tlie path 'twixt scheming and success 
 
 Were pass'd by him in safety, would he halve 
 
 His power with thee — with one so near in blood 
 
 As is a brother ? Our own relatives 
 
 Stand oft on their relationship itself 
 
 To reach their hands out to strange liberties." 
 
 And Gutliforth heard him speak, but not convinced 
 
 Took a long draught to clear his brain, and sat 
 
 In sleepy meditation discontent. 
 
 For much the peaceful tameness of the Court 
 
 Weigh'd on his restless spirit, and he long'd 
 
 Again to lead the free life of the sea, 
 
 Free for himself and crew, to take their choice 
 
 Of goods where'er they landed, ravaging 
 
 Life and Hfe's chattels, leaving in exchange 
 
 The terror of theu* names. To ease his heart,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 57 
 
 Heavy with absence, he would sometime sing 
 Of what he loved in rugged harmony. 
 
 A horse, a horse for me ! 
 My soul's on fire to ride ; 
 My ship at sea 
 The horse shall be, 
 And, away on the roaring tide ! 
 Then saddle for me 
 My ship at sea. 
 And I'm off on the roaring tide ! 
 
 My rudder's the rein wherewith 
 I'll guide this noble steed ; 
 And the driving wind 
 Like a spur behind 
 Shall urge it on to speed. 
 In the driving wind 
 A spur I'll find. 
 For the flanks of my foaming steed. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! I am mounted now 
 
 O'er the waves that beneath me bend.
 
 58 ATHELSTAX. 
 
 And before my face 
 Spreads out the space 
 Of Ocean, without end ! 
 'Tis a glorious race 
 O'er Ocean's space, 
 To fly and to find no end ! 
 
 Strong was tlie castle which th' encroaching Dane 
 Had Iniilt at York ; yet Athelstan thought fit 
 To lay its masses level with the soil, 
 In place of turning, when the Dane was out, 
 The foe's defences 'gainst th' offensive foe. 
 
 Kouud-shaped it was, and, raised upon a keep, 
 A strong thick wall embraced it like a friend 
 To keep from harm the soldiers housed within. 
 A deep ditch compass'd all, and, edging this, 
 A palisaded mound of beaten earth. 
 Upon whose back a lofty wall arose 
 Like an imperial safeguard tuireted.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 59 
 
 As each thick bulwark fell before the rage 
 Of demolition, many a nook laid bare 
 To greedy eyes its precious hiding-bed 
 Where gold lay couch' d, and stones outvaluing gold. 
 Great was the noise of plundering soldiery 
 Rushing from spot to spot, as if they grudged 
 The present pillage which delayed the time 
 From entering on the future. Joy it was 
 To thunder at some oaken chest that held 
 A treasure all unknown, but all their own, 
 While the keen look watch'd, gambler-like, a stake 
 Sure to turn prize witliout a blank to lose. 
 
 For rich the hai^vest heap'd of various spoil 
 Which the sea-kings had reap'd impartially. 
 From chui'ch or cottage, noble Thane or churl. 
 The silver altar-cloth that form'd a soil 
 For flowers of gold to bloom on ; or large bracelet. 
 The prize of valour from a warrior's wTist ; 
 Or gem-bright brooch, or neck-lace that had shone
 
 GO ATHELSTAN. 
 
 On England's swan-ncck'd daughters, all were shared 
 
 In hot division by the sturdy hands 
 
 That had help'd Athelstan to oust the Dane. 
 
 For the king, politicly generous,* 
 
 Cried to his soldiers "Welcome to the prey ! 
 
 All help themselves as best they like !" and each 
 
 Did help himself as he liked best in full. 
 
 And when hands could not hold, the tunic, loojj'd 
 
 Into a hollow, supplemented them ; 
 
 And Guthforth stood and saw the sight and ci'ied 
 
 (For his rough nature did not want for wit) 
 
 " What a king gives a king may take again !" 
 
 And monarchs then were not the things they are 
 
 In these degenerate times, when sons receive 
 
 * One of tlie first strokes of Athelstan's policy noticed by historians, 
 was the distribution among his soldiers of the Danish treasures found 
 in York Castle. No doubt the act was judicious, but the demolition 
 of the ft)rtress in which the spoil was found, betokened quite as 
 signal a want of policy. Athelstan's father had laboured throughout 
 his whole reign to make England bi-istle with strong places, and 
 Athelstan, afiecting to be able to dispense with them, displayed an 
 inferiority of judgincut which must have become a])i)arcnt even to 
 the least discerning, when he found himself under the necessity of 
 purchasing the services of the northern Buccaneer, and thus com- 
 mencing that system which lasted till the battle of Hastings.
 
 ATHBLSTAN. 61 
 
 From their mild parents an unfought-for crown. 
 
 Some few days thence a soldier sought the king, 
 And craved for justice, crying, that he sold 
 For a mean price a costly ornament 
 Of beaten gold, triangularly curved. 
 Set with projecting knobs, from each of which 
 Hung a pure string of pearls, from first to last 
 Gaining in beauty as they grew in size. 
 This did he sell to some sagacious Thane, 
 And as the price was light when weigh' d against 
 The worth of the thing sold, he sought redress 
 For the wrong practised on his ignorance. 
 Thereon an angry pleasure lit the eyes 
 Of Athelstan, and next day summoning 
 The Thane, he bade him bring the ornament — 
 Arrived, the king cried " Truly beautiful ! 
 Fix not a royal price on it, and we 
 Will buy it of thee." Answer'd then the Thane, 
 " A merchant-pedlar, who, when purchasing,
 
 62 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Deals not in royal prices, such a one 
 
 Hath ofFer'd me ten golden pieces for it ;" 
 
 Smiling, tlie king exclaim' d, "Stand forth !" and (luick 
 
 Stood forth the soldier from his hiding-place ; 
 
 When to the troubled Thane spake Athelstan — 
 
 " Keep thou one piece to reimburse thy pains, 
 
 And give this man nine golden pieces, now ; 
 
 Next, I advise thee, find the pedlar out. 
 
 And keep him to his offer !" Gladly off 
 
 The soldier ran, and grasping in his hand 
 
 The first sum six times told ; and gladly off 
 
 The noble walk'd, content to be so school'd, 
 
 And nothing sharper, by the warrior-king. 
 
 And all men spoke the praise of Athelstan*, 
 
 And how he would not the least wrong be done, 
 
 Under the cover of fortuitous birth, 
 
 To the least man who served his country well. 
 
 Again the feast was set, and Athelstan 
 Look'd round ujjon the chiefs that sat there, lords
 
 ATHELSTAN. 63 
 
 Of council and of war ; but saw he none 
 
 By nature dower'd more largely than himself, 
 
 None there so great as he ; for God had made 
 
 The war to fly before him, and had bid 
 
 His counsels, aim'd from far, make centre hits 
 
 In what they flew at ; yet had left that look, 
 
 Half-anxious, on his gracious lineaments, 
 
 Such as the brave might wear, who fear, tho' brave, 
 
 Being sensitive, lest they be thought to fear. 
 
 But as his eye roam'd o'er the chieftains round. 
 
 One was not there who had been used to come — 
 
 Prince Guthforth, ever constant to the wine ; 
 
 Yet the wise king said nothing, and he drank, 
 
 And made his nobles di-ink, and wash'd away 
 
 The marks of care-thought, brightening to the feast 
 
 In talk and laughter more than was his wont. 
 
 But when the night was thick, alone he sought 
 
 His chamber, and there mapp'd the future out, 
 
 Heated with dreams of possibilities. 
 
 The visions of the great not great enough.
 
 64 ATHELSTA^^ 
 
 Hindi'ance he cared not for — the very work 
 
 Of overcoming was itself a joy. 
 
 Then came his sister Eaclgitha, and look'd 
 
 Demurely handsome ; to her Atlielstan, 
 
 "What doth my sister here V Then she, " I crave 
 
 Permission to impart my pui"poses. 
 
 I'm tired of greatness, if one can be tii*ed 
 
 Of what was never relish' d. I would wish 
 
 To hide mvself from life and from the world 
 
 Within some holy abbey." " So ! " roturn'd 
 
 The king, " And leave the world to help itself, 
 
 Withdrawing one more labourer from the work 
 
 That all should handle !" " Yet," said Eadgitha, 
 
 " If all would thus renounce its vanities, 
 
 The world would want no being set to rights 
 
 When nothing there went wrong." Then Athclstan 
 
 " My sister ! vanity's a ciu-ious plant. 
 
 That gi-ows in cloisters as in palace-courts. 
 
 Let that alone. Suppose mankind retired, 
 
 Shut up in idle inoftcnsiveness,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 65 
 
 Soon would some few ambitious souls emerge 
 From out the mass, to plot, and seize, and slay 
 For their own good, and make confusion worse, 
 As finding all things open to their use, 
 And the great world's securities unlock'd !" 
 " I do my duty, — that," said Eadgitha, 
 " Should be enough for me : — what others do, 
 Let them who do it answer it themselves !" 
 " But is it thus thy duty, sister mine !" 
 Cried Athelstan, " to fly a general law ? 
 All nature works, and every living thing 
 In its vocation seems ordain' d to move 
 In ceaseless interchange of toil and pause, 
 The pause alone to husband strength for toil. 
 Only in Heav'n is perfect rest ; the way 
 To get there is through weariness on earth." 
 "Nay brother !" replied Eadgitha, "thyself 
 Art not an instance the best possible 
 Of work made happy. Thou hast labor'd well. 
 How long is it since Exe and Tamar saw,
 
 66 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Expell'd by thcc, the Western Britons &y, 
 
 And Saxon rule hold all of Exeter — 
 
 Which thou didst roundly fence with walls and towers, 
 
 And all the surety possible in stone ? 
 
 As saplings bow before the blast, so bent 
 
 The Princes of the Welsh at Hereford ; 
 
 And to prevent thy victories breaking up 
 
 Their name and nation, brought their subject gifts, 
 
 Silver and gold enough to arm a host ; 
 
 And hounds and falcons taught to hunt their prey 
 
 O'er hill and dale, and through the fields of air. 
 
 Is't not enough 1 And wilt thou ne'er eschew 
 
 These wars and storms, and siin thyself in peace ? 
 
 Or is the joy in getting, not in got ? 
 
 Ambition too sees not what others see, — 
 
 The want of cleanness in its instruments." 
 
 "Nay !" returned Athelstan, but thoughtfully, 
 " If perfect means be waited for to help 
 The good upon its way, 'twill ne'er o'ertake
 
 ATHELSTAN. 617 
 
 The evil that is strong, and runs before." — 
 Then did he break off mutteringly, and seem'd 
 Brain-clouded, wrapt in speculative mists ; 
 And Eadgitha went off and made no sound 
 In going, save a small decorous sigh. 
 
 King Athelstan sat silent for awhile, 
 And like a statue, save the play of thought 
 Over the fair ground of his countenance ; 
 Then, starting from his dream, cried " Summon 
 
 Eldred ! " 
 And Eldred the cup-bearer came at call. 
 A prudent man, nor unaccustomed he 
 To share the secrets of the royal heart. 
 Noble he was' by birth, by nature brave : 
 This last a quality not always found 
 Conjoin' d with the smooth tongue's obsequiousness. 
 But thus he loved to work his purposes 
 (Using an instrument he well could use) 
 By sidelong and suggestive flattery : 
 
 F 2
 
 68 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 As may a ship approach by tortuous course, 
 
 The land in view, and nearing with each tack 
 
 The distant object which it seems to fly. 
 
 " Elfred ! " exclaimed the king, " more oft this day 
 
 Than others hast thou mix'd the cup for me, 
 
 But, little comfort mingled with the draught. 
 
 Guthforth hath fled, thou see'st — when, wherefore — 
 
 where ?" 
 " And what is Guthforth to my royal lord, 
 That Athelstan should mind so small a man ?" 
 Cried Eldred ; and then answer'd Athelstan, 
 " He is the son of Sihtric the dead king, 
 Whose kingdom we have taken ; — brother, too, 
 To Anlaf who is, (if some Irish bog 
 Have not in kindness drown'd him) yet alive. 
 So Guthforth, small himself, when leagued with others. 
 May swell their greatness — yet he's changeable." 
 " He hath but gone," cried Eldred, " to his own — 
 He cannot live without his element, 
 And gasps for water. Such sea-monsters walk
 
 ATHELSTAN. 69 
 
 Less dangerous on the land." Then Athelstan : 
 " But he can leave his floating den to vex 
 Our fruitful coasts with his unquiet teeth, 
 Tearing the life and bearing off the prey. 
 So can he bring in his land-cursed ships 
 Some thousand wolves of Scandinavian breed 
 To hunt our flocks where Anlaf bids him loose. 
 Yet am I wrong to waste my thoughts on him — 
 I am not well to-night ; my brain is hot. 
 It is the curse of pow'r, that they who raise 
 The building up, can ne'er relax their toil 
 Adding new props to stay the edifice." 
 " They say the tallest pillar may be shaken," 
 Quoth Eldred, " by the fingers of a child ; 
 So men may shake thy pow'r, but not o'erturn. 
 Ay ! he were rash indeed who would undo 
 What thou hast done for England — would recal 
 The greatness thou hast giv'n it ! " Athelstan, 
 Starting, as from a sudden prick of fire, 
 More earnestly than was his wont — at least
 
 70 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Than ho was wont to show his lieart abroad, — 
 
 Cried, " Say again — England is growing great. 
 
 And have not I watch'd, foster'd all its growth ? 
 
 Heav'u too is gi'cat, and will not strictly scan 
 
 The necessaiy means that lead to good — 
 
 Will not w'ith its avenging hatred smite 
 
 Detail'd injustice, when the end is just. 
 
 When one hath raised a nation to a height 
 
 It never knew of glory and of joy. 
 
 Shall individual wrongs, small harshnesses, 
 
 Obtrude their censure, and confound the whole, 
 
 Crying out, ' Look at us !' and with blind eye 
 
 To the diffused advantage, damn the man 
 
 Who makes a million blest ?" " Not so, your Grace !" 
 
 Cried Eldred. " If the good men do mankind 
 
 Must wait the perfect means to cany it 
 
 Unto the end it seeks, the world may sleep 
 
 In the last night when all the stars go out 
 
 Before it i*each the goal." Then Athelstan : 
 
 " Well, well ; when Power affects to do gi'eat good,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 71 
 
 It is the curse of our humanity, 
 Passion, and chance, and cii'cumstance step in 
 And intercept the aim. Thou say'st that I 
 Have raised this England up beyond herself. 
 And I would lift her higher ; but for this 
 I must have room to wield my instruments 
 Of mind or muscle, that they freely fall 
 Where I shall choose, nor meet opposing force 
 To break their incidence." "'Tis true, my lord !" 
 Said Eldi-ed, " Sad and true. The best designs 
 Are often thwarted by the best. The good. 
 When high in rank, and favorites with the crowd, 
 
 May do most ill " and here the cup-bearer 
 
 Glanced at the countenance of Athelstan, 
 
 And saw that it was darker than at first. 
 
 " I wait," the king replied, "tho' hard to wait, 
 
 Till Heav'n destroy the yet unripe designs 
 
 Of those whose murmurs are, ' The throne is fill'd 
 
 By the chance child of illegitimate love ' — 
 
 Tho' for his country's good legitimately,
 
 72 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Not foi' himself, but her, he wields its power." 
 
 " Prince Edwin," whisper'd Eldred, " What of him ? " 
 
 Impetuously cried Athclstan, — " My lord, 
 
 He is your brother !" and the royal face 
 
 Grew darker still as spake the cup-bearer. 
 
 " He is of princely birth, and widely loved ; 
 
 Should such a man do ill, wer't wise to screen 
 
 The wrong behind the royalty 1" The king 
 
 Was silent ; and on went the cup-bearer, 
 
 " Let me remind your Grace, that England asks 
 
 Her greatness from yourself, and will not brook 
 
 The loss of the least glory to her name, 
 
 Lost by the weakness of a private love." 
 
 "What would'st thou ?" said the king, and in a tone 
 As if he ask'd no answer : then there came 
 A boding pause, a silence temble. 
 As if thought shrunk from words, as ghosts to thrust 
 Their unsubstantial horrors on the light. 
 And in the stillness Athelstan's great sword,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 73 
 
 Missing its prop against an oaken seat, 
 Broke like a thunder-crash upon the floor. 
 The monarch started at the sound ; bvit he, 
 The venturous Eldred, smiled, and started not. 
 
 Again spake Eldred slowly with soft voice, 
 " I have a charge of capital consequence 
 
 Against " but Athelstan sprang up and cried 
 
 "Not yet !" and strode about the room, as straggling 
 To gain a hardness to hear anything — 
 " A charge of capital consequence," he cried, 
 Retm-ning, " against whom 1 " and Eldred answer'd, 
 "Against a Pi'ince — thy princely brother Edwin !"' 
 
 * The sophistry hy which Athelstan sought to disguise from himself 
 the heinousness of his attempt against his brother Edwin, is by no 
 means unfamiliar to t5Tants. Crime as crime, naked and unblushing, 
 is revolting to the worst of men. Deeds of guilt are habitually 
 preceded by a process of Jesuitical logic, which converts the intended 
 victim into an enemy, and steeps the hands in falsehood before they 
 are crimsoned by assassination. How far Athelstan's cup-bearer 
 may have aided in lulling his conscience to sleep is uncertain ; but 
 tradition attributes to him, perhaps unjustly, a large share of the 
 king's criminality, though it be far fi-om uncommon to find about an 
 imscrupulous monarch, men eager, and even willing, to forestall his 
 worst wishes. Some writers have affected scepticism regarding this 
 portion of Athelstan's career, but the remorse and penance described
 
 74 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 And w'licn tlic king heard -what he thought to hear, 
 
 Yet shook he — he who never shook in fight, 
 
 As if some giant thought had seized on him 
 
 And \\Tench'd his stalwart frame with all its force. 
 
 While he with all his force too strove to keep 
 
 His body still, but coidd not — then, at length, 
 
 He ask'd, "But hast thou proof?" "Best proof," cried 
 
 Eldred. 
 " Else could I dare to grieve your Grace, and charge 
 Your Grace's brother f " Brother !" cried the king. 
 And tum'd his head half sideways, as he sat 
 Fronting the hght, and with his large hand hid 
 The thoughts that knit his brow. If Ekh'cd saw 
 His face more pale when he unclosed again 
 The curtain of his fingers, 'twas perchance 
 
 by Mr. St. John wouUl be motiveless unless sprinp;ing from the con- 
 sciousness of some portentous effort of villanj'. " The ( linie having 
 been perpetrated," says the ■ftTiter, "remorse seized upon the mind 
 of the king, who, believing like an Indian ascetic in the efficacy of 
 torture, condemned liiniself to a seven years' penance, wliich only 
 closed with his life. By way moreover of further expiation, he is said 
 to have put to death the cup-bearer, who had artfully fanned his 
 hatred against his brother." — "History of the four Conquests of 
 England," vol. i. p. 340.
 
 ATHELSTAX. 75 
 
 The tint of pity for his brother's fate : 
 
 Aud he said, " If it must — this sacrifice — 
 
 God help me — I'm too weak to be a king — 
 
 Proof, didst thou say, unquestion'd proof?" " My lord ! 
 
 Uuquestion'd proof !" retm-n'd the cup-bearer. 
 
 Then said the king, " Now go. Thou canst not think 
 
 I love not mercy; — see that thou have proof 
 
 Earth hath not pains to damn thee half enough 
 
 If thou dar'st lay aught rashly to the charge 
 
 Of the gTcat Alfred's grandson — and now go !" 
 
 And without word or gesture Eldred went. 
 
 Then as King Athelstan was tired, and turn'd 
 To seek his rest, and musing as he went. 
 Paced down the narrow passage, Eadgitha, 
 From a low room that border'd on his way, 
 Hymn'd a sad hymn, and thus he heard her sing : — 
 
 Vanity — vanity ! 
 
 Who would live when he could die ?
 
 76 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Weak OTU- hearts, but Hell is strong ; 
 Short our years, but Death is long ; 
 Then the best life to be led 
 Is where living seem like dead. 
 
 Riches rot, and glory flies. 
 Pleasure droops, and vigour dies. 
 Monarch's crown and cowl of monk 
 Down to the same dust have sunk ; 
 Then or all, from king to slave. 
 The best dwelling is the grave. 
 
 When did age find ever truth 
 In the promises of youth 1 
 Joy and hope too fade away — 
 Bury them while yet 'tis day. 
 Wherefore wait until the night ? 
 Hide both them and us from sight. 
 
 And the king thought to smile, but only frown'd ; 
 Then as he w-alk'd down the long corridor, 
 Low-roof'd, and unadorn'd, and strong enough 
 To keep all enemies but one without.
 
 ATHELSTAN. V7 
 
 His footsteps tlirough the vaulted stillness rang 
 Upon the naked floor. The lamps o'erhead 
 Were struggling for a little more of life, 
 Flashing alternate streaks of light and shade 
 Upon the walls, and hissing their last sounds 
 Before the darkness and the silence came.
 
 BOOK III.
 
 Now Eugiaud had begun to spread abroad 
 The branches of her glory ; for at home 
 There was the root of confidence — a sense 
 That he who ruled them, vigilantly loved 
 The honour of the ruled ; a soil indeed 
 Most fit to grow dominion. The broad seas 
 That lash'd her empire had a prouder cuid 
 Frothing around the shores, where greater strength 
 Was bred from greater union ; where weak men 
 Had merg'd their being in a man more strong ; 
 And pass'd their pow'r — which, like a mischievous child. 
 Could break, and unmake rulers without skill 
 To piece the damage — into firmer hands. 
 A king, as seventh, is better, e'en tho' bad, 
 
 G
 
 82 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Than six small princes who have made him ui>, 
 And who with intci-acting hatred reign'd 
 Each for himself and ruin for the rest. 
 
 The seas indeed were proud, yet cruelty 
 May go with pride, for cruelly they rose 
 On a small boat that on a cheerless day 
 Stagger'd and groan'd as if it shrank in pain 
 From dissolution on its watery bed. 
 Oarlcss and sailless, it was driven on 
 Directionless, at mercy of the things 
 That have no mercy, and within it sat 
 Two cold despairing men, no better furnish'd 
 Than was the boat that bore them ; she without 
 The means of art to steer a willing course, 
 They unsupplied with natural food or drink 
 To make life tenable. The older man 
 Was armour-bearer to the youth who touch'd 
 His side, and he the grandson of a king. 
 Toss'd helplessly, they drifted ; sad it is
 
 ATHELSTAN. 83 
 
 To die by any fate in manhood's spring, 
 But sadder still to be the jest of death, 
 Without the pow'r to fight the hands that snatch 
 Dear life away before our desperate eyes. 
 And as a lion dashes at a bait 
 Within the barr'd enclosure of a cage. 
 And strives to rend the thick defence of wood 
 That shuts the kid from his insatiate jaws ; 
 So roar'd the waters on th' unhappy pair, 
 Shaking their feeble tenement, and raised 
 Their foamy heads above its sides, and look'd 
 Impatient on the prey they coveted. 
 
 Wildly the armour-bearer stampt, and threw 
 His brawny arms aloft and ask'd if Heav'n 
 Had no more justice than its subject earth — 
 Then gnash'd his raging teeth, and cursed the king : 
 And if his wishes had had potency 
 They wguld have risen in mad rebellion 
 
 And given a thousand deaths to Athelstan. 
 
 g2
 
 84 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 For this the youth was E(hvin ; he wlio sat 
 
 With his still hopeless look ; aud then anon 
 
 It wore an eager flush, as if he thought 
 
 That instant to rush downward to his doom. 
 
