Deep excess of liquor sweet!。，Make the bed for Attila!
Gold of woeful fields and towns.。，IX
Dead, ye Huns, and torn piecemeal!。，
Hinting of a youth, and hushed.。，This was the damsel Ildico,
。，WHIMPER OF SYMPATHY
Down these hillmen pour like cattle。，XI
Whisked by the laundry-wife out of her suds.。，
XXVIII。，Hurrahs of the battle-charge.
Heard ye outcries of affright,。，Right well! But not in the South, princess,
Elegant, fashioned to foot with the deuce;。，
。，When the morning rose and drew
Hand for sword at right。，
Destiny led forth the Hun.。，God called on thee in his wrath,
As he makes himself a path:。，Secret, lustrous; flaglike there,
Sitting did he breathe against the blade,。，Champed the grain of the wrath of God,
Night was on them like the mould。，Ere his ears took sound; he lay for dead;
，Attila, my Attila!。，And morn ere its coming illume.