Now from each host the eager warriors start,
And furious Albion flings his hasty dart:
'Twas feather'd from the bee's transparent wing,
And its shaft ended in a hornet's sting;
But, toss'd in rage, it flew without a wound,
High o'er the foe, and guiltless pierc'd the ground,
Not so Azuriel's: with un-erring aim
Too near the needle-pointed jav'lin came,
Drove through the seven-fold shield, and silken vest,
And lightly ras'd the lover's ivory breast.
Rous'd at the smart, and rising to the blow,
With his keen sword he cleaves his fairy foe,
Sheer from the shoulder to the waist he cleaves,
And of one arm the tott'ring trunk bereaves.