THE BANQUET HALL OF WESSEX, OR THE KING WHO COULD SEE 223 EPILOGUE: BEDE'S LAST MAY 259 NOTES 283 PROLOGUE. _ODIN, THE MAN_. Odin, a Prince who reigned near the Caspian Sea, after a vain resistance to the Roman arms, leads forth his people to the forests north of the Danube, that, serving God in freedom on the limits of the Roman Empire, and being strengthened by an adverse climate, they may one day descend upon that empire in just revenge; which destiny was fulfilled by the sack of Rome, under Alaric, Christian King of the Goths, a race derived, like the Saxon, from that Eastern people. Forth with those missives, Chiron, to the Invader! Hence, and make speed: they scathe mine eyes like fire: Pompeius, thou hast conquered! What remains? Vengeance! Man's race has never dreamed of such; So slow, so sure. Pompeius, I depart: I might have held these mountains yet four days: The fifth had seen them thine-- I look beyond the limit of this night: Four centuries I need; then comes mine hour. What saith the Accursed One of the Western World? I hear even now her trumpet! Thus she saith: 'I have enlarged my borders: iron reaped Earth's field all golden. Strenuous fight we fought: I left some sweat-drops on that Carthage shore, Some blood on Gallic javelins. That is past! My pleasant days are come: my couch is spread Beside all waters of the Midland Sea; By whispers lulled of nations kneeling round; Illumed by light of balmiest climes; refreshed By winds from Atlas and the Olympian snows: Henceforth my foot is in delicious ways; Bathe it, ye Persian fountains! Syrian vales, All roses, make me sleepy with perfumes! Caucasian cliffs, with martial echoes faint Flatter light slumbers; charm a Roman dream! I send you my Pompeius; let him lead Odin in chains to Rome!' Odin in chains! Were Odin chained, or dead, that God he serves Could raise a thousand Odins-- Rome's Founder-King beside his Augur standing Noted twelve ravens borne in sequent flight O'er Alba's crags. They emblem'd centuries twelve, The term to Rome conceded. Eight are flown; Remain but four. Hail, sacred brood of night! Hencefore my standards bear the Raven Sign, The bird that hoarsely haunts the ruined tower; The bird sagacious of the field of blood Albeit far off. Four centuries I need: Then comes my day. My race and I are one. O Race beloved and holy! From my youth Where'er a hungry heart impelled my feet, Whate'er I found of glorious, have I not Claimed it for thee, deep-musing? Ignorant, first, For thee I wished the golden ingots piled In Susa and Ecbatana:--ah fool! At Athens next, treading where Plato trod, For thee all triumphs of the mind of man,