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JOAN OF ARC.
To the rude conflict, now inspir'd by Heaven,Flashing her flamy falchion thro' the troops, 265That like the thunderbolt, where'er it fell,Scattered the trembling ranks. Nor plated shield,Nor the strong hauberk, nor the crested casque,Stay that descending sword. Dreadful she moved,Like as the Angel of the Lord went forth 270And smote his army, when the Assyrian King,Haughty of Hamath and Sepharvaim fallen,Blasphem'd the God of Israel.Yet the fightHung doubtful, where exampling hardiest deeds,Salisbury mow'd down the foe, and Fastolffe strove, 275And in the hottest doings of the warTowered Talbot. He, remembering the past dayWhen from his name the affrighted sons of FranceFled trembling, all astonish'd at their forceAnd wontless valour, rages round the field 280Dreadful in fury; yet in every manMeeting a foe fearless, and in the faith

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