Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/313

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BOOK THE EIGHTH.
301
The expected host from England: even nowPerchance the tall bark scuds across the deepThat bears my son—young Talbot comes—he comesTo find his sire disgraced! but soon mine arm,By vengeance nerved, and shame of such defeat, 750Shall, from the crest-fallen courage of yon witch,Regain its antient glory. Near the coastBest is it to retreat, and there expectThe coming succour."Thus the warrior spake.Joy ran thro' all the troops, as tho' retreat 755Were safety. Silently in ordered ranksThey issue forth, favoured by the deep cloudsThat mantled o'er the moon. With throbbing heartsFearful they speeded on: some, thinking sadOf distant England, and, now wise too late, 760Cursing in bitterness that evil hourThat led them from her shores: some in faint hopeCalling to mind the comforts of their home:Talbot went musing on his blasted fame

Sullen

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