This page has been validated.
JAROSLAW.
23
Or by an arrow stricken turns
Upon the hunter bold.
So wrathful raging doth he rush
Upon the Tatar foe,
Behind him the Bohemians
Most like a hail-storm go.
On Kublay’s son he fiercely charg’d,
It was a furious fight,
With spears did they together meet,
And broke their spears with might.
But Jaroslaw all bath’d in blood,
His steed all bloody too,
Hath smitten, reaching with his sword,
The son of Kublay through.
Down from the shoulder to the hip,
The trenchant blade did go,
And from his steed he lifeless sank
Among the corpses low,
And o’er him rattled, as he fell,
His quiver and his bow.
This all the savage Tatar host
With panic fear did smite,
Away their lances fathom-long
They threw in wild affright,
