“I am a Saxon, Jarl Hakon, and niddering would I be to sing of my country’s shame. Willing am I to make glee for thee if aught in my harp or voice doth please thee. Many are the skalds that can sing for thee thy countrymen’s victories. Gracious hath been thy gift; gracious thy present to the skald maiden; but take it back and ask not this thing of her.” “Keep thy bauble,” and the jarl thrust it back upon her. “Would that our maidens would prove so true to their land. Sing not so, maiden, if thou dost not wish, but something Saxon. One that is true to his own land never bewrays another.” The Danes watched the affair in surprise. Jarl Hakon was an austere man, and never had he been known before to countenance the least crossing of his wishes. Egwina thanked him gratefully, and then, as he desired, swept the strings and sang. She chose the song of The Phœnix, a subject very popular with the Saxon poets; the mystic life, death, and resurrection of the fabled bird. Her thoughts flew to the little hut in the woods where the king of the Saxons lay concealed. Should he, like the phœnix, rise above the funeral pyre of the dead hopes of his people, and again rule the land as king? A quaver crept into her voice, and then, as she recalled his words, “The earth, when conquered, give us the stars,” hope swelled her bosom. No matter the difficulties, the dangers that beset his path, Alfred would reign again. God’s chosen king was he, anointed by the holy pope himself. Her voice burst into the triumphant refrain as the assurance came home to her.¹ “Lo, from the airy web, Blooming and brightsome, Young and exulting, the Phoenix breaks forth. “Round him the birds troop Singing and hailing; Wings of all glories Engarland the king. “Hymning and hailing, Through forest and sun-air, Hymning and hailing And speaking him ‘king.’ “Hymning and hailing, And filling the sun-air With music and glory And praise of the king.” ¹ Bulwer Lytton’s versification. By some this poem is placed in the tenth century. Morley puts it in the eighth. Silence fell upon the retainers as they listened. The seid woman’s eyes glittered strangely. ”Well hast thou done, child,” and Hakon took from his arm a massive bracelet. “Thou hast already given me sufficient,” said Egwina, modestly refusing the gift. “Tut! Refuse naught that is offered thee. Not always wilt thou find me so generous. I liked the spirit of thy song.” “’Twas filled with thought of the king,” came from the seid woman. “Nourish not a viper, Jarl Hakon. Seek from the maiden the whereabouts of the king whom ye seek. Uncertain is the tenure of the Northman unless the Dragon of Wessex be put down. Ask of the maiden the whereabouts of King Alfred.” The jarl turned to Egwina. “Is this true that thou dost know where thy king is?”