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JOAN OF ARC.
Or sink, all battered by the ponderous mace:Some from their coursers thrown, lie on the earth,Unwieldy in their arms, that weak to save,Protracted all the agonies of Death.
But most the English fell, by their own fears 390Betrayed, for Fear the evil that it dreadsIncreases. Even the Chiefs, who many a dayHad met the war and conquered, trembled now,Appall'd by her, the Maid miraculous.Thus the blood-nurtured Monarch of the wood, 395That o'er the wilds of Afric, in his strengthResistless ranges, when the mutinous cloudsBurst, and the lightnings thro' the midnight sky,Dart their red fires, lies fearful in his den,And howls in terror to the passing storm. 400
But Talbot, fearless where the bravest fear'd,Mowed down the hostile ranks. The Chieftain stoodLike the strong oak, amid the tempest's rage,
That