Thrusts down the thronging squadrons. Where she turns
The foe tremble and die. Such ominous fear
Seizes the Traveller o'er the trackless sands,
Who marks the dread Simoom across the waste,
Sweep its swift pestilence: to earth he falls,
Nor dares give utterance to the inward prayer,
Deeming the Genius of the Desart breathes
The purple blast of Death.
As when the tempest, mingling air and sea,
Flies o'er the uptorn ocean: dashing high
Their foamy heads amid the incumbent clouds,
The madden'd billows, with their deafening roar,
Drown the loud thunder's peal. In every form
Of horror, Death was there. They fall, transfix'd
By the random arrow's point, or fierce-thrust lance,
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
Betrayed, for Fear the evil that it dreads
Increases. Even the Chiefs, who many a day
Had met the war and conquered, trembled now,
Appall'd by her, the Maid miraculous.
As the blood-nurtured Monarch of the wood,
That o'er the wilds of Afric, in his strength
Resistless ranges, when the mutinous clouds
Burst, and the lightnings thro' the midnight sky
Dart their red fires, lies fearful in his den,
And howls in terror to the passing storm.
But Talbot, fearless where the bravest fear'd,
Mowed down the hostile ranks. The Chieftain stood
Like the strong oak, amid the tempest's rage,
That stands unharm'd, and while the forest falls
Uprooted round, lifts his high head aloft,
And nods majestic to the warring wind.
He fought resolved to snatch the shield of *Death
*Thus did Juba catch up the shield of Death to defend
And shelter him from Shame. The very herd
Who fought near Talbot, tho' the Virgin's name
Made their cheeks pale, and drove the curdling blood
Back to their hearts, caught from his daring deeds
New force, and went like Eaglets to the prey
Beneath their mother's wing: to him they look'd
Their tower of strength, and followed where his sword
Made thro' the foe a way. Nor did the son
Of Talbot shame his lineage; by his sire
Emulous he strove, like the young Lionet
When first he bathes his murderous jaws in blood.
* Ωσπερ γαρ μιν πύργον εν οφθαλμοισιν ορωσιν.
Quarles has made this expression somewhat ludicrous by
Great army of men, the wonder of whose power
Gives thee the title of a walking tower.
They fought intrepid, tho' amid their ranks
Fear and Confusion triumph'd; for such awe
Possess'd the English, as the Etruscans felt,
When self-devoted to the Infernal Gods
The gallant Decius stood before the troops,
Robed in the victim garb of sacrifice,
And spake aloud, and call'd the Shadowy Powers
To give to Rome the conquest, and receive
Their willing prey; then rush'd amid the foe,
And died upon the hecatombs he slew.
But Hope inspir'd the assailants. Xaintrailles there
Spread fear and death; and Orleans' valiant Son
Fought as when Warwick fled before his arm.
O'er all præeminent for hardiest deeds
Was Conrade. Where he drove his battle-axe,
Weak was the buckler or the helm's defence,
Hauberk, or plated mail; thro' all it pierced,
Resistless as the forked flash of Heaven.
The death-doom'd foe, who mark'd the coming Chief,
Felt such a chill run thro' his shivering frame,
As the night traveller of the Pyrenees,
Lone and bewildered on his wintery way,
When from the mountains round reverberates
The hungry Wolves' deep yell: on every side,
Their fierce eyes gleaming as with meteor fires,
The famish'd troop come round: the affrighted mule
Snorts loud with terror, on his shuddering limbs
The big sweat starts, convulsive pant his sides,
Then on he rushes, wild in desperate speed.
Him dealing death an English Knight beheld,
And spurr'd his steed to crush him: Conrade leap'd
Lightly aside, and thro' the Warrior's greeves
Fix'd a deep wound: nor longer could the foe,
Tortur'd with anguish, guide his mettled horse,
Or his rude plunge endure; headlong he fell,
And perish'd. In his castle-hall was hung
On high his father's shield, with many a dint
Graced on the blood-drench'd field of Azincour:
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