O think what pangs of grief this heart must know,
What tears of sorrow from these eyes must flow,
Which recent and tremendous scenes have view'd,
Of public rapine, and of kindred blood;

Seen Desolation stalk with demon-form,

O'er Albion's fields, and swell th' ensanguined storm;
Seen, while her bravest warriors died in vain,
Barbarian victors waste her fair domain,
While Treachery gored, with parricidal hand,
The bleeding bosom of its native land;
Seen each endearing charity of life,

A smiling infant, and a blooming wife,

Torn from these arms, stretch'd to protect, in vain,
Their helpless virtues from a lawless train.-

Forgive these sighs from homebred anguish grown,
Amid my people's wrongs I feel my own.
He vainly boasts a patriot's grief to know,
Whose tears for kindred sufferings never flow.
No!-though my country's wrongs, with venom'd dart,
Strike keenest tortures through this wounded heart;
Still must my bosom feel for ties more near,

Still must Elsitha claim her Alfred's tear." P. 13.

The Caledonian monarch being thus apprised of the name and quality of his illustrious guest, proceeds to inquire into the late events of the contest between the Saxons and the Danes; which gives occasion to Alfred to relate the outline of his own history, bringing it down to the conclusion of the fatal battle of Wilton. Being defeated in this battle in consequence of the treachery of Ceolph, he had been compelled to wander through Britain an outcast and a fugitive, not only deprived of his kingly honours, but separated from his beloved consort Elsitha, whom he thus apostrophises at the close of the first book.

"Elsitha! lovely consort of my heart!

From thee, from all I value, doom'd to part,
Uncertain of thy fate, while thought forbears
To image half the horrors that it fears,
Awhile with desultory pace I stray,

Fix'd to no point, as Chance directs my way.
My southward course the unbridled rage of war,
And barbarous foes, and faithless vassals, bar.
O'er many a blasted heath and mountain drear
Wandering, behold the wretched Alfred here!
I come to Caledonia's kindred plains,
Where generous Pity dwells, for Gregor reigns,
Secure to find, in his high-trophied walls,

Heroes to fly where suffering Virtue calls." P. 36.

The recital made by Alfred of his own sufferings, and of the misfortunes of his subjects, kindles a virtuous ardour in the

heart of Donald the son of Gregor, to march at the head of a body of Scottish troops to the succour of the English king. To this request Gregor assents, and the Caledonian warriors are summoned to accompany their prince on this generous expedition. They embark at Solway Frith; and we shall quote, as a happy specimen of Mr. Pye's descriptive powers, the following narration of their voyage.

Soon to blue air melts Scotia's southmost height,
And rise Ierne's mountains to the sight;
Swiftly they pass the stormy seas that roar
Incessant round Menavia's lonely shore,
Till full in sight the rocky point appears;
Her lofty brow where hallow'd Mona rears,
And hoary Conway, famed in Druid lore,
Pours his hoarse flood from Arvon's craggy shore.

As now by Cambria's western point they keep,
Where from Dimeta's turrets on the deep,
Low in the western wave Sol sunk his head,
Painting his radiant couch with fiery red,
Omen of future tempest, O'er the deep
The brooding winds in sullen silence sleep;
Around the yard the loose sail flagging plays,'
No more the bark the pilot's hand obeys.-
Short, and insidious calm-the flitting breeze,
First, desultory, lifts the sparkling seas;-
Then louder swells the blast,-against the shore
Dreadful, and near, the frothy breakers roar :
And, o'er the sable veil of murky night,
Incessant flashes shed terrific light.

Useless the oar, and dangerous now the sail,
The giddy vessels drive before the gale;
Part on the sea's tempestuous bosom toss'd,

Part forced disastrous on the rocky coast.' P. 52.

By the fury of the storm the ship of Alfred is wrecked, and he alone of all the crew is saved from the overwhelming billows. Having climbed to the summit of the rocky shore, he fixed an anxious eye on the ocean,—

Nor saw one wreck of all the naval train

Amid the vast expanse of sky and main.' P. 56.

His hopes being thus extinguished, he turns his footsteps towards the interior of the country, and takes shelter in a cottage; in which retreat he passes many sorrowful days.

His hours, employ'd in constant tales of woe,
Nor beam of hope, nor smile of solace know;
Still heaves his bosom with the heart-felt sigh,
Still patriot sorrow dims the monarch's eye.

Day after day fleets on in cheerless mood,
While, as the swain his sylvan toil pursued,
Sad o'er the hearth the pensive hero hung,
Fix'd his unweening eye, and mute his tongue,
Deeply intent on scenes of present woe,
Or planning future vengeance on the foe,
The objects round him, like the viewless air,
Pass o'er his mind, nor leave an image there;
Hence oft, with flippant tongue, the busy dame
The reckless stranger's apathy would blame,
Who, careless, let the flame those viands waste
His ready hunger ne'er refused to taste.
Ah! little deeming that her pensive guest,
High majesty, and higher worth, possess'd;
Or that her voice presumptuous dared to chide

Alfred, her country's sovereign, and its pride.' P. 62.

From this state of inactivity, however, the Saxon king is roused by the accidental arrival of Ethelwood, who informs him that, notwithstanding the greater part of his dominions are wasted by the Danish invader, Oddune earl of Devonshire still holds out, though besieged in Kenwith castle.

