Part 18 (1/2)

So at last the sign of the cross was put on Guthrum and

”Far out to the winding river The blood ran down for days, When we put the cross on Guthrum In the parting of the ways.”

And in the last book, ”The Scouring of the White Horse,” we see Alfred at peace again.

”In the days of the rest of Alfred, When all these things were done, And Wess.e.x lay in a patch of peace, Like a dog in a patch of sun--

The King sat in his orchard, Among apples green and red, With the little book in his bosom And the suns.h.i.+ne on his head.”

And he gathered the songs of simple men, and gave alms, and ”gat good laws of the ancient kings like treasure out of the tombs”; and men came from the ends of the earth and went out to the ends of the earth because of the word of the King.

”And men, seeing such emba.s.sies, Spake with the King and said: 'The steel that sang so sweet a tune On Ashdown and on Ethandune, Why hangs it scabbarded so soon, All heavily like lead?'”

They asked: ”Why dwell the Danes in North England and up to the river ride?”

”And Alfred in the orchard, Among apples green and red, With the little book in his bosom, Looked at green leaves and said:

'When all philosophies shall fail, This word alone shall fit; That a sage feels too small for life, And a fool too large for it.

Asia and all Imperial plains Are too little for a fool; But for one man whose eyes can see, The little island of Athelney Is too large a land to rule.

... But I am a common king, And I will make my fences tough From Wantage Town to Plymouth Bluff, Because I am not wise enough To rule so small a thing.'”

He only commands his men to keep the White Horse white. Rumour of the Danes to the eastward, Danes wasting the world about the Thames reaches him, but Alfred only points to the White Horse.

”'Will ye part with the weeds for ever?

Or show daisies to the door?

Or will you b id the bold gra.s.s Go, and return no more?...

And though skies alter and empires melt, This word shall still be true: If we would have the horse of old, Scour ye the horse anew....

But now I wot if ye scour not well Red rust shall grow on G.o.d's great bell And gra.s.s in the streets of G.o.d.'”

He has a vision that the heathen will return.

”'They shall not come with wars.h.i.+ps, They shall not waste with brands, But books be all their eating, And ink be on their hands....

By this sign you shall know them, The breaking of the sword, And Man no more a free knight, That loves or hates his lord....

When is great talk of trend and tide, And wisdom and destiny, Hail that undying heathen That is sadder than the sea.'”

He sees no more, but rides out doubtfully to his last war on a tall grey horse at dawn.

”And all the while on White Horse Hill The horse lay long and wan, The turf crawled and the fungus crept, And the little sorrel, while all men slept, Unwrought the work of man....

And clover and silent thistle throve, And buds burst silently, With little care for the Thames Valley Or what things there might be.”

And the King took London Town.