IX.

IX.

But gallant Ewart, foremost of the fight, 109 Saw her proud form, and mark’d her glitt’ring height. His steed he spurr’d, and, with determin’d hand, He grasp’d her staff, and rais’d his Scottish brand: But brave Dubois (who held the bird of Jove) Still kept his hold, and fierce contesting strove, While to his left hand firm the standard clung, Keen in his right the clashing falchion rung; He mark’d the Briton with indignant eye, And tow’rds the breast and downwards to the thigh Sends the sharp blade,--but Ewart’s sword was there, And turn’d the blow, averted, into air; 120 And sudden rais’d that sword with giant force, Full on the Frenchman’s crest he drove its course, Pierc’d the strong helm, and clove the chieftain’s head, Through brain, through jaws, and e’en the neck it sped; Then wrathful drew it lukewarm from the brain, And seiz’d the eagle from the conquer’d slain: But, ’gainst the victor, with revengeful speed, An hostile lancer spurr’d his foaming steed, And urg’d his spear; but, bending from the blow, The wary Briton disappoints the foe; 130 And, ere the lancer could his falchion gain, He stretch’d him lifeless on the purple plain.