nd make her militia as stoic
As St. George made the Cressy crossbowmen;

A royal device for her banners,
A reverse for her coinage as splendid,
An example of primitive manners
When all their simplicity's ended?

Here it is, ye isles Antipodean!
Leave Britain her great Cappadocian;
I'll chant you a latter-day paean,
And sing you a saint for devotion,

Who on horseback slew also a monster,
Though armed with no sharp lance to stab it,
Though no helmet or hauberk ensconced her,
But only a hat and a habit.

This dame, for her bravery sainted,
Set up for all times' adoration,
With her picture in poetry painted,
Was a lady who lived on a station.

Her days--to proceed with the story
In duties domestic dividing,
But, or else she had never won glory,
She now and then went out a-riding.
It chanced, with two knights at her stirrup,
She swept o'er the grass of the valleys,
Heard the brooks run; and heard the birds chirrup,
When a boar from the flax-bushes sallies.

The cavaliers leaped from their horses;
As for weapons, that day neither bore them;
So they chose from the swift watercourses
Heavy boulders, and held them before them.

They gave one as well to the lady:
She took it, and placed it undaunted
On the pommel, and balanced it steady,
While they searched where the animal haunted.

A bowshot beyond her were riding
The knights, each alert with his missile,
But in doubt where the pig went a-hiding,
For they had not kept sight of his bristle.

When--the tale needs but little enlarging
One turned round by chance on his courser;
To his horror, the monster was charging
At the lady, as if to unhorse her.

But his fears for her safety were idle,
No heart of a hero beat stouter:
She poised the stone, gathered her bridle--
A halo, 'tis said, shone about her.

With his jaws all extended and horrid,
Fierce and foaming, the brute leapt to gore her,
When she dropped the rock full on his forehead,
And lo! he fell dying before her.

There he lay, bristling, tusky, and savage;
Such a mouth, as was long ago written;
Made Calydon lonely