Prince Arthur an heroick poem in ten books / by Richard Blackmore ...

Prince Arthur.

BOOK VIII.

THus in resplendent Arms Prince Arthur shines, Darting bright Terrour thro' the Saxon Lines. All at his fearful Presence were amaz'd, And on the glorious Foe with Wonder gaz'd. Confusion seiz'd them, and a chilling Damp Went to their Hearts thro' all the trembling Camp. And now the vaulted Sky rings with the Noise Of Souldiers Shoutings, and shrill Trumpets Voice. The British Prince waving his flaming Blade, The Saxon's strong Battalions did invade.

First Baldred fell a bold and daring Knight, That rushing forward did his Fate invite. The Javelin thro' his Shield of treble Hide, And Coat of Mail, pierc'd deep into his Side. Eska the second Triumph did afford, His Head strook off by Arthur's conquering Sword. Next groveling on the Ground great Ina lies, And the brave Orla of stupendous Size. Whose Clubs like that Alcides us'd to weild, Laid whole Brigades, on Heaps upon the Field. Neither their Arms, nor Stature, nor Descent, From mighty Osca could their Fate prevent. As Pharo boasted loud, and threatn'd Death, The Javelin pierc'd his Throat, and stop'd his Breath.

Kinullar next the conquering Prince withstood, A valiant Captain, and of noble Blood. Resisted by his Shield the Saxon's Spear Flew off, and pass'd obliquely thro' the Air. Here on the Prince Cissa exclaiming loud, Rush'd in, and pres'd him with a numerous Crowd. Thick showers of Javelins with a mighty Sound, Like Storms of Hail, from his bright Shield rebound. The Prince enrag'd caught up his Spear in hast, Which he at Cissa with such Fury cast It pierc'd his famous Buckler's seventh Fold, And his Rich Coat dawb'd thick with pond'rous Gold. Then deep between the Paps the Weapon went, And its last Force in his warm Bosom spent. Flat on his Face the Bleeding Saxon lies, And rat'ling in his Throat stretcht out, and dies. Mollo rush'd in and with his hand did wrest The bloody Weapon from his Brother's Breast, And boldly to attack the Prince advanc'd, But from his shield th' unprosperous Weapon glanc'd. The Prince's spear thro' Mollo's Shield of Brass Thro' His Habergion, and his Breast did pass. Mollo of Sense bereav'd fell to the Ground, And spew'd black Blood, both for his Mouth and Wound, Striving th' invading Hero to repel, Alcinor, Peda, and Darontes fell, Three Men of wondrous Strength and warlike Fame, Who from the farthest Snows of Scythia came; Descended all from Otha's noble Line, Whose glorious Deeds in Saxon Records shine. He was victorious Odin's constant Friend, And all his Toils, and Conquests did attend,

Then Cerdic with his Troops the Prince withstands, Sustain'd by Sebert, and th' East Saxon Bands. Now these, now those, the British Prince attack, And press on every side, to force him back. As when two adverse Hurricanes arise, Must'ring their stormy Forces in the Skies. Of equal Fury, and of equal Force, Against each other bend their rapid Course. The Clouds their Lines extend in black Array, And Front to Front a fearful War display. Exploded Flames against each other fly, And fiery Arches Vault th' inlighten'd Sky. Conflicting Billows, against Billows dash, Thunder 'gainst Thunder roars, Lightnings 'gainst Lightnings flash. Nor Flames, nor Winds, nor Waves, nor Clouds will yield, But equal strength maintains a doubtful Field. Britons and Saxons thus in Battel strove, And neither from their Ground the Foe remove.

Then Valiant Cadwal threat'ning from afar High in his Chariot, plung'd into the War. His strong, extended Arm his Javelin flung; Cutting the Air, the hissing Weapon sung. Falling on Kingills Shield it pierc'd the Hide Of treble Fold, and enter'd deep his Side. Fainting and stagg'ring Kingill backwards reel'd Then fell with sounding Arms upon the Field. Gasping he lay, and from his ghastly Wound, His Crimson Life ebb'd out upon the Ground. And next his fatal Shaft at Bertac flew With mighty Force, and pierc'd his Breastplate thro'. The secret Springs of Life the pointed Dart. Broke open, and transfixt his generous Heart.

His Wound from gaping Channels inward bled, And on his Shoulder hung his lolling Head. He fell, and Shivering gasp'd his latest Breath, And fainting sunk into the Arms of Death: A noble Youth worthy of milder Fate, But Death's blind Stroaks distinguish not the great. At last the Saxon Troops in Throngs surround, The valiant King, Thus far with Conquest crown'd. Thick Showers of Darts from every Side invade, And in his Shield a bristling Harvest staid. Th' undaunted Hero long their Force sustain'd, And held at Bay; th' unequal War maintain'd: Like a chaf'd Boar that in a sheltring Wood, The clam'rous Dogs surround King Cadwall stood. A noble Rage did in his Breast arise, And Streaks of Fire break from his burning Eyes. So when by Night th' Islandian Ocean roars, And rolls its angry Waters to the Shores. Flashes of Light, and fiery Lustre glance From raging Waves, that in bright Troops advance. With his refulgent Sword the Warriour flew, Upon the Crowd, and cut his Passage thro'. Soga and Kenrick from the Hilly Land Where Sorbiodunum's lofty Castles stand; Two constant Friends, whom Fate could not divide, Together by the Britons Weapon dy'd. Then Redburg Alfry and Theodrick fell, Striving in vain the Victor to repell. Great Numbers more he slew, whose vulgar Name To those, in after Ages never came. As a high Rock, which the vast Ocean laves, Expos'd to stormy Winds, and raging Waves, On its fixt Base unshaken does defy Th' united Fury of the Seas, and Sky.

