o_199m9vauj4nv1dt91gj7l0rfnm4k.pdf

A TALE. id
His full orbed shield above his head he reared.
And to the fi^iit his valiant comrades cheered.
Thrice did the languid Saxon corps give way,
And thrice retrieved the honor of the day.
Now rank to rank the eager hosts advance —
Now wield the sword — now hurl the ;.!ivering lance
The Briton's robe unbroached was thrown behind :
His golden tresses wantoned in the wind.
Onward he rushed in golden anus to shine,
And spread destruction through the Saxon line ;
'Till, his strong car entangled with the slain,
The milk-white steeds no longer heed the rein.
From Iiis high seat th' intrepid chief descends,
And joins on foot, and cheers his daring friends :
On Porta fixing stern his sparkling eye,
IJis Bosom pants the warrior's strength to try.
Now breast to breast the bloody swords they wield,
And furious blows ring on each tempered shield.
Lo ! Porta's shivering steel in atoms flies :
On his strong beechen lance the chief relies.
Away his shining blade the Briton throws,
Then high in air his dreadful club arose ;
Through whistling air it takes its threat'ning rounr],
And falling strikes Miegla to the ground.
In death's last agony the infant lies,
Convulsed his frame, half closed his glassy eyes.
O'er his pale corse frantic the father strode,
And bathed his limbs in streams of British blood ;
Cast one sad look upon his lifeless Son,
Exclaimed, " Thy race, fierce Briton now is run !
" His murder'd shade shall guide a father's arm ;
*' Through all thy ranks spread terror and alarm :"'
Then rushing on, inflamed with dreadful ire —
'Tis Odin's self ! —'tis the immortal Sire !
Generated on 2014-12-16 12:15 GMT / http://hdl.handle.net/2027/uc2.ark:/13960/t3fx78r75
Public Domain / http://www.hathitrust.org/access_use#pd