Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/309

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BOOK THE EIGHTH.
297
The strongest forts are ours, and who remain, 675Saved from our swords awhile, in heart subdued,Will yield an easy conquest; rest we nowOur wearied soldiers, for the night draws on."
 She said, and joyful of their finish'd toil The host retire. Hush'd is the field of fight, 680And silent as the deep, but late uptorn By vernal tempests, when the storm is past And o'er the gently-swelling surface, sleeps The unruffling wind.Meantime the English troops Now loud in terror, clamour'd for retreat, 685Deeming that, aided by the powers of Heaven, The Maid went forth to conquer. One more bold, Learning reflection in the hour of ill, Exclaimed, "I marvel not that the Most HighHath hid his face from England! Wherefore thus 690Quitting the comforts of domestic life,Swarm we to desolate this goodly land,

"Making

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