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JOAN OF ARC.
Bow'd down; their lances shiver'd with the shock;To earth their coursers fell at once they rose,At once unsheath'd their falchions, and rush'd on 500To closer combat. But in vain the YouthEssay'd to pierce those arms that even the powerOf Time was weak to injure: she the whileThro' many a wound beheld her foeman's bloodOoze fast. "Yet save thee Warrior!" cried the Maid, 505"Me canst thou not destroy: be timely wise,And live!" He answered not, but lifting highHis weapon, drove with fierce and forceful armFull on the Virgin's helm: fire from her eyesFlash'd with the stroke: one step she back recoil'd, 510Then in his breast plunged deep the sword of Death.
Him falling Talbot saw. On the next foe,With rage and anguish wild, the Warrior turn'd;His ill-directed weapon to the earthDrove down the unwounded Frank: he lifts the sword 515And thro' his all-in-vain imploring hands

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