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 Christian faith undone." "Nay, life is hope!" bespake the King, "God o'er the child can spread His wing And shield him in the Northman's power Safe as in Alswyth's guarded bower; Treaty and ransom may be found To win him back to English ground." VIII The funeral obsequies were o'er, But lingered still the Thane, Hanging around his home once more, Feeding his bitter pain. The King would fain with friendly force Urge him anew to mount his horse, Turn from the piteous sight away, And fresh begin life's saddened day, His loved ones looking yet to greet, Where ne'er shall part the blest who meet. Just then a voice that well he knew, A sound that mixed the purr and mew, Went to the father's heart. On a large stone King Alfred sat Against his buskin rubbed a cat, Snow-white in every part, Though drenched and soiled from head to tail. The poor Thane's tears poured down like hail-- "Poor puss, in vain thy loving wail," Then came a joyful start! A little hand was on his cloak-- "Father!" a voice beside him spoke, Emerging from the wood. All travel-stained, and marked with mire, With trace of blood, and toil, and fire, Yet safe and sound beside his sire, Edric before them stood. And as his father wept for joy, King Alfred blessed the rescued boy, And thanked his Maker good! Who doth the captive's prayer fulfil, Making His creatures work His will By means not understood.