Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/172

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JOAN OF ARC.
Resting his head upon her lap, there layA dark-hair'd man, listening as she did singSad ditties, and enwreathe to bind his browThe melancholy rue. Scar'd at the soundOf one in arms approaching, she had fled; 55But Conrade, looking upward, recogniz'dThe Maid of Arc. "Fear not, poor Isabel,"He said, "for this is one of gentle kind,Whom even the wretched need not fear to love."
 So saying, he arose and took her hand, 60And held it to his bosom. "My fond heart, Tho' school'd by wrongs to loath at human kind,Beats high, a rebel to its own resolves.Come hither outcast One! and call her friend,And she shall be thy friend more readily 65Because thou art unhappy."Isabel Saw a tear starting in the Virgin's eye, And glancing upon Conrade, she too wept, Wailing his wilder'd senses.

"Mission'd

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