Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/278

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JOAN OF ARC.
Shook the weak frame; now, the approaching hour, 125When my emancipated soul shall burstThe cumberous fetters of mortality,Wishful I contemplate. Conrade! my friend,My wounded heart would feel another pangShould'st thou forsake me!""JOAN!" the Chief replied, 130"Along the weary pilgrimage of lifeTogether will we journey, and beguileThe dreary road, telling with what gay hopes,We in the morning eyed the pleasant fieldsVision'd before; then wish that we had reach'd 135The bower of rest!"Thus communing they gain'dThe camp, yet hush'd in sleep; there separating,Each in the post allotted, restless waitsThe day-break.Morning came: dim thro' the shadeThe first rays glimmer; soon the brightening clouds 140Drink the rich beam, and o'er the landscape spread

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