So 'midst surrounding Foes, brave Cadwall stood, About him flow'd a Sea of Hostile Blood. He slew Rovennar, with his mighty Sword, And Saradan a great west Saxon Lord. Valiant Elmunor, to his Country dear, And Osith dy'd, by his projected Spear.

Octa enrag'd to see the numerous Spoils Round Cadwall spread, sprung thro' the thronging Files. Rushing with Fury on, and threatning high He thus aloud, did to the Briton cry. Cadwall on me let all your Force be spent, Hither be all your pointed Javelins sent. Here see a Foe that will your Pride abate, Or in the glorious Combate meet his Fate: At this his massy Spear with Vigour sent, Thro' valiant Cadwalls shining Buckler went. Thro' all the Plates of Brass, and all the Plies Of thick Bull's Hide, th' impetuous Weapon flies. Which bruis'd his Thigh, and springing from his Veins A crimson Stream his polish'd Armour Stains. Cadwall incens'd his Spear at Octa flung, Which in his temper'd Shield arrested hung. A second hissing Weapon Octa cast, Which th' interposing Buckler never past. But glancing on the Steel, away it flew And with an oblique Stroke, Idwallo slew. Then Cadwall chaf'd, exerting all his Force, His second sends, with unresisted Course. Thro' Octa's brazen Shield it Passage found, Inflicting on his Side, a painful Wound. Their missive VVeapons spent with equal Chance, To closer Fight the Combatants advance.

Equal in Strength, alike in Combate brave, Their Swords on high, like circ'ling Flames they wave. Both traversing the Ground for Fight prepare, And with Heroic Ardor meet the War. And Octa first discharg'd a noble Stroke On Cadwalls Crest, which thro' his Helmet broke: Cadwall amaz'd, recoyl'd, and backwards reel'd, And scarce his Spear his tott'ring Limbs upheld. A loud Applause rang thro' the shouting Host; The Britons rag'd, and thought their Hero lost; But he recov'ring from th' amazing Blow, Collects his Strength to meet the insulting Foe. His brandish'd Blade fell with prodigious Sway, And thro' the yielding Cuirasse, forc'd its Way. The gaping Wound pour'd out a Vital Tyde, And Crimson Streams his burnish'd Armour dy'd. Octa his wounded Body wreaths in Pain, And viewing on his Limbs the Bloody Stain, With angry Eyes calls back his Life again. And then assaults the Foe with doubled Rage, Who meets his Arms, as eager to engage. Fresh Strokes, fresh Wounds, they give on either side, While Vict'ry does for neither Sword decide. VVeak with their VVounds, and with bruis'd Armour pain'd An equal, noble Combate they maintain'd. Feeble and Breathless still they keep the Field, Unable more their blunted Arms to wield.

And now the Throng rush'd in, the Combat done By neither Hero lost, by neither won. And rending with their Shouts the tortur'd Air, Back to their Files, the Combatants they bear. So when two valiant Cocks in Albion bred, That from th' insulting Conquerour never fled.

A Match in Strength, in Courage, and in Age, And with keen Weapons arm'd alike Engage; Each other they assault with furious Beaks, And their trim'd Plumes distain with bloody Streaks. Each nimble Warriour from the Pavement bounds, And wing'd with Death, their Heels deal ghastly Wounds. By turns they take, by turns fierce Strokes they give, And with like Hopes and Fears, for Conquest strive. Both obstinate maintain the Bloody Field, Both can in Combat dye, but neither yield. Till with their bleeding Wounds grown weak and faint, And choak'd with flowing Gore they gasp, and pant. Disabled on the Crimson Floor they ly, Both Honour win, but neither Victory.

Then Morogan, his Javelin in his Hand, Charg'd the fierce Troops where Ella did Command. Wigmunda, first his deadly Weapon felt, Who on the flowry Banks of Oza dwelt, Faln on the ground, the Saxon groan'd aloud, And dying, lay deform'd with Dust and Blood. Next Ethelbright he slew, the Javelin past, Thro' the brave Leader's Hand, where sticking fast He from the Battel fled, and thro' the throng Complaining loud, trail'd his huge Spear along. To fight the Briton, Thedred did advance And in his Buckler broke his pondrous Lance. High in the Air the scatter'd pieces flew, When Morogan, his ample Fauchion drew; He mist the mighty stroke aim'd at his Crest, But cleft his Shoulder down into his Chest: Thro' the prodigious Wound, a Sea of Blood Spouts from his Veins, and down his Armour flow'd,

