I.

In mail of black my limbs I girt, Angelica! And when the bugles clanged the charge, The rolling battle's bristling marge Beheld me a black storm of war Dash on the foe; While Durindana glitt'ring far Made many a foeman mouth the dirt In bleeding woe:-- For thou didst fire me to the war 'Mid many a Paynim scimetar, Angelica!