BOOK THE TENTH.
397
Cleaves the poor suppliant. On that dreadful day
The sword of Talbot,[1] clogg'd with hostile gore,
Made good its vaunt. Amid the heaps his arm
Had slain, the Chieftain stood and sway'd around 520
His furious strokes: nor ceas'd he from the fight,
Tho' now discomfited the English troops
Fled fast, all panic-struck and spiritless;
And mingling with the routed, Fastolffe fled
False to his former fame; for he beheld 525
The Maiden rushing onward, and such fear
Ran thro' his frame, as thrills the African
When, grateful solace in the sultry hour,
He rises on the buoyant billow's breast
If then his eye behold the monster Shark 530
Gape eager to devour.
But Talbot now
A moment paus'd, for bending thitherwards
He mark'd a warrior, such as well might ask
The sword of Talbot,[1] clogg'd with hostile gore,
Made good its vaunt. Amid the heaps his arm
Had slain, the Chieftain stood and sway'd around 520
His furious strokes: nor ceas'd he from the fight,
Tho' now discomfited the English troops
Fled fast, all panic-struck and spiritless;
And mingling with the routed, Fastolffe fled
False to his former fame; for he beheld 525
The Maiden rushing onward, and such fear
Ran thro' his frame, as thrills the African
When, grateful solace in the sultry hour,
He rises on the buoyant billow's breast
If then his eye behold the monster Shark 530
Gape eager to devour.
But Talbot now
A moment paus'd, for bending thitherwards
He mark'd a warrior, such as well might ask
His
- ↑ Line 518. This inscription was upon the sword of Talbot.—"Sum Talboti pro vincere inimicos suos."
