Power, with his head aloft unto the skies, His spear a sunbeam, and his shield a star, Like two fierce flaming meteors rolled his eyes, Chafes with his iron feet and sounds to war. She sits upon a rock, She bends before his spear, She rises with the shock, Wielding her own in air. Hard as the thunder doth she drive it on; Wit, closely mantled, guides it to his crown, His long, sharp spear, his spreading shield is gone: He falls, and falling, rolleth thousands down. War, gore-faced War, by Envy armed, arist,[14] His fiery helmet nodding to the air. Ten bloody arrows in his straining fist." *...*...*...* Next let us take a poem whose truest criticism is contained in its own title: AN EXCELLENT BALLAD OF CHARITY. "From Virgo did the sun diffuse his sheen, And hot upon the meads did cast his ray; Red grew the apple from its paly green, And the soft pear did bend the leafy spray; The piéd goldfinch sung the livelong day: 'Twas now the pride, the manhood of the year, And eke the ground was dight in its most deft aumere.[15] "The sun was gleaming in the midst of day, Dead still the air, and eke the welkin blue, When from the sea arose in drear array A heap of clouds of sable, sullen hue; The which full fast unto the woodlands drew, Hiding at once the sun's rejoicing face, And the black tempest swelled and gathered up apace. "Beneath an holm fast by a pathway side, Which did unto St. Godwin's convent lead, A hapless pilgrim moaning did abide; In aspect poor, and wretched in his weed. Long filléd with the miseries of need, Where from the hailstone could the almer[16] fly? He had no house at hand, nor any convent nigh. "Look in his glooméd face, his sprite there scan; How woe-begone, how withered, dry, and dead! Haste to thy church-glebe-house,[17] unhappy man! Haste to thy coffin, thy sole sleeping bed. Cold as the clay which will lie on thy head Is charity and love among high elves; Now knights and barons live for pleasure and themselves. "The gathered storm is rife; the big drops fall; The sun-burned meadows smoke and drink the rain; The coming _ghastness_[18] doth the cattle 'pall, And the full flocks are driving o'er the plain. Dashed from the clouds, the waters fly again; The welkin opes; the yellow levin flies, And the hot, fiery stream in the wide flashing dies.