And smote liis army, when the Assyrian king,
Haughty of Hamath and Sepharvaim fallen,
Blasphemed the God of Israci.

Yet the fight
Hung doubtful, where, exampling hardiest deeds,
Salisbury mow'd down the foe, and Folffe strove,
And in the holiest doings of the war
Tower'd Talbot. He, rememb'ring the past day
Wheu from bis name the affrighted sons of France
Fled trembling, all astonish'd at their force
And wondess valour, rages round the field
Dreadful in fury; yet in every man
Meeting a foe fearless, and in the faith
Of Heaven's assistance firm.

The clang of arms Reaches the walls of Orleans. For the war Prepared, and confident of victory, Forth speed the troops. Not when a far cxbaled The hungry raven snuffs the steam of blood That from some carcass-cover'd field of fame Taints the pure air, wings he more eagerly To riot on the gore, than ruslı'd the ranks; Impatient now for many an ill endured In the long siege, to wreak upon their foes Due vengeance. Then more fearfulgrew the fray; The swords that late flashi'd to the evening sun 106 Now quench'd in blood their radiance.

O'er the liost
flowlid the deep wind that, ominous of storms,
Rolld on the lurid clouds. The blackend night
Frown'd, and the thunder from the troubled sky
Roard hollow. Javelins clash'd and bucklers rang;
Shield prest ou shield ; loud on the helmet jarri
The ponderous battle-axe; the frequent groan
Of death commingling with the storm was hcard,
And the shrill shriek of fear.

Even such a storm
Before the walls of Chartres quell'd the pride
Of the third Edward, when the heavy hail
Smote down his soldiers, and the conqueror lieard
God in the tempest, and remember'd linn
Of the widows he had made, and in the name
Of blessed Mary vow'd the vow of

Deem themselves safe the trembling fugitives.
On to the forts they haste. Bewilderd there
Amid the moats by fear, and the dead zloom
Of more thao midnight darkness, plunge the troops,
Cruslid by fast following numbers who partake
The death they give. As rushing from the snows
Of winter liquefied, thic torrent tide
Resistless down the mountain rolls along,
Till at the brink of yiddy precipice
Arrived, with deafening clamour down it falls :
Thus borne along, tumultuously the troops,
Driven by the force behind them, plunge amid
The liquid death. Then rose the dreadful cries
More dreadiul, and the dash of breaking waves
That to the passing lightning as they broke
Gleam'd liorrible.

Nor of the host, so late
Triumplıing in the pride of victory,
And swolu with confidence, had now escapeel
Que wretched rempant, bad not Talbot's mind,
Slow as he moved unwilling from the war,
What most might profit the defeated rauks
Ponderd. He, reaching safe the massy fort
Named from St John, there kindled up on high
The guiding fire. Not unobserved it blazed;
The watchful guards on Tournelles, and the pile
Of that proud city in remembrance fond
Calla London, light the beacon. Soon the fires
Flame on the summit of the circling forts
Which girt around with walls and deep-delved moats,
Included Orleans. O'er the shadowy plain
They cast a lurid splendour; to the troops
Grateful as to the way-worn traveller,
Wandering with parchi'd feet o'er Arabian sands,
The far-seen cistern; he for many a league
Travelling the trackless desolate, where heaved
With tempest swell the desert billows round,
Pauses, and shudders at his perils past,
Then wild with joy speeds on to taste the wave
So long bewaila.

Swift as the affrighted herd Scud o'er the plain, when frequent through the sky Flash the fierce lightnings, speed the routed host Of England. To the sheltering forts they haste, Though safe, of safety doubiful, still appail'd And trembling, as the pilgrim who by night, On his way wilder'd, 10 the wolf's deep howl lears the wood echo, when from the fell beast Escaped, of some small tree the topmast branch lle

grasps close clinging, still of that keen fang Fearful, his teeth jar, and the big drops stand On his cold quivering limbs.

