 | Alfred |  |
After long toil, with looks of secret joy,
Or bitter,—like the hypocrite's in sleep—
As hopes or fears prevail'd, they mount a hill,
When every Saxon stopped,—sudden, like one—
Who meets a precipice, for, through the vale,
Before them, march'd the Danes! And they too stopp'd,
Half terrified at this unlook'd-for sight,
Saxons in arms!—Instant the Danes draw back,
(To a near hill, where a proud castle rose)
As tho' they fear'd the fight. The subterfuge
Alfred beheld, and check'd his troops, who sought
Boldly to follow.
Or bitter,—like the hypocrite's in sleep—
As hopes or fears prevail'd, they mount a hill,
When every Saxon stopped,—sudden, like one—
Who meets a precipice, for, through the vale,
Before them, march'd the Danes! And they too stopp'd,
Half terrified at this unlook'd-for sight,
Saxons in arms!—Instant the Danes draw back,
(To a near hill, where a proud castle rose)
As tho' they fear'd the fight. The subterfuge
Alfred beheld, and check'd his troops, who sought
Boldly to follow.
| Alfred | |