Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/287

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BOOK THE EIGHTH.
275
The fragments mingled. On the sunny browOf a fair hill, wood-circled, stood his home, 270A pleasant dwelling, whence the ample kenGaz'd o'er subjected distance, and surveyedStreams, hills, and forests, fair variety!The traveller knew its hospitable towers,For open were the gates, and blazed for all 275The friendly fire. By glory lur'd, the youthWent forth; and he had bathed his falchion's edgeIn many a Frenchman's gore; now crush'd beneathThe ponderous fragments force, his mangled limbsLie quiv'ring.Lo! towards the levelled moat, 280A moving tower the men of Orleans wheelFour stages elevate. Above was hung,Equalling the walls, a bridge; in the lower stageThe ponderous battering-ram: a troop withinOf archers, thro' the opening, shot their shafts. 285In the loftiest part was Conrade, so prepar'dTo mount the rampart, for he loath'd the chase,

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