 For Eldred, the king's cup-bearer, had brought 
 
 Charges of wickedness against the Prince, 
 
 And wicked charges, such strange wickedness 
 
 As the mere handling of it by the mind 
 
 Would leave a soil behind — yet wanted not 
 
 Consenting tongues to swear to the bad truth, 
 
 Whatever might be the heart's evidence. 
 
 And so the judges, honourable men. 
 
 Prompt to do justice, e'en to work their office 
 
 Upon the person of a Prince, condemn' d 
 
 Young Edwin to this wateiy penalty. 
 
 And this they call'd "Heaven's judgment" — to be 
 
 thrown 
 Into the arms of the unjudging sea, 
 To crush or cast upon the naked shore ; 
 A challenge to the God of all to say
 
 ATHBLSTAX. 85 
 
 His sentence on the right or wrong ; a plan 
 Whereby man calls npon Omniscience 
 To do his duty for him when it chafes. 
 
 And Edwin rose, and wrang his hands, and cried 
 " Lo ! this is Guthforth's element ! This sea 
 That howls upon the helpless way-farer. 
 Is this the pleasant slave that bears his lord 
 On the curved convoy of his stormy back 
 To conquest and to joy ? Then why are we 
 So toss'd and plagued by its rebellious waves, 
 And stretch'd at by their white and billowy jaws 1 — 
 Ha ! what an insolent cruelty it is 
 Thus to have evei'-present to our eyes 
 The instruments of death before we die 1 " 
 
 For Guthforth, at the court of Athelstan, 
 Though rude by nature, nor much given to speech, 
 Had form'd a friendship with a second soul, 
 Attracted by its opposite, for mild
 
 86 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Was Edwin in liis outward lineaments 
 
 And gentle in his yearnings, tho' with sjiirit 
 
 Tliat could uphold the right, when strongly shown, 
 
 Yet bore with WTong awhile, and deem'd it riglit 
 
 Rather than strive with opposition 
 
 To extricate the truth : the king's own brother, 
 
 Younger in years, but born of lawful love. 
 
 His courteous ways, and rightly royal blood 
 
 Had made him more belov'd by the king's subjects 
 
 Than by the king. And Guthforth talk'd with him, 
 
 And with rude tongue, yet picturesque in ])hrase. 
 
 Such as men use when they describe the treasure 
 
 Whei'e their heart lies, ho spake of the great sea, 
 
 And of its manifold magnificence ; 
 
 Its glassy vastness when the storm-king sleeps 
 
 Beneath its surface in some oozy cave, 
 
 Until he wake, and his broad shoulders heave 
 
 The level plain up, and confound the prospect 
 
 Broken to multitudinous mountain-tops. 
 
 Then, to rush onward as the ocean-steed
 
 ATHELSTAN. 87 
 
 Spreads its white pinions to the screaming wind, 
 
 And o'er the vallied billows, and the hills, 
 
 Flies, with heel scattering foam like dust, and leaves 
 
 Undented its illimitable course. 
 
 This listening to the young Prince long'd to tempt 
 
 The new delights of the unstable sea. 
 
 And had he not stood near a throne on land, 
 
 He might have wish'd, in place of living people, 
 
 To rule the fierce re2JubliG of the waves. 
 
 And still upon the inhospitable sea 
 The unwilling travellers found no hope nor rest ; 
 The red sun lowei-'d at them the whole long day. 
 And kept down sinking nearer to his end, 
 As they to tlieirs ; this was the only change 
 That colour'd their monotony of fate. 
 Next the night fell upon them, but the sea 
 Knew no remissness night or day, but beat 
 Ever on this death's cradle, in the which 
 Were rudely rock'd these two despairing lives,
 
 88 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 And the old annoiir-bearer sat, and watch'd 
 
 By Edwin as ho lay, and muttering gazed 
 
 Into the ocean, as if questioning 
 
 Its right to tortirre him ; at last his eyes. 
 
 Tired with his own and his lord's sorrow, closed 
 
 In a short blessed quiet, and he slept. 
 
 And then he di^eamt that in the royal house, 
 
 One day as he was kneeling to the king, 
 
 The Ci'own fell off the head of Athelstan, 
 
 And, wounding him, roll'd onward to the feet 
 
 Of Edwin, who was neai-, when he, tho' grazed 
 
 But slightly by the dangerous diadem. 
 
 Fell to earth headlong, and lay there as dead. 
 
 Waking, he saw the prince rise up and spring 
 
 From the boat's side into the deadly sea. 
 
 With a great cry the old man rose, and threw 
 
 His hands straight out, but only grasp'd tlie air ; 
 
 Then knelt and peer'd into the deep dark grave, 
 
 And watch'd and watch'd, and, with short interval, 
 
 Close by his eyes the body floated up —
 
 ATHELSTAN. 89 
 
 By the right arm he seized it, dragging it 
 Into the boat, whose weighted edge bowed low 
 Beneath the waters. Vainly did he chafe 
 The dripping limbs, in vain call out the name 
 Of his loved master ; and when broke the day 
 He saw a face on which in mournful Lines 
 Was written, that for earthly sympathies 
 And earth's ambitious ; for his own intents 
 Or for another's fears ; for ill or good, 
 Prince Edwin, Edward's son, himself the son 
 Of Alfred the great king, had ceased to be. 
 
 Alone on the unsympathising sea 
 The armour-bearer's undirected course 
 Was held from hour to melancholy hour. 
 The wind had gone to sleep, but not the waves, 
 Which in vast swell resistless raised the boat 
 Upon their tops, then di-agg'd it down again 
 To the dark hollow where themselves had sunk. 
 Alone on the unsympathising sea
 
 90 ATHELSTAX. 
 
 He would have kill'd himself, but could not leave 
 The body of his lord again to drop 
 Into the jaws of that curs'd element. 
 At length a wind came stretching from the East, 
 And drove the sea before it ; wave met wave 
 In frothy conflict, but the wind was strong, 
 And turn'd the billows landward, till they cast 
 The live and dead upon the coast of Kent. 
 On the rough shore the faithful follower 
 Was roughly thrown, but never loosen'd liold 
 Of his dead lord ; and there on English soil, 
 With his bruised hands, and never-weary love, 
 Scoop'd for him a rude grave, and stampt the earth 
 Over the brother of King Athelstan.* 
 
 Hungry and faint, he tlien his sorrowful steps 
 Turn'd towai'd the inner land. The sun rose high ; 
 
 * ]Matthew of WpstmiTister, in a confused ami rambling way, tells 
 the story of Edwin's assassination and interment, a.d. 934. Simeon 
 of Durham, p. 1-54, merely rehites that Atlielstan ordered his brother 
 to be drowned in the sea. Upon the whole there seems no good 
 reason, either for doubting the crime, or the manner in ^\hieh it was 
 perpetrated.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 91 
 
 And on, and on he walk'd ; but the long way 
 
 Wore out his hope of life ; and down he sat, 
 
 Thinking no more to talk with other men. 
 
 Just then the pitying breeze bore to him sounds 
 
 Of distant merriment — again the wish 
 
 Of mixing with the living roused some strength 
 
 To seek the spot within his feeble limbs. 
 
 There a rude scene of customary joy 
 
 Was being acted ; men and women danced 
 
 About the heathenish similitude 
 
 Of some old god or goddess, or the powers 
 
 That watch the crops, and overlook the fruits, 
 
 And mete their measure out to labouring men. 
 
 With less of grace than heartiness, they romp'd 
 
 In gay disorder round the effigy, 
 
 And sung or shouted forth a doggrel song. 
 
 jMaster and man arc glad ; 
 
 Work finish' d, and weather shining. 
 Where diink is free to be had, 
 
 What's the use of declining ?
 
 92 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 ^^^len a good wage is proffer'd, 
 Who would be long in choosing 1 
 
 And when a kiss is offer' d, 
 What's the use of refusing 1 
 
 If a law's bad when tried, 
 
 Better is then the breaking it — 
 And if a kiss be denied, 
 
 What's the harm of taking it 1 
 
 Then all at once burst foilh a noisy fray 
 
 Of chased and chasers ; and sharp fights when caught, 
 
 And shrieks and laughter and resounding lips. 
 
 A special group was rolling on the soil, 
 
 Confused in a fierce scramble of delight. 
 
 When like a stealthy spectre o'er them stood 
 
 The armour-bearer — gaunt, and ragged, pale, 
 
 Rough-hair'd, and bloody-eyed — quick horror seized 
 
 Both men and women there, and some on knees, 
 
 And some recumbent as if fixed in stone. 
 
 Gazed on that haggard face, that like a blight,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 93 
 
 Descencliug oa the bud and on the bloom, 
 Struck pleasure dead. And long it was before 
 The armour-bearer, with his piteous tale 
 Of hard realities and human wants. 
 Dispersed their fears and gain'd their sympathy. 
 
 Time past, and England gTew with it, for great 
 She was with friends and foes, and " Athelstan " 
 Became a name of growth proportionate ; 
 And wei'e the greatness such that happiness 
 Held back, unable to keep pace with it, 
 'Twas from the cares that sprang to crowd the day 
 With occupation, and set loose the thoughts 
 That should at midnight fold themselves in rest. 
 So when the night had past its middle term 
 The king was wakeful — sleep and restlessness 
 Alternated in such uneasy change. 
 That it were hard to say which state was sleep 
 And which its want ; and ever in his ears, 
 Waking or dreaming, rose incessantly
 
 04 ATUELSTAX. 
 
 Tlic wintry hubbub of an open sea. 
 
 He gmsp'd the bed, and shook the thick-earved oak 
 
 Of its supports, and, starting, with bare foot 
 
 Stamp'd on the solid earth, and walk'd and lay, 
 
 But foiuid no rest ; for ever in his ears, 
 
 Waking or dreaming, rose incessantly 
 
 Tlie wintry hubbub of an open sea. 
 
 And birds and beasts of bad presentiment. 
 
 That own'd no fond allegiance to a king, 
 
 Hover'd and flutter'd i-ouud the royal house, 
 
 And with a narrow and a wheezing ciy. 
 
 As if the claw of hunger pinch' d their throats. 
 
 Answer d, with most unmusical response, 
 
 The clamours of th'imaginary waves. 
 
 Pale rose the king from the ungracious night 
 
 To find no less disloyal was the day. 
 
 And men remark' d, nor envied, with what weight 
 
 The cares of empire prcst the regal brow. 
 
 One morn the king rose early up from where
 
 ATHELSTAN. 95 
 
 He had not rested ; for his thoughts were full 
 Of Edwhi — Edwhi and the open sea, 
 And the rude boat, unvictuall'd and unsteer'd. 
 " Doth Edwin live T' and " Would he were alive ! " 
 If such the monarch's thoughts, most heavily 
 They weigh'd upon his brain, and thence convey'd 
 To the fair face the lines of ceaseless pain. 
 " A way-worn man craves audience of the king." 
 Such the report that, made to Athelstan, 
 Drew an unthinking answer "let him come !" 
 And on his breast down sank the weary head. 
 But when he rais'd his eyes, they grew upon 
 A tall grim man who stood erect and still. 
 Batter' d, and scan-'d by work, and age, and grief. 
 With half defiant, half-reproachful look. 
 And the King look'd on him as if the grave 
 Had cast him up, or the deep-bottom' d sea, 
 For in his ancient face he recognised 
 Prince Edwin's armour-bearer. — " Thou alone ! 
 Lives he yet? Thou alone !" cried Athelstan.
 
 96 ATHELSTAX. 
 
 " I am alone !" l>o said, and even he 
 
 Pitied the look of blank heart -palsy, spread 
 
 O'er the king's face, and, like a dwarf that beards 
 
 A giant, over-powering all the power 
 
 And all the pride of that majestic man. 
 
 Still did he sit awhile, then motioning 
 
 For speech, again the ai'mour-bearer spake. 
 
 " He died ! But not Heav'n's judgment slew my lord, 
 
 But his own act. I buried him in Kent ; 
 
 And now I live — I would that I were dead !" 
 
 The monarch heard, and went o'er instantly 
 
 From grief to passion, such a rage as fills 
 
 The bosom of the storm-king when he rends 
 
 With his red bolts the thick-ribb'd oaks that grow, 
 
 The forest tenants of a thousand years. 
 
 Swift, to his feet up-spi'inging he exclaim'd, 
 
 " Heav'n kill'd him not, but false conspiracy — 
 
 Then shall the man who slew himself be slain — 
 
 Off — and bid Eldred come," and Eldred came ; 
 
 But the high look of iuccus'd royalty
 
 ATHELSTAN, 97 
 
 Fell somewhat lower, as it met the gaze 
 
 Of Eldred the cupbearer, who spake out 
 
 'Ere he was spoken, for he knew his doom. 
 
 " I charged Prince Edwin with a crime — no more — 
 
 The men who heard the proofs, and raised their votes 
 
 In condemnation, they are my defence 
 
 And their own judges — " But then Athelstan 
 
 Broke in upon him with outcrying tongue 
 
 And passionate gesture more than was his wont. 
 
 For he contain' d himself within himself, 
 
 And held his feelings curb'd, lest they should sliake 
 
 His steadiness of prospect, or abate 
 
 The reverence due to outward majesty, 
 
 "Words come at will to justify the deeds 
 
 Of every traitor — rid the land of this ! " 
 
 " A few more words ! " cried Eldred, and he spake 
 
 In a soft clear-voiced tone, as erst he spake 
 
 Counselling the king upon that fatal night, 
 
 " Edwin is dead. And I myself shall soon 
 
 Be nothing more than unimpassion'd clay, 
 
 H
 
 yS ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Yet there are two who may revenge me yet ; 
 
 Anlaf, and thy own conscience, Athelstau !" 
 
 Tlie king replied not, signalling to lead 
 
 The speaker off, who show'd nor hope nor fear. 
 
 And when the day was done — the warm bright day — 
 
 And the chill night hour came, the wife of Eldred 
 
 Went silent to her widow'd bed ; her children 
 
 Cried for their father's kiss, but found it not." 
 
 Time sped, and still " How great is Athelstan ! 
 Cried all men, for lie made his country' stand 
 Erect among the nations. To her shores 
 Came all whom change of creed or politics. 
 Or unsuccessful meddling with the ways 
 Of serving God, or niling men, or chance 
 AVithout a cause, or poi)ular jealovisies. 
 Or despots and their doubts, had forced to fly 
 The vital risk of living where they loved. 
 And seek abroad the home not found at home.* 
 
 * Sir Francis ralgravc, iii his " History of Norniaudy and
 
 ATHELSTAN. 99 
 
 Yet did not this content king Athelstan ; 
 
 His thoughts seem'd ever wandering forth, at least 
 
 When not detain'd by strong and present need, 
 
 In search of something which they sought in vain. 
 
 And therefore sent he for a holy man, 
 
 To counsel, and to fix a penance on him, 
 
 A seven years' penance for his many sins. 
 
 And for young Edwin's death — and was this one ] 
 
 He look'd as if it were — so sought to learn 
 
 If punishment, self-order' d, could avail 
 
 To oust the devils from the heart of man. 
 
 " It is, your grace, of sovereign excellence," 
 
 Rephed the abbot, he of Malmesbury, 
 
 Pleased with the matter, and the power to speak, 
 
 " It draws the venom from the poison' d soul 
 
 England," enumerates several of the royal and noble refugees who 
 took shelter at the court of Athelstan, and helped to dissipate or 
 damp the remorse which, like the vulture of Prometheus, was 
 evidently gnawing him to death. In developing the theory of his 
 character, which, as I observed in a former note, I have adopted, I 
 have taken as favourable a view as possible of his actions and 
 motives, though poetry, being bound by laws as rigid and imperative 
 as those of history, must not fly in the face of her sister muse. AVhat 
 the latter establishes upon evidence, the former is constrained to adopt. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 As the leech heels the drug-embitter'd wound. 
 There's in oui- ahbey, sire, good brother John — 
 Surnamed the Roarer from his rugged voice — 
 Somewhat too much inclined to dainty feasts, 
 And vanities of love-locks, and bright eyes, 
 Hath scourged himself to virtue ; oft he finds 
 The lifted lash which he himself applies 
 Held backwards — doubtless 'tis the old arch-fiend 
 Who strives to stop the stroke that would expel 
 The devil subordinate from our brother's flesh. 
 One morning in his cell — 'twas early dark — 
 He tm-n'd — a strong and vigorous man he is — 
 Suddenly swinging his thick lash in front 
 Whei*e he thought something stood by him. It fell 
 On a hard substance, like a leathery hide, 
 Or ancient parchment. Then arose a yell 
 Of pain and anger, and a noise of feet 
 Pattering in quick retreat. Stout brother John, 
 No more impeded, recommenced his work. 
 And whipp'd as he had never whipp'd before."
 
 ATHELSTAN. 101 
 
 Though not entirely could his intellect 
 Rise o'er the tales of churchmen, Athelstan 
 Cried somewhat sharply, " But om-selves, om-selves. 
 What wouldst thou fix for us to undergo ?" 
 " Your Grace's conscience is too sensitive," 
 Replied the abbot. "'Twas the will of Heav'n 
 That the Prince drown'd himself, and left the boat. 
 Now free to work its disencumber'd way 
 And land in Kent his innocent follower " — 
 Then, as he saw his speech pleased not the king, 
 " I speak the thing your Grace commands to speak ; 
 And I suggest that for a year, your Grace 
 Abstain from wine, and from the richer foods, 
 That please the palate, and the joys of sense, 
 That are allowed to kings, as to the men 
 Whom they rule over. Such a simple life 
 Will leave the mind and body of my lord 
 Unweaken'd, to bear up, as is his w^ont, 
 The pillars of the land he loves so much." 
 Then Athelstan, "This were a vanity
 
 102 ATHELSTAN, 
 
 Done for the praise of men ; to deprecate 
 
 God's wi-ath, why should we in the creature's sight 
 
 Parade a penance ? Nay, tliat fated boat 
 
 That, bearing Edwin from us, bore away 
 
 Our peace of mind, this will we have fetch'd here, 
 
 And cut sharp wedges from its wooden ribs, 
 
 And strew therewith our nightly couch, whereon 
 
 We'll lie in secret sufferance, wearing out ■ 
 
 Oin- seven years' jienance, and the wTath of Heav'n." 
 
 At this the Abbot, whose well-balanced mind 
 S;i.w a right act more righteous in a king. 
 Broke out amazed at such excess of zeal, 
 And smoothly talk'd — altliough he deem'd it true — 
 Of surplusage of merit, which his Grace 
 Would store his conscience with, and draw thereon 
 When the necessities of future sins 
 Might urge their claim, discounting piuiishment 
 For ready payment. Yet he could not choose 
 But tell another tale of brother John,
 
 ATHELSTAN, 103 
 
 And how lie sat too Ions; one wicked nis^ht 
 In sensual revelry, and di-ank and sang, 
 ^liscalculating the particular sum 
 Of merit, bought by penance ; thus he spent 
 His stock of vu-tue faster than the wine. 
 So, at the instant when the balance tiu'u'd 
 Against him, the foul fiend was heard to laugh 
 And strike him such a buffet on the cheek, 
 That he fell senseless down, and there was found 
 Horn's after, when men came to clear the room. 
 With a disorder' d di-ess, and brain that ached 
 Sharply, e'en yet, from that Satanic blow. 
 
 But seeing that the King spake not, and look'd 
 As if he heard not, the good priest thought fit 
 To cease from talking too, and next day left 
 For Malmesbury, endow' d with further gifts, 
 And therefore with more power of serving Heav'n. 
 
 Still restless thoughts held empire o'er the breast
 
 104 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Of liim who claim'd o'er more than half the isle 
 Unwavering iiile ; and Avith unquiet zeal 
 He struck out in the busy sea of life 
 For glory, and his country's furtherance. 
 
 Men oft decide upon their acts, and then 
 Deliberate on the action that is best. 
 So was the Council set at Buckingham. 
 In his most kingly robes there sat the king ; 
 His silken cloak was rich with flowers that sprang 
 In form like nature's, but which art had grown 
 Of golden substance. Eichly gilt his shoes 
 And tied with purple thongs, conceal'd the foot 
 High as the ankle, with an opening cleft 
 Along the instep's rise ; and from his side 
 In golden scabbard hung his dreadfid sword. 
 He held a sceptre on whose jewell'd top 
 A dove appear'd to flutter with soft wings ; 
 And this did ho stretch forth, indicative 
 Of mercy, when the court was merciful.
 
 ATHELSTAN, 105 
 
 A second sword lay near, huge, double-edged, 
 Which, lifted from its rest, appall'd the heart, 
 And bid hope perish 'ere the word was spoke. 
 
 Rich hangings made the walls seem garden-beds. 
 With singing-birds, and raised embroidery 
 Of flowers and fruits which wanted taste and smell. 
 And only those, to perfect the delight. 
 The blue-ey'd nobles of the land sat round 
 In their loose-flowing robes of precious silk. 
 Clasp' d at the breast by gems priced heavily, 
 With studded belts, and bracelet-girded arms. 
 And dangling chains, and crested caps, and tunics 
 That open'd high, and left the neck exposed 
 To the caresses of the light-hued hair. 
 Some wore full-lengths of finely-woven hose. 
 And bandaged cross-wise from the ankle-joint 
 Unto the knee with party-colour'd strips 
 Of cloth or leather, blending show with use. 
 They seem'd like kings, attendants on a king —
 
 106 ATHELSTAX. 
 
 A king of warriors, for in many a breast 
 
 The lieart that throbb'd there beat less joyfully 
 
 'Neath peaceful linen than a shirt of mail. 
 
 There too the Priests of Christ, of all degrees 
 
 Of decorated dignity were met, 
 
 From lowest type to metropolitan 
 
 (With the pure lamb's-wool pallium round his neck 
 
 Bearing upon white ground a bloody cross 
 
 Blest by the Papal lips that speak for Heav'n), 
 
 To poiu' the oil of concord, w^isely kind, 
 
 Over the stormy ocean of debate. 
 
 And many things they talk'd of, but the voice 
 Of Athelstan had such a dominant weight, 
 That it o'erbalanced every other man's. 
 Counsellor, carl, or mitred eminence. 
 Then, mid the rest, a charge was brought to beta* 
 Against a Saxon noble, rich and strong, 
 But not so rich he was as not to covet 
 Another's goods, and strong enough to take.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 107 
 
 So on the highways he would sally forth, 
 And when less warlike travellers ofFer'd him 
 Their worldly goods in payment for their lives, 
 He closed the bargain with a courteous haste. 
 
 The present victim to his lawless taste, 
 Was a thin pilgrim from the holy East ; 
 His cargo that was visible uppermost 
 AVas flakes of wiry hair, and yellow teeth, 
 And such-like relics of dead saints, that di'ew 
 The golden gain of Christian worshippei'S 
 To shrines which had no other sanctity. 
 The noble plunderer cast these relics out 
 With a profane toss of his weighty hand, 
 As woi-thless of regard, and then he found 
 Bottom'd upon the chest rich smuggled silk. 
 And gems, and such things which lay easily 
 In their soft bedding, and in little round 
 Wrapt up much value — these reposing lurk'd 
 Under the cover and the countenance
 
 108 ATIIELSTAN, 
 
 Of those blest remnants of mortality. 
 Calm then, tho' stern, the voice of Athelstan 
 As he gave sentence forth, that he who broke 
 The laws of England, was not fit to share 
 The honour of their making. The high court, 
 Wliere the king sat as Head, must not be soil'd 
 By least impurity of membership. 
 Whoe'er the offender be, w^hate'er his blood 
 Peer of the chiu'ch, or rooted royally. 
 
 Pity it was, in that old Parliament 
 Some great men sat whose faith and practices 
 Liked not the monarch's notions ; but they smiled 
 And fear compelled th' assent which love denied. 
 
