Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/175

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BOOK THE FIFTH.
163
Humble we were, but happy. Honest toilProcur'd our homely sustenance. Our herdsDuly at morn and evening to my handGave their full stores. The vineyard he had rear'dPurpled its clusters in the southern sun; 110And plenteous produce of my father's toilThe yellow harvest billowed o'er the plain.We were content and envied not the great;We fear'd them not, for we were innocent.How chearful seated round the blazing hearth 115When all the labour of the day was done,We past the ev'ning hours! for they would singOr chearful roundelay, or ditty sadOf maid forsaken and the willow weed,Or of the doughty Douzeperes of France, 120Some warlike fit, the while my spinning wheelHumm'd not unpleasing round!""Thus long we lived,And happy. To a neighbouring youth my handIn holy wedlock soon to be combin'd

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