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Little regarding: on the one side he Who to the English had her bidding borne; Firmly he stood, untired and undismay'd, Though many a spear against his burgonet Was thrust, and on his arm the buckler hung Heavy, thick-bristled with the hostile shafts, Even like a porcupine, when in his rage Roused, he collects within him all his force, Himself a quiver. On the other hand, Competing with him to protect the Maid, Conrade maintain'd the fight; at all points arm'd, A jazerent of double mail he wore; Its weight in little time had wearied one Of common strength; but unencumber'd he, And unfatigued, alertly moved in it, And wielded with both hands a battle-axe, Which gave no second stroke; for where it fell, Not the strong buckler nor the plated mail Might save, nor crested casque. On Molyn's head, As at the Maid he aim'd his javelin, Forceful it fell, and shiver'd with the blow The iron helm, and to his brain-pan drove The fragments. At his fall the enemy, Stricken with instantaneous fear, gave way. That instant Conrade, with an active bound, Sprung on the battlements; and there he stood, Keeping the ascent. The herald and the Maid Follow'd, and soon the exulting cry of France Along the lists was heard, as there they saw Her banner planted. Gladdisdale beheld, And hastened from his well-defended post, That where immediate danger more required There he might take his stand; against the Maid He bent his way, and hoped one happy blow Might end at once the new-raised hopes of France, And by her death, to the English arms their old Ascendency restore. Nor did not Joan Areed his purpose, but with lifted shield Prepared she stood, and poised her sparkling spear. The English chief came on; he raised his mace; With circling force the iron weight swung high, And Gladdisdale with his collected strength Impell'd the blow. The man of lowly line That instant rush'd between, and rear'd his shield, And met the broken stroke, and thrust his lance Clean through the gorget of the English knight. A gallant man, of no ignoble line, Was Gladdisdale. His sires had lived in peace; They heap'd the hospitable hearth, they spread The feast, their vassals loved them, and afar The traveller told their fame. In peace they died, And to their ancient burial-place were borne With book and bell, torches, and funeral chant; And duly for their souls the neighboring monks The solemn office sung. Now far away Their offspring falls, the last of all his race, Slain in a foreign land, and doom'd to share A common grave. Then terror seized the host, Their chieftain dead. And lo! where on the wall Maintain'd of late by Gladdisdale so well, The Son of Orleans stands, and sways around His falchion, keeping thus at bay the foe, Till on the battlements his comrades climb And raise the shout of conquest. Then appall'd The English fled: nor fled they unpursued, For mingling with the foremost fugitives, The gallant Conrade rush'd; and with the throng The knights of France together o'er the bridge Press'd forward. Nor the garrison within Durst let the ponderous portcullis fall, For in the entrance of the fort the fight Raged fiercely, and together through the gate The vanquish'd English and their eager foes Pass'd in the flying conflict. Well I deem And wisely did the heroic Spaniard act At Vera Cruz, when he his yet sound ships Dismantling, left no spot where treacherous fear Might still with wild and wistful eye look back For knowing no retreat, his desperate troops In conquest sought their safety; victors hence At Tlascala, and o'er the Cholulans, And by Otompan, on that bloody field When Mexico her patriot thousands pour'd, Fierce in vain valor, on their dreadiul foes. There was a portal in the English fort Which open'd on the wall; a speedier path In the hour of safety, whence the soldier's eye Might overlook the river's pleasant course. Fierce in the gate-way raged the deadly war; For there the Maiden strove, and Conrade there, And he of lowly line, bravelier than whom Fought not in that day's battle. Of success Desperate, for from above the garrison (Lest upon friend and enemy alike The indiscriminating blow should light) Could give no aid, the English of that way Bethought them; by that egress they forsook St. Loup's, and the Orleanites with shouts of joy Beheld the Virgin's banner on its height In triumph planted. Swift along the wall The English haste to St. John's neighboring fort, Flying with fearful speed. Nor from pursuit The victors ceased, but with the fugitives Mingled and waged the war; and combatants, Lock'd in each other's grasp, together fell Precipitate. But foremost of the French, Dealing destruction, Conrade made his way Along the wall, and to the nearest fort Came in pursuit; nor did not then the chief What most might serve bethink him; but he took His stand in the portal, and first looking back, Lifted his voice aloud; three times he raised, Cheering and calling on his countrymen, That voice o'er all the uproar heard afar, Then to the strife addrest himself, assail'd By numerous foes, who clamorously now Menaced his single person. He the while Stood firm, not vainly confident, or rash, But in his vantage more than his own strength Trusting; for narrow was the portal way, To one alone fit passage, from above Not overbrow'd by jutting parapet, Whence aught might crush him. He in double mail Was arm'd; a massy burgonet, well tried In many a hard-fought field, helming his head And fenced with iron plates, a buckler broad Hung from his neck. Nor to dislodge the chief