Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/409

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BOOK THE TENTH.
397
Cleaves the poor suppliant. On that dreadful dayThe sword of Talbot,[1] clogg'd with hostile gore,Made good its vaunt. Amid the heaps his armHad slain, the Chieftain stood and sway'd around 520His furious strokes: nor ceas'd he from the fight,Tho' now discomfited the English troopsFled fast, all panic-struck and spiritless;And mingling with the routed, Fastolffe fledFalse to his former fame; for he beheld 525The Maiden rushing onward, and such fearRan thro' his frame, as thrills the AfricanWhen, grateful solace in the sultry hour,He rises on the buoyant billow's breastIf then his eye behold the monster Shark 530Gape eager to devour.But Talbot nowA moment paus'd, for bending thitherwardsHe mark'd a warrior, such as well might ask

His

  1. ↑ Line 518. This inscription was upon the sword of Talbot.—"Sum Talboti pro vincere inimicos suos."
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