Weltring in Gore, upon the Ground he stretcht, And his last Breath in thick Convulsions fetcht. Next he his Spear at great Merthellan throws, Thro' Breast, and Back, the deadly Weapon goes. Then warlike Ella, with excessive Rage All fir'd, advanc'd the Briton to engage. As two chaf'd Lyons on a Lybian Plain, Contending which shall o'er the Desart reign, With raging Eyes, and fierce erected Hair, Scowr o'er the Sands, to meet the horrid War; So furious Ella, and great Morogan, Eager of Conquest, to the Combat ran. The Saxon first his massy Javelin flung, With the vast Stroke, the Briton's Target rung, The Temper'd Steel the Weapon did repel, Which flew aside, and at a Distance fell. The Briton next, did his bright Javelin throw, Ella his Head inclin'd, eludes the Blow. Ella with all his Might his second cast, Which mist, but stroke the Plume off, as it past The Briton stop'd, and lifted from the Field A pond'rous Stone, which both his Hands did weild, So vast, that two in our degenerate Days, Tho Men of Strength, the like can scarcely raise; With all his Strength he throws the craggy Stone, Which thro' King Ella's Leg-piece, crush'd the Bone. The wounded Warriour fell upon the Plain, Adda advanc'd, the Conquerour to Sustain; While Gomel with his Men did Ella bear From the hot Place of Action, to the Rear, Where Charioteer, and Steeds, and Chariot stay, Waiting his coming from the Bloody Day. Mean time great Morogan, had Adda slain, The Spear had thro' his Forehead peirc'd his Brain.

Biting the Ground, th' expiring Saxon lies, And Death's unwelcome shade o'erspreads his Eyes. And with like Courage, and with like Success, The brave Prince Conan did the Saxons press, Which Osred led, great Numbers he destroy'd, Whose putrid Blood, the slipp'ry Field annoy'd. Sefred, Carantes, Molinoc he slew, And Ethelfrid, in Arms surpass'd by few. Oswy, and Bassa, all of warlike Fame, And many more, of unrecorded Name. Thus Valiant Conan, triumph'd in the Field, And all he met, did to his Courage yield. Until a sculking, unknown hand, at last Did unperceiv'd, a pointed Javelin cast: Deep in his Arm, th' inglorious Weapon goes, His Wound the Blood upon his Armour shows, He drew the Steel out, from his bleeding Veins, And from the Field, retir'd in tort'ring Pains.

Mean time, out-number'd in another part, Macor's Danmonian Troops began to start. Macor to stop their ignominious Flight, And give them Spirit to renew the Fight; Now sharp Reproaches us'd, and bitter Threats, And now with Prayers he earnestly intreats. Enrag'd, ashamed, and fearing open Rout, Exclaiming loud, he wildly flew about. He stays them with his Hands, and Voice, and Eyes, And to confirm their sinking Courage, cries, Whither will my Danmonians madly run, And leave behind a Vict'ry almost won? What pannick Fear does my brave Friends invade? Till now, you never knew to be afraid.

Think on the Brav'ry you have always shown, And Laurels you and your great Fathers won. By their great Deeds, and yours, by Cador's Name, By all my Hopes and yours which are the same. By the Danmonian Fame, I all conjure Trust not to Flight, your Arms must you secure. Who will maintain their Ground, if you recoil? Thus do you mean to guard your Native Soil? To what new Seats will you from Albion fly? Or will you in the Rocks and Mountains ly? Britons return from your inglorious Flight, Rally your Forces, and renew the Fight. To Safety, and to Fame the way I'll show, See, here it lies, across the thickest Foe.

He said, and straight amidst the Troops he flew, Osher the first he met, the first he slew. He pierc'd his Belly thro' the yielding Shield, And out his Bowels gush'd upon the Field. To aid his Friend, constant Eballan flies, But wounded by the Briton, with him dies. Then while Adulphas, Bertham's Offspring stands, Poising a pondrous Stone in both his Hands, The mighty Fragment of a craggy Rock, And aim'd at Macor's Head, a deadly Stroke. Thro' his pierc'd Side the Javelin made its Way, And buried, in his bleeding Liver lay. Then you brave Youths, Egbert, and Alopas, Both noble Branches of great Horsa's Race, Their Age the same, the same their youthful Charms, Fell in the British Fields by Macor's Arms. This 'twixt the Ribs receiv'd the fatal Dart, Where transverse Bounds the Breast and Belly part.

Lopt from the Shoulder with a fearful Wound, T' other's Right Arm lay quivering on the Ground.

