Mid thousand blows, so, with two-handed swing, On his foe's forehead smote the Tartar knight, He made him see, revolving in a ring, Myriads of fiery balls and sparks of light.
The croupe, with head reversed, the Sarzan king Now smote, as if deprived of all his might, The stirrups lost; and in her sight, so well Beloved, appeared about to quit the sell.