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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. 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, 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! 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, a gallant man; and still His memory in the records of the foe Survives.          And now, dishearten'd at his fall,