Now the Danmonians who began to run, Seeing the Wonders by their Leader done, With Shame and generous Indignation burn, And to the War with doubled Rage return. Then Macor let his Spear at Redwall fly In his bright Chariot, passing swiftly by. It pass'd his Shield, and went into his Reins, A Purple Flood, springs from his wounded Veins, And mixt with Dust, the fervid Wheels detains. Projected headlong on the Ground he lay, Fetch'd a deep Groan, and gasp'd his Life away. With like Success his Men no more afraid, Of Saxon Arms, their thickest Files invade. So when dissolv'd by Summer Rays, the Snow Do's down the Sides of Alpine Mountains flow, Below the several Rills, and Currents joyn, And different Streams in one great Flood combine. Then do's the Deluge rear its foaming Head, O'er-flow the Banks, and o'er the Meadows spread. No lofty Mounds arrest th' insulting Tide, But o'er the flowry Vale, the Waves triumphant ride, So the Danmonian scatter'd Troops unite, And with associate Arms, revive the Fight.

Here to restrain Macor's victorious Course, Bartha, oppos'd a fresh collected Force. From his strong Arm his singing Javelin flew, And passing thro' his Neck Guitardan slew. He hurl'd his Ball of Iron at the Head Of stout Gomallador, and struck him dead.

His Helm in Pieces flew, his Bones were crash'd. And from his Scull his Blood and Brains were dash'd. Macor incens'd, advances to the Fight, And pray'd to Heav'n, to guide his Weapon right. Nor did he pray in vain, th' unerring Dart Transfixt his Breast, and sunk into his Heart. Strong Bartha fell, the Blood his Armour stains, And shivering Death crept cold along his Veins.

But to revenge so great a Captain's Fall, Lothar aloud does on his Saxons call. First Lodoic he slew, who stood the Shock, Of War before unshaken as a Rock. Strong Mandubrace, of whom the Britons tell Such mighty Deeds, by the brave Saxon fell. Beauteous Codunan the Silurians Pride, And warlike Hanomer together dy'd. Their Leaders brave alike, alike enrag'd The Britons, and the Saxon close engag'd An obstinate, and bloody Fight maintain, And Heaps of Dead, ly thick upon the Plain. Dark Clouds of Dust thro' th' airy Region fly, And warlike Noise bounds from the vaulted Sky. Helms mixt with Helms, and Arms with Arms unite Their bright Reflexion, to oppress the Sight. Now Man at Man, Squadrons at Squadrons rush, And Files at Files with Spears protended push. Swords clash with Swords, Bucklers on Bucklers bray, And thro' the Field a horrid Din convey. Slaughter and Death in dreadful Pomp appear, And Brains, and Gore, the slippery Field besmear: So when two adverse Tides their Waves advance, With equal Fury, and with equal Chance; The foaming Forces, doubtful Fight maintain, Where both by Turns loose, what by Turns they gain.

On this Side now retreats the vanquish'd Tide, And on its back th' insulting Billows ride. Rallying its roaring Troops with swift Career, It soon returns, and reassumes the VVar. The Conquerour before is forc'd to yield, And rolling back its Waves deserts the Field. Alternate Conquest, and alternate Flight, Between the Foes prolong a doubtful Fight. So thick the Troops, so fast and close were prest, The wedg'd Batalions standing Breast to Breast, They scarce have space their Hands or Arms to move But like contending Waves each other shove. Here Macor urges, presses, and invades, Here Lothur stops him with his strong Brigades. Equal in Arms, in Beauty, and in Age, But not allow'd each other to engage, On both the valiant Youths a different Fate, From a far greater Foe does shortly wait.

King Cerdick then advanc'd exclaiming loud And with his rapid Chariot cuts the Crowd. And to the Troops that stopt his way, he cry'd Open to right and left, your Ranks divide, Macor and I this Contest will decide. Nor did the Saxon Troops his Will oppose, But open, and an Ample Space disclose. Then leaping to the Ground his pondrous Oak, Pointed with polish'd Steel, he threatning shook. At such a Sight th' amaz'd Danmonians start, And their chill Blood congeal'd about their Heart. Macor undaunted, traverses the Ground, And at the Saxon aims a fatal Wound. Then thro' the Air his Spear projected flew, And from its Sheath his slaming Sword he drew.

The Buckler's Brims the glancing Weapons raz'd And flying off, on the right Shoulder graz'd. Then Cerdick's Javelin pois'd, and aim'd with Care, Flew from his Arm, and hissing cut the Air. Who cry'd out as it went, go swiftly fly, And the hard Metal of his Armour try. While Cerdick thus insults th' impetuous Oak, Thro' Buckler, Coat of Mail and Cuirass broke, And pierc'd his Breast where the deep Springs abide, Whence Life leaps out upon its circ'ling Tide. The Vital Streams thro' his bruis'd Armour spout, While he in vain wrests the warm Weapon out. After the parting Dart, together crowd From the wide Wound, his Soul, and Life, and Blood. He fell, his Arms upon his Armour rung, And Death in cold Embraces round him clung. Thus fell the brave Danmonian who had slain, Such Numbers pil'd on Heaps upon the Plain. His Friends with Sighs, and Tears upon a Sheild, Bear his pale Corps off from the bloody Field.

