And all the land was desolate and waste;
The fields stood rotting ’neath the Autumn rains,
And no man pluckt the sodden corn that lay,
Dead ripe, along the furrows ’mid the weeds;
No cattle browsed upon the long rank grass,
Or paused to gaze upon him as he rode;
The cottages, deserted all in haste,
Stood open-door’d and rifted by the winds,
With cold grey ashes scatter’d o’er the hearth. 
Here he beheld the homely meal spread forth,
Which no man ate; and there, upon the floor,
An o’erturn’d cradle, whence a mother late
Had snatch’d her babe up with a cry, and fled.

And all his heart was sore with what he saw,
For he met none to wish him once “God speed;”
So he spurr’d onward swifter to the place
Where lurk’d the monster that thus spoil’d the land;
And long the road seem’d to him in his wrath. 
At last he came unto the fearful spot,
Mark’d with the blanching bones of man and beast;
A thicket planted by a lonely heath,
O’ergrown with brambles and unwholesome weeds,
That clasping trees around with witch-like arms,
Poison’d their life out, and still held them dead. 
And at one side there stretch’d a stagnant pool,
Unstirr’d by any grateful breeze, but thick
With slimy leaves, and rushes all forlorn,
And every footstep on the spongy bank
Fill’d straightway with the oozing of decay. 
The Beast hid in the bosom of this wood;
And as Guy went he saw two eyes of fire
Burn through the darkness of the wood, like blasts
Sent from a smith’s forge suddenly at night. 
But, nought dismay’d, he bent his bow of steel,
And sent an arrow whirring through the leaves. 
He heard the shaft ring on the monster’s ribs,
And backward leap, as when a falchion strikes
Full on a warrior’s casque with fiery force;
Whereat with roaring horrible to hear,
Like storm-winds belching through a cavern’s mouth,
Forth rush’d the monster, furious and grim,
With open jaws and reeking breath at Guy;
Who, leaping nimbly back, put forth his strength,
And struck her full between the eyes a blow
That made the stout axe quiver in his hand. 
But, nothing hurt, the madden’d Beast rush’d on,
And nigh o’erwhelm’d him in her headlong course,
Denting his breastplate, wrought of temper’d steel,
With the close home-thrust of her pointed horns. 
But Guy, swift wheeling round his snorting steed,
Thought on his Phoelice, and, with mighty strength,
Launch’d forth a stroke that made the thick blood flow
In loathsome torrents from a gaping wound. 
So, cheer’d at heart, he thunder’d blow on blow,
Till, with a bellow of despair and pain,
The monster tore the earth, and, writhing, died.