Nor now the Mail
Greedy of vengeance urges the pursuit.
She bids the trumpet of retreat resound;
A pleasant music to the routed ranks
Blows the loud blast. Obedient to its voice
The French, though eager on the invaders' heads
To wreak their wrath, stay the victorious sword.

peace. '07

Lo! where the holy banner waved aloft,
The lambent lightnings play. Irradiate rounil,
As with a blaze of glory, o'er the field
It stream'd miraculous splendour. Then their hearts
Sunk, and the English trembled ; with such fear
Possess'd, as whien the combined host belield
The sun stand still on Gibeon, at the voice
Of that king-conquering warrior, be who smote
The country of the hills, and of the south,
From Baal-gad to Halak, and their chiefs,
Even as the Lord commanded. Swift they fled
From that portentous banner, and the sword
Of France; though Talbot with vain valianey
Yet urg

the war, and stemmd alone the tide
Of conquest. Even their leaders felt dismay;
Fastolffe fled fast, and Salisbury in the rout
Mingles, and, all impatient of defeat,
Borne backward Talbot Turns. Then echoed lond
The cry of conquest, deeper grew the storm,
And darkness, hovering o'er on raven wing,
Brooded the field of death.

Nor in the camp

Loud is the cry of conquest as they turn To Orleans. There what few to guard the town Unwilling had remain'd, haste forth to meet The triumph. Many a blazing torch they held, Which, raised aloft amid the inidniglic storm, Flashi'd far a festive light. The Maid advanced;


Deep through the sky the hollow thunders rollid; Circling the pile, a bulwark vast, as what Innocuous lightnings round the hallowd banner Round their dishearten'd camp and stranded ships Wreath'd their red radiance.

The Greeks uprear'd a common sepulchre

Through the open'd gate of thousands slaughter'd, and the doom'd death-place Slow past the laden convoy. Then was heard

Of many a chief, when Priam's patriot son The shout of exultation, and such joy

Rush'd in his wrath and scatter'd their pale tribes. The men of Orleans at that welcome sight Possess'd, as when, from Bactria late subdued,

But cowering now amid their sheltering forts The mighty Macedonian led his troops

Tremble the invading host. Their leader's care Amid the Sogilian desert, where no strcam

lo anxious vigilance prepares to ward Wastes on the wild its fertilizing waves.

Assault expected. Nor the Maid's intent Fearful alike to pause, or to proceed;

Did he not rightly areed; though vain his hope Scorch'd by the sun that b'er their morning marchi

To kindle in their breasts the wonted flame Steam'd his hot vapours, heart-subdued and faint; Of valour; for by prodigies unmann'd Such joy as ther they felt, when from the heighits They wait the morn. The soldiers' pride was gone, Burst the soul-gladdening sound! for thence was seen The blood was on their swords, their bucklers lay The evening sun silveriog the vale below,

Unburnish'd and defiled; "I they sharpen'd not Where Oxus rollid along.

Their blunted spears, the affrighted archier's hand Clamours of joy

Relax'd not his bent bow. To them, confused Echo along the streets of Orleans, wont

With fears of unknown danger, the long night Long time to hear the infant's feeble cry,

Was drcadful, but more dreadful dawn'd the day. The mother's frantic shriek, or the dread sound, When from the cannon burst its stores of death. The morning came. The martial Maid arose. Far flames the fire of joy on ruin'd piles,

Lovely in arms she moved.

Around the gate And high heap'd carcasses, whence scared away

Eager again for conquest throng the troops. From his abhorred meal, on clattering wing

High tower'd the Son of Orleans, in his strength Rose the pight-raven slow.

Poising the ponderous spear. His batter'd shield, In the English forts Witnessing the fierce fray of yesternight, Sad was the scene. There all the livelong night

Hung on his sinewy arm. Steals in the straggling fugitive; as when

« Maiden of Arc,» Past is the storm, and o'er the azure sky

So as he spake approaching, cried the Chief, Serenely shines the sun, with every breeze

«Well hast thou proved thy mission, as by words The waving branches drop their gather'd rain,

And miracles attested when dismay'd
Renewing the remembrance of the storm.

The stern theologists forgot their doubts,
So in the field of slaughter now confirm'd.
Yon well-fenced forts protect the fugitives,

And seem as in their strength they mock'd our force.

Yet must they fall.»

« And fall they shall!» replied

The Maid of Orleans. Ere the sun be set, STRONG were the English forts, 109 by daily toil The lily on that shatter'd wall shall wave Of thousands rear'd on high, when arrogant

Triumphant.— Men of France! ye have fought well With hoped-for conquest Salisbury bade rise

On yon blood-reeking plain. Your humbled foes The mighty pile, from succour to include

Lurk trembling now amid their massy walls. Besieged Orleans. Round the city walls

Wolves that have ravaged the neglected flock! Stretch'd the wide circle, massy as the fence

The Shepherd—the Great Shepherd is arisen! Erst by the fearful Roman on the bounds

Ye fly! yet shall not ye by flight escape Of Caledonia raised, when soul-enslaved

[lis vengeance.