Cerdick his Weapon warm with Macor's Blood, Advanc'd with Fury not to be withstood. With his drawn Sword he does the Foe invade, And midst their Ranks prodigious Havock made. The Britons all enrag'd at Macor's Fall, With Showers of Darts the raging Saxon gaul. On every Side the Monarch they assail, With thick Brigades, but cannot yet prevail. As when a mighty Stag, that long had stood, The unmolested Monarch of the Wood, Safe in its Coverts, and protecting Shade, Against the Foe, that would his Peace invade:

If at an ancient Oak he stands at last At Bay, by furious Dogs too closely chas'd; Fearless he looks and to his clam'rous Foes, Does his thick Grove of Native Arms oppose The Dogs with distant Cries infest the Ears, And from a far the Huntsmen cast their Spears. None daring to approach the generous Beast, Project aloof their Darts against his Breast, Thus Cerdick stood, nor dar'd the boldest Knight, Advance to undertake a closer Fight. They cast their Darts at distance, and from far Shower on his Brazen Shield a ratling War. With their loud Cries the ambient Air they rend, And raging, all their missive Weapons, spend.

Mean time around, King Cerdick's Jav'lins flew, And Arthurs Men, with vast Destruction slew. Cadwan he kill'd, whose Arms great Fame had won, And Vortiger great Ganumara's Son.

Then Vogan fell and Ottocar who trace Their high Descent from Hoel's ancient Race. Great Numbers dy'd where the chaf'd Saxon flew, And with his Sword cut his wide Passage thro' So when a generous Bull for Clowns Delight, Stands with his Line restrain'd, prepar'd for Fight. Hearing the Youths loud Clamours, and the Rage, Of barking Mastives eager to engage. He snuffs the Air, and paws the trembling Ground, Views all the Ring, and proudly walks it round. Defiance lowring on his brinded Brows, Around disdainful Looks, the grisly Warriour throws. His haughty Head inclin'd with easie Scorn, Th' invading Foe high in the Air is born, Tost from the Combatant's victorious Horn.

Rais'd to the Clouds, the sprawling Mastives fly, And add new Monsters to th' affrighted Sky. The clam'rous Youth, to aid each other call, On their broad Backs to break their Fav'rite's fall. Some stretcht out on the Field lie dead and some Dragging their Entrails on, run howling Home. But if at last on all Sides he's engag'd, By fresh and fiercer Foes, strait all enrag'd He flies about, some with his Horns He gores, Some strikes, and mov'd with Indignation roars. With Disproportion'd Numbers prest at length, He breaks his Chain collecting all his Strength. Then Dogs and Masters scar'd promiscuous fly, And fal'n in Heaps, the pale Spectators ly. He walks in Triumph, nods his conquering Head, And proudly views the Spoils about him spread.

Hyalca fell, a Lord of Neustrian Birth, Struggling with Death, he bites the hostile Earth. Rivollan dies, the brave Armorican, Who swifter than a driving Tempest ran. Mador, not daring Cerdick to engage Fled from his Post to scape the Conquerors Rage. Cerdick pursu'd him close, exclaiming loud, And to o'ertake him, breaks th' opposing Crowd. As when a Lyon on the Mountains spies, A well grown Stag, his furious Bristles rise, And yawning horribly, with Hunger prest, Away he flies to tear the trembling Beast. He leaps upon him with his dreadful Paws, And buries in his Sides his fearful Jaws. So raging Cerdick flew faln Mador dies, And everlasting Night shuts up his Eyes.

Ludvalla, from the high Silurian Hills Eldubert slew, Poel Edella kills, Chelrick Adarc, Tudor pierc'd Alwy thro', Oswoll Pricarden, Oven Kensey slew. Bladoc kills Athelmar in single Fight Of goodly Stature, and a valiant Knight. Edwin gave Vortimer his fatal Wound, Who from his Steed, fell headlong to the Ground, Lovellines Blood the great Barnulfa spills Kentwin Rodollan, Pricel Ussa kills. Now equal Ruin rag'd on either Side, And Vict'ry mutual Favours did divide, Flowing, and Ebbing with an equal Tide. With like Success, by turns the doubtful Field The Victors and the vanquish'd, win and yield. Such was the bloody Labour of the Day, And in such even Scales their Fortune lay.

Now certain Fame had reach'd Prince Arthur's Ear, That his lov'd Macor dy'd by Cerdick's Spear. No Tydings more his Fury could provoke, Or strike into his Breast a deeper Stroke. His Looks reveal'd his Wound, and Grief, and Rage, His conquering Arms in deep Revenge engage. With his refulgent Sword he hew'd his way, Like grass mown down the slaughter'd Saxons lay. His Stroaks are all as sure, as those of Fate, And Death and Vict'ry on his Progress wait. His Arms the Field with vast Destruction clear. Wide Lanes made by his Sword and spatious Voids appear. Thro' their thick Ranks the raging Tempest flies, And fearful Ruin all around him lies.

In vain his fatal Javelin never flew, Ebissa, Edgar, Ethelburg he slew. And Ethelwoll who fled the Conquerors Sight, But the swift Dart o'er took him in his Flight.