The cottager being apprised of the dignity of his guest, proposes to conduct Alfred to a place of greater safety-a marshy island situated at the confluence of the Thone and Parret. The offer is accepted; and the passage of the travelers, across the ford to this asylum, occupies the commencement of the third book. During his residence in the isle of Ethelny, Alfred, in the course of a lonely walk, traces the current of a rivulet, till he at length arrives at a cavern ;-of which Mr. Pye gives the following elegant description.

In foaming eddy, where the lucid tide

Pours headlong down the high clift's rugged side,
A grove of dusky pines athwart the glade
Shoot, with projected limbs, a solemn shade;
And as aloft the quivering branches play,
Shut from the soil the garish eye of day.
Deep in the dark recess, with briars o'er-grown,
A cavern opens in the mossy stone:
O'er its dank mouth the flexile ivy grows,
Where an aged yew funereal shadows throws;
Scath'd oaks their knotty branches fling around,
With mystic misseltoe their summits crown'd;
While, echoing to the torrent's distant shock,

Howls the dread whirlwind through the creviced rock.-
Albeit unused to fear, the monarch's breast
Pants, with an awe, unfelt before, impress'd,
And, o'er his better reason, sudden spread

Territic chills of superstitious dread.'

P. 82.

This solemn preparation ushers to our view a druid, who, "rapt into future times,' foretels to Alfred the fate of his posterity. In this narration it may easily be imagined that the laureat would not fail to introduce an eulogy on the reigning monarch.

And see, best glory of that patriot race,
Her monarch, Briton-born, Britannia grace;
Loved, honour'd, and revered by all, save those
Who, foes to Freedom, to her friends are foes.
But foes in vain-for Anarchy's wild roar
Shall never shake this heaven-defended shore,
While Freedom's sons gird Freedom's sacred throne,
With loyal Faith's impenetrable zone.

O'er laurels Rome's sweet poet cull'd to grace
The mighty hero of the Julian race,

Shall rise the glory of his honour'd name,

"Nor oceans bound his sway, nor stars his fame.'-
Ocean but rolls his azure waves to guide

His fleets to empire, o'er his ambient tide;
And far beyond the planets that appear
Circling, in ceaseless course, the earthly sphere,
Beyond the stretch of human eye-sight far,

Improving Science hails the Georgian star.' P. 98.

In the fourth book, the conference between Alfred and the bard is interrupted by the arrival of a Saxon, sent in quest of the king, and commissioned to communicate to him the joyful intelligence of the success of Oddune earl of Devon, against a Danish armament just arrived from Ireland. Alfred imme

diately hastens to the camp of Oddune, and is received with transport. After reviewing his forces, the monarch discloses to his counsellors his intention of visiting the Danish camp in the disguise of a minstrel, that he may become acquainted with the number and plans of the enemy.

To this camp, and in this disguise, he repairs.

With joyful look the wary hero view'd
Stern Vigilance, by long success, subdued;
Saw daring Courage turn'd to frantic heat,
And Victory prepare her own defeat
But, as along the noisy camp he pass'd,
Listening to Riot's roar in every blast,
Startled with horror and amaze, he hears

;

The whisper'd sound of " Alfred!" strike his ears.
Instant he turns, alarm'd-his warlike hand

The useless harp quits for the shining brand,

When thus the voice-" My king! my master! say,
What fiend has tempted here thy dangerous way,
'Mid scenes where ruthless Hate and envious Strife
Lurk, in dread ambush, for thy sacred life?

O, fly this fatal place, weak all disguise

To hide thy well-known form from Treason's eyes.
Many are here, like me, of Saxon race,

The servile ministers of foul Disgrace,

Prompt to betray, for Treachery's base reward,

That prince whose life my dying arm would guard.' ` P. 137.

This friendly monitor proves to be Edgar, to whose custody Alfred had entrusted Elsitha and his infant son. Edgar, notwithstanding his treasonable residence in the Danish camp, informs his sovereign of the retreat in which he had secured the queen: on which Alfred immediately returns to his troops, at the head of whom he hastens to the spot where she is secreted.

• With all their leader's wrongs enfiamed, the band,
Elate in arme, a radiant phalanx stand.

By Edgar guided, through the waning night,
Through the first orient streaks of dawning light,
Onward they press,-but when the mounting ray
Profusely pour'd the golden flood of day,.
Cautious, and wary, of the neighbouring foe,
Beneath the shade their wearied limbs they throw;
But soon as Eve distills her balmy dew,
Again the chiefs their silent march renew,
Till, urging on the sable noon of night,
As the bright stream reflects a feeble light,
On its green edge, by contrast dim, display'd,
The holy turrets rise in glimmering shade.-
Sudden they halt-when, with terrific clang
Of martial shouts, the echoing arches rang;
Blazes with sudden light the solemn pile,
And torches glide along each fretted ile.
With female shrieks the vaulted roofs resound,
By the loud bell's tremendous pealing drown'd.
The notes of horror strike the valiant train,
Thrill in their ears, and harrow every vein.
Not so their chief-at once his active mind,
In passion cool, each circumstance combined.-
That one neglected moment might destroy
The treasury of all his promised joy

He saw-and bade the clarion's warlike breath
Swell the vindictive strain of war and death;
Through every cell the martial thunder broke,
To each astonish'd Dane defiance spoke.' P. 142.

The Saxons rush on the invaders, and rescue Elsitha and her companions from the meditated insult. And here we cannot but observe, that the laureat would have excited a much more lively effect had he represented this happy interference as altogether a casual and unexpected incident. The effect we refer to is in some measure produced shortly afterwards, by