Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/250

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JOAN OF ARC.
Were fill'd; his breast-plate with convulsive throes,Heaved as he fell; victorious, he the prizeAt many a tournament had borne awayIn the mimic war: happy, if so contentWith bloodless glory, he had never left 345The mansion of his sires.Warn'd by his fall, With a long pike at distance, the next foe Thrust on the Frank. Then Conrade his sharp spear Flung, and transfix'd him; seizing the fall'n pike He in the portal stood, so well prepared 350To greet who should assail. But terrified The English stood, nor durst adventure now Near that death-doing man. Amid their host Was one who well could from the stubborn bow Shower his sharp shafts: well skill'd in wood-craft he, 355 Even as the merry Outlaws who their haunts In Sherwood held, and bade their bugles rouse The sleeping stag, ere on the web-woven grass The dew-drops sparkled to the rising-sun.

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