Classic Poem

XXII.

Loud rang the harp, the minstrel's eye
Rolled fiercely round the throng;
It seemed two crashing hosts were nigh,
Whose shock aroused the song,
A golden cup King Guthrum gave
To him who strongly played;
And said, " I won it from the slave
Who once o'er England swayed. "

XXIII.

King Guthrum cried, " 'Twas Alfred's own;
Thy song befits the brave:
The King who cannot guard his throne
Nor wine nor song shall have. "
The minstrel took the goblet bright,
And said, " I drink the wine
To him who owns by justest right
The cup thou bid'st be mine.

XXIV.

" To him, your Lord, Oh shout ye all!
His meed be deathless praise!
The King who dares not nobly fall,
Dies basely all his days.
The King who dares not'guard his throne,
May curses heap his head;
But hope and strength be all his own
Whose blood is bravely shed. "