in all the finer points of big game hunting. Of an evening

Above the swords upraised, till in mid throng

Of foes he stood, hemmed in by densest ranks

And ramparted by war; in front and rear,

Where'er he struck, the victor. Now his sword

Blunted with gore congealed no more could wound,

But brake the stricken limb; while every hand

Flung every quivering dart at him alone;

Nor missed their aim, for rang against his shield