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,