UBBO.

And well I may!

[Rising.

Fill me this skull, ho! with yon stale flat mead;

See, fools! it foams and sparkles i' the hollow bone, Giving new life to what has long been dead;

I offer thee the dearest thing I have,

And what I give thee must be wrenched away
From where my heart is set - she is entwined
And plaited to its roots - Take her, thou God!
And if in giving her, I do destroy

The sacred spark of life, Odin! bethink

I sacrifice her in all holiness

That thou may'st be propitious to the Danes,

And help my brethren in the coming storm!

- Go, take the girl, priest! take the Saxon maidI pledge to Odin.

[Drinks - The tent is shaken by a blast of wind.

GUTHRUM.

Noble brother!

Thanks, valiant Ubbo!

ALL.

FIRST LORD.

Ho, ho! his captive! 'tis a pretty gift.

ASKE.

Silence, blasphemer! hush, while Odin speaks -
The God accepts the gift.

Thou art a blessing, chief! Fill high the bowls To Odin and to Ubbo.

[They drink to clashing arms.

Enter an Attendant.

ATTENDANT.

My lord! a Saxon harper sings without;
A listless throng of soldiers dog his heels,

Who now begin to wrangle.

GUTHRUM.

Foolish knaves!

ATTENDANT.

I never heard such stirring music, sir!

He would be heard by you.

GUTHRUM.

Well, bring him hither!

Our feast will pass the lighter for a song.

Pledge, pledge again! lose not a moment's space,
The time is short, let drinking have its sway.

Enter ALFRED as a Saxon Harper.

GUTHRUM.

[Drink.

Well, harper! whatsoe'er your name, be welcome!

If you can stir my blood, and make it bound

As in the fight it leaps, right welcome here!

I'm ready for a rouse

begin and sing

As merry as the piping wind that blows

Through groves of Danish spears.

ALFRED.

Bring first a cup of wine.

GUTHRUM.

You ask right freely for't- here, take my bowl.

FIRST LORD.

And drain it as you love

your Saxon life.

ALFRED.

I'll give you first a pledge, all join with me,

And I will drain the dregs.

A very noble pledge!

This is the boldest Saxon e'er I saw.

FIRST LORD.

A little loud of tune, methinks!

DANISH HARPER.

Remember,

Here is a harp cut from a Danish tree;

You do forget that I was born your Scald.

GUTHRUM.

Pshaw, man! the Saxon shall play first, begin!

DANISH HARPER.

I will resent it-I will rouse their souls!

ALFRED strikes his harp and sings : —

Unravel my saying,

Spake Elfhild the grey;

Solve me my riddle,

'Tis clear as the day

To men who are worthy,

The brave and the free,

Then mark well the saying,

And, Danes! answer ye.

E

[Aside.