 Then the king spoke of Eldred and his voice 
 Grew somewhat weaker, as he told how death 
 Was dealt Tipon that false conspirator. 
 And he said, " Hastily my anger sent 
 This man to his account. It was the heat
 
 ATHELSTAN. 100 
 
 Of hatred for my brother's murderer, 
 
 Which made me bm-u to antedate the voice 
 
 Of this great meeting, that would doubtless lie 
 
 In the direction where my act hath run, 
 
 But whose ask'd sanction should of right precede 
 
 The violence that takes a noble's life." 
 
 Here the brave Thanes assented with their hearts ; 
 Edwin was loved, and somebody was kill'd 
 For having kill'd him — 'twas enough, at least, 
 One victim for the present, and they clash'd 
 Their arms together for a warrior's vote. 
 Then the king added, " Hear our further thought ! 
 Of this man's goods we would allot enough 
 To buy what Natm-e asks for in the wife 
 And the young children which he left behind. 
 But for the rest, it would demean the state 
 To fatten on the price of traitorous blood — 
 The blood of him who slew her well-beloved. 
 'Twere better for his soul that it should pass
 
 110 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 To lioly xise ; that God's interpreters 
 
 ;May crave God's pardon for the man wlio met 
 
 None from his fellow-men. And so, perchance 
 
 The good he does the Church unwittingly 
 
 May balance all the voluntary ill 
 
 He did when living." Then did he announce 
 
 The names of such known haunts of sanctity 
 
 As Ripon, Malmeslniry, and Abingdon, 
 
 And others. Thcreu})on the sacred crowd 
 
 Of dignities ecclesiastical, 
 
 Knew not which most to praise, the charity 
 
 Or wisdom of the king. His counselling Thanes 
 
 Declared their voice that thus the funds shoxdd go, 
 
 Seeing no chance could give themselves a share. 
 
 But the king's eye, which had been overcast 
 Now rose and sj)arkled, as it fell on Wales 
 And Cumberland and Scotland, wlio had sent 
 Their Princes delegate and subordinate, 
 To meet the English king at Buckingham.
 
 ATHELSTAN'. Ill 
 
 Then did he speak to them in thoughtful haste, 
 
 Casting forth blame, as willing to provoke 
 
 The conduct that he blamed ; and Wales rejoined 
 
 In forced humility, that he had paid 
 
 Tribute or service, or whate'er was due. 
 
 Without declining from the bond one breadth 
 
 Of distance the most small, which might offend 
 
 The microscopic eye of Majesty, 
 
 " Nay ! but ye have not placed," cried Athelstan, 
 
 " Your hands in mine, ye tributary lords ! 
 
 And signified your mere dependency." 
 
 " We are prepared to do it " — but they stopt, 
 
 Check'd in the full confession of their speech. 
 
 For partly in premeditated wrath 
 
 Answer'd the king, and partly led away 
 
 By the occasion and the words, to feel 
 
 The anger that he feign'd, " It is an insult 
 
 To wait the ordering what is paid unask'd 
 
 By all who know their debts. When sovereigns claim 
 
 Compliance with their will, 'tis not enough
 
 112 ATHELSTAX. 
 
 That men should bend and bow, and not gainsay 
 A thing they cannot thwart — 'tis not the act 
 Suffices as the manner of its doincr. 
 To fill up the full round of reverence. 
 With scorpions will I whip you, yc proud chiefs ! 
 Until ye show a front that better fits 
 The height of my position, and your own ! " * 
 Then Wales and Cumberland grew red with rage. 
 And the words stammer'd on their lips, prepared 
 For fierce rejoinder ; but the Scottish Prince 
 With smiling speech whose outward show belied 
 The soul witliin it cried, " Be calm, good friends ! 
 King Athelstan can play the game of words 
 Better than we. But should the life be beaten 
 From tlie bruis'd body on the battle-field, 
 Words will be useless then to brave or save. 
 
 * The records of the grudging chroniclers scarcely yield sufficient 
 li^lit to guide us through tlie labyrinth of Athelstan's reign, which, 
 accordingly, is as full of obscurity as it is of glory. All tlie Saxon 
 princes, when amusement or occupation ran low, sought diligently 
 for pretexts of quarrels with their neighbours, so that Athelstan at 
 Buckingliaiii, by giving ott'ence to the Princes of AVales, Scotland, 
 and Cumberland only followed the example of Ids predecessors.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 113 
 
 We'll tiy the chance ! " And the three started up, 
 
 Defiance in their looks, and in their feet 
 
 And in their hearts a haste which grudged all time 
 
 Thrust in 'twixt thera and vengeance. Athelstan 
 
 Felt the large spirit throbbing in his breast, 
 
 While glory like a glittering siren rose 
 
 Before his eyes, and sang to him, and said, 
 
 " Great is thy country — make it greater still ! 
 
 Bright is thy fame — but brighter yet remains ! " 
 
 And the king saw no other sight than this, 
 
 And he could think no other thoughts than these.
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 i2
 
 Again at York was Atlielstan the king, 
 
 For, wisely active, he from pkace to place 
 
 Transferr'd his ruling presence. Foes must fear, 
 
 And friends be made to trust ; nivich care it takes 
 
 To keep in hand an empire won by arms. 
 
 Yet often was the royal soul diffused 
 
 With a large joy that shut out other thoughts. 
 
 As in the banquet-hall he sat, and look'd 
 
 Upon his brother-soldiers, iron men, 
 
 Who loved him with the joy which warriors feel 
 
 For those who lead them to destroy the foes 
 
 Which hatred makes, or glory simulates. 
 
 They, thus content till they again should fight, 
 
 Sat long, and di-ank to victoi'ics past, and fed
 
 118 ATHELSTAX. 
 
 With what had been the wish that long'd for more. 
 
 And, 'mong the rest, amid their wine they talk'd — 
 
 Wine pure and strong, or hotly mix'd with spice 
 
 And honey-sweeten' d — of the glorious days 
 
 When the torn hosts of Wales and Cumberland 
 
 Were scatter'd in the battle, as the wind 
 
 Scatters the spray-drops of the boastful waves ; 
 
 And the proud King of Scotland, Constantine, 
 
 Promising fealty, put his son in pawn. 
 
 For far Dunfreda saw the English troops 
 
 Stand at her walls, nor felt her battlements 
 
 Secure against their multitudinous rush ; 
 
 And the arm'd ships of Athelstan the Great 
 
 Swept through the waves, and show'd like warlike 
 
 ghosts 
 Before the startled burghers of Caithness. 
 
 At other times the soul of Athelstan 
 Was vext with thought, the thought tliat hath not fear. 
 But which would hold the future in its grasp,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 119 
 
 Yet cannot take in the whole round of it. 
 For well he knew that Anlaf of the Seas 
 'Twixt Scandinavia and the Irish coast 
 Would make a pathway, ever stirring up 
 The elemental hate of neighbourhood, 
 The love of justice, and the love of prey. 
 His Irish principality being small 
 For his outgi'own ambition, he would long 
 To seize the staff his Danish father bore, 
 And, beating down the heads of opposition, 
 Extend it o'er the men and realms of Wessex. 
 So from the settlements which struck their roots 
 In Ireland's soil, and from the Baltic shores, 
 Would rise a cry to curse the Saxon king. 
 And swell the hopes of Anlaf with its breath. 
 
 Bright was the day that saw the princely Dane 
 Embark from Ireland's hospitable coast 
 For Scandinavia's realm, where Death had set 
 A workshop up to forge the bolts of war ;
 
 liO ATHBLSTAN. 
 
 And brightei* far his liopes than when he sought 
 
 Those shores at first, the fugitive of fight, 
 
 And only not defeated in the soul 
 
 That cast misfortune from it, as the shield 
 
 Of a great chief repels the petulant darts 
 
 Hiu'l'd at him by some minor combatants. 
 
 Long troops of friends went with him to the shorc, 
 
 Fierce friends, who prized his warlike aptitudes, 
 
 And gentler ones, who loved the face and form 
 
 Of the young prince, nor less for dangers past, 
 
 And the ambitious future's prominence. 
 
 And when the ship plunged boldly on the essay 
 Of its long travel on that ocean-road, 
 Fnjm level sands, and rocky points, and heiglits 
 Of humble roofs, and rough-raised battlements, 
 C!ame shouts and wavings and the clash of arms, 
 J_,ike signals sent from wishing hearts that blest 
 That vessel's dealings with the faithless sea. 
 And proudly she, that early ship, went forth,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 121 
 
 As feeling how upon her back she bore 
 
 The heir of a gTcat fate. Slow sank the land 
 
 Behind the green convexity, and then 
 
 Each noise came fainter on the favouring wind, 
 
 And noble pennants look'd like tiny rags 
 
 Scarce seen in th' azure distance of the air. 
 
 Away, away ; and nothing now around 
 But the blue stretch of waters ; and for cheers? 
 Were ordering voices and responsive cries, 
 And creaking ropes, and the upheaving wash 
 Of parted waves — and Anlaf turned to think 
 Upon the friends he could no longer see. 
 Then, when the sun was low— a golden brooch, 
 •Joining the earth and sky — he watch'd it set 
 Royally mid a retinue of clouds 
 And the bright service of reflected light, 
 As subjects shine when monarchs smile on them. 
 Long rippled belts of sky were beautiful 
 With tints of saffron and of amethyst
 
 122 ATIIELSTAX. 
 
 Made brilliant by a surface-film of gold. 
 
 While higher up etherial cloudlets perched, 
 
 Hovcx''d like fleecy flames in the grey air. 
 
 Then faint and fainter every glory gi'ew, 
 
 And a thin darkness settling o'er the scene, 
 
 He listen'd to the waves, as if he long'd 
 
 To find a voice in their monotonous plash 
 
 To tell him of his fate. At last the moon 
 
 Rose up behind her wateiy parapet. 
 
 And look'd upon the ocean. Lines of fire 
 
 Stream'd forth from her full-bodied orb, and made 
 
 A shining pathway o'er the tremulous sea, 
 
 A road of scintillating silver, fit 
 
 For the green-vested fairies of the deep. 
 
 The happy spirit of the scene suffused 
 The breast of Anlaf, as he calmly read 
 TJie glowing sight as a good prophecy. 
 And with the night he dreamt of kingdoms won 
 Too easily for fame, and how he liv'd
 
 ATHELSTAN. 123 
 
 To rule o'er subjects loving to be ruled. 
 
 Aud all the next day through the southern winds 
 Seem'd leagued with Anlaf s hopes to speed his way — 
 The way to Fortune, never reach'd too soon. 
 On the third early morning, as the sun 
 Just lit the white tops of the dancing waves, 
 A ship was seen that had an evil look 
 In the left distance. They of Anlaf's crew 
 Fear d as they view'd it bearing down on them 
 With a sharp haste that had a threat of harm. 
 Nearer it came, and then too visible 
 Its nature was to the desponding eyes 
 Of those who felt they had no strength 1,o match 
 Its lawless prowess — yet the fear was less 
 Of dyhig, than of being forced to die 
 With but slight chance of giving death for death. 
 Thus did they see that ship, a floating curse. 
 Rapine and slaughter-freighted, prompt to turn 
 Where'er its pirate-lord, the Viking, will'd
 
 124 ATHELSTAX. 
 
 To launch it at some ocean-traveller. 
 Nearer it came, and running rajiidlj, 
 Like a fierce serpent with a hundred feet. 
 Long was its shape, and sharp, and curvingly 
 It rose with poop-deck and witli forecastle 
 Above the waters ; a gilt dragon's head 
 Shone horribly in front, and at the end 
 Its tail curl'd upwards, fold on deadlv fold. 
 Over the helmsman's head. From stem to stern 
 The rails were hung with shields of white and red, 
 Looking like scales upon the monstrous back 
 Of some sea-animal. On each side its leu-s 
 Were never still, as double banks of oars 
 Plied their quick lengths to aid the bcUvina- sails. 
 
 Defence was idle — 'twere as well for one, 
 A naked-handed man, to brave the snake 
 That in an Indian wood, witli mighty grip, 
 Wraps itself round the tiger, king of beasts, 
 And from the crack'd ribs squeezes out the life.
 
 ATHELSTAX. 125 
 
 AVhat could Prince Anlaf do ? Thought fail'd him then. 
 
 'Twere base to yield, and yet 'twas hard to die, 
 
 To perish thus, before his hand could grasp 
 
 The fruit which he had cultur'd with such care. 
 
 Thought fail'd him then, and so it seem'd to him 
 
 That his eyes fail'd him too, for on the deck 
 
 Of the strange ship now closing on its prey 
 
 He saw a man, prepar'd to head th' attack ; 
 
 A short strong man, below himself in age 
 
 One year or more — 'twas Guthforth — and the two 
 
 Soon used for brotherly regard the hands 
 
 "With which each thought to snatch the other's life 
 
 Or to protect his own. Then Guthforth cried, 
 
 " Come in good time, my brother ! I can now 
 
 Convoy thee where thou wilt, and save thy friends 
 
 From such unmannerly rovers as myself." 
 
 So Anlaf mounted on his brother's ship, 
 
 Hailing the chance that blew his fears away. 
 
 And left his scheme of empire yet unnipt. 
 
 And the two brothers, as the ship sped on
 
 126 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 To its fai- haven, talk'd of many things — 
 
 Of the nuich-varied past, and if the futui'e 
 
 Would ill good faith redeem the promises 
 
 Made for it by the present. But to all 
 
 That Anlaf urged to work on Gutliforth's love, 
 
 And lead liim to cast in his lot with his, 
 
 The other answer' d, " Brother mine, enough ! 
 
 Whene'er you wish to cross the seas I have 
 
 A good steed at your service : as for land, 
 
 I've tried it, and I hate it. Both I've tried, 
 
 Scot, Saxon — Athelstau and Constantine. 
 
 The former is the better — gives good wine, 
 
 And plenty — try it, when you mount the throne ! 
 
 But the Scot keeps a beggarly table — ah ! 
 
 Would he were here ! I'd show my gratitude, 
 
 And feed him on salt-water." Anlaf cried, 
 
 " Be serious, brother ! 'Tis an earnest thing 
 
 That we discourse of." " Serious ! " he replied, 
 
 " Serious it is to be shut up a month 
 
 And fed on cursed concoctions, — things like fat
 
 ATHELSTAN. 127 
 
 Stew'd up with entrails ! And for di-iuk — great Odin ! 
 
 Would he were here ! And what, good Anlaf, say 
 
 Would the land give me that the sea denies 1 
 
 Hei'e on my golden dragon do I sit, 
 
 Unquestion'd monarch of a widening realm, 
 
 Unbounded as we stand, and boundless still 
 
 With the advances of a thousand miles. 
 
 'Twould be a bold hand his, who'd draw the teeth 
 
 Of my salt-serpent. Should I meet a foe 
 
 To check the gallop of my ocean-stag, 
 
 My courser o'er the causeway of the deep, 
 
 The strong arm settles oiu- supremacy — 
 
 Good honest blows — and not the drivelling skill 
 
 Of cravens, which men call diplomacy. 
 
 Gods ! how I hate that devil's ability 
 
 That passes lies, like bastards, upon Truth 
 
 As theu' sworn father, who knows naught of them. 
 
 Why — half my crew could do the thing as well, 
 
 If they could stomach its sheer dirtiness ! 
 
 And then, for health 1 — We need not talk of that '.
 
 128 ATIIELSTAN. 
 
 Feel how the gale streams on our faces, pure 
 As when it started first to sweep the sea, 
 Untouch'd by man, who what he touches taints. 
 Thou seekest- power. I have it. Tltis is power, — 
 To take the storm that whistles in my face, 
 As it would blow my life out in its scorn. 
 And bind it down in chains of art, a slave, 
 To drag me o'er the waves that heave in vain 
 To overset my elemental throne. 
 My willing subjects love and fear me both, 
 And fear, too, begets love, for they can see, 
 Being wuse in their own line, that this without, 
 I could not slip them in well-order'd bands. 
 To reap the golden crops that please them most." 
 
 " Nay !" Anlaf said, "how eloquent this air 
 Hath made you ! Love that talks of what it loves, 
 Of what it loves talks well. Didst thou e'er speak 
 To Edwin of this governable sea ?" 
 And Guthforth answer'd not, but o'er his face
 
 ATHELSTAN. 129 
 
 There pass'd a thought of anger and of grief ; 
 
 But, changing mood, he cried, " Come brother Anhif, 
 
 My consort and my queen will sing the sea 
 
 And its delights, to cast my prose in shade. 
 
 I'll fetch her. When she fled away with me 
 
 From Scotland, by the gods ! I think we left 
 
 Nothing worth staying for behind, — in fact 
 
 'Tis a bleak country ; and their food — " " The song ! " 
 
 Cried Anlaf, hastily, " The song ! " And soon 
 
 The lady stept on deck ; a girl-like face 
 
 But pretty, with short figure, scarcely slim. 
 
 Her auburn tresses rivall'd in their hue 
 
 The health of her round cheek. Her look was fraught 
 
 With quiet sense, but which her eye declared 
 
 Coidd flash with passion of more kinds than one. 
 
 The water and the winds accompanied 
 
 With loving cadence her unprest-for song. 
 
 0, Love ! it is like the sea, 
 
 Which rolls as it e'er hath roU'd,
 
 130 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 So fresh in its life, so free, 
 And never tired out, nor old ! 
 To me, to me, 
 Love seems to be like the sea ! 
 
 Behold, how to it 'tis giv'n 
 
 To mix with the skies above ! 
 The sea hath the love of Heav'n, 
 And hearts have the heav'n of love. 
 To me, to me, 
 Love seems to be like the sea ! 
 
 Tho' the sea be deep, not more 
 
 'Tis so than a love that 's true, 
 And only when near the shore 
 Doth the ocean change its hue. 
 To me, to me, 
 Love seems to be like the sea ! 
 
 For the brave 'tis good to sit 
 
 On the steed of the stormy wave ; 
 So ever is Love most fit 
 
 For the joy of the good and brave. 
 To me, to me, 
 Love seems to be like the sea !
 
 ATHELSTAN. 131 
 
 ! how when the Tempest breaks, 
 
 The sea into wild life starts ! 
 So the spirit of Love awakes 
 The passion of human hearts. 
 Yes, yes, to me, 
 Love ever is like the sea ! 
 
 " A charming song ! " quoth Anlaf ; " yet I trust 
 Love is not like the sea, which wanders much. 
 And hugs a hundred shores in its embrace." 
 Here Guthforth smiled, and shook his head ; but she, 
 The sovereign of his heart, both smiled and frown'd. 
 
 And so the brothers talk'd from day to day, 
 Quaffing sea-air, 'till Scandinavia's coast 
 Rose like a darkness on the northern wave : 
 Then, as more near the golden dragon crept, 
 The cloud resolved itself in form of land — 
 Round rocky hills, upon whose sides the pine 
 Made the dark thickness of a tangled wood 
 Going down to meet the shore, where blocks detach'd 
 
 K 2
 
 132 ATHELSTAX. 
 
 From mountain-masses lay in sullen strength, 
 
 Wounding the ground in their indignant fall. 
 
 Close by the coasts low stony islets ran, 
 
 Set there like outworks to resist th' attack 
 
 Of the loud-surging armies of the deep. 
 
 'Twixt main and islands, intcrthreading rocks 
 
 And topping stone-mounds, flow'd th' impetuous sea. 
 
 Thus, land and waters look'd as shaken up 
 
 By the world's Maker, and then cast abroad 
 
 To settle down in chance companionship 
 
 And intermixture of their elements. 
 
 Near where a heap of jagged rock shot up 
 From a smooth rounded base, an index-mark 
 To point the passage, Guthforth sought the shore, 
 Follow'd by Anlaf ; then they wound their way 
 Into the wild recesses of the land. 
 A rugged way it was ; a harrow cleft 
 'Twixt lofty cliffs that rose on either hand 
 Like adamantine walls to the bleak sky.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 133 
 
 Over their summits ice-cold torrents fell, 
 And, plunging down from slielf to rocky shelf. 
 Were dash'd thereby into a watery dust. 
 Below, a rapid stream rush'd quarrelling 
 With stocks and stones that loiter' d in its path 
 Like idlers in a flood of working men ; 
 Whde birch and alder, richly arch'd o'erhead 
 In noisy canopies, sway'd to and fro 
 Before the gusty onsets of the wind. 
 
 At length the two were met by messengers 
 Who knew of Anlafs coming, and by these 
 The royal pair were welcomed royally 
 And made a Danish noble's well-fed guests. 
 There too they rested, each on skin-clad couch. 
 And di'eamt, the one of captiu-es made at sea. 
 The other of an empire won on land. ■'' 
 
 * History is sparing of its revelations respecting the heroic North- 
 umbrian Anlaf, who made the crown totter on the head of Athel- 
 stan, and perhaps was only prevented by accident from placing it 
 on worthier brows. It was his misfortune that he aimed at victory 
 tlu-ough the' swords of the Danes, who had grown to be so hated in
 
 134 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 And after busy days, the war-horns woke 
 Tlio country round, and unto every spot 
 Where knots of men, in rude companionship, 
 Were chister'd into dwellings, arrows split 
 Into four parts, were sent, as summoning 
 A full assembly to be held in arms. 
 Strange were the counsellors that gather'd there 
 To that fierce parliament, and less th' intent 
 In long debate to moot the right of war, 
 Thau hear, in fieiy phraseology. 
 Excuse for doing what they long'd to do. 
 
 Tall, wiry, handsome-featured, somewhat slight, 
 The warrior-nobles sat or stood in bands, 
 Conversing in quick speech, and strengthening 
 Their arguments with action, most like blows 
 Struck at a foeman ; nor were wanting there 
 
 Enprland for their multiplied atrocities, that justice itself would 
 have been detested if upheld by them. Yet it seems probable that 
 Anlaf had no other choice, since his Irish and Scotch allies, though 
 brave, were insufficient in numbers to encounter the force of England 
 under Athelstan.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 135 
 
 Men of more low degree, all lesser ranks 
 
 Who could wear ai'ms, and understood their use. 
 
 'Twas a large plain, if plain it might be call'd, 
 That was not mountainous, but merely ridged 
 By rough projecting moimds, or lengthwise seam'd 
 By stony hollows. Ancient trees grew there, 
 Dumb witnesses of um-emember'd deeds. 
 And stretch'd from branch to branch, or pole to pole, 
 Sail-canvass form'd an awning ; never yet 
 Were heads so countless cover'd by a roof. 
 And Anlaf stood upon a rise, and look'd 
 With thi'obbing heart on his compatriots, ranged 
 Before his eyes, a very sea of men, 
 Now still, in living undulations mass'd. 
 And lifting up his right hand, thus he spake. 
 
