Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/209

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BOOK THE SIXTH.
197
Gazing to Huixachtla’s distant top,On that last night, doubtful if ever morn 100Again shall cheer them, mark the mystic fire,That kindled by the fierce Copolcan priest,Flames on the breast of some brave prisoner,A dreadful altar. As they see the blazeBeaming on Iztapalapan’s near towers, 105Or on Tezcuco’s calmy lake flash’d far,Songs of thanksgiving and the shout of joyWake the loud echo; the glad husband tearsThe mantling aloe from the female’s face,And children, now deliver’d from the dread 110Of everlasting darkness, look abroad,Hail the good omen, and expect the sunUninjur‘d still to run his flaming race.
 Thus whilst in that besieged town the nightWain’d sleepless, silent slept the hallowed host. 115And now the morning came. From his hard couch,Lightly upstarting and bedight in arms,

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