His deadly Spear at Kenfred was design'd, Who stooping down the hissing Death declin'd. Then at the Conq'rour's Feet he prostrate falls, And in sad Accents for Compassion calls. Spare, God-like Briton, and let Kenfred live, Me to my Father and my Children give. Treasures immense of Silver and of Gold, My Iron Chests, and buried Coffers hold. These Riches from the Sun, so long conceal'd Shall to discharge my Ransome be reveal'd. Mine's but a single Life, if that be spar'd, It cant the Progress of your Arms retard, On this does not depend your Empire's Fate, Nor can my Life or Death affect your State,

He said to whom the British Prince reply'd, The Silver and the Gold your Cellars hide, You to your Sons and Daughters must bequeath, Expect your self, the present Stroke of Death. That said, he took his Helmet by the Crest, And drawing back his Head, into his Breast Up to the Hilts, he plung'd his fatal Sword, And from the Wound a crimson River pour'd. Colmar hard by Odin's and Frea's Priest, Distinguish'd by his Dress, from all the rest, And by the Garland round his Temples known, In glitt'ring Arms, and splendid Garments shone. Up flew his Heels while from the Field he fled, Nazaleod set his Foot, upon his Head,

And stroke into the Ground quite thro' his Breast His pointed Spear, and his rich Spoils possest. Then Arthur with his Spear, pierc'd Rufa thro', Then Osmor, Seward Ethellar he flew Osa Beorno, Kendred, Ediswall, Penda, Kenelmar, Osbert, Ethelbal. Pale Oswald fled, the Conq'rour to prevent, But thro' his Back the swifter Javelin went. His flaming Sword, did ne'er in vain descend But sure Destruction did its Sway attend. The reeking Conquerour in Triumph reign'd, Glutted with Slaughter, and with Blood distain'd. Th' unnumber'd Dead, that round the Briton lay More then their living Troops, obstruct his way. To reach their Men, that from his Fury fled, He climbs their slaughter'd piles, and scales the Dead. Sometimes the Saxons with new Fury burn, And rallying Squadrons to the War return: They pour around the Prince their numerous Swarms, And strive to crush him with unequal Arms. As when Tempestuous Storms o'erspread the Skies, In whose dark Bowels in born Thunder lies. The watry Vapours numberless conspire, To smother, and oppress th' imprison'd Fire. Which thus collected gathers greater Force, Breaks out in Flames, and with impetuous Course From the Cloud's gaping Womb in Light'nings flies, Flashing in ruddy Streaks, along the Skies. So Arthur's flaming Sword cuts thro' the Cloud, Around him spread, and rends th' opposing Crowd. With daz'ling Arms, he flies upon the Foe, Flashes amidst the throngs, and terribly Thunders thro'.

Authum and Alfrid, with fresh Troops sustain, Their stagg'ring Squadrons, and the War maintain, To these Prince Arthur wing'd with Fury flew, And first stout Alfrid with his Spear he slew. Thro the left Groin, the Weapon made its Way, And stretcht along the Ground, the bleeding Saxon lay. At Authum's Crest he dealt a furious Stroke, The Saxon totter'd at th' amazing Shock, And fell upon his Knee, and while he pray'd And for his Life would many Things have said, His sever'd Head off, from his Shoulder flies, And bounded on the Field, his Body lies At a great Distance, quivering on the Ground, And Streams of Blood spring from his ghastly Wound. As when the Summers Soultry Heats draw forth, Th' exhaling Moisture from the thirsty Earth, When scorching Rays the gaping Plains have fry'd, And from their Banks contracted Streams subside. If then a Fire invades a spaeious Wood, Where Ancient Oaks have long securely stood; The conquering Flames advance with lawless Power, And with contagious Heat the Trees devour. The spreading Burning lays the Forrest waste, And sooty Spoils lie smoaking where it past. So Arthur with resistless Rage around, Destroys and loads with slaughter'd Heaps the Ground. Next did the Prince at bold Edburga aim, Who from the fertile Banks of Abum came Prince Unna's Son to vast Possessions born, Broad Flowers of Gold his shining Coat adorn, The piercing Steel deep in his Bosom sunk, And Life's pure Stream at the warm Fountain drunk,

His Arms did next valiant Titullan meet, Who fell and quiver'd at the Conquerour's Feet. Osrick and beauteous Hengist next appear, The first his Fauchion slew, the last his Spear. Next stout Eldanor did his Fate provoke, And off his Head flew, at a single Stroke. And next he threw at Labert, as he fled The Weapon struck him, as he turn'd his Head. In Gore and Brains the glitt'ring Javelin reeks, And from his Veins a Purple Torrent breaks.

Mean time King Cerdic did around destroy, And with thick Deaths his massy Fauchion cloy. Him from afar the British Hero spies, And wing'd with Fury to assault him flies. Cerdic mean time undaunted did appear, And forward step'd, shaking his dreadful Spear. Like one of Anak's mighty Sons he stalk'd, Or some tall Oak, that after Orpheus walk'd. Fixt like a vast Colossus by his Weight, He stood, expecting his approaching Fate. Lowring, like rising Tempests from a far, He rages, and invites th' advanc'ing War. Now the Britannic Hero did appear, Within the Reach of his prodigious Spear. King Cerdic curst, and by his Gods defy'd The Briton, and aloud to Odin cry'd; The glitt'ring Arms, by this gay Robber worn, Great Odin soon thy Temple shall adorn. Assist great Founder of our State the Dart I cast, and guide it to his impious Heart. Then from his vig'rous Arm his massy Spear Projected sung, and hiss'd along the Air.