 " Ye are my countrymen, and therefore brave. 
 True Danes ye are, and surely therefore just. 
 And whensoever Justice sees the right,
 
 136 ATIIELSTAN, 
 
 It rests with Valour to redress the wrong. 
 What are my rights 1 Is tlicre a father here 
 Whose son hath been despoil' d by violence 1 
 Is there a son amongst you whose sire died 
 A death that brave men die not willingly ? 
 Then can they feel why I, unskill'd to scatter 
 The flowers of speech, hold up the naked truth 
 As the broad banner for our gathering. 
 Brave countrymen, how rich is England ! Yet 
 I would not urge you on that bad pretence, 
 Not e'en to conquer back the Danish wealth 
 Sack'd by the Saxon soldieiy at York. 
 But follow me 'gainst him who made himself 
 A king by killing, — a most cruel brother, — 
 Who wash'd his hands in nearest kinsmen's blood, 
 And cried, ' Now am I pure to govern well. 
 Having slain all who would have govern'd worse.' 
 Cursed logic ! Where is ^Jfred ?— Ethelwald ? 
 Where Edwin ? Ask the poison and the knife, 
 And the impervious prison of the sea.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 137 
 
 Usurper ! Faithless friend ! and bastard son ! 
 Why, friends, how many names hath Athelstan 
 To cause your passion rise, and deal on him 
 A separate death for separate infamies 1 
 'Tis not a common thing for Denmark's sons 
 To let their kingdoms suffer hard assault, 
 Thieves take their riches off, and tyrants send 
 Their princes to unprincely banishment, — 
 And shall it be so now ? Let him who likes 
 Commence the custom ! Hear me, countrymen ! 
 I swear by yon round candle of the gods 
 That lights up their empyreal palaces, 
 I do not call you to this bath of blood, 
 To raise the smoke of horse-hoofs from the soil. 
 To bid your bow-strings loose the birds of war. 
 On the mere hope to reap the crop of spoil 
 In an unjust contention ; but when right 
 Hallows the march of Danish armaments, 
 Then will I speak of England's wondrous wealth. 
 Her own self-got, and what her hands have robb'd
 
 138 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 From others, Scotland, Wales, and Cumberland, 
 And your own unforgotten countr;yTnen ! 
 Behold the ample j)rey, whose choicest part, 
 If each man had ten hands, would baffle him 
 To hold it, after he has di'opt the sword 
 Red with the day's long work, and well content 
 E'en if it won no other prize than that 
 More rich than all, the life-blood of a foe ! " 
 
 Low murmuring cries, as Anlaf spake, kept growling 
 Like the far mutters of advancing clouds 
 Instinct with lightning, bursting, when he ceased. 
 Into a roar of voices, never heard 
 But when hearts flash wdth feeling, and the lips 
 Follow in thunder of articulate sounds. 
 Chiefs, upon oval shields rang out their joy, 
 Dashing their lance-heads on them, or held high 
 To Heav'n their war-anticipating swords. 
 And at the instant the clear sun shone out 
 On opposite rain-clouds, turning their round drops
 
 ATHELSTAN. 139 
 
 To colour' d crystals, and a mighty arch 
 Sprang like a bridge of triple hues from earth 
 To make a roadway for immortal hopes. 
 
 And Anlaf trembled with delight to think 
 That from this prosperous sowing of the soil 
 Would spring the harvest of a great success. 
 So on from hour to hour, and day to day, 
 Active he strove and thought ; and passing back 
 To Ireland, stuT'd the flame there, fanning it 
 With argument of honour, and the love 
 Of mere excitement, and the hope of prey. 
 Then once again to Scandinavian laud, 
 That bred his kith and kin, to organise 
 The elements of aid, and shape and strengthen 
 Th' ideas, and loves, and hatreds, upon which 
 He based the unknown future of his hope. 
 Next, soon as order grew, and men and arms 
 Roll'd to the sea-coast, where the ships lay tied 
 Like beasts of biu'den, ready pack'd to bear
 
 140 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 His fierce supporters, slowly from the mist 
 That ever hides what yet remains undone, 
 The throne of Wessex seem'd to shine, like light 
 Diffused in cloudy splendour thi'oixgh a fog. 
 
 And when at sea, how Anlaf tried in joy 
 To count the ships that seem'd as numberless 
 As were the waves on which they rose and fell. 
 Upon each deck a part of all the hopes 
 On which he lived was carried to the goal. 
 And, day by day, from out th' uncertain line 
 Of the horizon, topmasts rear'd their heads 
 Adom'd with pennants, slowly, till the hulls 
 Roll'd up like bodies of huge ocean-beasts 
 Leaving their dens for breath of fresher air. 
 Each one with sails display'd, and flashing oars, 
 Converged its course upon the central fleet. 
 Helping to swell those savage elements 
 Of war and rapine. So may torrents dash'd 
 From rocky heights seek some great river's moutli
 
 ATHELSTAN. 141 
 
 To fill its foaming jaws, till they disgorge 
 In the deep sea their stormy aggregate. 
 
 Nor then was Ireland wanting in her love 
 And hate, for Anlaf, and for Athelstan. 
 Some fifty vessels saUied from her ports 
 With such a crowd of boisterous combatants, 
 One might have fear'd they left themselves no noise 
 To greet the gaining of a victoiy. 
 And as the fleet drew near the English coast, 
 They saw long lines of dust, and, borne by winds. 
 Heard distant thunders of tumultuous men 
 As if in motion — 'Twas the gather'd force 
 Of Wales and Cumberland and Scotland, pour'd 
 Along the shore-way to that miglity flood 
 Of war to add its tributary stream. 
 And Anlaf felt and look'd, and look'd and felt, 
 And every sight and every thought inflamed 
 His spirit till it glow'd. His right hand stretch' d, 
 As if in vision, shook in ail* — not more
 
 142 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 It would have trembled had it held a crowu. 
 
 From time to time, borne chance-ways from the sea, 
 There came these tidings unto Athelstau 
 Of how the wave grew larger, night by niglit, 
 To overwhelm his empire, and to leave 
 Himself a wreck upon the wasted shore. 
 Therefore the wary leader held at York 
 The council and the feast, and gather'd force 
 To mate with force, and strengthen' d all defence 
 To break the onfall of the barbarous tide. 
 
 Naught for a foe of earth cared Athelstan ; 
 And as he raised the bowl up to his lips 
 To drink confusion to the Danish dogs, 
 There came in one who brought an arrow, wrapt 
 With a thin strip of paper — shot, he said, 
 Into the camp, and found there, plunging deep 
 Its iron shod beneath the soil, and bound 
 Beneath the feathers with what seem'd to him
 
 ATHELSTAN. 143 
 
 A written letter ; but he could not read, 
 
 Though he could fight, and boast of noble blood. 
 
 Then the king took the paper, on whose back 
 
 Was writ, " To the usurper Athelstan !" 
 
 Within, short phrase, but meaning many things — 
 
 " My right to England's throne is Edwin's death." 
 
 "Again !" cried Athelstan, and o'er his face 
 
 There pass'd, soon vanishing, the look of him 
 
 Who fears lest he be thought to fear, and next 
 
 Wrath with himself for having worn that look. 
 
 Then, crumpling up the paper he exclaim' d, 
 
 " He must be here, and near — search ! — Nay, no matter ! 
 
 'Twould take a hundred princes of his breed 
 
 To shake the popular throne of Athelstan ! 
 
 Fool ! doth he think that 'tis for him or his 
 
 These Danish hell-hounds whet the teeth of war 1" 
 
 Next falling thoughtful, "Would he were alive !" 
 
 He said, and sigh'd in short sincerity. 
 
 " Why ever thus 1 — a useless obstacle 
 
 In the mid-stream of action ! — Died he not
 
 144 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 By his own act ?" And as his voice gi'ew louder 
 Uttering the last words, some one near him cried — 
 It boots not who ; a king knows many sxich — 
 " Yom' grace says true ; he died " — But Athelstan 
 Spake sharply, shamed of having shown his shame, 
 "AVho ask'd tliee for thy speech?"; and then there 
 
 came 
 A second messenger, who told how ships 
 Descried from heights upon the eastern coasts 
 Blacken' d the distant waves, more numerous 
 Than ever yet, since Scandinavia sent 
 Her first-born hordes to settle where they liked 
 And plunder where they pleased. No trace of thought 
 Stiniggling to hide its bitterness now blurr'd 
 The open mirror of the royal face, 
 AVhence was reflected to examining eyes 
 The boldness that tiu"ns danger to a joy. 
 Short answer made the kiug. " Thus will we break 
 The power of Denmark," and he snapt in twain 
 The arrow which he held, and brake again
 
 ATHELSTAN. 145 
 
 Each bit into two other bits, and cast 
 
 The fragments from him with a passionate scorn. 
 
 The broad-mouth' d Humber* rolls its waves, full-fed 
 By friendly waters, tributes from the lands 
 That bend aroiuid, and stretching like the boughs 
 Of some huge tree (more great than those that grew 
 When men were giants) which has fallen to earth, 
 And bare of leaves the aged ruin lies. 
 So doth it roll till Saltfleet and Spurnhead, 
 Like watchmen on their towers, behold it pass 
 Into the life of Ocean and there die. 
 
 * The Humber may justly be regarded as among the most histo- 
 rical of England's streams, suice it was iuto its broad mouth that 
 aU the buccaneeriag rascaldom of the North poured theii- fnry and 
 thii-st of plunder, down to the day in which the sons of Sweyn, 
 contemporary with Harold, the son of Godwin, brought doubtful 
 and treacherous aid to the patiiots cooped up in the fens. Yet our 
 national geographers have scarcely been at sufScient pains to explore 
 and poiut out the spots on which our ancestors bled to preser\-e the 
 independence of their country. Thrasymene and Allia, the Granicus, 
 Cunaxa and Gaugamela, have employed and exhausted the learning 
 of a hundi-ed antiquarians ; while Fulford-gate, Stamford on the 
 Dei-went, and Brunnaburgh, are enveloped in almost mythical 
 obscurity. A volume of profound interest might still be written on 
 the topography of the Humber and its tributaries.
 
 146 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 The sun was sinking low, beset by clouds 
 
 Fastening upon tlie brightness of his beams, 
 
 Which struggled through them, shooting whitely up 
 
 Like rays from a colossal coronet. 
 
 Part of the scene was cast in shade by hiUs, 
 
 But through the open, the high-tided waters 
 
 Shone with small light from the descending globe ; 
 
 And brokenly they shone, as through them plunged 
 
 The cruel keels of twelve times fifty ships, 
 
 The vehicles of an invading hate. 
 
 Such were the floating thrones, that, wheel'd on waves 
 
 And drawn in triumph by the storm-winds, bore 
 
 The sovereigns of the sea — not gentle kings, 
 
 With gorgeous robes, in lamp-lit palaces, 
 
 But clad in strong coarse garments, to repel 
 
 The tempest and the battle ; treading floors 
 
 That heaved as heaves the many-headed deep. 
 
 While the hiofh roof above them sometimes shone 
 
 Spotted with mild magnificence of stars, 
 
 Sometimes with lightning seam'd, whose jagged glare
 
 ATHELSTAN. 147 
 
 Could blind the eyes that never wink'd at death. 
 The thunder was their music as it peal'd, 
 Or clash of hostile arms ; or softer sound 
 Of money chinking on the deck, and dropt 
 In thankfulness for being allow'd to live. 
 
 For Dane and Norseman now, with Ireland's chiefs 
 And Scot and Kymrian leagued, have sworn an oath 
 Upon their golden bracelets to avenge 
 The death of Sihtric upon Athelstan ; 
 And to reseat the sou where erst the sire 
 Sat royally, and to prolong that seat 
 (If force and numbers do their wonted work) 
 Unto the Saxon's native empiry. 
 
 The blast that di-ove the war-ships, symbolised 
 The stormy ruin brooding o'er the land. 
 Upon each vessel's prow, a lion's head 
 Grinn'd horribly, or a fierce dragon there 
 Spread its unnatural and insulting wings ; 
 
 l2
 
 148 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 While bulls and monsters of the sea display'd, 
 In clumsy yet repulsive portraiture, 
 The people's pow'r to do the thing they loved, 
 For they loved fighting, and they fought too well. 
 Birds on the creaking top-masts seem'd to hover 
 In flight for England, and with outstretch'd beaks 
 Clamour for food. To many a ship were hung, 
 High round its sides, the batter' d shields that yet 
 Had not unlearnt their work, and could confront 
 The battle and the blow. Near, nearer came 
 Those di-eadful hulls — and w^arriors sprang to land, 
 Which did recoil from the unmannerly tread 
 That lighted on its breast. Each savage chief 
 Who found his feet sink in the loamy earth, 
 Dug his stout javelin in its depths to stay 
 His goings o'er the soil he call'd his own. 
 His thirsty followers pour'd like countless troops 
 Of wild dogs, pitiless and infuriate, 
 With hard gaunt bodies, patient to endure, 
 And whose keen spirits scent the distant blood.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 149 
 
 Soon was the whole land strew' d confusedly 
 With bow and battle-axe and two-edged sword, 
 Nail-studded club, and sling, and iron shield, 
 And men scarce softer than the arms they bore. 
 
 Nor did the Saxon king forget his trust, 
 Now, in the empire's peril, and he sent 
 A chosen army to dispel the clouds 
 Of this invasion, and to crush the hordes 
 Whose life was battle, and whose love was spoil. 
 There on the Deira's edge, and on the front 
 Of Northern Mercia they encamp' d, and stood 
 Rock-like, and offering their firm breasts to bar 
 The incursive tide, whose fast-approaching roar 
 Was as the shout of warriors ere they strike. 
 
 And many were the foes of Athelstan 
 Who raised their heads and hopes up, crying out 
 " Now is the hour for crime to pay the price 
 At which it bought success." And ev'n his friends
 
 150 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Found now the soil of danger breed a crop 
 
 Of fears and doubts, and thoughts ne'er thought before 
 
 O'ercloud the noon of their opinion. 
 
 But neither friend nor enemy dared speak 
 
 A doubt or fear in presence of the king ; 
 
 And e'en their looks grew brighter as they gazed 
 
 On the untroubled spirit in his face, 
 
 That lit it, as the sun some fortress-tow'r 
 
 That stands before th' assaulting catapult, 
 
 And, careless of the stones and fiery daii;s 
 
 Flung at it, looks from its superior crown 
 
 In quiet strengih upon the brawling foe.
 
 BOOK V.
 
 Not far from York there spread a patch of ground 
 Sloping on all sides slightly to a depth 
 Not greater than a warrior helmeted 
 Would measure from his crest. The soil below 
 Was circular in shape, and soft and green, 
 And through it, with scarce sensible wave, there flow'd 
 A streamlet, cool and silent as the hour. 
 It was the hour when healthy laboiu' rests, 
 And e'en ambition seeks to brace its strength 
 For larger struggles ; when the bad and good 
 Do good, or evil, only in their dreams. 
 The hero's arm lay harmless by his side ; 
 They too his victims with to-morrow's light 
 Were happy in their last repose. The world
 
 154 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Was sleeping, and its great breast gently heaved 
 
 In rise and fall, as if the day ne'er broke 
 
 Its peace with care, nor startled it by crime. 
 
 Yet in this little spot, dead seemingly 
 
 To thought and motion, there was waking life. 
 
 'Twas night, not merely by prescriptive right 
 For lovers' meetings, when the pale moon hears 
 All the delightful nothings that yo\uig hearts 
 Pour, in their deep unreasoning passion, forth. 
 Yet were there young hearts here, but secrecy 
 Was unto them a vital element ; 
 And the revealing moon, that would have told 
 Their presence to unfriendly eyes, was hid 
 Beneath the Earth. So, by the touch of hands, 
 And by the sound of voices and of sighs. 
 And by the instinct of discerning love, 
 Did the twain know that each was nearest that 
 Which of all life tlic other most desired. 
 " It may not be," said Bertha, " must not be.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 155 
 
 Foe unto him, the monarch whom I serve — 
 
 Nay, speak not of his faults, or call them crimes — 
 
 Stranger to Him, the God whom I adore, 
 
 And present here to loose the cm-se of war 
 
 Upon the homes of my ancestral land. 
 
 How can I mate with thee ? how fly with thee. 
 
 And fly from king, from country, and from Heav'nl" 
 
 "Nay ! Thou mistakest. Bertha !" cried the youth, 
 
 " To fly with me is not, I trust my gods. 
 
 To fly from king or country, for I hope 
 
 To make thy country mine, and raise up thee 
 
 To be the Queen which nature made thee for ; 
 
 In all things wilt thou gain — the man thou lov'st 
 
 Will be the imcrowji'd sovereign of thy heart, 
 
 And kingly reverence only deepen love : 
 
 Thy countiy will be thine by double right, 
 
 For thou shalt ride it, and shalt do it good 
 
 In an exact proportion to thy rule. 
 
 And for thy God — why keep him, and take mine ! 
 
 I am content, so thou and they agxee."
 
 156 ATIIELSTAN, 
 
 Then, as he felt the maiden's hand relax 
 
 Beneath this lightness — " Bertha ! pardon me. 
 
 Thou canst not think, knowing me as thou dost, 
 
 That, having all thy earthly faith as man, 
 
 I could in jealous cruelty forbid 
 
 The adoration of an unseen God !" 
 
 " But to live bound," said Bertha, " live so bound ; 
 
 Be one with one whose creed is not my creed. 
 
 To feel that part as 'twere of my own self 
 
 Will co-exist with me but some few years, 
 
 And then be sever'd for all ages, far 
 
 As is thy Heav'n from mine !" "Again reflect," 
 
 Eejoin'd her lover with severer voice, 
 
 " There is a passage somewhere in the book 
 
 Thou boldest as the Volume of the "World, 
 
 Which says the emng husband may be caught 
 
 And chain'd to Wisdom like a rock, by her 
 
 Who loves like him, but thinks more holily." 
 
 She answer'd not, but to the darkness sigh'd 
 
 So strangely, and with meaning that convey'd
 
 ATHELSTAN. 157 
 
 The love of man, and love of God, and doubt 
 
 Of her own pow'r for good, with shy distrust 
 
 Of woman's ai-guments ; and then the thought 
 
 Of serving Heav'n came uppermost, as if 
 
 Deep at the root no human passion lay. 
 
 But, starting from her trance, she rapidly 
 
 Exclaim' d, "Yet hear ! 'Tis said thou hast for wife 
 
 A daughter of the Scottish Constantino. 
 
 A Chi'istian woman may not part her love, 
 
 And give a heart in half for half a heart !" 
 
 " Bertha !" he answer' d — " Bertha ! trust me here. 
 
 When men stretch out their unassisted hands 
 
 To pull a king from off" his throne, and seat 
 
 Themselves thereon, 'twill fall upon and crush 
 
 Th' invaders into dust ; and so they need 
 
 A lift from foreign aid. Honour alike 
 
 And prudence bind me to conceal the bond 
 
 I made with Scotland — Bertha ! trust me here, 
 
 I swear by — nay, thou wilt not trust my gods. 
 
 By thy own true divinity I swear
 
 158 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 I will not wed thee, will not pray thee wed me, 
 
 Unless I be as pure from earthly tie 
 
 As is the whitest angel in thy Heav'n. 
 
 Dost thou believe me ? " " Freely," auswer'd she, 
 
 " I do believe thee, else 1 could nut love. 
 
 There is no falsehood in thy heart, so none 
 
 Can issue to thy tongue ; but — but !" — and then 
 
 The youth grew passionate in his plea, as seeing 
 
 That time was short, and that in that short time 
 
 Lay aU his hope of her who unto him 
 
 Was as the kingdom of Northumbria — 
 
 "Love ! trust ! what would' st thou more 1 a name which 
 
 deeds 
 Will illustrate yet beyond the rank I drew 
 From my own father's royal marriage-bed ? 
 And what opposes 1 — thy allegiance 
 To a usurping murderer's bastardy ! 
 Thy country, fixith, friends — keep them all, and gain 
 Myself beside, thy subject and thy king ! 
 0, Bertha ! who am 1 1 I am not changed
 
 ATHELSTAN, 159 
 
 From that bright day — it was not night as now — 
 
 When first I met thee in my father's halls. 
 
 Thou dost remember when I woo'd thee there, 
 
 And from thy silence and thy trembling drew 
 
 A happy omen, more than from thy words. 
 
 I did beseech thee but to breathe my name 
 
 Familiarly, as one who Hked the sound ; 
 
 And thou didst fear to do it, I being by, 
 
 But pledged thy promise to me, when I went. 
 
 To send it after my departing steps. 
 
 Then, with thy head aside, in half-heard tones, 
 
 As I retreated, thou didst whisper ' Anlaf !' 
 
 And further off, as slowly, slowly going, 
 
 I heard ' dear Anlaf ! ', round the senseless air 
 
 That bore such words, I threw my arms to kiss 
 
 The impalpable sweetness of that atmosphere ! 
 
 Come with me. Bertha ! Come, and grow more bold. 
 
 And grow more happy too." But Bertha spake not. 
 
 The hand of night conceal'd the thoughts that past 
 
 Across her face in short conyulsive change.
 
 160 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 But there was heard the trembling of her limbs, 
 Shaking her garments, from the head-rail clasp'd 
 Round neck and shoulder, fold o'er silken fold, 
 Down to the nether kirtle at her feet. 
 And then there came a low small resolute voice. 
 As one might breathe who hath made up his mind 
 To leave a home which he delights in, " Aulaf ! 
 My heart is sad — alas ! that good intents 
 Should fail to cheer it ! Reasons I have none. 
 And yet I feel that in the circumstance 
 Of place and faith wherein thou art, dear friend, 
 I cannot go with thee — 0, suffer me ! 
 Suffer a woman to piu'sue the right 
 In the straight line of sensitive conscience, 
 AATio cannot deviate into proof to show 
 That what she does is what she ought to do." 
 Short space she cast herself on him and wept 
 As if she'd wash her heart into his arms ; 
 Then, with an effort, sprang from him, and fled 
 Into the still dark solitude secm-e.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 161 
 
 He stood and spake not. His proud spirit bow'd 
 
 Unto the fate he felt had hold on him ; 
 
 And, with a sigh, he turij'd reluctantly 
 
 From the dear spot where she so late had stood. 
 
 And follow'd Glory, looking back on Love, 
 
 Long upon Denmark's warlike multitude 
 The mom had risen, to stir both hands and hearts. 
 Far from the river had they camp'd, but yet 
 Sighting their ships, upon a rising ground, 
 Harder and bare, and broken on its face 
 By ridges gently sloping from the plain. 
 In the near distance, amid every pause, 
 When pause there was of soldiers and their arms, 
 The wind made moaning in the trees that htmg 
 Upon the backs of the low round-topp'd hills. 
 As if the voice of nature moum'd to see 
 Green England wasted by barbaric tread. 
 
 The sun was ventming on his height of noon ; 
 
 M
 
 162 ATHELSTAN, 
 
 Round the whole camp a motley wall was raised 
 Of baggage and of waggons, placed with art 
 To most encumber an advancing foe. 
 Beneath huge caldrons on sticks intercross' d, 
 There crackled waving fires, and water hiss'd 
 To cook the flesh of horses for the feast. 
 In other parts swine roasted whole invoked 
 Applauding comment from the crowds who meant 
 To draw on glutted appetite for strength 
 To kill their foemen as they kill'd their food. 
 Horns of a size commensurate with the thirst 
 Of strong-limb'd warriors, whose all-day delight 
 Lay under open skies, in war, and games 
 That mimick'd best their fierce original, 
 Leant, ready to be fill'd with wine or ale, 
 'Gainst stones heap'd up, or dark unleafy bush. 
 
 In circles ranged upon the ground tliey sat 
 For serious drinking ; as they fought they drank, 
 A savage grandeur signalised the scene
 
 ATHELSTAN. 163 
 
 Of these bold pirates thus enjoying life 
 Before they took or lost it — better far 
 For them the latter, than to rest in peace 
 Beneath the shade of meditative ease, 
 Or in ill- flavour' d room, to wear away 
 The dingy days, and rob the nights of sleep 
 In a monotonous movement of the hands. 
 Earning scant pittance as the slaves of trade. 
 
