238
JOAN OF ARC.
Were fill'd; his breast-plate with convulsive throes,
Heaved as he fell; victorious, he the prize
At many a tournament had borne away
In the mimic war: happy, if so content
With bloodless glory, he had never left 345
The mansion of his sires.
Warn'd by his fall,
With a long pike at distance, the next foe
Thrust on the Frank. Then Conrade his sharp spear
Flung, and transfix'd him; seizing the fall'n pike
He in the portal stood, so well prepared 350
To greet who should assail. But terrified
The English stood, nor durst adventure now
Near that death-doing man. Amid their host
Was one who well could from the stubborn bow
Shower his sharp shafts: well skill'd in wood-craft he, 355
Even as the merry Outlaws who their haunts
In Sherwood held, and bade their bugles rouse
The sleeping stag, ere on the web-woven grass
The dew-drops sparkled to the rising-sun.
Heaved as he fell; victorious, he the prize
At many a tournament had borne away
In the mimic war: happy, if so content
With bloodless glory, he had never left 345
The mansion of his sires.
Warn'd by his fall,
With a long pike at distance, the next foe
Thrust on the Frank. Then Conrade his sharp spear
Flung, and transfix'd him; seizing the fall'n pike
He in the portal stood, so well prepared 350
To greet who should assail. But terrified
The English stood, nor durst adventure now
Near that death-doing man. Amid their host
Was one who well could from the stubborn bow
Shower his sharp shafts: well skill'd in wood-craft he, 355
Even as the merry Outlaws who their haunts
In Sherwood held, and bade their bugles rouse
The sleeping stag, ere on the web-woven grass
The dew-drops sparkled to the rising-sun.
He
