Then Alfred of the lonely spear Lifted his lion head;And fronted with the Italian's eyeAsking him of his whence and why, King Alfred stood and said:
"I am that oft defeated King Whose failure fills the land,Who fled before the Danes of old,Who chaffered with the Danes with gold,Who now upon the Wessex wold Hardly has feet to stand.
"But out of the mouth of the Mother of God I have seen the truth like fire;This, that the sky grows darker yet And the sea rises higher."
Long looked the Roman on the land; The trees as golden crowns.Blazed, drenched with dawn and dew-empearled,While faintlier coloured, freshlier curled,The clouds from underneath the world Stood up over the downs.
"These vines be ropes that drag me hard," He said; "I go not far.Where would you meet? For you must holdHalf Wiltshire and the White Horse wold
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