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Ceaseless the bow-strings twang: the knights below,
Each by his pavais bulwarked, thlther aimed
Their darts, and not a dart fell woundless there;
So thickly thronged they stood, and fell as fast
As when the monarch of the East goes forth
From Gemna's banks and the proud palaces
Of Delhi, the wild monsters of the wood
Die in the blameless warfare: closed within
The still-contracting circle, their brute force
Wasting in mutual rage, they perish there,
Or by each other's fury lacerate,
The archer's barbed arrow, or the lance
Of some bold youth of his first exploits vain,
Rajah or Omrah, in the war of beasts
Venturous, and learning thus the love of blood.
 
Shouts of ala,rm ring now along the wall,
For now the French their scaling-ladders place,
And bearing high their bucklers, to the assault
Mount fearless: from above the furious troops
Fling down such weapons as inventive care
Or frantic rage supplies: huge stones and beams
Crush the assailants; some, thrust from the height,
Fall living to their death; tormented, some,
And writhing wildly as the liquid lead
Consumes their flesh, leap desperately down,
To end their pain by death. Still others mount,
And by their fellows' fate unterrified,
Still dare the perilous way. Nor dangerless
To the English was the fight, though where they stood
The vantage-place was theirs; for them amidst
Fast fled the arrows there; and brass-wing'd darts,
There driven resistless from the espringal,
Keeping their impulse even in the wound,
Whirl as they pierce the victim.^[1] Some fall crush'd
Beneath the ponderous fragment that descends
The heavier from its height: some the long lance,
Whizzing impetuous on its viewless way,
Transfix'd. The cannon ever and anon
With thunder rent the air; conflicting shouts
And war-cries French and English rung around,
And Saints and Devils were invoked in prayers
And execrations, Heaven and Hell adjured.

Conrade, meantime, who stood upon the bridge,
With many a well-aim'd javelin dealing death,
Made way upon the rampart, and advanced
With wary valor o'er his slaughter'd foes.
Two youths, the boldest of the English host,
Essay'd to thrust him from that perilous height;
At once they press'd upon him: he, his axe
Dropping, the dagger drew: one through the throat
He pierced, and swinging his broad buckler round,
Struck down his comrade. Even thus unmoved,
Stood Corineus,^[2] the sire of Guendolen,
When, grappling with his monstrous enemy,
He the brute vastness held aloft, and bore,
And headlong hurl'd, all shatter'd to the sea,
Down from the rock's high summit, since that day
Him, hugest of the giants, chronicling,
Called Langoemagog.
                       Behold, the Maid
Bounds o'er the bridge, and to the wind displays
Her hallowed banner. At that welcome sight
A general shout of acclamation rose,
And loud, as when the trumpest-tossing forest
Roars to the roaring wind. Then terror seized
The garrison; and fired anew with hope,
The fierce assailants to their prize rush on
Resistless. Vainly do their English foes
Hurl there their beams, and stones, and javelins,
And firebrands; fearless in the escalade,
The assailants mount, and now upon the wall
Wage equal battle.
                    Burning at the sight
With indignation, Glacidas beheld
His troops fly scatter'd; fast on every side
The foe up-rushing eager to their spoil;
The holy standard waving; and the Maid
Fierce in pursuit. "Speed but this arrow, Heaven!"
The chief exclaim'd, "and I shall fall content."'
So saying, he his sharpest quarrel chose,
And fix'd the bow-string, and against the Maid
Levelling, let loose: her arm was raised on high
To smite a fugitive; he glanced aside,
Shunning her deadly stroke, and thus received
The chieftain's arrow: through his ribs it pass'd,
And cleft that vessel whence the purer blood
Through many a branching channel o'er the frame
Meanders.
        "Fool!" the exasperate knight exclaim'd,
"Would she had slain thee! thou hast lived too long."
Again he aim'd his arbalist: the string
Struck forceful: swift the erring arrow sped
Guiltless of blood, for lightly o'er the court
Bounded the warrior Virgin. Glacidas
Levell'd his bow again; the fated shaft
Fled true, and difficultly through the mail
Pierced to her neck, and tinged its point with blood
"She bleeds! she bleeds!" exulting cried the chief;
"The sorceress bleeds! nor all her hellish arts
Can charm my arrows from their destin'd course."
Ill-fated man! in vain with eager hand
Placing thy feather'd quarrel in its groove,
Dream'st thou of Joan subdued! She from her neck
Plucking the shaft unterrified, exclaim'd,
"This is a favor!^[3] Frenchmen, let us on!
Escape they cannot from the hand of God.
 
But Conrade, rolling round his angry eyes,
Beheld the English chieftain as he arm'd
Again the bow: with rapid step he strode;
And Glacidas, perceiving his approach,
At him the quarrel turn'd, which vainly sent,
Fell blunted from his buckler. Conrade came
And lifting high the deadly battle-axe,
Through pouldron and through shoulder deeply driven
Buried it in his bosom: prone he fell;
The cold air rush'd upon his heaving heart.
One whose low lineage gave no second name
Was Glacidas,^[4] a gallant man; and still
His memory in the records of the foe
Survives.
          And now, dishearten'd at his fall,

1. ???
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