Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/293

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BOOK THE EIGHTH.
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Keeping their impulse even in the wound,Whirl as they pierce the victim. Some fall crush'dBeneath the ponderous fragment that descends 385The heavier from its height: some, the long lanceImpetuous rushing on its viewless way,Transfix'd. The death-fraught cannon's thundering roarConvulsing air; the soldier's eager shout;And Terror's wild shriek echo o'er the plain 390In dreadful harmony.Meantime the Chief,Who equall'd on the bridge the rampart's height,With many a well-aim'd javelin dealing death,Made thro' the throng his passage: he advancedIn wary valor o'er his slaughtered foes, 395On the blood-reeking wall. Him drawing near,Two youths, the boldest of the English hostPrest on to thrust him from that perilous height;At once they rush'd upon him: he, his axeDropping, the dagger drew: one thro' the throat 400He pierced, and swinging his broad buckler round,

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