LITMIR.BIZ

      Then, five days later, shout and yell,

      And shrieks and howls of slaughter fell,

      Upon the peaceful homestead came.

      ’Mid flashing sword, and axe, and flame,

      Snatched by a Viking’s iron grasp,

      From his slain mother’s dying clasp,

      Saved from the household’s flaming grave,

      Edric was dragged, a destined slave,

      Some northern dame to serve, or heed

      The flocks that on the Sæter feed.

      Still, with scarce conscious hold he clung

      To the white cat, that closely hung

      Seeking her refuge in his arm,

      Her shelter in the wild alarm—

      And who can tell how oft his moan

      Was soothed by her soft purring tone?

      Time keeping with retracted claw,

      Or patting with her velvet paw;

      Although of home and friends bereft,

      Still this one comforter was left,

      So lithe, so swift, so soft, so white,

      She might have seemed his guardian sprite.

         The rude Danes deemed her such;

      And whispered tales of ‘disir’ bound

      To human lords, as bird or hound.

      Nor one ’mid all the fleet was found

         To hurt one tender paw.

      And when the captive knelt to pray

      None would his orisons gainsay;

      For as they marked him day by day,

         Increased their wondering awe.

      Crouched by the mast, the child and cat,

      Through the dire time of slaughter sat,

         By terror both spellbound;

      But when night came, a silence drear

      Fell on the coast; and far or near,

      No voice caught Edric’s wakeful ear,

         Save water’s lapping sound.

      He wandered from the stern to prow,

      Ate of the stores, and marvelled how

         He yet might reach the ground;

      Till low and lower sank the tide,

      Dark banks of mud spread far and wide

         Around that fast-bound wreck.

      Then the lone boy climbed down the ship,

      To cross the mud by bound and skip,

         His cat upon his neck.

      Light was his weight and swift his leap,

      Now would he softly tread, now creep,

      For treacherous was the mud, and deep

      From stone to weed, from weed to plank,

      Leaving a hole where’er he sank;

      With panting breath and sore taxed strength

      The solid earth he felt at length.

      Sheltered within the copse he lay,

      When dawn had brightened into day,

      For when one moment there was seen,

      His red cap glancing ’mid the green,

         A fearful cry arose—

      “Here lurks a Dane!”  “The Dane seek out”

      With knife and axe, the rabble rout

      Made the copse ring with yell and shout

         To find their dreaded foes.

      And Edric feared to meet a stroke,

      Before they knew the tongue he spoke.

      Hid ’mid the branches of an oak,

         He heard their calls and blows.

      Of food he had a simple store,

      And when the churls the chase gave o’er,

      And evening sunk upon the vale,

      With rubbing head and upright tail,

      Pacing before him to and fro,

      Puss lured him on the way to go—

      Coaxing him on, with tender wile,

      O’er heath and down for many a mile.

      Ask me not how her course she knows.

      He from Whom every instinct flows

      Hath breathed into His creatures power,

      Giving to each its needful dower;

      And strive and question as we will,

      We cannot trace the inborn skill,

      Nor fathom how, where’er she roam,

      The cat ne’er fails to find her home.

      What pen may dare to paint the woe,

      When Egbert saw his home laid low?

      Where, by the desolated hearth,

      The mother lay who gave him birth,

      And, close beside, his fair young wife,

      And servants, slain in bootless strife—

         Mournful the King stood near.

      Alfred, who came to be his guest,

      And deeply rued that his behest

      Had all unguarded left that nest,

         To meet such ruin drear.

      With hand, and heart, and lip, he gave

      All king or friend, both true and brave,

      Could give, one pang of grief to save,

         To comfort, or to cheer—

      As from the blackened walls they drew

      Each corpse, and laid with reverence due;

      And then it was that Egbert knew

         All save the child were here.

      King Alfred’s noble head was bent,

      A monarch’s pain his bosom rent;

      Kindly he wrung Thane Egbert’s hand—

      “Lo! these have won the blissful land,

      Where foeman’s shout is heard no more,

      Nor wild waves beat upon the shore;

      Brief was the pang, the strife is o’er—

         They are at peace, my friend!

      Safe, where the weary are at rest;

      Safe, where the banish’d and opprest

         Find joys that never end.”

      Thane Egbert groaned, and scarce might speak

      For tears that ploughed his hardy cheek,

         As his dread task was done.

      And for the slain, from monk and priest

      Rose requiems that never ceased,

         While still he sought his son.

      “Oh, would to Heaven!” that father said,

      “There lay my darling calmly dead,

      Rather than as a thrall be bred—

         His

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