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JOAN OF ARC.
Or by their armour whelm'd beneath the tide, The sufferers sunk, or vainly plied their arms, Caught by some sinking wretch, who grasp'd them fast And dragged them down to death: shrieking they sunk;Huge fragments frequent dash'd with thundering roar, 660Amid the foaming current. From the fortTalbot beheld, and gnash'd his teeth, and curs'dThe more than mortal Virgin; whilst the towersOf Orleans echoed to the loud uproar,And all who heard, trembled, and cross'd their breasts, 665And as they hastened to the city walls,Told fearfully their beads.'Twas now the hour When o'er the plain the pensive hues of eve Shed their meek radiance; when the lowing herd, Slow as they stalk to shelter, draw behind 670The lengthening shades; and seeking his high nest, As heavily he flaps the dewy air, The hoarse rook pours his not unpleasing note."Now then Dunois for Orleans!" cried the Maid,

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