HE SLAYING OF THE CHIEFS As the sea flooding the flat sands Flew on the
sea-born horde, The two hosts shocked with dust and din, Left of the
Latian paladin, Clanged all Prince Harold's howling kin On Colan and the
sword. Crashed in the midst on Marcus, Ogier with Guthrum by, And
eastward of such central stir, Far to the right and faintlier, The house
of Elf the harp-player, Struck Eldred's with a cry. The centre swat for
weariness, Stemming the screaming horde, And wearily went Colan's hands
That swung King Alfred's sword. But like a cloud of morning To eastward
easily, Tall Eldred broke the sea of spears As a tall ship breaks the
sea. His face like a sanguine sunset, His shoulder a Wessex down, His
hand like a windy ha
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