Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/142

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JOAN OF ARC.
And rude-ensculptur'd effigy o'erlaidThe sepulchre. Above stood Victory,With lifted arm and trump as she would blow 125The blast of Fame, but on her out-stretch'd armDeath laid his ebon rod.The Maid approach'd—Death dropt his ebon rod—the lifted trump Pour'd forth a blast whose sound miraculous Burst the rude tomb. Within the arms appear'd 130The crested helm, the massy bauldrick's strength, The oval shield, the magic-temper'd blade. A sound of awe-repress'd astonishment Rose from the crowd. The delegated Maid O'er her white robes the hallowed breast-plate threw, 135Self-fitted to her form. On her helm'd head The white plumes nod, majestically slow. She lifts the buckler and the magic sword, Gleaming portentous light.The amazed crowd Raise the loud shout of transport. "God of Heaven," 140

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