With heavy spears, the growth of forest hoar, Saplings rough-hewn, those masters of the just, Upon the perilous bridge encountering sore, Exchange, on either side, no gentle thrust.
Nor much their mighty strength or manege-lore Avails the steeds; for, prostrate in the dust, Crumbles each knight and charger in mid-course;
Whelmed in one fate, the rider and his horse.
