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JOAN OF ARC.
Hears the wood echo, when from the fell beastEscap'd, of some tall tree the topmost branch He grasps close-clinging, still of that keen fang Fearful, his teeth jar, and the big drops stand On his cold quiv'ring limbs.Nor now the Maid 380Greedy of vengeance urges the pursuit. She bids the trumpet of retreat resound; A pleasant music to the routed ranks Blows the loud blast. Obedient to its voice The French, tho' eager on the invaders' heads 385To wreak their wrath, stay the victorious sword.
 Loud is the cry of conquest as they turn To Orleans. There what few to guard the town Unwilling had remained, haste forth to meet The triumph. Many a blazing torch they held 390That rais'd aloft amid the midnight storm, Flash'd far a festive light. The Maid advanced— Deep thro' the sky the hollow thunders roll'd—

Innocuous

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