GORD-AFRID AND SOHRAB. 29 



** Another deer to strike or kill — 



Come on, young Warrior, have thy will." 



In burnished helm and cuirass dressed, 

 Onward his fretted steel he pressed. 

 In rival gallantry and grace, 

 The combatants met face to face. 

 She seemed a knight of comely show, 

 And twanged alert her golden bow. 

 And opened all her arrowy play 

 Against that crested bird of prey. 

 From right to left, despite his mail, 

 He rued the pelting iron hail ; 

 And bitterly that brunt he took. 

 Still foiled in every thrust and stroke. 

 At length, to burning frenzy wrought, 

 His buckler o'er his head he brought ; 

 Sternly the tempest he withstood, 

 Though many a point had tasted blood. 



With dexterous ease, her bow yet strung. 

 The maid across her shoulder flung, 

 Then urged her steed to full career, 

 And, rising, whirled a wrathful spear 

 On grieved Sohrab, who stooping low 

 Hung sideway from the erring blow. 



He, like a tiger, in that fray. 

 Or burst of lightning, on her rose 

 Dilated in his might, to close 



With one dire crash the doubtful day. 

 He threw his ponderous spear, nor missed ; 

 The keen point entering at her wrist. 

 And glancing upward, grazed her breast, 

 Finding its way out by her crest. 



Sohrab, with desperate vigour fraught, 

 Struck at her girdle-belt so true, 

 The faithless armour piece-meal flew. 

 He hurled his spear with giant force. 

 Which pushed her midway ofl* her horse : 



She staggers, — but the spear well caught. 

 Quickly a scimitar she drew. 

 And cut the offensive shaft in two. 



Stern to the Youth she raised her head, 

 Though not his equal — fair awhile 

 False Hope and Fortune seemed to smile, 



But, fickle now as ever fled. 



The Victor, with his sweeping blow. 

 Comes in harsh contact with his Foe, 