Men of Orleans! it were vain Her hireling plunderers fear'd the car-borne chiefs By words to waken wrath within your breasts. Who rushd from Morven down.

Look round ! Your holy buildings and your liomes,

Strong battlements Ruins that choke the way! Your populous town, Crested the ample bulwark, on whose top

One open sepulchre! Who is there here Secure the charioteer might wheel along.

That does not mourn a friend, a brother slain, The frequent buttress at just distance rose

A parent famish'd-or his dear loved wife Declining from its base, and sixty forts

Torn from his bosom-outcast-broken-heartedLifted aloft their turrel-crested heads,

Cast on the mercy of mankind ?» All firm and massy. Bat of these most firm,

She ceased; As though of some large castle each the keep,

The cry of indignation from the host
Stood six square fortresses with turrents flank'd, Burst forth, and all impatient for the war
Piles of unequall'd strength, though now deem'd weak Demand the signal. These Danois arrays
Gainst puissance more than mortal. Safely hence In four battalions. Xaintrailles, tried in war,
The skilful archer, entering with his суе

Commands the first; Xaintrailles, who oft subdued The city, might, liimself the while unseen,

By adverse fortune to the captive chain, Through the long opening shower lfis winged deaths. Still more tremendous to the

enemy, Loire's waves diverted fill'd the deep-dug moat

Lifted his death-fraught lance, as erst from carth

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Antæus vaunting in his giant bulk,

They rear'd the hostile band, for low the wall When graspt by force Herculean, down he fell

Where the bold Frenchman's upward-driven spear Vanquish'd, anon uprose more fierce for war.

Might pierce the foemen.

As Alençon moved, Gaucour o'er one presides, the steady friend

On his crown-crested helm 11$ with ponderous blow To long-imprison d Orleans; of bis town

Fell Gladdisdale's huge mace. Back he recoild Beloved guardian, he the dreadful siege

Astounded; soon recovering, his keen lance Firmly abiding, prudent still to plan

Thrust on the warrior's shield: there fast-infix'd, Irruption, and with youthful vigour swift

Nor could Alençon the deep-driven spear To lead the battle, from his soldiers' love

Recover, nor the foeman from his grasp Prompter obedience gained, than ever fear

Wrench the contended weapon. Fierce again Forced from the heart reluctant.

He lifts the mace, that on the ashen hilt

The third band Fell full; it shiver'd, and the Frenchman held Alençon leads: he on the fatal field

A pointless truncheon. Where the Bastard fought Verneuil, when Buchan and the Douglas died, The spear of Poynings through his plated mail Fell senseless. Guiltless he of that day's loss,

Pierced, and against the iron fence beneath 119 Worc undisgraced awhile the captive chain.

Blunted its point. Again he speeds the spear; The Monarch him mindful of his high rank

At once Dunois on his broad buckler bears Had ransom'd, once again to meet the foe

The uplarmiog stroke, and aims with better fate With better fortune.

Iis javelin. Through his sword-arın did it pierce, O'er the last presides

Maugre the mail.

Hot from the streaming wound Dunois the bastard, mighty in the war.

Again the weapon fell, and in his breast His prowess knew the foes, and his fair fame

Even through the hauberk drove. Confess'd, since when before his stripling arm

But there the war Fled Warwick; Warwick, he whose fair renown

Raged fiercest where the martial Maiden moved, Greece knew and Antioch and the holy soil

The minister of wrath; for thither throng'd Of Palestine, since there in arms he pass'd

The bravest champions of the adverse host: Oo gallant pilgrimage; yet by Danois

And on her either side two warriors stood Baftled, and yielding him the conqueror's praise.

Of upmatch'd prowess, still with eager eye And by his side the martial Maiden passid,

Shielding her form, and aiming at her foes Lovely in arms as that Arcadian boy

Their deadly weapons,

of themselves the while Parthenopaus, when, the war of beasts 112

Little regarding. One was that bold man Disdaining, he to murder man rush'd forth,

Who bade defiance to the English chiefs. Bearing the bow, and those Dictæan shafts

Firmly he stood, untired and undismay'd, Diana gave, when she the youth's fair form

Though on his burgonet the frequent spear Saw softend, and forgave the mother's fault.

