Then close around our chief we throng,
And bear him on our shields along.
Eight days and nights the caverned seat
Where Guillin made his dark retreat
We dig with sleepless care;
Pour through its windings close the light,
Till we see, in all her radiance bright,
Spring forth th’ enchantress fair.
A chalice she bore of angled mould,[5]
And sparkling rich with gems and gold;