A MEDLEY.
119
Too hard, too cruel; yet she sees me fight,
Yea, let her see me die. With that I drave
Among the thickest, and bore down a Prince,
And Cyril, one; but that large-moulded man
Made at me thro' the press, and staggering back
With stroke on stroke the horse and horseman, came
As comes a pillar of electric cloud,
Flaying off the roofs and sucking up the drains,
And shadowing down the champain till it strikes
On a wood, and takes, and breaks, and cracks, and splits,
And twists the grain with such a roar that the Earth
Reels and the herdsmen cry, for everything
Gave way before him: only Florian, he
That loved me closer than his own right eye,
Thrust in between; but Arac rode him down:
And Cyril seeing it, push'd against the Prince,
With Psyche's colour round his helmet, tough,
Strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms;
But tougher, suppler, stronger, he that smote
And threw him: last I spurred; I felt my veins
Yea, let her see me die. With that I drave
Among the thickest, and bore down a Prince,
And Cyril, one; but that large-moulded man
Made at me thro' the press, and staggering back
With stroke on stroke the horse and horseman, came
As comes a pillar of electric cloud,
Flaying off the roofs and sucking up the drains,
And shadowing down the champain till it strikes
On a wood, and takes, and breaks, and cracks, and splits,
And twists the grain with such a roar that the Earth
Reels and the herdsmen cry, for everything
Gave way before him: only Florian, he
That loved me closer than his own right eye,
Thrust in between; but Arac rode him down:
And Cyril seeing it, push'd against the Prince,
With Psyche's colour round his helmet, tough,
Strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms;
But tougher, suppler, stronger, he that smote
And threw him: last I spurred; I felt my veins