Drove fierce, and on his arm the buckler hung

Heavy, thick-bristled with the hostile shafts, St Loup's strong fort stood first. Here Gladdisdale 113 Even like the porcupine when in his rage, Commands the fearful troops.

Roused, he collects within him all his force,

As lowering clouds Himself a quiver. And of loftier port
Swept by the hoarse wind o'er the blacken'd plain, On the other hand tower'd Conrade. Firmly fenced,
Moved on the host of France: they from the fort, A jazerent of double mail he wore,
Through secret opening, shower their pointed shafts, Beneath whose weight one but of common strength
Or from the battlements the death-tipt spear

Had sunk. Untired the conflict he endured,
Hurl fierce. Nor from the strong arm only launch'd Wielding a battle-axe ponderous and keen,
The javelin fled, but driven by the straiu'd force Which gave po second stroke; for where it fell,
Of the balista, 114 in one carcass spent

Not the strong buckler nor the plated mail
Stay'd not; through arms and men it makes its way, Might save, nor crested casque. On Molyn's head,
And leaving death behind, still holds its course As at the Maid he aim'd his javelin,
By many a death unclogg'd. With rapid march Forceful it fell, and shiver'd with the blow
Right onward they advanced, and soon the shafts, The iron helm, and to his brain-pan drove
Impelld by that strong stroke beyond the host, The fragments. At their comrade's death amazed,
Wasting their force, fell harmless. Now they reach'd And for a moment fearful, shrunk the foes.
Where by the bayle's embattled wall 115 in arms That instant Conrade, with an active bound, 130
The knights of England stood. There Poynings shook Sprung on the battlements; there firm he stood,
His lance, and Gladdisdale his heavy mace

Guarding ascent. The herald and the Maid For the death-blow prepared. Alençon here,

Follow'd, and soon the exulting cry of France And here the Bastard strode, and by the Maid

Along the lists was heard, as waved aloft That daring man who to the English host,

The holy banner. Gladdisdale beheld, "Then insolent of many a conquest gain'd,

And hasting from his well-defended post Bore her bold bidding. A rude coat of mail 16 Sped to the fiercer conflict. To the Maid Uphosed, unbooded, as of lowly line,

He strode, on her resolved to wreak his rage, Arm'd him, though here amid the high-born chiefs With her to end the war. Nor did not JOAN Pre-eminent for prowess. On his head

Areed his purpose : lifting up her shield A black plume shadow'd the rude-featured helm. '17 Prepared she stood, and poised her sparkling spear. Then was the war of men, when front to front | The English Chief came on; he raised his mace;

The war.

With circling force, the iron weight swung high, 121
As Gladdisdale with his collected might
Drove the full blow. The man of lowly line
That instant rush'd between, and reard his shield
And mel the broken blow, and thrust his lance
Fierce through the gorget of the English knight.
A gallant man, of no ignoble line,
Was Gladdisqale. His sires had lived in peace,
They heap'd the hospitable hearth, they spread
The feast, their vassals loved them, and afar
The traveller told their fame. In peace they died;
For tbem the venerable fathers pour'd
A requiem when they slept, and o'er them raised
The sculptured monument.

Now far away
Their offspring falls, the last of all his race,
Slain in a foreign land, and doom'd to share
The common grave.

Then terror seized the host, Their Chieftain dead. And lo! where on the wall, Bulwarkd of late by Gladdisdale so well, The Son of Orleans stood, and sway'd around His falchion, keeping thus at bay the foe, Till on the battlements his comrade sprang, And raised the shout of conquest. Then appallid The English fled: nor fled they unpursued, For mingling with the foremost fugitives, The gallant Conrade rush'd ; and with the throng The knights of France together o'er the bridge Rushd forward. Nor the garrison within Darst let the ponderous portcullis fall, For in the entrance of the fort the fight Raged fiercely, and together throngh the gate The vanquish'd English and their eager foes Pass'd in the flying conflict.

