Practice Typing

Next, his high head the helmet graced; behind The sweepy crest hung floating in the wind. Like the red star, that from his flaming hair Shakes down diseases, pestilence, and war; So streamd the golden honours from his head, Trembled the sparkling plumes, and the loose glories shed. The chief beholds himself with wondering eyes; His arms he poises, and his motions tries; Buoyd by some inward force, he seems to swim, And feels a pinion lifting every limb.