And then Alfred seizes it again and triumphantly, scornfully, sings his paean in praise of his own creed:

"'But though I lie on the floor of the world, With the seven sins for rods, I would rather fall with Adam Than rise with all your G.o.ds.

What have the strong G.o.ds given?

Where have the glad G.o.ds led?

When Guthrum sits on a hero's throne And asks if he is dead?...

... Though you hunt the Christian man Like a hare on the hill-side, The hare has still more heart to run Than you have heart to ride....

Our monks go robed in rain and snow, But the heart of flame therein, But you go clothed in feasts and flames, When all is ice within; ...

Ere the sad G.o.ds that made your G.o.ds Saw their sad sunrise pa.s.s, The White Horse of the White Horse Vale, That you have left to darken and fail, Was cut out of the gra.s.s.

Therefore your end is on you, Is on you and your kings, Not for a fire in Ely fen, Not that your G.o.ds are nine or ten, But because it is only Christian men Guard even heathen things.'"

Alfred then goes away and is struck by the woman in the forest for letting her cakes blacken.

"'He that hath failed in a little thing Hath a sign upon the brow; And the Earls of the Great Army Have no such seal to show....

... I am the first king known of heaven That has been struck like a slave.'"

He takes the blow as a good omen:

"'For he that is struck for an ill servant Should be a kind lord.'"

He collects his followers and they go roaring over the Roman wall and fall upon the Danes at Ethandune. In the first phase we see Alfred's men waking to the realisation of the high folly of the fight and despair clawing at their hearts.

"For the Saxon Franklin sorrowed For the things that had been fair, For the dear dead women, crimson clad, And the great feasts and the friends he had; But the Celtic prince's soul was sad For the things that never were."

Alfred asks for his people's prayers and the Roman Mark proudly says:

"'Lift not my head from b.l.o.o.d.y ground, Bear not my body home, For all the earth is Roman earth And I shall die in Rome.'"

Harold then comes forward in gay colours smoking with oil and musk, and taunts the ragged Colan with the rusty sword: he takes his bow and shoots an arrow at Colan, who sprang aside and whirled his sword round his head and let it sweep out of his hand on to Harold's head. The Dane fell dead and Alfred gave his own sword to Colan and himself seized a rude axe from a hind hard by and turned to the fray.

In Book VI., "The Slaying of the Chiefs," we are first shown Eldred breaking the sea of spears "As a tall ship breaks the sea."

"But while he moved like a ma.s.sacre He murmured as in sleep, And his words were all of low hedges And little fields and sheep.

Even as he strode like a pestilence, That strides from Rhine to Rome, He thought how tall his beans might be If ever he went home."

But in the end the sword broke in his hand and he falls to the seventh "faerie blade" of Elf the minstrel.

"Six spears thrust upon Eldred Were splintered while he laughed; One spear thrust into Eldred, Three feet of blade and shaft."

But he was soon avenged by Mark:

"Right on the Roman shield and sword Did spear of the Rhine maids run; But the shield shifted never, The sword rang down to sever, The great Rhine sang for ever, And the songs of Elf were done."

Ogier in his turn avenges Elf:

"But hate in the buried Ogier Was strong as pain in h.e.l.l, With bare brute hand from the inside He burst the shield of bra.s.s and hide, And a death-stroke to the Roman's side Sent suddenly and well.

Then the great statue on the shield Looked his last look around With level and imperial eye; And Mark, the man from Italy, Fell in the sea of agony, And died without a sound."

The Danes in their triumph sing:

"'No more shall the brown men of the south Move like the ants in lines, To quiet men with olives Or madden men with vines.'

There was that in the wild men back of him [Ogier], There was that in his own wild song, A dizzy throbbing, a drunkard smoke, That dazed to death all Wess.e.x folk, And swept their spears along.

Vainly the sword of Colan And the axe of Alfred plied-- The Danes poured in like brainless plague, And knew not when they died.

Prince Colan slew a score of them, And was stricken to his knee; King Alfred slew a score and seven And was borne back on a tree."

The King was beaten, blind, at bay, and we are taken on to Book VII., "The Last Change," where Alfred is compared to a small child building one tower in vain, piling up small stones to make a town, and evermore the stones fall down and he piles them up again.

"And this was the might of Alfred, At the ending of the way; That of such smiters, wise or wild, He was least distant from the child, Piling the stones all day.

For Eldred fought like a frank hunter That killeth and goeth home; And Mark had fought because all arms Rang like the name of Rome.

And Colan fought with a double mind, Moody and madly gay; But Alfred fought as gravely As a good child at play.

He saw wheels break and work run back And all things as they were; And his heart was...o...b..d like victory And simple like despair.

Therefore is Mark forgotten, That was wise with his tongue and brave; And the cairn over Colan crumbled, And the cross on Eldred's grave.

Their great souls went on a wind away, And they have not tale or tomb; And Alfred born in Wantage Rules England till the doom.

Because in the forest of all fears Like a strange fresh gust from sea, Struck him that ancient innocence That is more than mastery."

And so Alfred began his life once more and took his ivory horn unslung and smiled, but not in scorn:

"'Endeth the Battle of Ethandune With the blowing of a horn.'"

He collects his remnants and incites them to a last desperate effort:

"'To grow old cowed in a conquered land, With the sun itself discrowned, To see trees crouch and cattle slink-- Death is a better ale to drink, And by high Death on the fell brink, That flagon shall go round.' ...

And the King held up the horn and said: 'See ye my father's horn, That Egbert blew in his empery, Once, when he rode out commonly, Twice when he rode for venery, And thrice on the battle-morn.'"

So

" ... the last charge went blindly, And all too lost for fear: The Danes closed round, a roaring ring, And twenty clubs rose o'er the King, Four Danes hewed at him, halloing, And Ogier of the Stone and Sling Drove at him with a spear."

But the Danes were careless, and Alfred split Ogier to the spine: the tide miraculously turned and the Danes gave way and retreated clamouring, disorderly:

"For dire was Alfred in his hour The pale scribe witnesseth, More mighty in defeat was he Than all men else in victory, And behind, his men came murderously, Dry-throated, drinking death."