Well I deem And wisely did that daring Spaniard act * At Vera-Cruz. when he, his yet sound ships Dismantling, left no spot where treacherous fear Might still with wild and wistful eye look back. For knowing no retreat, his desperate troops In conquest sought their safety; victors hence At Tlascala, and o'er the Cholulans, And by Otompan, on that bloody field When Mexico her patriot thousands pour'd, Fierce in vain valour on their dreadful foes. There was a portal to the English fort Which opend on the wall;122 a speedier path In the hour of safety, whence the charmed eye Might linger down the river's pleasant course. Fierce in the gate-way raged the deadly war; For there the Maiden strove, and Conrade there, And he of lowly line, bravelier than whom Fought not in that day's battle. Of success Desperate, for from above the garrison Could wield no arms, so certain to bestow Equal destruction, of the portal's aid The foe bethought them : then with lesser force Their weapons fell; abandon'd was the gate; And soon from Orleans the glad citizens Beheld the hallow'd banner on the tower Triumphant. Swift along the lofty wall The English haste to St John's neighbouring fort, Flying with fearful speed. Nor from pursuit The victors ceased, but with the fugitives Mingled and waged the war : the combatants, Lock'd in the bostile grasp, together fall


But foremost of the French,
Dealing destruction, Conrade rush'd along;
Heedless of danger, he to the near fort
Pass'd in the fight; nor did not then the Chief
What most might serve bethink him : firm he stood
In the portal, and one moment looking back
Lifted his loud voice : tbrice the warrior cried,
Then to the war address'd him, now assail'd
By numerous foes, who arrogant of power
Threaten'd his single valour. He the while
Stood firm, not vainly confident, or rash,
But of his own strength conscious, and the post
Friendly; for narrow was the portal way,
To one alone fit passage, from above
O'erbrow'd by no oul-jutting para pet, 123
Whence death might crush him. He in double mail
Was arm’d; a massy burgonet, well tried
In many a hard-fought field, helming his head;
A buckler broad, and fenced with iron plates,
Bulwark'd his breast. Nor to dislodge the Chief
Could the English pour their numbers, for the way
By upward steps presented from the fort
Narrow ascent, where one alone could meet

Yet were they of their numbers proud,
Though useless numbers were in that strait path,
Save by assault unceasing to out-last
A single warrior, who at length must sink
Fatigued with conquering, by long victory

There was amid the garrison
A fearless knight who at Verneuil had fought,
And high renown for his bold chivalry
Acquired in that day's conquest. To his fame
The thronging English yield the foremost place.
He his long javelin to transpierce the Frank
Thrust forceful : harmless in his shield it fixd,
Advantaging the foe; for Conrade lifts
The battle-axe, and smote upon the lance,
And hurl'd its severed point124 with mighty arm
Fierce on the foe. With wary bend the foe
Shrunk from the flying death; yet not in vain
From that strong hand the fate-fraught weapon fled :
Full on the corselet 25 of a meaner man
It fell, and pierced, there where the heaving lungs,
In vital play distended, to the heart
Roll back their brightend tide: from the deep wound
The red blood gush'd : prone on the steps he fell,
And in the strong convulsive grasp of death
Grasp'd his long pike. Of unrecorded name
The soldier died; yet did he leave behind
One who did never say her daily prayers
Of him forgetful; who to every tale
Of the distant war, lending an eager ear,
Grew pale and trembled. At her cottage-door
The wretched one shall sit, and with dim eye
Gaze o'er the plain, where on his parting steps
Her last look hung. Nor ever shall she know
Her husband dead, but tortured with vain hope
Gaze on... then heart-sick turn to her poor babe,
And weep it fatherless!

The exasperate knight Drew his keen falchion, and with dauntless step Moved to the closer conflict. Then the Frank Held forth his buckler, and his battle-axe Uplifted. Where the buckler was below


Rounded, the falchion struck, but impotent

That hung on high the bridge. The impetuous troops, To pierce its plated folds; more forceful driven, By Gaucour led, rush'd o'er to victory. Fierce on his crested helm the Frenchiman's stroke Fell; the belm shiver'd; from his eyes the blood The banner'd lilies on the captured wall Started; with b!ood the chambers of the brain

Toss'd to the wind. « On to the neighbouring fort!» Were fill d; his breast-plate with convulsive throes Cried Conrade; « Xaintrailles! ere the night draws on, Heaved as he fell. Victorious, he the prize

Once more to conquest lead the troops of France! At many a tournament had borne away

Force ye the lists, and fill the deep-dug moat, In mimic war : happy, if so content

And with the ram shake down their batter'd walls; With bloodless glory, he had never left

Anon I shall be with you. Thus he said;
The mansion of bis sires.

