VIII.
Our fiery squadrons standing in reserve
Now join the mêlée, flashing fast around
Pistol and carbine—then with powerful nerve
They bathe their swords in blood at every bound,
While ’neath the shock terrific quakes the ground.
See, where yon huge heart-piercéd rider falls;
His horse affrighted at the clattering sound
Drags him by th’ foot which still the stirrup thralls,
Till Death arrests them both ’mid storm of flying balls.