"Thou needs art raving mad," replied in few The chief, -- nor more. But with his lance in rest, The Tartar monarch at the speaker flew, And with the levelled spear transfixed his breast.
For the point pierced the yielding corslet through, And lifeless he, perforce, the champaign prest.
The son of Agrican his lance regained, Who weaponless without the spear remained.