Then to the Damsel : « Maid of Arc! awhile
But terrified

Cease we from battle, and by short repose
The English stood, nor durst adventure now

Renew our strength.» So saying he his helm Near that death-doing man. Amid their host

Unlaced, and in the Loire's near flowing stream Was one who will could from the stubborn bow Cool'd his hot face. The Maid her head unhelm'd, Shower his sharp shafts: well skill'd in wood-craft he, And stooping to the stream, reflected there Even as the merry outlaws who their haunts

Saw her white plumage staind with human blood! Jo Sherwood held, and bade their bugles rouse Shuddering she saw, but soon her steady soul The sleeping stay, ere on the web-woven grass

Collected : on the banks she laid her down, The dew-drops sparkled to the rising sun.

Freely a while respiring, for her breath
He safe in distance at the warrior aim'd

Quick panted from the fight : silent they lay,
The feather'd dart; with force he drew the bow, For gratefully the cooling breezes bath'd
Loud on his bracer struck the sounding string; Their throbbing temples.
And swift and strong the well-wing'd arrow flew.

It was now the noon :
Deep in his shield it hung; then Conrade raised The sun-beams on the gently-waving stream
Again his echoing voice, and calld for aid,

Danced sparkling. Lost in thought the warrior lay, Nor was the call unheard; the troops of France, Then as his countenance relax'd he cried, From St Loup's captured fort along the wall

« Maiden of Arc! at such an hour as this, Haste to the porial; cheering was the sound

Beneath the o'er-arching forest's chequer'd shade, Of their near footsteps to the Chief; he drew

With that lost woman havc I wander'd on,
His falchion forth, and down the steps be rushd. Talking of years of happiness to come!
Then terror seized the English, for their foes

Oh, hours for ever fled ! delightful dreams
Swarm'd through the open portal, and the sword Of the unsuspecting heart! I do believe
Of Conrade was among them.

Not more fierce

If Agócs on a worthier one had fix'd The injured Turnus sway'd his angry arm,

Her love, that though my heart had nurst till death Slaughtering the robber fugitives of Troy;

Its sorrows, Lhad never on her choice
Nor with more fury through the streets of Paris Pour'd one upbraiding... but to stoop to him!
Ruslı'd the fierce king of Sarza, Rodomont,

A harlo!! ... au adulteress! » 126
Clad in bis dragon mail.
Like some tall rock,

Red anger flash d ; anon of what she was
Around whose billow-beaten foot the waves

Ere yet the foul pollution of the court Waste their wild fury, stood the unshaken man; Stain'd her fair fame, he thought. « Oh, happy age!» Though round him prest his foemen, by despair lle cried, « when all the family of man Hearten'd. He, mowing through the throng his path, Freely enjoy'd their goodly heritage, Call’d on the troops of France, and bade them haste And only bowd the knee in prayer to God! Where he shoull lead the way. A daring band

Calm flow'd the unruffled stream of

years along, Follow'd the adventurous chieftain; be moved on Till o'er the peaceful rustic's licad the hair Unterrified, amid the arrowy shower,

in full of time. Then he would sit Though on his shield and belm the darts fell fast Beneath the coctaneous oak, while round, As the seard leaves that from the trembling tree Sons, grandsons, and their offspring join d to form The autumnal whirlwind shakes.

The blameless merriment; and learnt of him

Nor Conrade paused; What time to yoke the oxen to the plough, Still through the fierce fight urging on his way, What hollow moanings of the western wind Till to the gate he came, and with strong hand Foretel the storm, and in what lurid clouds Seized on the massy bolts. These as he drew,

The embryo lightning lies. Well pleased, he taught, Full on bis helm the weighty English sword

The heart-smile clowing on his aged cheek, Descended; swift he turn' to wreak his wrath, Mild as the summer sun's decaying light. When lo! the assailant gasping on the ground, Thus quietly the stream of life flowd on, Cleft by the Maiden's falchion : she herself

Till in the shoreless ocean lost at length.
To thic foe opposing with that lowly man,

Around the bed of death his numerous race
For they alone following the adventurous steps Listen d, in no unprofitable grief,
Of Conrade, still had equallid his bold course,

Ilis last advice, and caugbt liis latest sigh :
Shielded him as with eager hand he drew

And when he died, as he had fallen asleep, The bolts: the gate turn'd slow: forth leapt the Chief, Beneath the aged tree thai grew with him And shiverd with his battle-axe the chains

They delved the narrow house : there oft at ove

In his eye

Grew grey

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