Chafed at delay. But Arthur, with the sun,
His heavy mail, his wounds, and loss of blood,
Made weary, ceased and for a moment stood
Leaning upon his sword. Then, "Dost thou tire?"
Sneered Accolon. And then, with fiercer fire,
"Defend thee! yield thee! or die recreant!"
And at the King aimed a wild blow, aslant,
That beat a flying fire from the steel.
Stunned by that blow, the King, with brain a-reel,
Sank on one knee; then rose, infuriate,