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When from his seat, on the utmost verge of heaven
That overhangs the void, the Sire of Winds,
Hræsvelger starting,^[1] rears his giant bulk,
And from his eagle pinions shakes the storm.
 
High on her stately steed the martial Maid
Rode foremost of the war; her burnish'd arms
Shone like the brook that o'er its pebbled course
Runs glittering gayly to the noon-tide sun.
The foaming courser, of her guiding hand
Impatient, smote the earth, and toss'd his mane,
And rear'd aloft with many a froward bound,
Then answered to the rein with such a step,
As, in submission, he were proud to show
His spirit unsubdued. Slow on the air
Waved the white plumes that shadow'd o'er her helm.
Even such, so fair, so terrible in arms,
Pelides moved from Scyros, where, conceal'd,
He lay obedient to his mother's fears
A seemly damsel; thus the youth appear'd
Terribly graceful, when upon his neck
Deidameia hung, and with a look
That spake the tumult of her troubled soul,
Fear, anguish, and upbraiding tenderness,
Gazed on the father of her unborn babe.

An English knight, who, eager for renown,
Late left his peaceful mansion, mark'd the Maid.
Her power miraculous and portentous deeds
He from the troops had heard incredulous,
And scoff'd their easy fears, and vow'd that he,
Proving the magic of this dreaded girl
In equal battle, would dissolve the spell,
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,
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.
                                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,^[2]
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 desert breathes
The purple blast of death.
                          Such was the sound
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,
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.
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,
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.
He fought, resolved to snatch the shield of death^[3]
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,^[4] and follow'd where his sword
Made through the foe a way. Nor did the son
Of Talbot shame his lineage; by his sire
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
Possess'd the English, as the Etruscans felt,
When self-devoted to the infernal gods
The awful 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.

But hope inspired the assailants. Xaintrailles there
Spread fear and death, and Orleans' valiant son
Fougiit as when Warwick fled before his arm.
O'er all preëminent 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,
Resistless as the fork'd flash of heaven.
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 wintry way,
When from the mountains round reverberates
The hungry wolves' deep yell: on every side,
Their fierce eyes gleaming as with meteor fires,

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