 But ere the joy of hunger kill'd itself 
 In eating till Time bid it live again, 
 Again to die in ceaseless interchange. 
 They made all ready for a sacrifice 
 To the gi-eat god, from out whose nostril flows 
 The breath that fans the lurid flame of fight — 
 That fierce divinity whose welcome draws 
 The heroes, battle-slain, within the halls 
 Of his Heaven-founded palace, there to feast 
 On an unperishiug similitude 
 Of eai'thly food, and everlasting wine. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 ATHELSTAN, 
 
 Stones three times seven, the largest sought and 
 
 found 
 Upon that foreign soil, they placed around, 
 Endwise, and in a mystic circle ranged. 
 Within this rude and temporary fane 
 A high-priest led the war-horse ; proudly he 
 Stood with his ears stitch'd up, and nostrils slit, 
 His training this in battle's bloody school. 
 A well-directed hatchet-blow let out 
 The life-blood from his temple, down he sank 
 On the red ground amid applauding shouts. 
 Then was the flesh cut up, and boil'd in haste ; 
 And the priest seized the largest piece with tongs 
 Offering it to his god ; next, dipt a brush 
 In the warm gore yet welling from the wound, 
 And sprinkled it upon the people round, 
 A baptism of slaughter, making them 
 Worthy of Heaven, strong, bravo and merciless. 
 Thereon each chieftain held his weapon high, 
 And cried " Great Odin ! sanctify thy sons.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 165 
 
 Strong hands, and fearless hearts, these please thee 
 
 most; 
 Make us to please thee. Ancient father ! make 
 Our hands to strike, our hearts to fear no stroke ! " 
 
 A flash of lightning lit the southern sky, 
 But not a voice of thunder follow' d it. 
 And from, the heaven, which cloudless was and clear, 
 A few thick rain-di-ops on the sacrifice 
 Fell heavily — the omen pleased them not, 
 And gloomily they stood with arms deprest. 
 
 Then from the ranks stept forth the prophetess, 
 Helna, tall, young, and fiercely beautiful. 
 Rolling her wild eye o'er the sullen crowds. 
 She seem'd to pierce the future, and to link 
 The present life with it, like fruit and seed. 
 A silken tunic mystically work'd 
 With dark blue characters, of strange device. 
 Upon a yellow ground, begirt her form
 
 166 ATHELSTAX, 
 
 Beneath the heaving bosom to the knees. 
 
 A kind of robe hung, vcil-Hke, for one side 
 
 From the left shoulder, tightly gather'd there 
 
 To a small silver arrow, and thence flow'd 
 
 Down to the ankle. Her dismantled locks 
 
 Now hid, and now reveal'd her naked breasts 
 
 With each impassion'd gesture, as the clouds 
 
 Wind-harass'd show and liide th' alternate moon. 
 
 A circlet intermix'd of thorns and gold 
 
 Bound her high forehead like a diadem. 
 
 " Poor measure this," she cried disdainfully, 
 
 " Ye give to Odin ! this too on the eve 
 
 Of a great battle, which should send your names 
 
 Yet higher up on valour's catalogue. 
 
 The flesh of horses is a common thing 
 
 To fill the nostrils of divinity. 
 
 On great occasions when ye ask for much. 
 
 Ye must give much, and buy your dearest wish 
 
 By an exceeding worth of sacrifice. 
 
 Hark ! to the god now thund'ring from the sky,
 
 ATHELSTAir. 167 
 
 And asking human blood — male blood, and young — 
 Give it him, men ! and prosper — give it not, 
 Then let fear occupy your cheeks, let fear 
 Inspire your feet to fly that final shame 
 When the bold Saxons shall rush forth on you, 
 And whip you to your ships, like vagrant dogs 
 That quit their kennels without sufferance ? " 
 
 If those i-ude warriors wanted argument 
 For such an offering, they could find it there 
 In flashing eye, and Heaven-appealing arm. 
 And lip so tremidous with scorn, it seem'd 
 To warn off love from coming near to it. 
 " Blood ! human blood ! " they shouted ; and then 
 
 chose 
 Seven candidates — they term'd them so — to stand 
 On their election to this glorious death. 
 Among the rest a pi-etty youth there was. 
 Scarce sixteen summers on his head had shower' d 
 Richness of light and colour, and his heart
 
 168 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Beat visibly in his breast, as if it knew 
 Too little of life's worthlessness as yet 
 To risk the loss of it contentedly. 
 He look'd as feeling where the lot would fall, 
 He look'd as thinking how his mother's shrieks 
 Would hail the vision of this awful chance — 
 This teri'ible lot — and so it fell on him 
 As he had felt, and then he felt no more. 
 Closing his eyes he fainted to the earth, 
 And thence they lifted him, and bore him off 
 To kill again what seem'd akeady dead. 
 Then in the centre of the stone-faced ring, 
 They raised a broader stone, with rounded top, 
 To be the bloody altar upon which 
 To offer up this precious fruit of hfe, 
 One seed of murder to secure a crop. 
 Upon the stone they set the senseless boy ; 
 Close by him stood the priest — and lifting up 
 An iron hammer high, three times he pray'd, 
 Crying " Hear, Odin, and accept ! " A clash
 
 ATHELSTAX. 169 
 
 Of beaten arms from all the wan-iors near, 
 
 Gave horrible assent, and woke the child 
 
 From his most happy trance. With large wild eyes 
 
 He shriek' d, as seeing aU his fate, revived 
 
 Only to die again ; and round the knees 
 
 Of the hard priest he threw his delicate arms — 
 
 Embrace the stone, poor fool ! and bid it weep. 
 
 No answer gave the priest ; but raising up 
 
 His hand to Heav'n, commenced his second prayer. 
 
 Just then a man, with half his armour on, 
 
 And hot with travel, spurr'd his panting horse 
 
 Through the thick crowds into the centre ring. 
 
 'Twas Anlaf — as he motion'd to the priest 
 
 To stop that cruel death, his war-steed bent 
 
 Its noble head, and snift at the poor boy 
 
 Upon the stone, scarce knowing what it was, 
 
 That trembhng thing, but which his instinct taught 
 
 Was made for pity ; and thus Anlaf spake. 
 
 " Short time, my friends ! and then the battle-horn 
 
 Will call to fight with a resisting foe.
 
 Ho ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Is it a good beginuiug to such end 
 
 To slaughter one who hath no furniture 
 
 Of self-defence, and him a countryman ? 
 
 Great Odin's hall, ye hold it for a truth, 
 
 Will oj^en to feast those, and only those, 
 
 Who fall in combat 'neath a warrior's sword. 
 
 And would ye slay a youth who yet may live 
 
 To do gi-eat deeds to raise the name of Denmark, 
 
 And die bemoan'd of earth, and loved of Heav'n — 
 
 Loved most by him whom now ye think to serve, 
 
 Yet rob him of a worthy worshipper 1 
 
 Give me this life, brave men ! and let me boast 
 
 This happy prelude to still better things, 
 
 And by Northumbria's long-sought crown I swear, 
 
 And by my hate of English Athelstan, 
 
 That I will yield myself a sacrifice 
 
 Unto this coward mallet, shoidd I fail 
 
 To give our Odin ten grown lives in change 
 
 For this poor child's — ten Saxons fairly slain. 
 
 Those victims, friends ! most please the god of war,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 171 
 
 Made in the field on which he looks fi'om high 
 
 To see the game of life play'd gallantly, 
 
 "When soldiers risk the loss of what they strive 
 
 To win from others, sword defying sword, 
 
 Strength pressing strength, and man opj)osed to man !" 
 
 O'er Helna's face what shades of feeling swept, 
 As thus the young Prince spake — more bold it was 
 To speak such words, than front a hundred foes. 
 " He loves a Christian !" with a mutter'd hate 
 She cried, then look'd upon him steadily. 
 But hated less the longer that she look'd. 
 And as a film of ice, form'd hastily, 
 Melts at the upright aspect of the sun, 
 So softer feelings flow'd in life and wai'mth 
 Before the noble ai'doiu' of his face. 
 Slowly toward the stone she stept, and raised 
 The boy from off it, bidding him depart ; 
 And the stern soldiers, wisely smiling, said, 
 That only Anlaf, with his sui-plusage
 
 172 
 
 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Of bravery and of beauty, could have touch' d 
 The haughty spirit of the Prophetess. 
 
 But the young boy, before he went, fell down 
 A.t Anlaf s feet, and ask'd to be his slave ; 
 And ever after, follow'd him about. 
 To hand liim aught he needed in the fight, 
 To furnish aught he wish'd for in repose. 
 With faithful watchings and obedient love. 
 
 In London sat King Athelstan, and held 
 Deep counsel with his Thanes, a chosen few. 
 Good counsellors were they, whose only thought 
 Was to meet force with force, and save the pride 
 Of England, crushing those who trod on it — 
 Power was the means, and the best policy 
 To give it vantage how to act the best. 
 From every part the king cull'd arms and men, 
 Wliere such fruit could be gather' d, and had sent 
 All studied elements of war to Yoi'k,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 173 
 
 Thinking therein in time to concentrate 
 The thunder ere it brake ; and he himself 
 Would follow last and best, and head th' assault 
 And to their ocean di-ive the sea-dogs back, 
 Or die a death to glorify defeat. 
 His calm and vigilant boldness (with the love 
 Of the old game of fighting) won e'en those 
 Who long had hated him in heart to ciy 
 " 'Tis a brave leader ! TJiey who'd follow him 
 Need not to think how best they can get back. 
 A merit this to outvote many faults. 
 However loudly they cry ' down with him !'" 
 
 Then, as in thought the martial council sat 
 Straining for action, one gain'd access there 
 Who came with news, a messenger from where 
 Saxon and Dane in bloody grappling met. 
 And cried " king ! The Danish hosts have trod 
 The herbage on the Humber's banks to dust ; 
 And as they march in countless bands, the air
 
 174 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Is surfeited with oaths, and vaunting cries. 
 One band — " and here he stopt, but Athelstau 
 Shouted aloud "Speak on !" and thus he spake, 
 " One bears a banner where is writ in red, 
 Revenge for Edwin, and for yEthelward !" 
 Then over the king's face was drawn a look 
 Of faintuess as a veil, and on his brow 
 Stood out great drops, the children of distress, 
 And if 'twas fear that caused them ne'er before 
 Had fear surprised the soul of Athelstan. 
 
 And when the sun for one half-hour had left 
 Mid-heav'u, there came a second messenger 
 Who cried, " king ! God give the victory 
 Unto thy troops ! But those fell wolves of war, 
 The Danish robbers, overweigh om- men 
 In numbers that Death thins not. When they fall — 
 For thousands fall — more seem to gain more strength. 
 Fired by- the sight, and on with fiercer yell. 
 They come like wild beasts on the g-uarded fold,
 
 ATHELSTAN. l-^^ 
 
 O'erleapiug eveiy fence of opposition. 
 Alas ! that for each Saxon flag that floats 
 Ten foreign banners sweep the upper air : 
 Our glory and its emblems lie in dust ! " 
 
 In the king's face, as spake the messenger, 
 There was a perilous look of smother'd flame. 
 The broad-knit muscles of his hand swell' d up, 
 And the hard fingers open'd out and shut, 
 As they would circle something, and then tear it, 
 Easily, when they will'd, in fitting time. 
 But he spake not, and on his countenance. 
 The fearless Thanes look'd with a silent fear. 
 
 Hom-s past without another messenger. 
 But when the air grew melancholy grey 
 Beneath the fall of night, and human minds 
 Borrow'd the colours of the sombre sky 
 To tint then- thoughts with, there approach' d a third 
 To that old Hall, whose low thick-pillar'd roof
 
 176 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Was lit by torch-lights that contested it 
 
 With the desponding day — slowly he trod, 
 
 Slowly, and droopingly — so look'd he, asking 
 
 By looking leave to speak. "Speak !" cried the king. 
 
 And then he spake. " All's lost ! The victoiy 
 
 Is with the Danes and Anlaf. Coustantine, 
 
 The Scottish king, has join'd the conquerors." 
 
 Up with a passionate spring King Athelstan 
 
 Rose, and he cried a low and bitter ciy 
 
 As if with the mere hatred of his soul 
 
 He would destroy each Dane from English soil. 
 
 And next, more loudly. "We possess the son 
 
 Of Constantino for hostage. Bring him here ! " 
 
 They found him sitting at the evening meal, 
 And raising up the wine — down as they spake 
 Dropt the loosed goblet, and the red pool spread 
 Like new-shed blood on the unwounded board. 
 And as they brought him, they enlarged upon 
 The news that had a bitter savour in it,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 177 
 
 Tasting of death — but who can tell his time 1 
 
 Oft the most imminent hazard that we fly 
 
 Leaves skin and bone unscathed, while what we brave 
 
 With careless courage, sinks us to the feet 
 
 Of the one king whom not a subject loves. 
 
 But when his looks fell on the royal look, 
 
 Made e'en more terrible, as seen and hid 
 
 By light and shade alternate dappling it, 
 
 His spirit fainted. Then spake Athelstan, 
 
 * Thy sire hath join'd the foe — that was well done — 
 
 And, better still, hath past from his swoiii word ; 
 
 And best of all, poor princeling ! hath left thee 
 
 To pay the penalty of his defect ! 
 
 Then hear om- vengeance. Thou art free ! Begone ! 
 
 And tell him — tell his gentle Danish friends — 
 
 We rate too low the value of a life 
 
 From such a stock to be at pains to take it. 
 
 Father or son — one, millions — Pagan, Christian, 
 
 Let all come — nay by Heav'n, we'd send them men 
 
 To swell their numbers, could such things be found 
 
 N
 
 178 ATHELSTAN, 
 
 For such a duty — but we'll sweep the dust 
 Of this invasion from our English land, 
 Till not the presence of one Dane or Scot 
 Shall with its villanous impurity 
 Infect the freedom of our atmosphere ! 
 Go ! ; " and he look'd all England in himself, 
 And his face seem'd to cast out sparks from it, 
 Struck by his glorious passion. Lowly down 
 All bent before him, subjected in soul 
 To nature's monarch, the man Athelstan. 
 
 With a gi-eat host, all those whom glory lu'ged 
 Or diligence could gather, northward march'd 
 The patriot monarch. Quick they were to march. 
 But not so quick as was their leader's wish. 
 Devouring the mid distance, his desire 
 Went forward to that final battle-field, 
 The bloody lists where two strong nations arm'd 
 From heel to crest would meet in mortal shock. 
 The forceful spirit of King Athelstan
 
 ATHELSTAN. 179 
 
 Balanced tlie stake to<be contested for, 
 
 In all its greatness — England's native life ! 
 
 But ere he went, he summon' d Eadgitha, 
 
 And counsell'd safety in the distant shades 
 
 Of some poor abbey, as her purpose ran, 
 
 If safety could inhabit the same land 
 
 Where dwelt in power the sacrilegious Dane. 
 
 The mild small prettiness of Eadgitha 
 
 Was heighten'd into beauty, as she swell'd 
 
 In mien and stature, proudly answering him, 
 
 " I am the sister of King Athelstan, 
 
 King Edward was my sire, and Alfred his ! 
 
 Here will I stay. Here may I be of use, 
 
 For aid, for news, for death, — but not for flight ! " 
 
 Out cried the king, " By Heaven such sentiments 
 
 Are worth a score of abbeys — not " and here 
 
 He spake with reverence — " not that they are not 
 
 Heav'n's houses upon earth. God hold them safe 
 
 'Gainst the pollution of unchristian dogs ! " 
 
 n2
 
 180 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Northward and northward on he march' d, and then 
 Turning lie came near Beverley,* and there 
 With steps slow-paced, and weariness of eye, 
 And with a look as if they did not think 
 Of many things, but thought incessantly 
 Of the one thing they thought of, on the road 
 Some pilgrims met him, self-sufficient men. 
 Who had no need of gold or silver store. 
 Or sounding names, or change of many robes. 
 Or trappings to adorn their sanctity. 
 
 * The worthy chrouiclcr iEthch'ed m liis " Genealogy of the Kiugs 
 of England," p. 357, infoi-ms us that when King Athelstan was on 
 his way to the North, he met in the proviiue of Lindesay, a crowd 
 of mendicants, of whom he inquired whence they came, and was 
 told tliey had been to pay their devotions at the shrine of St. John 
 of Beverley. Being quite in the humour to dialogue with devotees, 
 he inquired whether they liad ever derived any advantage from the 
 worship of the Saint, and was assured by one of the ragged palmers 
 that having been blind from his birtli, he had been restored to sight 
 by the wonder-working power of the Beverley Bones. A second 
 Avent on to relate that he had been lame from liis mother's womb, 
 until the visit to Beverley, when his walking powers became equal 
 to those of any other man. After relations so startling, the king 
 could do no less in his turn, than pay his devotions at the vaunted 
 shrine, where he left liis dagger in pawn, and afterwards redeemed 
 it with magnificent and costly gifts to the monks, who knew how to 
 subsist in affluence upon the credulity and folly of their contem- 
 poraries.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 181 
 
 " Whence come ye 1 " cried the king. " From wor- 
 shipping 
 St. John of Beverley," they said, " His shrine, 
 We know no greater." " Want ye anything 
 A king can do for j^-ou 1 " quoth Athelstan. 
 " Kings can give nothing but what springs from earth," 
 They answer d, "and is earthy. 'Tis this weight 
 Of earth that hangs upon our limbs, and keeps 
 The spirit from the home which it desires. 
 It is earth's joys and its necessities. 
 Which dim and dazzle mortal eyes, and hold 
 Their insight from the scene of purer things ; 
 Which taint the senses of the soul, till taste 
 And smell and hearing have no aptitudes 
 For apprehending immortality." 
 It was a sorrowing gaze which Athelstan 
 Bent on these men, whose virtue-balanced minds 
 Made of less weight the jewels of a crown. 
 Than the least leaflet of the smallest flower 
 That gi-ew in Paradise. " Oui'selves will go
 
 182 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 To Beverley," he cried ; and went. 'Twas night. 
 It was the hour of silence and of ease, 
 When to the monastery of St. John 
 The monarch with his intimate wan-ioi-s 
 Repair' d for worship, and to vow a vow. 
 Rude swinging lamps lit hastily, just show'd 
 Th' imperial train, slow-pacing up the aisle, 
 More soldierly than royal in its pomp. 
 And when King Athelstan, the gi-eat, had reach'd 
 To the high altar, he bent down his head, 
 And bm-ied it in his capacious hands. 
 Unto himself, and long and silently 
 He pray'd, and silent all the monks stood round, 
 And silent each mail-breasted warrior stood : 
 And the lamps ceased to rattle and to flare, 
 And the wind hush'd its low monastic voice. 
 But when the King unclosed his countenance, 
 All, seeing, wondcr'd what the thoughts must be 
 That could so greatly vex so great a man. 
 So one might see, and tremble as he saw,
 
 ATHELSTAN, 183 
 
 A cloudy mountain, alp or apennine, 
 Heaved by volcanic torture from its roots. 
 
 Unclasping next the dagger from his waist 
 He laid it on the altar, praying out 
 For all to hear, " If victory leads me back 
 Again to tread within this home of God — 
 For never will I tread here else, ne'er thi-ust 
 Upon a Christian fane the spectacle 
 Of its successless champion — here I vow 
 To buy this dagger back with royal gifts 
 Befitting one who from his country's soil 
 Hath swept his country's foe, and thus becomes 
 Worthy to rule the people he hath freed. 
 Then shall the world flock hitherward to view 
 This temple of St. John of Beverley. 
 His flag shall head our armies to the war, 
 And will not then the Pagan Dane recoil 
 Before the standard for which angels fight ? 
 Hear us great Saint, from thy eternal house
 
 184 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Not made by bauds, and grant what tbou dost bear ! 
 Tbou didst love England, ber we strive to save — 
 Tbou batest beatbens, tbem we seek to crusb ! " 
 
 Turning, the King's sword in a salient foot 
 Of the high altar caught, and forward threw 
 His weight, half-overbalanced from its poise. 
 His bold attendants started at the sight 
 As ominous of ill, but Athelstan 
 Cried, " 'Tis a good rebuke to us who stood 
 Uttering a vow which claim'd our knees to plead 
 Its acceptation — let us kneel to crave 
 Heaven's favour for a fault repaired, and hope 
 Grace for a vow repeated with more grace." 
 
 Tlien the cowl'd monks thought Athelstan was wise, 
 And the mail'd chiefs thought Athelstan was brave. 
 And all knelt down, and solemnly the King 
 Vow'd bis first vow, and pray'd his prayer, with voice 
 Untrembling, as bis heart was, when he struck
 
 ATHELSTAN. 185 
 
 With his sharp sword at England's enemies. 
 
 And when he ended, some say a strange hght 
 
 Shone thi-ough the nave, as if the Saint had smiled 
 
 Upon the offering ; yet 'twas possibly 
 
 The lamp-beams backward cast in glistening waves 
 
 From shaven crown, and iron-helmeted head. 
 
 As all rose up from the unmatted stone. 
 
 Then down the holy avenue they paced 
 
 Their homeward way, affronting with spurr'd heel, 
 
 And jangling arms, its solid peacefulness. 
 
 High held the Thanes their martial heads so soon 
 
 For many there to be laid low, with lips 
 
 Never again to move in pray'r to God, 
 
 Nor give their consorts a returning kiss.
 
 BOOK VI.
 
 The sun was low when Aulaf and the kings 
 Of Cumberland and Scotland, with a cloud 
 Of Danes and Norsemen, and the produce bi-ed 
 From his own Irish Principality, 
 Sat down confusedly, jealous of delay, 
 North of the Humber, close by Brunnabm-gh.* 
 Flush' d, but not glutted with their past success, 
 
 * The field of Brunnaburgh is still designated by history an 
 unknown locality, which shows how wanting in curiosity our 
 ancient chroniclers were — for the combat fought on that obscure spot 
 narrowly missed becoming the Assandune or Hastings of the tenth 
 century. "We cannot however avoid pictui'ing it to ourselves as 
 smooth and level, fitted by nature for the evolutions of great 
 armies, and before it had been stained with gore, green as an 
 emerald. The good old Abbot of Croyland, who admired the great 
 men of former days, as much as he hated those of his own times — 
 among others the dauntless Harold — is seized by an epic enthusiam 
 when the current of events leads him to speak of the Battle of Brun- 
 naburgh, which has been dressed up by the imagination of our 
 ancestors with triumphant details, and mythical incidents.
 
 190 ATHBLSTAN. 
 
 Hungry they were for victories yet mifought, 
 
 And countless as the locusts, when they clothe 
 
 With their own bodies, thicker than a fold 
 
 Of autumn nights' unseasonable snow, 
 
 From mile to mile the plains of Araby. 
 
 And within thrice the distance that a hand 
 
 Expert in handling bows from infancy 
 
 Could shoot a light-tipp'd aiTow in a flight. 
 
 Was pitch' d the tent of Athelstan. Around 
 
 Were men from Mercia and East Anglia, 
 
 West Saxons and Northumbrians, and the tluw'r 
 
 Of London, fewer than the foe, but swell'd 
 
 To double numbers by the trusting hearts 
 
 They gave to their great leader's destiny. 
 
 He too had hired, by jiayment of good coin. 
 
 Some Vikings and their active sympathies, 
 
 Of whom were Egils, and bold Thorolf chief. 
 
 Egils was Thorolf's friend and Thorolf his — 
 
 Bound each to each by natural tastes and love 
 
 Of hearts born fearless, and hands train' d to strike.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 191 
 
 The sviu had fall'n from sight when Athelstan 
 Sat m his tent with disencumber' d heart ; 
 For he had set its place to every thing, 
 As much as might be in the days when art 
 Made not, as now, each man an atoi:ii plann'd 
 To swell the guided impulse of the whole. 
 Ev'n with a calm and stern delight he dwelt 
 Upon the moiTow, for his mind could raise 
 A bulwark against danger, and then rest, 
 While his soul fail'd not if the bulwark fell. 
 
 Musing he sat. It was the banquet-room. 
 Nail'd to the poles oil-nurtur'd lamp-pans cast 
 A flick'ring light upon the feasting Thanes, 
 But sparingly the clear-brain'd monarch ate 
 The viands scatter'd o'er the solid board, 
 Which none pass'd by as he, and sparingly 
 He quaff'd at times the thought-confounding bowl. 
 
