From the gist of the poem it is evident that Alfred, in the course of his wanderings, came near to the White Horse, but as though for very sorrow--
Down the hill the Danes came in headlong flight and carried Alfred off to their camp; his fame as a harpist had pierced the ears of the invaders:
'And hearing of his harp and skill, They dragged him to their play.'
The Danes might well laugh at the song of the king, but it was a laugh that was soon to be turned to weeping when the king had finished his song:
'And the king with harp on shoulder Stood up and ceased his song; And the owls moaned from the mighty trees, And the Danes laughed loud and long.'
There is in this poem a pleasant rhythm and a clearness of meaning that is absent from much good poetry. Chesterton has caught the wild romantic background of the time when the King of England could play a harp in the camp of his enemies; when he could, by a note, bring back the disheartened warriors to renew the fight; when he could be left to look after the cakes and be scolded when, like the English villages, they were burnt. One of the most popular of the legends is the one connected with Alfred and the woman of the forest. It has made Chesterton write some of his most charming verse.
And Alfred came to the door of a woman's cottage and there rested, with the promise that in return he would watch the cakes that they did not burn.
'The good food fell upon the ash, And blackened instantly.'
The woman was naturally annoyed that this unknown tramp should let her cooking spoil:
'Screaming, the woman caught a cake Yet burning from the bar, And struck him suddenly on the face, Leaving a scarlet scar.'
The scar was on the king's brow, a scar that tens of thousands should follow to victory:
'A terrible harvest, ten by ten, As the wrath of the last red autumn--then When Christ reaps down the kings.'
In a preface to this poem, with regard to that part which deals with the battle of Enthandune, Chesterton says: 'I fancy that in fact Alfred's Wessex was of very mixed bloods; I have given a fictitious Roman, Celt, and Saxon a part in the glory of Enthandune.'
The battle of Enthandune is divided into three parts. The poetry is specially noticeable for the great harmony of the words with the subject of the lines; it is one of the great characteristics of Chesterton's poetry that he uses language that intimately expresses what he wants to describe. He can, in a few lines, describe the discipline of an army: