Here the Briton, there the Saxon,。，III
Swift to hell, who harms the Queen!。，Cursed of heat; and as a corse
Loitering nigh the doors of bliss.。，Sword in length a reaping-hook amain
O for the time when God did cry,。，Known to virgins, in whom dread
Night, their bloody Queen, her fold。，Jealous of the army, she?
。，When deep-voiced he uttered, Rome!
He let chief and prophet rave;。，Under the thin hoop of gold
Mountain on his trunk,。，
Cheated by a juggler's show?。，Torrents of the tightened reins,
Wrestle on a drifted isle;。，- Monster of the sea! we drive him
For a forward foot and a tongue of fire:。，Wavy he comes, woolly, all at his ease,
VII。，They are poison: they have thirst
Sitting did he breathe against the blade,。，Mountain on his trunk,
Cast him; foul he leaves our land.。，Me, and retires as if making excuse.
Who have drunk of a strange draught.。，Attila, my Attila!
，Crowned the head of Attila!。，As a night-flag round the mast.