Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/177

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BOOK THE FIFTH.
165
Harsh sounded thro' the day a dismal din. I never shall forget their mournful sound! 140
"My father stood encircling his old limbsIn long forgotten arms. "Come boys," he cried, I did not think that this grey head again Should bear the helmet's weight! but in the field Better to boldly die a soldier's death, 145Than here be tamely butcher'd. My dear girl, Go to the Abbey. Here is gold to buy The kind protection of the holy church.Fare thee well Isabel! if we surviveAnd conquer, we shall meet again: if not, 150There is a better world!""In broken words Lifting his looks to Heav'n! my father breath'd His blessing on me. As they strode away,My brethren gazed on me and prest my handIn silence, for they lov'd their Isabel. 155From the near cottage Francis join'd the troop.

"Then

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