How rush’d your sons in hardy bands,
Their long bows in their skilful hands;
How far the foremost and the best,[[45]]
On fierce invading foes they press’d;
With what sure aim their arrows flew,
Whistling the death song ere they slew.
You, in your secret labyrinths, spread[[46]]
Your dark shields o’er great Alfred’s head,
True to your charge. The ruthless Dane
Brandish’d his reeking blade in vain.