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.