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The famish'd pack come round; the affrighted mule Snorts loud with terror, on his shuddering limbs The big sweat starts, convulsive pant his sides, Then on he gallops, wild in desperate speed. Him dealing death an English knight beheld, And spurr'd his steed to crush him: Conrade leap'd Lightly aside, and through the warrior's greaves Fix'd a deep wound: nor longer could the foe, Disabled thus, command his mettled horse, Or his rude plunge endure; headlong he fell, And perish'd. In his castle hall was hung On high his father's shield, with many a dint Graced on the glorious field of Agincourt. His deeds the son had heard; and when a boy, Listening delighted to the old man's tale, His little hand would lift the weighty spear In warlike pastime: he had left behind An infant offspring, and had fondly deem'd He too in age the exploits of his youth Should tell, and in the stripling's bosom rouse The fire of glory. Conrade the next foe Smote where the heaving membrane separates The chambers of the trunk. The dying man, In his lord's castle dwelt, for many a year, A well-beloved servant: he could sing Carols for Shrove-tide, or for Candlemas, Songs for the wassail, and when the boar's head, Crown'd with gay garlands and with rosemary, Smoked on the Christmas board: he went to war Following the lord he loved, and saw him fall Beneath the arm of Conrade, and expired, Slain on his master's body. Nor the fight Was doubtful long. Fierce on the invading host Press the French troops impetuous, as of old, When pouring o'er his legion slaves on Greece, The eastern despot bridged the Hellespont, The rushing sea against the mighty pile Roll'd its full weight of waters; far away The fearful Satrap mark'd on Asia's coasts The floating fragments, and with ominous fear Trembled for the great king. Still Talbot strove, His foot firm planted, his uplifted shield Fencing that breast which never yet had known The throb of fear. But when the warrior's eye, Glancing around the fight, beheld the French Pressing to conquest, and his heartless troops Striking with feebler force in backward step. Then o'er his cheek he felt the indignant flush Of shame, and loud he lifted up his voice, And cried, "Fly, cravens! leave your aged chief Here in the front to perish! his old limbs Are not like yours, so supple in the flight. Go tell your countrymen how ye escaped When Talbot fell!" In vain the warrior spake; In the uproar of the fight his voice was lost; And they, the nearest, who had heard, beheld The Prophetess approach, and every thought Was overwhelm'd in terror. But the son Of Talbot mark'd her thus across the plain Careering fierce in conquest, and the hope Of glory rose within him. Her to meet He spurr'd his horse, by one decisive deed Or to retrieve the battle, or to fall With honor. Each beneath the other's blow Bow'd down; their lances shiver'd with the shock: To earth their coursers fell: at once they rose, He from the saddle-bow his falchion caught Rushing to closer combat, and she bared The lightning of her sword. In vain the youth Essay 'd to pierce those arms which even the power Of time was weak to injure: she the while Througii many a wound beheld her foeman's blood Ooze fast. "Yet save thyself!" the Maiden cried. "Me thou canst not destroy: be timely wise, And live!" He answer'd not, but lifting high His weapon, smote with fierce and forceful arm Full on the Virgin's helm: fire from her eyes Flash'd with the stroke: one step she back recoil'd, Then in his breast plunged deep the sword of death.

Talbot beheld his fall; on the next foe, With rage and anguish wild, the warrior turn'd: His ill-directed weapon to the earth Drove down the unwounded Frank: he strikes again, And through his all-in-vain imploring hands Cleaves the poor suppliant. On that dreadful day The sword of Talbot, clogg'd with hostile gore, Made good its vaunt. Amid the heaps his arm Had slain, the chieftain stood and sway'd around His furious strokes: nor ceased he from the fight, Though now, discomfited, the English troops Fled fast, all panic-struck and spiritless, And mingling with the routed, Fastolffe fled, Fastolffe, all fierce and haughty as he was, False to his former fame; for he beheld The Maiden rushing onward, and such fear Ran through his frame, as thrills the African, When, grateful solace in the sultry hour, He rises on the buoyant billow's breast, And then beholds the inevitable shark Close on him, open-mouth'd.                              But Talbot now A moment paused, for bending thitherward He mark'd a warrior, such as well might ask His utmost force. Of strong and stately port The onward foeman moved, and bore on high A battle-axe, in many a field of blood Known by the English chieftain. Over heaps Of slaughter'd, he made way, and bade the troops Retire from the bold Earl: then Conrade spake. "Vain is thy valor, Talbot! look around. See where thy squadrons fly! but thou shalt lose No honor, by their cowardice subdued, Performing well thyself the soldier's part." "And let them fly!" the indignant Earl exclaim'd, "And let them fly! and bear thou witness, chief That guiltless of this day's disgrace, I fall. But, Frenchman! Talbot will not tamely fall, Nor unrevenged." So saying, for the war