Off from the temper'd Shield the Weapon flew, Wounded Glendoran, and Alantor flew. Then his long Spear the pious Briton cast, Th' impetuous Steel thro' all the Thickness past Of Brazen Plates, rowl'd Linnen, tough Bulls Hide, And entring deep, did in his Groin abide. The fainting Saxon fell upon his Knees, Pain'd with his ghastly Wound, and trembling fees The Conquering Prince advancing to asswage, By striking off his Head, his veng'ful Rage. Here the brave Lothar that had Wonders done, And by his Arms Immortal Praises won, For thro' the Host, the loud Applauses rung Of mighty Deeds atchiev'd by one so young. Transported with his pious Care, to bring Assistance to his Uncle, and his King; Spur'd his hot Courser on, and forwards prest Off'ring to Arthur's Arms; his valiant Breast. He bravely undertook th' unequal Foe, To ward from Cerdic's Head, the fatal Blow. Then his long Spear he threw, with Manly Force, But Arthur's Buckler stop'd th' impetuous Course. Th' applauding Saxons gave a Shout to see The Noble Youth's excessive Bravery. But to his Prince's Aid in vain he flies, Who by his former Wound expiring lies, And everlasting Sleep shuts up his Eyes.

But then the British Hero's Javelin fled At Lothar, but it pierc'd his Courser's Head. Rais'd in the Air upright, the gen'rous Beast, Gather'd his shiv'ring Feet up to his Breast, Then springing strook them out, and stagg'ring round Fell head-long with his Rider to the Ground.

A mighty Groan the dying Courser fetcht, And on the Ground a breathless Carcass stretcht. And here Immortal Elda shall my Verse Thy unexampled Deed of Love reherse. Love which will universal Wonder raise, And scarcely find Belief in future Days. For whilst the British Hero step'd with Speed, To take off, with his Fauchion, Lothar's Head, Who with his Steed opprest, and wounded lies, Fair Elda rush'd between, and thus she cries, Before your fatal Sword takes Lothar's Life, Victorious Prince, hear his unhappy Wife. Faln on her Knees she did her Helm unlace, And shew'd the charming Beauties of her Face. The blooming Looks of Spring, and lovely Red Of opening Roses on her Cheeks were spread. Her Eyes, that sparkled like the Stars above, Appear'd both th' Armory, and Throne of Love. Where thousands of alluring Graces wait, And mingling Charms form Love's triumphal State. Bright Ethelina her, and all excell'd, She the next Place in Beauty's Empire held. Nor did her Looks, less Admiration move, While mild Confusion, Sorrow, Fear and Love, With Beauteous Conflict, for the Vict'ry strove. A Shower of Tears flow'd down her lovely Face, Which from her Grief, receiv'd yet sweeter Grace.

At the great Conq'rour's feet she threw her Charms, And lifting up to Heav'n, her snowy Arms Aloud she spoke, a wretched Woman's Prayer Great Briton here, and my dear Lothar spare.

Since first his Bride within his Arms I lay, Scarce two full Golden Months are stoln away, Which in Love's Calendar scarce make a Day. With Prayers, and Tears, and tender Words I strove, And all th' ingaging Arts of mournful Love; To keep him from the Dangers of the Field, And when th' obdurate Man refus'd to yield, About him my despairing Arms I flung, And on his Neck, o'erwhelm'd with Grief I hung. I then conjur'd him, to avoid with Care Your fatal Arms, so much renown'd in War. Away he goes, and as he said, adieu, He touch'd my Life, and my stretcht Heart-strings drew. For still I fear'd that the heroic Fire And thirst of Fame, that did his Soul inspire, Would make him think no Dangers were too great, Till rushing on your Arms, he urg'd his Fate. My conscious Fears, this sad Event presag'd If e'er with you, in Combate he engag'd. Therefore in Arms I did my Limbs disguise, And undertook this dang'rous Enterprize, That if he rashly sought, so great a Foe, I might between him, and your fatal Blow, My Bosom interpose, and in my Heart To save his dearer Life, receive the Dart. Or if Occasion were, to intercede, As now I do, and for his Safety plead.

I pray by all that is to Mortals dear, By all the Gods that you, and we revere. Let this sad Object your Compassion move, Regard his Valour, and regard my Love. Oh! Let his hapless Fate your Soul incline, Pity his glooming Youth, or pity mine.

