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The champions on the field that stood,
Still gazing on the deadly feud,
Now, without languor or remark,
Flew to the combat stern and stark:
When, strange to tell! the lord of Ross.
The warrior shapeless, gnarl'd, and gross,

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So hardly press'd the giant Dane,
That round and round upon the plain
He made him shift and shun the strife,
Then fairly turn and fly for life.
Gaul follow'd; but as well he might
Have chased the red deer on the height,
As his tall enemy, that strode
Slow round the field with taunt and nod;
Gaul waddling after, sword in hand,
Puffing, and cursing him to stand;
Loud rang the shouts around the pale,
And laughter gibber'd on the gale.