 So while he mused a wand' ring minstrel came,
 
 192 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 And sought to show his powers of touch and song.* 
 Young was he, tull, slight, straight and sinewy ; 
 With a frank look, where boldness shared the half 
 Of the bronzed face with prudent intellect. 
 Setting his small harp on the naked ground, 
 O'er its four strings he ran his rapid hand, 
 And slightly bowing to the King's consent, 
 Swept off at once into the tide of song. 
 
 Thor miss'd his hammer one luckless day, 
 
 'Twas a mortal loss to him — 
 And Loki said it was hid away 
 
 In the house of the giant Thiym. 
 
 And he had sworn by his own grey head, 
 To keep it as safe as life, 
 
 * The adventure attributed to the Northumbrian prince is 
 obviously an iniitation of that which the chroniclers are fond of 
 recounting of the great and heroic Alfred, the interest in whose 
 story is positively damaged by injudicious repetition. Jlad the 
 events of those times been regulated by poetical justice, this son of 
 a patricidal father would have worsted his fratricidal rival and 
 snatched from him the crown of England. I!ut his night visit in 
 disguise to the English camp could not be made to rival tliat of 
 Alfred at Ethandune, and the danger in which he placed himself 
 produced no happy fruits.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 193 
 
 Till Thor himself to the giant's bed 
 Should send his goddess wife. 
 
 Now Freyja hated the thought like Hell, 
 
 Her husband hated it too. 
 And they said to Loki the Wise, " ! tell 
 
 The thing that is best to do." 
 
 Quoth Loki to Thor, " First lay aside 
 
 Thy ch-ess, and from Freyja's store 
 Choose out the robes that befit a bride, 
 
 And then will I tell thee more." 
 
 The giant sat in his house at noon, 
 Watching with anxious face, 
 
 For he hoped to clasp in Freyja soon 
 A bride of immortal race. 
 
 And Loki, he brought her there at last — 
 She was tall and huge to see — 
 
 And he cried, as the giant look'd aghast, 
 " She's a noble wife for thee !"
 
 194 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 She ate at once, like a single sop, 
 
 A meal for a hundred men : 
 And seizing a wine-cask full to the top. 
 
 To the dregs she drank it then. 
 
 The giant peep'd at his beauteous prize, 
 
 Round her long bridal veil ; 
 And he started back, as from two gi'eat eyes 
 
 Flew sparks like a fiery hail. 
 
 Cried he, " I never 'neath female brow. 
 Saw eyes that had such a glow !" 
 
 Then answer'd Loki, " Thrice happy thou ! 
 It is that she loves thee so. 
 
 Now bring the hammer to her, great Thiym ! 
 
 Thou hast sworn it by thy might. 
 And with it I'll hasten back to him 
 
 To whom it belongs by right." 
 
 The love-sick giant his hammer brought, 
 
 And he laid it on her knee ; 
 Then up as quick as a flash of thought 
 
 Sprang Thor, for the bride was he.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 195 
 
 He grasp'd the hammer, and swung it round, 
 
 And he laugh' d with all his main, 
 Till the tall house rock'd with the awful sound. 
 
 And he swung it round again, 
 
 And it fell like a bolt of thunder down 
 
 On the giant's grisly head, 
 And he lay there, cleft from chin to crown. 
 
 'Twas a bloody marriage-bed ! 
 
 Pleased with the strain, the music-loving king 
 Heard out the song, and then commanded more. 
 " Nay," cried the minstrel, but he check'd himself 
 In his brief utterance, veiling with a smile 
 A look like discontent. Again, he sang 
 And pleased again, and thus the ditty ran. 
 
 Duke Hastings was a warrior bold as Normandy e'er saw, 
 His arguments were pointed spears, his battle-axe was 
 
 law, 
 He coursed about the ocean with a hundred ships in 
 
 train, 
 And richly plvmdei-'d all the coasts of Africa and Spain, 
 
 o2
 
 196 ATIIELSTAN. 
 
 He came to Luna's city, raised by old Etruscan men ; 
 It was the feast of Cliristmas-tide, and all made meriy 
 
 then. 
 But Luna was a city built with sea-walls high and 
 
 thick, 
 He could not enter there by force, and so the Duke 
 
 fell sick. 
 
 And after many days had past, a rumour wide w-as 
 
 spread, 
 That Hastings had grown worse and worse, and next 
 
 that he was dead. 
 And fi'om the city-walls they heard, ascending to the 
 
 sky, 
 
 A hundred ships with flags depress' d, pom- out a wail- 
 ing cry. 
 
 Next morning unto Luna came an envoy from the fleet. 
 Charged strictly all its citizens with cordial words to 
 
 greet ; 
 And tell them that the duke had died repenting of the 
 
 past, 
 And with the faith which he had spurn'd on friendly 
 
 terms at last.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 197 
 
 So to the Chtirch of Chi'ist he will'd to leave his wealth 
 
 entu*e, 
 And scape, perchance, Hell's punishment, a brand from 
 
 out the fire. 
 If but the Bishop would permit his corpse be broitght 
 
 on shore, 
 And buried in some temple there beneath its holy 
 
 floor. 
 
 The Bishop blest God's providence, and gladly gave 
 
 consent, 
 And gladly to his vessel back the Norman envoy 
 
 went. 
 The next day a long funeral-train, with coffin and with 
 
 pall. 
 Weeping and bosom-beating stood before the city-wall. 
 
 The gates were ope'd, and through they march'd with 
 
 slow and solemn pace. 
 Each mourner in large flowing robe, and holding down 
 
 his face ; 
 And Luna's citizens stood by to see the train pass on 
 To where the old Cathedi-al high in painted beauty 
 
 shone.
 
 198 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Down in the middle nave they set the coffin with a 
 
 ring, 
 And then the pall began to move as 'twere a hiiman 
 
 thing, 
 And from beneath it suddenly the stout Duke Hasting-s 
 
 rose, 
 A living wan-ior arm'd, and not a corpse in funeral 
 
 clothes. 
 
 His moiuTiers all raised up their heads, and let their 
 
 robes fall down, 
 And stood in battle-panoply array'd from heel to crown. 
 The Bishop and his clergy tum'd, and fled with idle 
 
 screams. 
 For on the old Cathedi-al floor, their blood soon flow'd 
 
 in streams. 
 
 The Duke into the city then, with all his followers ran, 
 And quickly they with sword and axe slew every fight- 
 ing man. 
 Thus Luna, proud of old renown, was taken by a trick. 
 Though all its citizens w-ere brave, and all its walls 
 were thick.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 199 
 
 "'Tis a good song," cried Athelstan, "and hath 
 The same plot as the first, to make of fraud 
 A pander unto force — yet 'twas well sung." 
 Then did the king bid fetch a purse of gold, 
 And cast it in the ballad-chanter's lap. 
 Can gold e'er fail to please 1 but so it was ; 
 He handled it as though he liked it not. 
 Yet 'twas a handsome guerdon. And he left 
 The royal presence, looking as he went, 
 Slowly, around ; and when he stood without. 
 Turning, he paused and gazed, and gazed and paused. 
 Ay ! 'twas a noble sight, the tent that held 
 In its draped folds the soldier and the king, 
 Whose head and hand could win a diadem, 
 And hold it 'gainst all comers on his brow. 
 Then too, to see him sit there placidly. 
 Him, whom the morn would light, an earthly Jove, 
 To hurl the bolts of battle on the foe ! 
 So one might gaze upon a cloud wherein 
 The thunder sleeps in short serenity.
 
 200 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 But off the minstrel strode with angry strides, 
 
 And, when the camp look'd buried in the dusk, 
 
 He seized the golden gift, and cast it down 
 
 Upon the vulgar earth disdainfully ; 
 
 Next, bending low, with hasty dagger scoop'd 
 
 A hole in the damp soil, and hid therein 
 
 The ti'easure which the world goes mad to gain. 
 
 Yet was not Heav'n so niggard of its light 
 
 But that a soldier spied the furtive deed — 
 
 One who had seen the minstrel's face of old, 
 
 Remembering what he saw. Watching he stood. 
 
 Then tiu'ning, sought out Athelstan, and cried, 
 
 *' He who did sing to thee, King ! to whom 
 
 Thou didst give gold, and send him safe away, 
 
 Know'st thou who 'twas 1 — 'Twas Anlaf ! " — and the 
 
 king 
 Repeated " Anlaf ! " and with sudden fit 
 Jerk'd out his hand, as to lay hold of him. 
 " How dost thou know him ? Wherefore didst thou not 
 Proclaim him to us ?" — and he rose in wrath.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 201 
 
 But the man said, " I served the Danish Prince 
 
 In my vocation as a soldier once, 
 
 Not as a spy. Him I conld not betray, 
 
 And thee I've told what thou may'st profit by." 
 
 Though the king frown' d, lie answer'd not ; the times 
 
 Gave sanction to rude speech, nor could he spare 
 
 One who fought well, and dared to speak the truth. 
 
 So, summoning his attendants, he bade strike 
 
 The royal tent, and pitch it further oif 
 
 Some hundred paces — 'twas an ominous spot 
 
 To sleep on, where his foe so late had stood, 
 
 And might breed evil dreams — this done he cast 
 
 His limbs on a hard couch, his arms at hand. 
 
 And thought of victory, smiling as he slept. 
 
 'Twas scarcely midnight when the sound of hoofs 
 Came clattering through the camp — but the king slept. 
 Next, there was noise of groaning ropes pull'd taut 
 By shouting men ; and pegs on whose broad heads 
 The heavy mallet lighted with a thud.
 
 202 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 But 'mid the ueighings, and the cries, and creaks 
 Of a fresh bustle, still the monarch slept. 
 'Twas Sherbourne's Bishop with his followers, 
 Who came to camp. A sturdy militant 
 He was in war, yet relish' d peaceful joys. 
 Knowing the code of Christianity, 
 He hated fraud, and could distinguish well 
 Between the foreign wine of genuine gi'owth, 
 And bastardy of home similitude. 
 A double-soul'd and double-handed man, 
 To pray or fight ; sign blessings on a head, 
 Or ciu'se its wearer ere he cleft it through ! 
 His tunicle of rich gold stuff was edged 
 With bells of silver ; silver bells too himg 
 To his long stole at either end, and these 
 Went tinkling, tinkling, as he swept along. 
 The gallant priest sought out, to pitch his tent, 
 A level spot, whereon was place to lodge 
 The multifold companions of his trip, 
 Heav'n's sacred things, and earthly provender ;
 
 ATHELSTAN. 203 
 
 And found it there where Athelstan's had been. 
 
 And so 'twas pitch' d. But not at once he sought 
 
 His wadded pallet, but first strove to lay 
 
 The thirst and hunger which the road had raised. 
 
 Then did he stretch himself in bed, and close 
 
 And ope his eyes, and sigh luxuriously, 
 
 And stretch again, as loth in sleep itself 
 
 To lose the pleasure of foretasting sleep. 
 
 Soon Natu^ solved the doubt, and gently wrapp'd 
 
 Her arms around him, and with motherly hand 
 
 Excluded outward objects from his sense. 
 
 Not yet the silent sky was stirr'd by light 
 When a sharp sound of arms brake suddenly 
 From near the Bishop's tent,* a mingled rush 
 
 * The eulogists of Athelstan are compelled, in describing the 
 night before the battle, to narrate an incident which reflects but 
 little credit on their hero's chivalry. Having been warned by the 
 soldier who detected Anlaf through his disguise, he removed his own. 
 tent from the place of danger, but permitted the Bishop of Sher- 
 boume, who came up late with his contingent, to occupy it without 
 the least notice. Before morning he accordingly paid the penalty of 
 Ms master's reserve.
 
 204 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Of cries and slmffling feet, and rapid blows. 
 Up at the crasli of arms sprang Atliclstan, 
 And with bare weapon seized confusedly, 
 Flew to the spot, to see the outermost 
 Of an arm'd band retreating where the night 
 Eaised a dark wall betwixt the foe and him. 
 Entering the tent o'er forms of wounded men, 
 There lay the Bishop's body motionless 
 Upon his pleasant couch. A sword-cut sti;p^ch'd 
 Across the jovial face (which rather show'd 
 Surprise than fear, so suddenly the deed 
 Was done, and done too well) and let the blood 
 Stream out of it, as red-skinn'd wine may pour 
 In forced libations from a jug that's crack'd. 
 Short time the royal wan-ior had to waste 
 Upon a corpse, but, turning off, he thank'd 
 For his mistake, in brief uncourteous phrase, 
 The ballad-monger of the cyc before. 
 
 Sleep fled in terror at the sounds, to none
 
 ATHELSTAN. -205 
 
 Returning then, to many never more. 
 
 Some to their feet sprang, rattling in the arms 
 
 In which they 'd rested. Others flew to seize 
 
 Two-handed swords, huge, sharp ; or wooden clubs. 
 
 Like hedgehogs bristling with their quills of steel ; 
 
 Or held their bucklers forward in defence. 
 
 Dreaming the foe was on them in the dark. 
 
 There was a rush of searching thro' the night. 
 
 And voices raised to answer less than ask. 
 
 And above all there thunder'd frequent cries 
 
 Of chieftains calling on their followers' names ; 
 
 Then the responsive tramp of followers. 
 
 It was a scene of terror indistinct, 
 
 Like a large picture view'd by twilight, soon 
 
 To come out boldly with the rising morn. 
 
 But then commenced, in the low eastern sky 
 The ever-circling war of Light with Night. 
 Faint, pearly beams, the arrows of the day 
 Shot from the far horizon, and spread round
 
 206 ATIIELSTAN. 
 
 Wider and wider, arch-wise, till at length 
 They conquered the whole Heav'n to their own hue. 
 While streaks of yellow and of crimson, flung 
 From the great orb beneath Earth's visible edge, 
 Eesembled streaming blood, and flags display' d, 
 The fruit of battle and its instruments* 
 
 * The defeat of Alirimanes bj- Oromasdcs has been sj-nchi-onic 
 with the commenceinent of a thousand battles. The dawn — soft, 
 golden, and beautiful, which, should usher in the pleasing labours of 
 the field, and awaken the birds to their matins— has been too often 
 called to witness the shedding of blood in torrents. The use of 
 history is to warn nations that no precautions are superfluous which 
 aid in keepmg away enemies from their territories. England, more 
 than most countries, though incessantly devastated of old by in- 
 vaders, has enjoyed the inestimable blessing of internal peace and 
 freedom from foreign encroachment. She cannot indeed boast with 
 Sparta of a five hundred years' exemption from the sight of an 
 enemy's camp-fires, but we have been so long accustomed to believe 
 our shores inviolable, that we may, for that very reason, omit some 
 time or another, to take the steps necessary for rendering them so. 
 I have already alluded to the facility experienced by all kinds of 
 buccaneers in making good a lauding in England, where there existed 
 few fortresses or strong castles to check the advance or harass the 
 rear of an enemy. The Romans, those great masters of fortifica- 
 tion, rendered so strong the cities they left behind them in Britain, 
 that after the Teutonic barbarians had for ages possessed themselves 
 of the open country, theu undisciplined hordes found themselves 
 totally unable to reduce the cities and larger towns. When at 
 length, however, they succeeded, down went the fortifications 
 thi-ough utter neglect of keeping them in repak, so that on the 
 arrival of the Danes, there existed veiy little in the whole land to 
 arrest their progress. This, in a great measure explains the difficul- 
 ties of Alfred, and the earnest policy of his son Edward to stud the
 
 ATHELSTAN. 207 
 
 But not an eye 'mid all had time to greet 
 The glorious birth of dawn, which only rose 
 To light the path of slaughter. 'Twas the hour 
 When buds the harvest of the blue- vein' d steel, 
 "\^'Tiere Fate and Death are reapers. On they came. 
 The Danish troops, voracious to iudidge 
 The cruel greed of war. In mighty mass 
 Their centre moved, triangularly set 
 Upon the field, a pyramid of men. 
 The English monarch ranged his scantier force 
 To make one soldier do the work of two 
 By vantage of position : on the right 
 Thorolf, the friendly Viking, led the fight, 
 To whom a Saxon body join'd its strength. 
 
 kingdom ■^th castles, which Athelstan, however, as we hare already 
 seen, was far from imitating. By degrees the Northumbrians shut 
 themselves up in walled towns, and at intervals erected forts and 
 castles along the coast, but never in sufficient numbers or strength 
 to oppose any effectual impediment to an invader. Hence the 
 perpetual influx of those vast armaments from the Xorthem ocean, 
 which, penetrating southward, subdued Mercia, East Anglia, and 
 ultimately Wessex itself, and had the battle of Brunnaburgh taken 
 a different turn, would have rolled across the Humbei'. and placed 
 Anlaf, in diademmed state, within the ancient palace of "Winchester.
 
 208 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 The men of London, and the Mercians 
 Form'd firmly on the left wing ; at their head 
 Marcli'd the good Chancellor, gallant Turketyl. 
 The van was trusted to bold Thorolf's friend 
 The Viking Egils ; fronting Anlaf stood 
 In the mid army, like a core of strength, 
 The soldier's confidence, King Atholstan, 
 Back'd deeply by the Saxons of the West. 
 
 Behind the Danish right there stretch'd a wood 
 Of thick extent, whose ancient trees had oft 
 Had their own battles with the thunder-cloud ; 
 But bare and level was the plain in front. 
 Then burst the conflict into horrid life. 
 And spread like a devouring flame, which strikes 
 With its red flaky javelins, the dry wood 
 Of summer boughs unvisited by rain. 
 So onward in impetuous multitudes 
 Came Dane on Dane, like w' olf impelling wolf 
 The beasts of earth, and elements of Heav'n
 
 ATHELSTAN, 209 
 
 Join'd in the contest. Breast-plated in steel 
 Horse rush'd on horse, with all the hate of man, 
 Fighting with teeth and fore-ai*m. Then the South 
 Leagued with the East, sent forth a clamorous wind 
 That bent the tree-heads down, and whirl'd the dust 
 From myriad treaders, like a flinty mist. 
 While overhead the cloudy potentates 
 That wrapt the tempest in their vapory folds, 
 Met in mid Heaven, and bellow'd as they clash'd. 
 
 But equal rose the soul of Athelstan 
 To the high call made on it — mid the shock, 
 Of personal conflict, or quick transference 
 Of thought to action — to direct a mass 
 Of thousands in aggi-ession or retreat ; 
 To succom- yielding friends, or dash a blow 
 At foes too prominent ; nor hand nor head 
 Were wanting to the king ; and head and hand 
 Did their vocation calmly. As might one, 
 A master in his peaceful ai't, direct 
 
 p
 
 210 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Some modem students of Terpsichore, 
 
 So iTiled the king that bloody dance of death. 
 
 Bold Thorolf plunged into the central fight, 
 Shouting a cry of joy (so shouts a youth 
 Immersed in his best pastime) and the waves 
 Of battle closed around him ; still arose 
 His war-cry, heard by all, as men have heard 
 From a ship hidden in th' Atlantic trough 
 Her captain's voice above the wateiy din ; 
 But then it ceased, as stops the sailor's cry 
 When down his throat the sea-rush stifles it. 
 His comrade Egils mark'd him where he pierced 
 Into the crowd, and watch'd for his retiu^n, 
 And waited, but he came not, and again 
 He watch'd, and waited, but he did not come. 
 Then suddenly he saw his staiadard, knowoi 
 By the blue eagle with out-spreading wings. 
 Pass flutteiingly by in fidl retreat. 
 By this he felt that Death had paralysed
 
 ATHELSTAN. 211 
 
 The arm of Thorolf, and he threw himself 
 
 With his whole force of followers on the foe. 
 
 Thus when a mass of snow immense breaks down 
 
 From side of sloping Alp, where'er it falls 
 
 It fills all space, and leaves no life beneath. 
 
 So Egils crush'd the foe — and when he found 
 
 Bold Thorolf slain, and Adils standing near, 
 
 Flouting the corpse of his dishonour'd friend. 
 
 He sprang upon him, casting down his sword, 
 
 As if a short death were too pitiful. 
 
 And grasp'd him round the neck, and prest the links 
 
 Of his strong iron shirt into his throat. 
 
 Holding him thus, until the life-pulse stopt. 
 
 Then cast the body from him with a curse. 
 
 Next Turketyl,* the gallant Chancellor, 
 
 * The chronicler of England dwells with pecviliar pleasure on the 
 achievements of chancellor Turketyl, who, exchanging the battle- 
 axe for the rood, closed his eyes in the sanctuary of the Fens, as an 
 abbot, almost as a saint. His life, for the details of which the 
 reader must be refen-ed to the history of the times, sti'ikingly illus- 
 trates the social condition of England. He was of royal blood, and 
 by the exertion of a skilful policy, might perhaps have had a fair 
 
 p2
 
 212 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 His lofty stature wrapt in battle-net, 
 
 And brandishing an ashen javelin, 
 
 Made head against the troops which Constantine 
 
 Led on in person, aided by his son. 
 
 The son and ftitlicr join'd their strength as joiu'd 
 
 They were by blood, and co-directed aims. 
 
 And natural love, and struck at Tm-ketyl, 
 
 Bearing him backward. Then in timely help 
 
 Singin advanced with whirling battle-axe. 
 
 And swung it down on the young Prince's head. 
 
 Making through helm and brain a wedge-shaped gap 
 
 From which a bloody fountain spurted up : 
 
 "Now thanks to Athelstan the king," he cried", 
 
 "Who spared thee for my blade — great comfort this 
 
 If thou could'st feel it ! " But the youth fell back 
 
 Into his father's ai-ms ; his gory head 
 
 Hung sideways on the breast of Constantine, 
 
 chance of ascendin?; the throne; but he prcfcnTcl the qniet of the 
 cloister, where he enjoyed the conversation of literary men, ^ho 
 could perhaps regale his fancy with legends of the far East, or those 
 iucldcnts in tlie ''tale of Troy divine" of wliich our ancestors were 
 peculiarly enamoured.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 213 
 
 Who with a wond'ring horror look'd at it, 
 
 As if complaining that e'en riskful war 
 
 Had such a fate in store for him as this — • 
 
 Then rais'd he up his dead child, him who was, 
 
 Alas ! who was, how short a time ago, 
 
 The purest joy his shrewd heart knew — but now ! — 
 
 Away ! weep afterwards, old man ! so he 
 
 Tenderly raised him, propp'd by faithful friends, 
 
 And, sick in spirit, fled the hateful field. 
 
 Anlaf search'd every crowd for Athelstan ; 
 The broad orb of the Prince's shield was mark'd 
 By some few dents, but harmless ; convex-shaped. 
 And iron-beaten, on it cones of gold 
 Were studded, ranged in intercrossing curves ; 
 His helmet shone uncloven to the sun. 
 Its gilded dome unbreach'd by axe or sword. 
 And with its insolent crest, that seem'd to cry, 
 "Who dares touch me, must dare the consequence !" 
 And gladly Athelstan had found the Dane
 
 214 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 But would not seek him ; for the leader's soul 
 Was forced to sweep the round of circumstance, 
 And centralise all points to one design. 
 But they met once ; then Anlaf seeing him 
 
 Shrick'd out, " Now ghosts of ^thelward and Edwin. 
 
 Look on !" A fiery hatred seem'd to bmn 
 
 The very visage of king Athelstan — 
 
 " Ha ! by St. John of Beverley !" he cried, 
 
 And with a bound of strength unnatural leapt 
 
 Upon the Danish Prince, following whose steps 
 
 Was the young boy whom he had saved from death, 
 
 A sacrifice to Odin — back he fled, 
 
 Scared by the flashing of the Saxon blade. 
 
 But Helna, who was near (for through the fight 
 
 With voice and gesture prominent she moved, 
 
 And quicken'd action with prophetic cries). 
 
