University of Virginia Library

Thus saying, Donald forward flung,
And at the prince his weapon swung
With back and forward sweep amain;
But only fought the wind and rain,
Or thing invisible to man.
He toil'd, he wheel'd, and forward ran;
But not one stroke, for all his fume,
So much as levell'd Haco's plume,
Or downward on his buckler rang,
Or made his golden helmet clang:
His rage seem'd madness in th' extreme—
The struggle of a frenzied dream.