Oh, melt beneath divine Compassion's Charms, Let not your Breast be harder then your Arms. Save his dear Life, he of his Noble Line The only Branch remains, as I, of mine. Christians profess Compassion, Mercy, Love, Sure such Distress should those kind Passions move. Sheath in my Breast the Sword, and take my Breath, But Oh, preserve this wondrous Youth from Death. My self will to my Veins the Sword apply, And to prolong his Life will gladly dy. Hear pious Prince, his aged Father hear Who thus entreats, or would if he were here. Oh, spare the spring of all my Hopes and Fears, The only Prop of my declining Years. Your fatal Sword deep in my Bowels sheath And for the Son's accepts the Father's Death. If great Possessions, or if Gold would buy, His far more precious Life, he shall not dy. His Father will a mighty Ransome give, And mine as much, say but the Youth shall live. Let us your Prisoners be in Chains confin'd, The Chains of Love will make those softer bind. There his dear presence I may still enjoy, And for his Ease my thoughtful Cares employ. Free from the Noise of War, and anxious Fears, I'll kiss his Wounds, and wash them with my Tears. I'll watch his midnight Slumbers, and by Day, My Love shall Solace to his Grief convey. Let him be banish'd from the British Isle; I'll go, and share the lovely Wand'rer's Toil. I'll follow thro' the swarthy burning, Zone, No Flames can scorch me, fiercer than my own. Our tender Words the savage kind will move, They'll stand, and gaze, and wonder at our Love.

Th' inhospitable Desart will appear, A flowry Paradise, when he is there. O'er Snows with him and Hills of Ice I'll stray, I know not how, but Love will find the way. If his sharp Keel shall cut the Foaming Tide, In the same Bark I'll on the Billows ride. No stormy Winds my stable Soul shall move, Or shake the strong Foundations of my Love. But hurried with distracting Fears away, And wild with Grief I know not where to stay, And in a Maze of Thought I lose my Way. Oh! let your generous Pity calm the strife In my tost Soul, and save his precious Life. Thus you'll not only Triumph o'er your Foe, But o'er your self, and your own Vict'ry too.

Thus Elda pray'd, nor did she pray in vain, Her tender Accents did Admission gain To the relenting, generous Prince's Breast, Who thus the beauteous Supplicant addrest.

This unexampled Effort of your Love, Does equal Wonder and Compassion move. True Christian Captains are both brave and good, Vict'ry pursue, but not with Thirst of Blood. Revenge and Cruelty we disavow, And only just and generous Arms allow. Go, to your Tears your Lothar's Life I give, Pleas'd with each others Love together live.

Then Cerdick slain on whom they trusted most, A shivering Fear ran thro' the Saxon Host. The Britons now believ'd the Battel won, And sure of Conquest on their Squadrons run.

Prince Arthur at their Head breaks thro' their Files And covers all the Plain with hostile Spoils. The Saxon Troops dismay'd, began to yield, And to the raging Conquerour leave the Field.

Mean time the Prince of Hell who anxious stood, And from his Hill the bloody Labour view'd. Seeing the Saxon Troops at last give way, Resolves the Britons Progress to delay. That thro' the Angelick Guards he might escape, His Form he chang'd to a fair Seraph's Shape. A mild Celestial Youth, he did appear, Drest in pure Robes of white Empyreal Air. What once he was, the Fiend seem'd charming bright, Conceal'd in Beauty, and disguis'd in Light. Assuming meek and Heav'nly Looks he strove, To imitate the loveliest Face above. Then taking from the Mountain's Top his Flight, Did straitway at th' Angelick Camp alight. And thus transform'd thro' the bright Camp he went, As an Express from Heav'n to Michael sent. Along he march'd, and slily looking round, While unobserv'd, a fair Occasion found Of passing thro' their Lines, without Delay, Swift as a Ray of Light, he shot away. He mingles with the fighting Armies, where He moulds to various Shapes, the thickn'd Air. In Sebert's warlike Form he did appear, With Arthur's gasping Head upon his Spear. Which newly sever'd from his Body seems, So fresh the Wound, so red the bloody Streams. Britons he cry'd, learn hence your wretched State, See your Destruction in your Leader's Fate.

The towring Hopes, you vainly once conceiv'd Are sunk, nor can your Ruin be retreiv'd. Whose Arms can guard your State now Arthur's dead? His Life, and with it, all your Strength is fled. Fly Britons hence, and to your Hills repair, Fly to your Woods, and in your Caves despair. Protected in your Fastnesses remain, Stay not t' encrease the Number of the Slain. Cold to their Hearts this Sight and Language went, And thro their Veins a shivering Horrour sent. Confusion and Despair their Souls opprest, And their sad Looks their inward Wound confest. Urg'd with their Fear, their Troops began to fly, And leave behind th' unfinish'd Victory.

Prince Arthur's Breast with Indignation burn'd, Who from the fierce Pursuit reluctant turn'd, To stop his Army's Flight, stay, Britons, stay, He cry'd, and blemish not this glorious Day. Whence this Distraction, whence th' ungrounded Fear And wild Despair, that in your Looks appear. The Battel's won, the Saxons quit the Field, And to your Arms a perfect Conquest yield. Let not the vanquish'd Foe escape Pursuit, Ths Vict'ry's yours, stay but to reap the Fruit.

While thus he spoke, the Britons stood amaz'd, And on their Prince with Joy and Wonder gaz'd. Their Grief dispell'd, their dying Hopes revive, And joyfull Shouts proclaim the Prince alive. Mean time the Sun declines, and dusky Night Covers the Saxons, and protects their Flight.