Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/275

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BOOK THE EIGHTH.
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Whither thou soon must follow! in the morn,Ere yet from Orleans to the war we went, 70He pour'd his tale of sorrow on mine ear.Lo Conrade where she moves—beloved Maid!Devoted for the realm of France she goesAbandoning for this the joys of life!Yea—life itself!" yet on my heart her words 75"Vibrate; if she must perish in the war,I will not live to bear the dreadful thought,Haply my arm had saved her. I shall goHer unknown guardian. Conrade, if I fall,(And trust me I have little love of life,) 80Bear me in secret from the gory field,Lest haply I might meet her wandering eyeA mangled corse. She must not know my fate.Do this last aft of friendship—in the floodWhelm me: so shall she think of Theodore 85Unanguish'd." Maiden, I did vow with him"That I would dare the battle by thy side,And shield thee in the war. Thee of his death

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