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Powerless opposed to valor. Forth he spurr'd
Before the ranks; she mark'd the coming foe,
And fix'd her lance in rest, and rush'd along.
Midway they met; full on her buckler driven, 325
Shiver'd the English spear: her better force
Drove the brave foeman senseless from his seat.
Headlong he fell, nor ever to the sense
Of shame awoke, for crowding multitudes
Soon crush'd the helpless warrior.

329

Then the Maid

Rode through the thickest battle; fast they fell,
Pierced by her forceful spear. Amid the troops
Plunged her strong war-horse, by the noise of arms
Elate and roused to rage, he tramples o'er,
Or with the lance protended from his front,
Thrusts down the thronging squadrons. Where she

turns

The foe tremble and die. Such ominous fear
Seizes the traveller o'er the trackless sands,
Who marks the dread Simoom across the waste
Sweep its swift pestilence: to earth he falls,
Nor dares give utterance to the inward prayer,
Deeming the Genius of the desart breathes
The purple blast of death.

Such was the sound

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As when a tempest, mingling air and sea,
Flies o'er the uptorn ocean: dashing high
Their foamy heads amid the incumbent clouds,
The madden'd billows with their deafening roar
Drown the loud thunder's peal. In every form
Of horror, death was there. They fall, transfix'd
By the random arrow's point, or fierce-thrust lance,

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Or sink, all battered by the ponderous mace:
Some from their coursers thrown, lie on the earth,
Helpless because of arms, that weak to save,
Lengthened the lingering agonies of death.
But most the English fell, by their own fears
Betray'd, for fear the evil that it dreads
Increaseth. Even the chiefs, who many a day
Had met the war and conquer'd, trembled now,
Appall'd before the Maid miraculous.

360

As the blood-nurtur'd monarch of the wood,
That o'er the wilds of Afric in his strength
Resistless ranges, when the mutinous clouds
Burst, and the lightnings through the midnight sky
Dart their red fires, lies fearful in his den,
And howls in terror to the passing storm.

But Talbot, fearless where the bravest fear'd

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Mow'd down the hostile ranks. The chieftain stood
Like a strong oak, amid the tempest's rage,
That stands unharm'd, and while the forest falls
Uprooted round, lifts his high head aloft,
And nods majestic to the warring wind.

370

He fought, resolved to snatch the shield of death
And shelter him from shame. The very herd
Who fought near Talbot, though the Virgin's name
Made their cheeks pale and drove the curdling blood
Back to their hearts, caught from his daring deeds
New force, and went like eaglets to the prey
Beneath their mother's wing: to him they look'd,
Their tower of strength, and follow'd where his sword
Made through the foe a way. Nor did the son 380
Of Talbot shame his lineage; by his sire

377

Emulous he strove, like the young lionet

When first he bathes his murderous jaws in blood.
They fought intrepid, though amid their ranks
Fear and confusion triumph'd; for such dread 385
Possess'd the English, as the Etruscans felt,
When self-devoted to the infernal gods
The aweful Decius stood before the troops,
Robed in the victim garb of sacrifice,

And spake aloud, and call'd the shadowy powers
To give to Rome the conquest, and receive
Their willing prey; then rush'd amid the foe,
And died upon the hecatombs he slew.

389

But hope inspired the assailants. Xaintrailles there Spread fear and death, and Orleans' valiant son 395 Fought as when Warwick fled before his arm. O'er all pre-eminent for hardiest deeds

Was Conrade. Where he drove his battle-axe, Weak was the buckler or the helm's defence, Hauberk, or plated mail, through all it pierced, 400 Resistless as the fork'd flash of heaven.

405

The death-doom'd foe, who mark'd the coming chief,
Felt such a chill run through his shivering frame,
As the night-traveller of the Pyrenees,
Lone and bewilder'd on his wintery way,
When from the mountains round reverberates
The hungry wolves' deep yell: on every side,
Their fierce eyes gleaming as with meteor fires,
The famish'd pack come round; the affrighted mule
Snorts loud with terror, on his shuddering limbs 410
The big sweat starts, convulsive pant his sides,
Then on he gallops, wild in desperate speed.

Him dealing death an English knight beheld,
And spurr'd his steed to crush him: Conrade leap'd
Lightly aside, and through the warrior's grieves 415
Fix'd a deep wound: nor longer could the foe,
Disabled thus, command his mettled horse,
Or his rude plunge endure; headlong he fell,
And perish'd. In his castle-hall was hung
On high his father's shield, with many a dint 420
Graced on the glorious field of Agincourt.
His deeds the son had heard; and when a boy,
Listening delighted to the old man's tale,
His little hand would lift the weighty spear
In warlike pastime he had left behind
An infant offspring, and had fondly deem'd
He too in age the exploits of his youth
Should tell, and in the stripling's bosom rouse

The fire of glory.

Conrade the next foe

425

Smote where the heaving membrane separates 430
The chambers of the trunk. The dying man,
In his lord's castle dwelt, for many a year,
A well-beloved servant: he could sing
Carols for Shrove-tide, or for Candlemas,

Songs for the wassel and when the boar's head, 435
Crown'd with gay garlands and with rosemary,
Smoked on the Christmas board: he went to war
Following the lord he loved, and saw him fall
Beneath the arm of Conrade, and expired,
Slain on his master's body.

Nor the fight

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Was doubtful long. Fierce on the invading host Press the French troops impetuous, as of old,

When pouring o'er his legion slaves on Greece,
The eastern despot bridged the Hellespont,
The rushing sea against the mighty pile
Roll'd its full weight of waters; far away
The fearful Satrap mark'd on Asia's coasts
The floating fragments, and with ominous fear
Trembled for the great king.

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Still Talbot strove,
His foot firm planted, his uplifted shield
Fencing that breast which never yet had known
The throb of fear. But when the warrior's eye,
Glancing around the fight, beheld the French
Pressing to conquest, and his heartless troops
Striking with feebler force in backward step, 455
Then o'er his cheek he felt the indignant flush
Of shame, and loud he lifted up his voice,
And cried, "Fly, cravens! leave your aged chief
Here in the front to perish! his old limbs
Are not like yours so supple in the flight.
Go tell your countrymen how ye escaped
When Talbot fell!"

In vain the warrior spake,
In the uproar of the fight his voice was lost;
And they, the nearest, who had heard, beheld
The Prophetess approach, and every thought
Was overwhelm'd in terror. But the son
Of Talbot mark'd her thus across the plain
Careering fierce in conquest, and the hope
Of glory rose within him. Her to meet
He spurr'd his horse, by one decisive deed
Or to retrieve the battle, or to fall
With honour.

Each beneath the others' blow

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