Har. Then I think that every one who cuts down an oak should be obliged to plant another.
Tut. Very right—but he should plant two or three for one, for fear of accidents in their growing.
I will now repeat to you some verses describing the oak in its state of full growth, or rather of beginning to decay, with the various animals living upon it—and then we will walk.
“See where yon Oak its awful structure rears,
The massy growth of twice a hundred years;
Survey his rugged trunk with moss o’ergrown,
His lusty arms in rude disorder thrown,
His forking branches wide at distance spread,
And dark’ning half the sky, his lofty head.
A mighty castle, built by Nature’s hands,
Peopled by various living tribes, he stands.
His airy top the clamorous rooks invest,
And crowd the waving boughs with many a nest.
Midway the nimble squirrel builds his bower;
And sharp-billed pies the insect tribes devour
That gnaw beneath the bark their secret ways,
While unperceived the stately pile decays.”
ALFRED.—A Drama.
| PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. | |
|---|---|
| Alfred | King of England. |
| Gubba | a Farmer. |
| Gandelin | his Wife. |
| Ella | an Officer of Alfred. |
Scene—The Isle of Athelney.
Alfred. How retired and quiet is everything in this little spot! The river winds its silent waters round this retreat; and the tangled bushes of the thicket fence it from the attack of an enemy. The bloody Danes have not yet pierced into this wild solitude. I believe I am safe from their pursuit. But I hope I shall find some inhabitants here, otherwise I shall die of hunger. Ha! here is a narrow path through the wood, and I think I see the smoke of a cottage rising between the trees. I will bend my steps thither.
Scene—Before the Cottage.
Gubba coming forward. Gandelin, within.
Alfred. Good even to you, good man. Are you disposed to show hospitality to a poor traveller?
Gubba. Why truly there are so many poor travellers now-a-days, that if we entertain them all, we shall have nothing left for ourselves. However, come along to my wife, and we will see what can be done for you. Wife, I am very weary: I have been chopping wood all day.
Gandelin. You are always ready for your supper, but it is not ready for you, I assure you: the cakes will take an hour to bake, and the sun is yet high; it has not yet dipped behind the old barn. But who have you with you, I trow?
Alfred. Good mother, I am a stranger; and entreat you to afford me food and shelter.
Gandelin. Good mother, quotha! Good wife, if you please, and welcome. But I do not love strangers; and the land has no reason to love them. It has never been a merry day for Old England since strangers came into it.
Alfred. I am not a stranger in England, though I am a stranger here. I am a trueborn Englishman.
Gubba. And do you hate those wicked Danes, that eat us up, and burn our houses, and drive away our cattle?
Alfred. I do hate them.
Gandelin. Heartily! he does not speak heartily, husband.
Alfred. Heartily I hate them; most heartily.
Gubba. Give me thy hand, then; thou art an honest fellow.
Alfred. I was with King Alfred in the last battle he fought.
Gandelin. With King Alfred? Heaven bless him!
Gubba. What is become of our good king?
Alfred. Did you love him, then?
Gubba. Yes, as much as a poor man may love a king; and kneeled down and prayed for him every night, that he might conquer those Danish wolves; but it was not to be so.
Alfred. You could not love Alfred better than I did.
Gubba. But what is become of him?
Alfred. He is thought to be dead.
Gubba. Well, these are sad times; Heaven help us! Come, you shall be welcome to share the brown loaf with us; I suppose you are too sharp set to be nice.
Gandelin. Ay, come with us; you shall be as welcome as a prince! But hark ye, husband; though I am very willing to be charitable to this stranger, (it would be a sin to be otherwise,) yet there is no reason he should not do something to maintain himself: he looks strong and capable.
Gubba. Why, that’s true. What can you do, friend?
Alfred. I am very willing to help you in anything you choose to set me about. It will please me best to earn my bread before I eat it.
Gubba. Let me see. Can you tie up fagots neatly?
Alfred. I have not been used to it. I am afraid I should be awkward.
Gubba. Can you thatch? There is a piece blown off the cowhouse.
Alfred. Alas! I cannot thatch.
Gandelin. Ask him if he can weave rushes: we want some new baskets.
Alfred. I have never learned.
Gubba. Can you stack hay?
Alfred. No.
Gubba. Why, here’s a fellow! and yet he hath as many pair of hands as his neighbours. Dame, can you employ him in the house? He might lay wood on the fire, and rub the tables.
Gandelin. Let him watch these cakes, then: I must go and milk the kine.
Gubba. And I’ll go and stack the wood, since supper is not ready.
Gandelin. But pray, observe, friend; do not let the cakes burn; turn them often on the hearth.
Alfred. I shall observe your directions.
Alfred alone.
Alfred. For myself, I could bear it: but England, my bleeding country, for thee my heart is wrung with bitter anguish!—From the Humber to the Thames the rivers are stained with blood. My brave soldiers cut to pieces! My poor people—some massacred, others driven from their warm homes, stripped, abused, insulted;