 Saw the descending death, and thrust herself 
 
 Before the sword-blow — gash'd in neck and breast 
 
 Down dropt she. AVcll it was for life that thus 
 
 The full swing of that dreadful sword was check'd
 
 ATHELSTAN. 215 
 
 By the small interval at which she stood 
 
 Betwixt the King and the young Prince : again 
 
 Down fell that mui'derous blade, and cleft the shield 
 
 Of Anlaf, gold and iron both, and pierced 
 
 Half through his helmet, forcing him recoil 
 
 Ten paces backward, the fierce Saxon king 
 
 Exclaiming as he struck, " Not yet enough 
 
 I've paid thee for thy songs." But round them closed 
 
 The stormy crowd of foes and followers. 
 
 No longer then with quiet fearlessness 
 Moved Athelstan from point to point, but raged 
 Lion-like, when the animal majesty 
 Is bearded ; so he desperately ran 
 At eveiy show of hostile armoury, 
 Whether it cased a hundred men or one — 
 And at his side his brother Edmund strove, 
 Young in war's honours, to keep pace with him. 
 Thus a cub-tiger, when its royal sire 
 Chases for food the swift-heel'd antelope,
 
 216 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Hangs on his fljing stride with emulous strides. 
 Missing their leader's clue, the men he led 
 Grew wild at first, then waver'd, and some turn'd 
 Ready to fly ; and England seem'd to lose 
 The heart oracular of victory ; 
 While the fierce Dane, and his commingled mass 
 Of peoples, came tumidtuonsly on. 
 Furious at the long stop which time had set 
 To their advance, but which at last appear'd 
 To leave clear pathway to the deluging stream. 
 
 Yet flow'd it not uncheck'd, for even they 
 Less bold by nature, from close neighbourhood 
 With fighters caught the rage of fight, and propp'd 
 The greater combatants who sullenly 
 Refused defeat. But Anlaf burnt to do 
 Some deed befitting one now half a king ; 
 And leagued with Constantino (who once again 
 Had join'd the battle), thrust so heavily 
 Upon the English centre, that it bent
 
 ATHELSTAN. 217 
 
 And crumbled, as a wall might, vex'd beneath 
 The swingings of the brazen catapult. 
 This saw the gallant Chancellor Tm-ketyl, 
 And gathering up his force, he call'd in aid 
 The Viking Egils with his glorious band. 
 And a stout monk of Croyland (Athelstan 
 To Croyland' s monastery of his grace 
 Had given the first-made set of English bells). 
 Then swept they round by a long sinuous path 
 Behind the swell of an uneven ground 
 Wliich, rough with ragged stones and dusty shrubs, 
 Rose desolate and morose. With tread unheard 
 Save by themselves, they gain'd the furthest flank 
 Of the deep wood, and through its shelter wound 
 Their rapid way. The autumn sun ahead, 
 Climbing the sloping plain of peaceful Heav'n, 
 Shone on their backs emerging from the trees. 
 Like a broad torrent broken up by rocks. 
 Forming, they gain'd the rear of the mix'd bands 
 Of Constantine and Anlaf, loosely spread
 
 218 ATHELSTAN, 
 
 Like men disorder'd by their happiness. 
 
 On these in one dense wedge, and with one soul, 
 
 The troops of Turketyl and Egils fell, 
 
 With the stout monk of Croyland well in front, 
 
 And drove themselves from back to front right through 
 
 The hostile crowd, leaving a path behind 
 
 Broad, clean, save where 'twas cumber'd by dead men. 
 
 Thus through an Indian field, the beating hail 
 
 Forces a road-way wide of level gi-ain, 
 
 Whose sides are bounded by the standing com. 
 
 Then turning round, they, with their force and hate 
 
 Shai'pen'd by triumph, swept a second lane 
 
 Through the bewilder'd foe, and as they paused, 
 
 Concentrating their fearful elements 
 
 For the third onfall, royal Athelstan, 
 
 Catching the vantage, hurriedly closed up 
 
 With the West Saxons and the Londoners ; 
 
 And, like a waterfall in sheer descent 
 
 Of half a thousand feet, precipitously 
 
 Dash'd on the Danish front. The foe, hard held
 
 ATHELSTAX. 219 
 
 As in the iron jawbones of a vice, 
 Were bloodily crush' d ; but few found room to fly ; 
 And these did Avorse than if they there had left 
 Their life and hmbs, for to their farthest friends 
 They spread contagion both of fright and flight. 
 
 Success itself, the Dane's late gain, became 
 His means of loss ; for fear, which jumps at ends 
 O'er logical interval, suggested plots, 
 And feign'd defeats, which bend more easily 
 To rise victorious : this timidity. 
 Enlarged to panic, took the general heart, 
 As great and fierce as was its vaunting tnist. 
 
 Prince Anlaf for a while stood haughtily 
 Awaiting death, as willing on that spot 
 To lay himself and his imperial hopes. 
 When raising upward his blood-blinded eyes 
 He saw a vision, or he seem'd to see — 
 'Twas Bertha. Pedestall'd on ah-, she held
 
 220 ATHELSTAX, 
 
 A cross in her left hand, and with the right, 
 
 Beckon' d him to her. With fresh-blooded hope, 
 
 Up like a wild beast from the hunter's toils 
 
 He bounded from the earth, and burstino^ through 
 
 The growing wall of foes, built up in steel, 
 
 He found himself, scarce knowing how, without. 
 
 Borne onward in the stream of fugitives 
 
 That swell' d, and roar'd, and deepen'd as it flow'd : 
 
 For a great terror, palsying reason, seized 
 
 On the whole hostile 'multitude. At last 
 
 The Raven standard sidlenly gave way. 
 
 As unaccustom'd to that shame of war ; 
 
 (The Raven,* woven by the sisters three 
 
 Of the fierce Ragnor Ladbrok, king of ships, 
 
 * Speaking of a battle which took place in Alfred's time, Asser 
 says, " There they gained a very large booty, and among others the 
 standard railed ' E;n-en,' for they say that the three sisters of 
 Hingwar and Ilubba, daughters of Lodobrock, wove that flag and 
 got it ready in one day. They say, moreover, that in every battle, 
 wherever that flag wont before them, if they were to gain the 
 victory, a live crow would appear tlying on tlie middle of the flag ; 
 but if they were doomed to be defeated it would hang down motion- 
 less, and this was often proved to be so." — " Life of Alfred,'' p. 62 ; 
 vide also " The Four Conquests of England," i. 346.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 221 
 
 Grandsire of Sihtric of Northumbria ;) 
 
 And Wessex' golden dragon o'er the field 
 
 Pui'sued the ominous bu-d that oft had stretch'd 
 
 Mid northern mists its desolating wings 
 
 In flight for England, and with ravaging beak 
 
 Swept down the pleasant valley of the Trent, 
 
 Or startled Sherwood forest with its cry. 
 
 Then Scotch and Kjmri, Danes and Irish — all 
 
 Who had sail'd up the Humber, or had crost 
 
 The frontier line of Scotland, rioting 
 
 In conquest not yet gain'd — strew'd the long road 
 
 With many fashions of one common death. 
 
 The taste of slaughter fed the wish to slay : 
 So, Saxon soldiers cursed the lack of time, 
 Which, while they struck all laggards in the flight, 
 Let 'scape the foremost. Horsemen, worn with work, 
 In iron clothing, and in number few, 
 Strain'd their tired steeds to head the fugitives. 
 And whom they headed, none moved limb again.
 
 222 ATIIELSTAN. 
 
 Chiefly King Athelstan the Conqueror, 
 
 Son of the son of Alfred gi-eat and wise, 
 
 Hunted the foe who had pursued of old 
 
 His graudsire through the bogs of Somerset. 
 
 Like a fierce angel, teri'ible he rode, 
 
 With more than mortal warrant to aTens:e 
 
 The outrage upon England's majesty. 
 
 The Dane was scared to see his foi-m, not great 
 
 By gift of nature, take a giant's size, 
 
 Swollen by indwelling of demoniac power ; 
 
 While flying backs were shot through by his eyes, 
 
 Whence issued rays, like javelins of fire, 
 
 Giving his sword an enforced idleness. 
 
 But thundering on the way he there espied 
 
 The boy whom Anlaf saved, low lying, stain' d 
 
 By dirt and blood, with half-shut eye that shunn'd 
 
 The sight of his own wounds, and hands too weak 
 
 To ask the pity which his look implored. 
 
 The hot king stopp'd in mid career, and raised 
 
 The youth up in his arms, and in the charge
 
 ATHELSTAN. 223 
 
 Of an old follower placed him — then, away, 
 Away again upon his ride of death. 
 
 With axe and sword, and every instrument 
 Pointed, or edged, or wing'd, the best to give 
 Life the worst chance of 'scaping savagely 
 The victors chased the savage foe, till night 
 Confounded objects in its merciful shades ; 
 And Athelstan and England slept secure. 
 
 As Anlaf on his faithful war-horse spurn' d 
 The road in quick retreat, from out a hut, 
 Thatch'd sparely with broad-breasted water-flags. 
 And mud-wall' d, rush'd a countryman, who spake 
 Some rapid words ; then Anlaf followed him. 
 Within the cheerless dwelling, bleeding yet, 
 But coarsely bandaged, lay the prophetess, 
 Yovmg Helna, floor and rushes for her bed. 
 Her pallid beauty tum'd to red at sight 
 Of the young Prince, and that fierce look which still
 
 224 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Lorded her countenance, ev'n in this hour 
 Of humbled place and state, and desperate pain, 
 Retreated, yielding to a softcn'd shame. 
 " I would not speak what now I speak," she cried, 
 " With life before me — I have seen thee once — 
 Once more ! 'Tis more — but go ! nay, thank me not 
 For my small aid. I had no pow'r to choose. 
 A greater despot than my own wild heart 
 Master'd my acts. Thou lov'st a Christian — go. 
 I cannot wish thee ill — I cannot wish 
 111 befall her who will become thy joy." 
 Here the proud lip grew tremulous ; a tear 
 Crept down the cheek, which feeling ne'er before 
 Had moisten'd with such dew. "No ! " Anlaf said. 
 " I go not hence till, Helna, thou art safe. 
 Desert the life that bled for mine ! Such act 
 AVould shame a Saxon soldier. Fly with me ! 
 Gladly my horse will bear her who braved death 
 To guard his master." Answering not, and sighing, 
 She shook her head. Just then a inish of soimds
 
 ATHELSTAN. 225 
 
 Came faintly from the distance. Helna lieavdj 
 And with an effort raised her slender form, 
 Exclaiming, " 'Tis the Saxon in piu'suit ! 
 Soon will the forious Athelstan be here. 
 Great as thon art, thon can'st not face a fiend. 
 Away then for thy life — for Bertha's life ! 
 Thou wilt not stir 1 I tell thee," — and her gaze 
 Shone with the dying spark of prophecy, 
 " I tell thee — and, this finish' d, never more 
 Shall I predict or good or evil — Anlaf ! 
 Fate destines thee for empire yet, my Prince, 
 Northumbria waits her sovereign lord in thee. 
 The Gods have will'd it — why defy the Gods ? 
 Thy life is due to glory, love, and hate ; 
 Think of thyself, of Bertha, Athelstan ! 
 Fly — let me feel ! 0, let me feel at last 
 My love has not been useless ! " Anlaf stood 
 As might a victim at a sacrifice 
 He fears, but would not shun, then calmly said, 
 " Never ! I will not leave thee, while yet life 
 
 Q
 
 226 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Is in thee to be guarded ! " But the soiuids 
 
 Confused of hasty feet and shouts came near 
 
 And nearer, louder still, as might a storm 
 
 Advance upon some gallant ship that lies 
 
 Unmoving in the hollow windless wave, 
 
 And there, foreseeing its dark enemy, 
 
 Waits silent for the blow it cannot ward. 
 
 Then rose up Helna from her rushy bed 
 
 And crying, " Not while I live wait thou fly 1 
 
 There — wait no longer ! " and with rapid hand 
 
 She tore the wi-appings from her poor maim'd limbs, 
 
 And sinking backward, such a well of blood 
 
 Gush'd from them as to wash out life at once. 
 
 Her eye, made fast on Anlaf, still retain'd 
 
 A gleam of fondness, slowly dying there 
 
 To twilight, till the gaze, tho' changing not 
 
 Its first du-ection, look'd a dull gem, fix'd 
 
 In a spoilt setting, cold and meaningless.
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 Q2
 
 If like a huge and slowly-moving wheel 
 Time turns events, and bids them mount again 
 To their first point, this doth it do alone 
 For the large life of nations. Unto man 
 It brings no more the blessings which he clasp' d 
 In the ascendant. When they sink they die. 
 And so it drops the curtain on the stage 
 Wliere Youth, Strength, Hope were actors — thus it 
 
 blights 
 The bloom of hearts as well as looks, and works 
 The death of feeling and the loss of love. 
 
 Movement, and work, and daylight — these are 
 things
 
 230 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 That make the life of thousands. Evening falls 
 
 Too often on the men that use the world 
 
 Like a sad prophet of the coming night 
 
 When none may work ; and what that night may 
 
 bring — 
 The rest of peace, or never-quiet pain — 
 Depends on the day's labom-. Conscience starts 
 At the mind's pictm-e of the past, its scenes 
 Of chequer' d light, and its dai'k terrible shade. 
 And so the man of action sighs for light 
 And for more action, casting backward looks 
 On battles and on sieges, councils, plots, 
 And all the wheels and hum, and flash and warmth 
 Of moving being ; the hot blood of youth, 
 The well-strmig muscles, and the sweatful noon ; 
 Then turns reluctant to the sinking sun. 
 
 Near Abingdon, and where the wanton Ock 
 Is married to the Isis, Athelstan 
 Had built a palace on an isle, whose sides.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 231 
 
 Though neither high nor broad, had power to fret 
 And to divide the down-flow of the Thames.* 
 Here would he sit at times, and reckon up 
 The glories of his country — for he knew 
 The hand that raised her — crying to his heart, 
 " Is not this England, I have made so great 
 And gallant for my use 1 " and so it was ; 
 And thus to think was greatness in itself — 
 But the thovxght was not follow'd by a smile. 
 
 The conqueror was conquer' d — so it seem'd — 
 By uncommunicated cares. The man, 
 The mighty man whose front was to the fight 
 
 * Two regal delinquents, OfFa and Athelstan, haunted by remorse, 
 sought a remission of mental sufi'ering on a holme in the Thames 
 near Abingdon, where the great monastery founded in the reign of 
 Ina and em'iched by a long succession of kings, frowned like a vast 
 fortress over the river and the surrounding country. Among the 
 chronicles which have been recently disinterred and rendered acces- 
 sible to historians in good fair type, that of Abingdon is one of the 
 most interesting and valuable, tracing the fortunes of the abbey 
 from the reign of the sanguinaiy Briton, Cadwalla, to that of the 
 still more sanguinary Norman, who quenched at Hastings the early 
 flame of English liberty. The description of such spots supplies in 
 history a pleasant contrast with ferocious deeds of arms, and achieve- 
 ments in the innermost deadly breach.
 
 232 ATHELSTAN, 
 
 In every battle, would, without a blush. 
 Have borne the shame of flying from himself. 
 
 Then was the council set at Abingdon, 
 And matters of grave import fixed their mark 
 Upon the looks of men who ponder' d them — 
 Old men and staid, whose thoughts were character'd 
 By the rough shrewdness, the near-sighted wit 
 Of a half-civilised experience. 
 There Eadwulf rose, a hybrid of the times 
 When labour of all sorts was not, as now, 
 Shared and sub-shared by many hands and heai-ts 
 For better doing — one-third soldier he. 
 And one-third priest, and one-third anything — 
 Rising he let his tongiie run flatteringly 
 Upon the war successes of the king, 
 And counsell'd him on England's present pow'r 
 To raise the edifice of pow'r to come. 
 Then the rest said that thus the thing should be, 
 And that the king could do what should be done.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 233 
 
 Further he spake of Charles the Simple slain 
 
 By the assassin's dagger at Peyronne ; 
 
 That Louis d' Outre-mer was now in England 
 
 And that his claim to fill the throne of France 
 
 Might — tho' the Carlovingian was a thing 
 
 Treacherous and false, and doubtful in its sex — 
 
 Be made a step-stone for a surer man 
 
 To set his foot on ; let the king say how. 
 
 Next Alain Barbe-tourte, savage as the beasts 
 
 Whose skin he wore, and with coarse-knotted mind 
 
 Kin to the club with which he roam'd the woods, 
 
 Might be compell'd to lend a helping hand 
 
 To win the fair domains of Burgundy. 
 
 And the rest cried that thus the thing should be, 
 
 And that the king could do what should be done. 
 
 Then spake the king in words that from his mouth 
 Came easily, as birds from an op'd cage, 
 " 'Tis not alone by armed force of hands 
 That a whole country can be brought to yield
 
 234 ATIIELSTAN. 
 
 A wholesome and a pleased obedience. 
 
 The feelings of the ruled, save those alone 
 
 Who do rebel against all virtuous law, 
 
 When with the ruler's acts in unison 
 
 Give to dominion its enduring grip ; 
 
 And these can seldom be call'd forth by him 
 
 Whose seat of power hes in a foreign land 
 
 Of varied climates and strange habitudes. 
 
 But when two nations whom broad seas divide, 
 
 Or rocky range of nature-planted bar, 
 
 Ai'e bound in ties of unforced amity. 
 
 Each unto each imparts the gi'eatest good, 
 
 By barter'd blessings and rebound of thought. 
 
 This widens out the custom-narrow' d mind 
 
 Made capable of a larger charity ; 
 
 Thus natm'e's local blessings are spread out 
 
 Over a broader interchanging space. 
 
 And sevcr'd men are link'd unto their kind 
 
 By reciprocity of benefit. 
 
 Here I announce an instant embassy
 
 ATHELSTAK. 235 
 
 From Hugh Le Grand.* He asks us for a wife ; 
 
 And should I lend my flither's child to share 
 
 The weight of his ancestral dignities, 
 
 England may bless the day that gives its king 
 
 A brother, clear of head and clean of hand." 
 
 He ceased, and each one, spite of impotence 
 
 Of mind and knowledge to embrace in whole 
 
 The royal matter, cried the king was right, 
 
 For each one thought him wiser than the rest. 
 
 Yet when he stopp'd the course of words that flow'd — 
 
 Though freighted heavily with sense, and clear, — 
 
 From out a mind that seem'd preoccupied 
 
 With other thinkings, back in his high chair 
 
 He sank with a sore sj)irit-thwarted look. 
 
 Like one who hungers for some dainty food, 
 
 * Several chroniclers, among whoni William of Mabnesbury 
 deserves to be particularly noticed, have left us a description of the 
 presents made by Hugh to Athelstan for his sister. One of these, an 
 alabaster vase, evidently of Hellenic workmanship, is celebrated for 
 its rare beauty. "It was," says Mabnesbury, "so exquisitely chased 
 that the corn-fields really seemed to wave, the vines to bud, figures 
 of men actually to move ; and so clear and pobshed that it reflected 
 the featxires like a muTor." — Book ii., Ch. 6.
 
 236 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 AVheu o'er his soul a sudden sickness comes, 
 And his taste shudders at the natural joy. 
 
 And after days, by honor' d deputy 
 Came Hugh le Grand, the Duke of France, and brought 
 Rich presents with him — he himself a man 
 Of well-ascended years, tho' not yet reach'd 
 Life's summit, with a look that, calmly keen, 
 Seem'd to detect the future ; such a man 
 As in the tempting present fruit could see 
 The germ of evil, and forbear to pluck. 
 So, Hugh le Grand, of all his pleasant gifts 
 Sent some before, and wisely came himself 
 The centre of his bounty. First appear'd 
 Rich robes of silk, and golden di'inking-cups, 
 And silver-beaten things to minister 
 To luxuiy, or necessities of food. 
 Rare stones and perfumes with their separate gifts 
 Bribing the sight and smell for preference ; 
 And steeds that trod the ground as in disdain 

 
 ATHELSTAN. 237 
 
 To be led forth in such a peaceful show 
 
 When they had borne a warrior to the field. 
 
 Then came an ancient vase, scoop'd wond'rously 
 
 From a vast onyx, where the graver's hand 
 
 Had with a life-touch repi'oduced the life 
 
 Of harvest, and the merry-minded days 
 
 That illustrate the gathering of the grape. 
 
 And next rode Hugh, in delegated state. 
 
 Erect and bland. — And lest these worldly gifts 
 
 Had not enough of show and price to please, 
 
 There came such holy relics in his train 
 
 As might on the receiver's mind impress 
 
 And leave a sense of solemn thankfulness 
 
 Consistent with the boon's blest quality. 
 
 A flag of St. Mauritius led the van ; 
 
 Then on a silver tray borne delicately 
 
 A finger of that wonder-working man 
 
 St. Dionysius, excellently fresh. 
 
 Some of the nails that on the bloody cross 
 
 Had riven the limbs of Christ, claim' d reverence.
 
 238 ATUELSTAN. 
 
 And found it from the gazers as they past. 
 And then a part of that strange crown — not such 
 As earthly monarchs wear — which tightly drew 
 Around the forehead of divinity 
 Its interlacing and assaulting thorns. 
 Nest, in the rear, the sword of Constantine 
 Closed up the good procession, flaming bare, 
 Bome by a holy priest, as if to guard 
 Such heavenly treasiu-es from the hands of earth. 
 It could not be but that king Athclstan 
 Was pleased with gifts, some fitted for the times, 
 And others always fit for all mankind ; 
 But when he saw the cruel crown of Christ, 
 A ruddy trembUng overcame his face, 
 And he cried out with groans wrung audibly 
 To others, though himself seem'd not to hear, 
 Else had he check'd them, " This the diadem ! 
 This for the end of a laborious life, — 
 The life of one who sold himself to death 
 ^ To buy the freedom of his brotherhood ! "
 
 ATHELSTAN. 239 
 
 But by an effort, he the royalty 
 
 Gain'd o'er himself again, and on the gifts 
 
 He look'd, and on the envoy's countenance, 
 
 And featured saw therein the elements 
 
 Of his own further rise, — and his heart rose ; 
 
 The world gTew larger to him and he seem'd 
 
 To have himself a greater share in it. 
 
 So Hugh le Grand fared pleasantly, and got 
 
 Elhilda for a wife. And Abingdon 
 
 Rejoiced within its wide monastic mounds, 
 
 For from those costly gifts King Athelstan 
 
 Added yet more unto the stores that made 
 
 That house a name for wealth. And England joy'd. 
 
 And open'd all her eyes and ears to catch 
 
 The ceremonial show, and festal games 
 
 Of the great marriage, and each throat was stretch'd. 
 
 When duly mollified by wine, to praise 
 
 The royal pair who gave excuse for di-ink. 
 
 Excuse there wanted not for shows of skill
 
 240 ATIIELSTAN. 
 
 And feats of strength ; for tumblers twirl' d their limbs 
 
 To such contortions, that if born with them 
 
 They would have cm-sed the fate that made them so, 
 
 And spent their substance in appliances 
 
 To give them some humanity of form. 
 
 ]\Ien danced, and women 'danced, and it were doubt 
 
 If feet or throats went fastest — flinging heels 
 
 And shouting voices were the signs of joy. 
 
 And help'd each other to defy fatigue. 
 
 Drink provoked dance, and dance incited di'ink. 
 
 The slingers next contended for the prize. 
 A large fat hen was leg-tied on a post. 
 And he who at a hundred paces off 
 Knock'd the scared creatm'e fi'om its eminence 
 Would win it for his skill. And many a stone 
 Dented the post, and shook the wood beneath 
 The hen's unwilling roost, before it fell. 
 At last a young man came whose scanty garb 
 Display' d the limbs in fatless muscle clothed,
 
 ATHELSTAX, 241 
 
 By work, spare diet, and much open air. 
 
