his post. If Wellington won the battle of
Waterloo by military genius, so popular hearsay has urged that he
commanded the Guards to charge 'La Grande Armee' in cockney terms.
Around the almost sacred name of Alfred many and various are the old
wives' tales, among which the story of his harp is not the least
picturesque; it is one on which Chesterton expends a good deal of poetic
energy.

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--

'The great White Horse was grey.'

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.

But--

'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