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Updated: June 23, 2025
"False Brithric!" echoed the wily tempter; "I will prove myself the true friend of the Atheling, if he will only give consent to the deed by which I will make him this very day the lord of England." "Impossible," cried the prince; "you have no power to raise me to the throne of my father Edward, albeit it is my lawful inheritance." "The usurper Athelstane knows that full well," observed Brithric.
Cedric, I rise from the tomb a wiser man than I descended." "My ward, Rowena," said Cedric "you do not intend to desert her?" "Father Cedric," said Athelstane, "be reasonable. The Lady Rowena cares not for me she loves the little finger of my kinsman Wilfred's glove better than my whole person.
This seemed incredible to me then, the poems being so delightful that they could not possibly be surpassed. On another occasion I happened to be standing with Mr. Cape in the little chapel at Conisborough Castle, and having heard from an older school-fellow that Athelstane had died there, I asked Mr. Cape if it was true. "Yes," he answered, "if you believe Sir Walter Scott."
The ghost of Athelstane himself would burst his bloody cerements and stand before us to forbid such dishonour to his memory." It seemed as if Cedric's words had raised a spectre; for, scarce had he uttered them ere the door flew open, and Athelstane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood before them, pale, haggard, and like something arisen from the dead!
I tell thee, the Princes of the House of Anjou confer not their wards on men of such lineage as thine." "My lineage, proud Norman," replied Athelstane, "is drawn from a source more pure and ancient than that of a beggarly Frenchman, whose living is won by selling the blood of the thieves whom he assembles under his paltry standard.
"Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe was a good lance," said the friar. "I have heard there was none better in Christendom. He lay in our convent after his wounds, and it was there we tended him till he died. He was buried in our north cloister." "And there's an end of him," said Athelstane. "But come, this is dismal talk. Where's Wamba the Jester? Let us have a song.
Tell this Norman prince, Richard of Anjou, that, lion-hearted as he is, he shall not hold undisputed the throne of Alfred, while a male descendant of the Holy Confessor lives to dispute it." "How!" said Athelstane, "is this the noble King Richard?"
"It is false," said the Friar, hastily, "he never spoke a word." "So ho! Friar Tuck," said the Minstrel, drawing him apart from the rustics; "we have started a new hare, I find." "I tell thee, Allan-a-Dale," said the Hermit, "I saw Athelstane of Coningsburgh as much as bodily eyes ever saw a living man.
"You are called wise men, sirs," said the Jester, "and I a crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric, and cousin Athelstane, the fool shall decide this controversy for ye, and save ye the trouble of straining courtesies any farther. I am like John-a-Duck's mare, that will let no man mount her but John-a-Duck. I came to save my master, and if he will not consent basta I can but go away home again.
Passing west, we come at length to the gateway of the Ranelagh Club at Barn Elms. From this entrance, with its large gates and porter's lodge, the private road runs over the Beverley Brook, and, swerving to the west, enters the park proper. This manor was given by Athelstane to the Canons of St. Paul's, and is still held by them.
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