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114
Läsebok. iS:o 94.
Scene 1. (The Isle of Ath’clney.)
Alfred. How retired arid quiet is everything in this
little spot! The river winds its silent waters round this
retreat; and the tangled bushes of the thicket fence it from
the attack of an enemy. The bloody Danes have not yet
pierced into this wild solitude. I believe I am safe from
their pursuit. But I hope I shall find some inhabitant here,
otherwise I shall die of hunger. — Ha! here is a narrow
path through the wood; I think I see the smoke of a cottage
rising between the trees. I will bend my steps thither.
Scene II. (Before the Cottage.)
Gubba coming forward, Gandelin within.
Alfred. Good evening to you, good man. Are you
disposed to show hospitality to a poor traveller?
Gubba. Why, truly, there are so many poor travellers
now-a-days, that if we entertain them all, we shall have
nothing left for ourselves. However, come along to my wife,
and we will see what can be done for you. Wife, I am very
weary, 1 have been chopping wood all day.
Gandelin. You are always ready for your supper, but it
is not ready for you, I assure you; the cakes will take an
hour to bake, and the sun is vet high; it has not dipped yet
behind the old barn. But whom have you with you ?
Alfred. Good mother, I am a stranger, and entreat you
to afford me food and shelter.
Gandelin. Good mother! Good wife, if you please, and
welcome. But I do not love strangers; and the land has not
reason to love them.
There has never been a merry day for Old England
since strangers came into it.
Alfred. I am not a stranger in England, though I am
a stranger here. I am a true-born Englishman.
Gubba. And do you hate those wicked Danes, that eat
us up, and burn our houses, and drive away our cattle?
Alfred. I do hate them.
Gandelin. Heartily! he does not speak heartily, husband.
Alfred. Heartily I hate them, most heartily.
Gubba. Give me thy hand, then; thou art an honest
fellow.
Alfred. I was with King Alfred in the last battle he
fought.
Gandelin. With King Alfred? Heaven bless him!
Gubba. What has become of our good King?
Alfred. Did you love him, then ?
Gubba. Yes, as much as a poor man may love a king;
and I kneeled down and prayed for him every night, that he
might conquer those Danish wolves; but it was not to be so.
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