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:

'And when they came to the open land
They wheeled, deployed, and stood.'

It is perfect poetry concerning the machine-like movements of
highly-trained troops.

The death of an earl that occurs in a moment of battle: we can almost
see the blow, the quick change on the face from life to death; we can
almost hear the death gurgle:

'Earl Harold, as in pain,
Strove for a smile, put hand to head,
Stumbled and suddenly fell dead,
And the small white daisies all waxed red
With blood out of his brain.'

Of the tremendous power of a charge, Chesterton can give us the meaning
in two lines that might otherwise take a page of prose:

'Spears at the charge!' yelled Mark amain,
'Death to the gods of Death.'

Whether it be to victory or defeat, the last charge grips the
imagination, just as the latest words of a great man are remembered long
after he has turned to dust. The final charge of the Old Guard, the
remnant of Napoleon's ill-fated army at Waterloo, the dying words of
Nelson, these are the things that produce great poetry.

Some of the verses describing the last charge at Enthandune are the
finest lines Chesterton has so far written. It will not be out of place
to quote one or two of the best--the challenge of Alfred to his
followers to make an effort against the dreaded Danes, at whose very
name strong men would pale:

'Brothers-at-arms,' said Alfred,
'On this side lies the foe;
Are slavery and starvation flowers,
That you should pluck them so?'

Or the death of the Danish leader, who would have pierced Alfred through
and through:

'Short time had shaggy Ogier
To pull his lance in line--
He knew King Alfred's axe on high,
He heard it rushing through the sky;
He cowered beneath it with a cry--
It split him to the spine;