THE REFLECTOR.

[No. LIV.]

ALFRED,

AN EPIC POEM, BY JOSEPH COTTLE.

In a deep glen, surrounded by tall rocks
And hanging trees, whose foliage dark, half hid
The light of day, while, with soft melody,
A mountain stream beside him murmuring ran,
Stood ALFRED-poring on his country's wrongs.

TH

COTTLE.

HE second and third books of this pleasing poem are now to be the subject of our consi deration. They exhibit the British Monarch in great distress-the Danes were ravaging every part of the island-all opposition was useless. ALFRED therefore is about to retire for a while, that he might burst upon his enemies with success, and shine forth in all the effulgence of victory!

ALFRED having announced to the troops that he must leave them-and withdraw into solitudeSilent he stood, and with heart-weariness

Chanc'd to espy the brook slow murmuring near, Whilst interruptions from the stones that strew'd Its shallow bed, or the thick dancing reeds, Stay'd not its course, for still, with earnest speed, And undiverted, fast it roll'd along,

Never to know tranquillity, till mix'd

With the great mass of waters. "So must THOU," A voice most sweetly whisper'd-"So must THOU, Toil on, O king! nor vainly hope to gain

A quiet, till in death that ocean lost!"

The musing prince look'd up-for ODDUNI stood Before him

ODDUNE (the Earl of Devon) wishes to accompany Alfred, but he is refused-and then is dismissed to seek the western land." The king, however, addressing ALSWITHA, exclaims—

He goes, 'mid death and perils! Heav'n will guard Such worth as his from the night-prowling wolf, Or fiercer Dane. If ever prince should find A man like ODDUNE-let him not rejoice That God hath dealt a crown, but given a friend! ALFRED next meets with SIGBERT, Abbot of Wilton, who raves against the Danes even to a degree of insanity. The monarch checks his lust of revenge, and beautifully reminds him of the peaceable forgiving spirit of the christian religion“with craving appetite,

Loud will I call for blood! My very joints
Shall snap for extacy at Danish blood."

He ceas'd-convulsions heav'd his frame, his hands
Clench'd each other. When the king replied-
"SIGBERT, thy words are rash, thou hast not yet
Learn'd that great precept, greatest, most divine,
The spirit of the Deity himself,

Thy foes to pity."

-Cried the wondering monk, "Pity the Danes!" When Alfred spake, "e'en Danes !

For he our master taught, when he said,

Tomen more sunk, more lost than Danes themselves, "Father, forgive! they know not what they do!" And thou should'st copy him. For Danes I pray Most ardently, that God would change their hearts, And give me peace. Yet, said the indignant king, If these fierce Normanders-these savage men, Will waste our land, and drench our happy isle With unoffending blood, and seek our lives, And thirst for murder-be our arms absolv'd, And let them perish by the avenging sword! ALFRED having bidden his troops an adieu, proceeds with the Queen ALSWITHA, and their

infant child, across the heath to Glastonbury Abbey. With this scene the second book thus charmingly opens

"Thou lovely moon!" cried Alfred, as he mov❜d
Across the trackless down, all wide and waste,
Bearing his infant child. ALSWITHA lean'd
Upon his arm, for they had wandered long,
And it was night. "Thou lovely moon," he cried,
"How calm thou art! thou journeyest on thy way,
Nor heed'st the many mists that now and then
Awhile conceal thee, for thou passest on,
Casting thine eyes disdainful at the clouds,
The low and scatter'd clouds, that fain would hide
Thy majesty. And have not I a mind,
More vast than is you orb? an intellect,
That ranges unconfin'd thro' time and space,
Scorning their narrow limits? What is this,
This thinking faculty, that acts and plans
Within me? Is it not, ere long, ordain'd
To cast aside its fetters, and assert

Its native dignity? I know it is!

Ayc, in those regions where thou sitt'st enthron'd, In empyrean glory, lovely moon!

I feel a sudden and mysterious calm

Shoot thro' my frame. This mind will copy thee!
Go on, ye grovelling clouds! increase in size
And number: gather round my head, and strive
To hide that light eternal! call the winds
And tempests to your aid! yet, undisturb❜d,
I will behold your impotence and smile.
Sorrows and pangs of frail humanity!
Upon the wings of ages do ye fly,

Fast as the mists of night, whilst I shall live,
Clad in the robe of immortality,

When yon bright orb is quench'd!"

-The king,

As meditating thus on lofty themes,

Felt cheer his heart; but soon the busy thoughts Of his own cares, his country's wrongs, rush'd ja, And he was sad. Mournful he saw his child, Who on his father's arms lay wondering

At that big lamp on high, whose tranquil beams
On every side shone luminous! And now
With new delight he laughs aloud to see

The full orb'd moon, and leaps with sudden start, Of infant gratulation!

ALFRED now throws off his royal mantle-they meet an old cripple, with whom they divide their only loaf, and the following fine compliment is paid to the virtue of humanity

-ALFRED turn'd the while,

And to the queen thus spake: "Hear, best belov'd!
Words that from mildness spring. 'Tis well to guard
The plant humanity: tender its leaves,

And he who checks their wild luxuriance
Will find them pine, and from the unfriendly soil
At length slow die away!"

The name of this aged cripple is NIDOR, and he relates his story to the royal couple with an affecting simplicity. His grand theme is the ravages and cruelties of the Danes. He had been bed-ridden for many years, but the fright into which the enemy had thrown him, caused him to recover his strength, and now he was fleeing for safety. They part at the sight of Glastonbury Abbey. A most interesting conversation takes place between ALFRED and ALSWITHA, respecting their present condition. She wishes much to accompany him, but he positively refuses-the king exclaims

It is most hard! but we shall meet again!
Soon will my feet return, and, I would hope,
With tidings such as thou wilt joy to learn;
But doubt whate'er thou wilt, oh! never doubt
Thy husband's true affection.

-Alfred turn'd

And wept. ALSWITHA mark'd the tear! a tear,
That on her soul engrav'd a character

Deep, and for ever fresh,

The conclusion of the book is particularly im. pressive-ALSWITHA and her infant are left at Glastonbury Abbey.

-ALFRED NOW

Beheld his blooming boy-whom thus he spoke,
"Mild infant! thou can'st lift thy hands in sport,
And laugh, unconscious of the cares that press
Thy wretched parents, but the hour will come
When these light dreams shall vanish, when thy
heart

Shall sink within thee, and the passing clouds
Seem leagu'd against thy peace. Delighted child!
Go on to smile, stretch out thy little arms
In nature's holiday, and chant thy song
Untutor'd, heedless of thy coming wrongs,
But they will soon o'ertake thee. Few and evil
Are man's appointed days, and such indeed
Thy Sire has found them. May a double share,
His, and thine own, have lain upon him! Child!
Beloved child! if thou should'st never more
Behold these eyes, nor at a riper age

Receive a father's blessing, may high heaven
Protect thee! God of heaven and earth look down
And save my child! ALSWITHA, now farewell!”
She answered not, and, as he mov'd away,
Sorrowing, his boy held out his little hands,

And chang'd from smiles to tears. "O, fare thee well!"

Cried ALFRED, "fare thee well!" Then towards the hall

With solemn step he walked.

ALFRED then recommends his wife and child to the abbot in a most affectionate manner

"When thro' the lofty gateway slow he pass'd!"