"And be it so," Zerbino cried, and wheeled Swiftly his foaming courser for the shock, And rising in his stirrups scowered the field, Firm in his seat, and smote, with levelled stock, For surer aim, the damsel in mid-shield;
But she sate stedfast as a metal rock, And at the warrior's morion thrust so well, She clean out-bore him senseless from the sell.