 Behind the bound he stood ; his right hand grasp' d 
 
 The thongs of leather, at whose lower ends 
 
 Reposed the stone within its hollow bed, 
 
 Made wider and shaped oval. With one glance 
 
 He took the measure of the interval, • 
 
 Then threw his left foot forward, whirling round 
 
 The sling at the same instant overhead. 
 
 Loosing one thong, the liberated stone 
 
 Whizz'd to the mark, and cut the slender cord 
 
 That bound the fowl ; down to the ground it fell. 
 
 A slinger caught it as it strove to fly, 
 
 And held it up, and swore it was not hit 
 
 From its perch fairly. " Hold it ! " cried the youth 
 
 " There, as thou hast it now, and if I fail 
 
 At the first throw to knock it from thy hand. 
 
 Keep it thyself, and have a second one 
 
 Which I will give thee, friend ! " Corapell'd by shame 
 
 And by the jeering crowd, the man held high 
 
 The hapless fowl at arms' length fi-om his head, 
 
 R
 
 242 ATHELSTAX. 
 
 Standing with face averted. Whistling flew 
 The fatal stone, and crash'd upon his hand. 
 Shrieking he dropt the prize, and running up 
 The young man pouch' d it 'mid applauding shouts. 
 
 Next came the games of spears and javelins, cast 
 To cover furthest distance, or to hit 
 The mark — a quintain ; 'twas a wooden head. 
 And called " The Dane " to pleasm-e Athelstan. 
 
 The course for racing stretch' d on either hand, 
 Rail'd in with stakes, and a grown swine the prize. 
 Among the iimners one there was, more fleet 
 Than others, but with less sustaining strength. 
 Two brothers, well-condition' d, join'd their wits 
 To overreach him. First one shot away 
 At his top speed to lure the swift man on 
 And force him to lose breath, the other waiting 
 With power held back to overtake and win. 
 But, near the goal, and when the man behind
 
 ATHELSTAN. 243 
 
 Had closed upon his panting enemy, 
 
 The foremost brother shpt, and o'er his back 
 
 The second tumbled like a waterfall 
 
 Shooting a rock. They, laugh'd at, in the dust, 
 
 With bloody faces sprawl'd discomfited, 
 
 And the swift runner, breathless, touch'd the goal. 
 
 Amid the many wrestlers, prominent 
 Was a huge Thane, the terror of the war, 
 Who did not think it soil'd his dignity 
 To try a fall with men of meaner sort. 
 But fall he got not, for he foil'd with ease 
 And with sore thumps each bold antagonist. 
 The last to try his fortune was the youth 
 Who won the prize at slings, but won not here. 
 The smiling giant seized him in his arms. 
 As might a mother dart upon her child, 
 And drag him from a crowd of combatants 
 In infant warfare ; so he carried him. 
 Making a show of struggling feet and hands, 
 
 k2
 
 244 ATIIELSTAN. 
 
 To where majestic stood the well-year'd ram, 
 The prize of wresthng. Gently by its side 
 He laid him down and cried, " Here, take the prize ! 
 Thou liast deserved it ! " Blushing rose the youth 
 And bowing much, while scream'd the multitude 
 With joy, well primed to scream at anything. 
 
 For a short space none seem'd more sensitive 
 To pleasure than the king — why should the lord 
 Of happy men be sad 1 So, 'mid the rest 
 He stood up like a ruling mind embodied 
 Most suitably to sight, tho' somewhat worn 
 The frame-work seem'd ; and he unbent his state, 
 And spake as if mere speaking were a joy. 
 But look'd, unspeakingly, the first of men. 
 Next in the strength and spirit of his soul 
 He thought to try his hand, oft tried and well, 
 At the old games of skill and hardihood. 
 He seized an iron disk, and whirling it 
 Over his shoulder with accustom'd art.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 245 
 
 HuiTd the vast weight at the last hmit, thinking 
 
 To overpass the bound, not used to fail. 
 
 With labour'd course the metal mass flew, falling 
 
 Short of the mark. In body still he stood, 
 
 But o'er his face, too quick to be conceal' d. 
 
 There past the twitchings of convulsive thought, 
 
 A sad alloy of bitterness and fear ; 
 
 And men said, 'twas a grievous thing for one 
 
 To fail in aught who ne'er had fail'd before. 
 
 Then knew the king — 'twas a hard thing to know ; 
 A lesson he had shrunk from — that his strength 
 Had been invaded much by penance, more 
 By the sharp scom-ge of an uneasy mind. 
 And when alone (too often thus alone 
 He was when solitude was sadness, yet 
 He was drawn on by an invisible force 
 To seek the pain he could not bear when found), 
 Then as it were in vision he look'd down 
 A long fair vista, overarch'd with green
 
 246 ATHELSTAN, 
 
 And gay with flowers, and bright with flaring lamps, 
 
 And noisy with the shoiits that hail success, 
 
 But, at the end, a small low spot of earth. 
 
 Unlit, unsounding, and unvisited, 
 
 Fit to dig holes in, and to cast in them 
 
 Dead peasants, or the carcass of a king. 
 
 A fever'd body may be soothed by art. 
 But what medicament can cool the mind 
 That blows its own consuming fire within 1 
 Sagacious, active, beautiful, and brave, 
 Against invisible darts in vain he raised 
 The shield of his defensive excellence ; 
 And eveiy cast he made for happiness 
 Fell each time short and shorter of the mark. 
 The very greatness that he sought and gain'd, 
 The very good he strove to do, and did. 
 Were turn'd to instruments for his distress. 
 And a voice daily seem'd to cry at him, 
 *' Thou art a king ! Be thankful. Thou hast pieced
 
 ATHELSTAX. 247 
 
 The fragments of the people into one ; 
 Hast caused the name of England sound abi'oad 
 With sharper ring of fame, for love or fear ; 
 Hast laid thy hand on princes, and hast set them 
 On thi'ones, and made thy sisters royal twice, 
 First in themselves, and in their husbands next. 
 Be happy ! " and he thought, as if he gave 
 An answer to himself, " All this is true : 
 This have I done, and such I am. The weak 
 Envy my lot, and the strong flatter me." 
 But the thought was not follow'd by a smile. 
 
 E'en gentle night deluded him with dreams 
 Of peaceful calm, on which his conscience lay 
 As on a pillow resting — then he woke 
 Unto the hard and real, and clamorous day. 
 And once he stood in thought before Heaven's walls, 
 Low walls of spiral fire, that seem'd to hve, 
 And when one sought to overlook their fence, 
 Darted fierce flames at the intruder's face.
 
 248 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 A gateway, but no gate, led inwardly. 
 And in the gap a vast bright angel stood, 
 Spreading his wings, shields of white adamant, 
 Before the entrance. In his hand he grasp' d 
 A pair of scales, whose huge circumference 
 Held, on the one side, ponderous golden weights. 
 And at the other end whoever sought 
 To enter there might cast his claims, in view 
 Of bearing down the scale, and winning Heav'n. 
 And the king thought he had beside him bags 
 Of gold, and heaps of rare and precious things, 
 And title-deeds to wide-extended lands. 
 Which he had shower'd in splendid charity. 
 These in the scale-pan he cast eagerly, 
 But the remorseless balance rigid stood 
 High up, and bow'd not from its first estate. 
 Next, there was heard a din of voices, mix'd 
 Of prayers and blessings, offerings from the lips 
 Of many slaves whom Athelstan had freed. 
 Their breathings gather' d on the topmost scale,
 
 ATHELSTAX. 249 
 
 Like a thick cloud — with tremulous motion down 
 Slightly it sank, and creak' d the balance-arm, 
 Prompt to descend ; but hover'd there awhile 
 As if uncertain, and then rising up 
 Stood still and pitiless, to be moved no more. 
 Then woke King Athelstan, 'Twas but a dream. 
 Why think upon a dream 1 and yet he thought. 
 And his thoughts wasted him, and dried his strength 
 As the sun dries the body of a pool ; 
 While on his countenance an anxious look 
 Fought for possession with the pride that shrank 
 From being thought to fear for anything. 
 
 At open lattice did he sit one night. 
 The sun had sunk, array' d in angiy red. 
 Mid strong environment of colour'd clouds ; 
 One only in the opposite heav'ns appear'd 
 Of a funereal black, and from its top, 
 As from a grave, the crescent moon emerged. 
 The stars were set as everlasting gems
 
 250 ATIIELSTAX. 
 
 In the deep sky and clear, clear save where patch'd 
 
 At spacious intervals by thunder-clouds, 
 
 In each of which, at times, the lightning flash' d, 
 
 Making them shine like festal palaces. 
 
 And every now and then from out their folds 
 
 Large drops of rain, the tears of evening, fell. 
 
 'Twas a strange scene, and to the king's mind seem'd 
 
 Indicative of pow'r, pow'r strong in peace, 
 
 Dwelling magnificent in quietude. 
 
 " How lives the lightning there ! " cried Athelstan, 
 
 " Doing no hai-m, and yet how beautiful ! 
 
 And earth's success — is that but reach'd through sin 1 
 
 It must invade for conquest ; make defence 
 
 Before oftence is offer'd ; sow ill seed 
 
 To gather good ; and when the crop is reap'd 
 
 It comes embitter' d by the toil and strain 
 
 Of many dark unconscientious days. 
 
 So, Pow'r and Tleasm-c ! — let the two be pair'd, 
 
 And if they do not quarrel in their life, 
 
 One end awaits them. Wlio would set a crown
 
 ATHELSTAN. 251 
 
 Upon the bone-brow of a royal corpse ? 
 
 Ay, Pow'r and happiness — all-judging God ! 
 
 Why did'st thou give me the vain mind that strives 
 
 To climb these ftiithless heights 1 Praised, foUow'd, 
 
 fear'd ; 
 But loved — how often 1 That were hapjDiness ! 
 Alas ! for me, that never on my brow 
 Hath woman laid her sorrow-soothing palm : 
 Alas ! for me, that never to my soul 
 Another gentler soul hath bound itself : 
 Alas ! for me, a solitary star 
 Amid a blazing sky, whose lesser lights 
 Call it more great, but deem themselves more blest. 
 Power ! — mockery ! Hard it is to learn so late 
 How small is greatness unenlarged by love. 
 Love might — soft, wise, potential love — have saved me 
 From doing what I've done — what I have done. 
 What comes 1 " Here growing faint he call'd for help. 
 And lay down trembling like a child that's sick.
 
 252 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 There did he rest awhile in sombre thought. 
 When, stronger grown, and lifting up his eyes, 
 He saw at the far room's extremity 
 A light most soft, but full. 'Twas not the day, 
 For that was in repose. 'Twas not the lamps. 
 For it had more of substance, and spread out 
 Advancing somewhat. Gazing steadily 
 He saw it settle into hmuan shape, 
 A silv'ry film through which the walls behind 
 Were visible ; and slowly, certainly, 
 A face smiled from it — that of Eadgitha. 
 It could not be, for a whole year had past 
 Since she had died in hopeful sanctity. 
 Yet there she stood ! — the same, but not the same. 
 Like a coarse picture which an angel's hand. 
 Dipping its pencil in the hues of Heav'n, 
 Had painted o'er afresh. He heard no voice, 
 Saw not a motion of her fliii-y lips. 
 Yet did it seem as if upon his brain 
 There were words written which his eye could read :
 
 ATHELSTAN. -53 
 
 *' All sins, tho' scarlet, may be wasli'd as wliite 
 As snow-flakes in the air, but not by him 
 Who does the evil." Then the face died out 
 To the last smiling ; and the human shape 
 Took other shape, most like a fiery cross, 
 Which grew so bright he could not look on it ; 
 And when the eyes which he had closed perforce 
 Again were open'd, he saw nothing there 
 But earthly lamp-light flickering in the wind 
 And playing with the pillars and the walls. 
 
 Then strove the king, by change of place, to fly 
 The presence of inqmsitorial care, 
 Which pull'd on one idea, and stretch'd his brain, 
 Till he who ne'er ask'd quarter cried for peace. 
 To Gloucester went he — rather say, his friends 
 Convey'd him there ; and there went with him too 
 The one idea, the thorn-point of his soul. 
 
 As may in modern times some classic fane.
 
 254 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Whence the divinity hath fled, lay dowii 
 
 Its stricken glories on the vulgai* earth ; 
 
 Great blocks of matchless sculpture stre'uni around 
 
 Attest how Natui-e, leagued with Time, can wreck 
 
 The works which challenge life beyond her own ; 
 
 While men stare at them, idly wondering 
 
 At those sad relics of gigantic art, 
 
 Like thoughts of beauty so impress' d in stone 
 
 That the type perish'd with the ai'chitect. 
 
 So on from day to day and night to night 
 
 The politic chief, the warrior-monarch lay, 
 
 Dissolving into the similitude 
 
 Of common workers toppled down by death ; 
 
 A human ruin, trusting all its fame 
 
 To fleeting memory, or historic tale. 
 
 Thus many a mortal yet endures to heap 
 A pyramid of gold, or gather fame, 
 Or rule his kind — to end in what ? To leave 
 To a posterity that heeds them not
 
 ATIIELSTAX. 255 
 
 His name and deeds npon a hii'eling stone 
 In monumeutal mediocrity. 
 
 Friends spoke the king with comfortable speech 
 Of his ancestral glories, and his own ; 
 How his great sire to France and Germany- 
 Had sent five royal daughters of his house. 
 How the same France and Norway and Bretagne 
 Were blest with kings which he himself had giv'u. 
 He answer' d not, as if he heard them not. 
 They told him too his name would never die. 
 Then querulously he : " But I myself 1 
 I see Death coming like a conqueror 
 "Who sacks the outmost town, and breaks the guards 
 That fence a nation's heart, until he knock 
 With rude hand at the very central core 
 From which the life-blood flows to all the land. 
 ! that he were a bodily enemy 
 WTiom I could grapple with in open fight. 
 Eye watching eye, and hand opposing hand !
 
 256 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 This have I done — this shall I ne'er do more ! " 
 And as he raised his hand, past memories gave 
 The nerves a short-lived firmness — then it sank 
 With the lean fingers drooping from the wrist. 
 
 The abbot likewise, now with greyer hairs 
 And portlier presence, as the gift of time 
 And careful eating, took his proper turn 
 Of whisp'ring comfort, naming the good life 
 That they who do good here hereafter live. 
 He instanced the king's gifts to God's own church 
 As given to God — his costly charities — 
 The fetters knock'd from slaves ; then Athelstan 
 Cried low as from a sudden twist of pain ; 
 And men remark'd it, pitying him, and said 
 It was the fell disease that wrench'd him so. 
 
 One too, a com'tier — such as courtiers were 
 In those old days ; a man of subtle mind, 
 Who loved not fighting for the fighting's sake,
 
 ATHELSTAN. 257 
 
 But who could fight if hard press'd, and the stake 
 
 Were worth the risk, yet rather loved to filch 
 
 The good thing by half-sanctioned trickery ; 
 
 But notwithstanding had the wdt to 'scape 
 
 From being call'd a coward by his foes — 
 
 He, with the thought to please, told sneeringly 
 
 How Anlaf fled unwounded from the fight 
 
 Which the king won from him at Brunnabm*gh ; 
 
 And settled down respectably, though young. 
 
 In some far quiet spot of Ireland — he 
 
 Could not for his part see how any nook 
 
 Of Ireland could be quiet — then the king 
 
 With strength unlook'd-for cried out testily, 
 
 " Go on ! " and on he went, " Men say beside 
 
 That Bertha, when she heard how very sore 
 
 The battle went against him, join'd him there. 
 
 And there " — here Athelstan brake in on him 
 
 Wrath-reddened, " Not yet finished ! but go on ! 
 
 What do they there 1 Say on ! " Then he (siu^rised 
 
 At being urged to speak, considering 
 
 s
 
 258 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 He loved to speak, and spoke of what he loved), 
 
 " There do they live ambitiouless and dull. 
 
 Kissing each other without change, as if 
 
 The world were nothing to these fools of love ; 
 
 She, doubtless, using all her charms to bring 
 
 The amorous heathen to the cross of Christ, 
 
 And he content to find his Heav'n in her. 
 
 I'd lay a cask of Gascon wine against 
 
 A hoini of home-brew, that, to please her lord 
 
 She'll work his exploits in embroidery — 
 
 Especially his deeds at Brunnaburgh — 
 
 As curtain-hangings for their marriage-bed !" 
 
 But when the king had heard the glib account, 
 
 With painful force he raised himself and cried, 
 
 Half-shriekingly, "Begone, thou wretched fool!" 
 
 Then faint, sank back, while those around him said 
 
 He was too ill to understand a jest. 
 
 Neai'er, and neai-er came the conqueror, 
 Almighty Death, and shook the very door
 
 ATHELSTAN. 259 
 
 That led into the inmost room of life. 
 
 But why describe a progress by all Time 
 
 Made common 1 Flowers or thorns which smooth the 
 
 path 
 Or make it sharper leave the goal unchanged. 
 One day ; a day of rest, for pain had left 
 The body of the king, and e'en the mind 
 Had gain'd brief respite from the vulture fang 
 That tore it with unsatisfiable thought, 
 He sent for Edmund : Edmund hasting came, 
 When Athelstan with undetermined voice, 
 As timorous of the answer which he ask'd, 
 And, with a look which, if it ask'd not pity. 
 At least moved pity in the seer, said 
 " My brother ! speak the truth to one who soon 
 Will speak no more to thee or other man. 
 Have I done to thee as I shoiild have done 
 In all the parts of life and in God's sight V 
 Prince Edmund knelt beside the sick king's couch 
 And cried in faltering tones, " Thou hast, thou hast — 
 
 s2
 
 260 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Done all tliini's I can think thou sliouldst have 
 
 done, 
 In all the parts of life, in sight of God." 
 Lighting the hollow face of Athelstan 
 A smile broke forth, as if one, suddenly, 
 Shoidd place a candle in a skeleton's skull, 
 Then tired of jesting, put it out, so died 
 The smile to darkness, and that death's head grew 
 More ghastly than at first. The suffering Prince 
 Lay, motionless awhile, save a slight throb 
 O'er all his limbs from earnestness of thought ; 
 Then, in a questioning whisper cried, " Not so ! 
 I cannot with the good I've done, o'er-lay 
 The evil that Heav'n's eye shall see it not. 
 Art thou right, Eadgitha ? Christ ! " and here 
 A gentle look of hope, not painless quite 
 Took up its dwelling on his face, and thence 
 It never past, not even when the arm 
 That levels kings had fall'u on Athelstan.
 
 ATHELSTAN. 261 
 
 Then did he lay his hand on Edmund's head * 
 That great hand which had stretch' d out once to reach 
 An empire, and had caught and held it fast — 
 Now weaker than a child's — and said, with voice 
 That seem'd to snatch at the retreating breath, 
 "Avoid to do as I have — brother, hear. 
 I do confess," but from the com-ts below 
 Suddenly burst a most vmtimely clash 
 Of horns and battle-trumpets, and such sounds 
 As warriors love when heart and ai*m are fresh, 
 Drowaiing his feeble words, and when they ceased. 
 
 * This prince, who succeeded Athelstan on the throne, was 
 obviously less deserving of elevation than Edwin would have been. 
 His life, like his brother's, was full of action, and his death more 
 tragical. Many historical interests are ravested with greater gran- 
 deur, but few excite a more thrilling interest. Seated in the midst 
 of his nobles in the Gloucestershire village of Puckelchurch, he 
 beheld an exile, whom he regarded with peculiar hatred, enter 
 the banquetiag hall, and take his place at the board. Forgetful of 
 his dignity, the king rose from table and sought to expel the 
 intruder by force. A hand-to-hand encounter took place. The 
 combatants fell, and rolling together on the floor, the king at length 
 obtained the upper hand, and lay on the prostrate body of his foe. 
 Unable to extricate himself, Leofa, the exile, cU-cw his dagger and 
 plunged it into his antagonist's heart ; after which, as might have 
 been expected, he himself was cut to pieces by the armed and infu- 
 riated guests.
 
 262 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Edmund heard nothing save a murmuring moan 
 From \\-ps that moved as strugghng hopelessly 
 Beneath a weight that closed them ; and his hand 
 Slid gi-adually off from Edmund's head, 
 And falling hit the bed with a shai'p sound, 
 As if its last blow were for ever struck. 
 Prince Edmund started to his feet, and tum'd 
 His look aside, in terror to behold 
 Wliat he knew must be seen, then, timid glanced 
 Into the king's face, now no more a king's, 
 And saw beneath him, quench' d eternally. 
 The light of England, Athelstan the great. 
 
 The young Piince trembled thus to stand alone 
 Where erst had been himself and Athelstan, 
 The first of living men, but nothing now. 
 A wailing spirit seem'd to fill the room, 
 The voice of Glory mourning for her son ; 
 And Edmund look'd again, half doubtingly 
 Upon the prosti-ate form, as if once more
 
 ATHELSTAN. 263 
 
 It must arise to rule the souls of men, 
 
 But not a motion stin-'d the couch of death, 
 
 And not a sound distm-b'd that night of day. 
 
 ■\\Tiat follow'd ? Scarcely after such a life 
 Had stopt its motion, is it worth to tell 
 How next there came the solemn vanities 
 That wait on great men's exits, vanities 
 That have their use when men are vain and weak — 
 The panophed remembrances of death ; 
 And ostiaries and melancholy bells. 
 And exorcists that sprinkled holy dew 
 To damp the ardour of encroaching Hell ; 
 And acolytes that held their tapers high, 
 As crying unto all men, " Ye who think 
 Your deeds are evil, come not to the light ! " 
 Then in long lines of men and warlike sounds, 
 The noisy show of military grief. 
 And martial trumps that once led on to war, 
 Now shi-iek'd lamenting as if war were dead.
 
 264 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 The warriors of all ranks, as slow they march' d, 
 
 Held in their hands their helmets, fenced with skins 
 
 Of wild beasts, or, more costly, iron-gilt. 
 
 Behind their backs were bound their sounding shields, 
 
 As if all use for such things had expired 
 
 With the imperial soldier they bewail' d, 
 
 And as the train swept on to Malmesbuiy 
 
 Bearing the body of King Athelstan, 
 
 Eich gifts of gold and silver went before, 
 
 And saintly relics heralded the corse ; 
 
 And thick behind came troops of mourning men — 
 
 Monks whom the king had gifted splendidly 
 
 With miles of land ; and they whom he had fed, 
 
 Being indigent, from his benevolent farms. 
 
 The slaves whom he had freed, brought up the rear 
 
 Beating their breasts, and wishing Heav'n had sjjared 
 
 Yet longer for the earth so good a man. 
 
 And the old men, whom fruitful length of years 
 Taught all things, cried, " How great was Athelstan !
 
 ATHELSTAN. 265 
 
 How wise in council, and how strong in fight ! 
 And how he loved his country — how he wore 
 His life away in thinking good for her ! " 
 Then pray'd for sons that might resemble him. 
 And all the women cried, " How beautiful, 
 How full of pi'incely grace was Athelstau ! " 
 They praised his smile, his eyes, his shape, his hair, 
 And wish'd their daughters husbands like to him ! 
 And all the young men cried, if they coidd do 
 As he did, only for a single month. 
 That were enough of life for any man. 
 
 AVrapt in fine linen, with his battle-arms 
 ('Mong these the dagger pledged at Beverley 
 Which he redeem'd what time he turn'd his steps 
 Victorious from the fight at Brunnaburgh) 
 In the grey-marble cofiin by his side, 
 Beneath the altar-stone at Malmesbury, 
 In the great church, they left the king alone, 
 Unseeing all the honours paid to him,
 
 266 ATHELSTAN. 
 
 Unhearing how the people talk'd, and said 
 What happiness it was to be so great. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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