Which beat a flying fire from the steel;
Smote, like one drunk with wine, the King did reel,
Breath, brain bewildered. Then, infuriate,
Nerve-stung with vigor by that blow, in hate
Gnarled all his strength into one stroke of might,
And in both fists the huge blade knotted tight,
Swung red, terrific to a sundering stroke.—
As some bright wind that hurls th' uprooted oak,—
Boomed full the beaten burgonet he wore:
Hacked thro' and thro' the crest, and cleanly shore