Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/327

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BOOK THE NINTH.
315
Intent the MaidGazed on the pilot's form, and as she gazedShiver'd, for wan her face was, and her eyesHollow, and her sunk cheeks were furrowed deep,Channell'd by tears; a few grey locks hung down 35Beneath her hood: then thro' the Maiden's veinsChill crept the blood; for, as the night-breeze pass'd,Lifting her tatter'd mantle, coil'd around,She saw a serpent gnawing at her heart.
The plumeless Bat with short shrill note flits by, 40And the night-raven's scream came fitfully,Borne on the hollow blast. Eager the MaidLook'd to the shore, and now upon the bankLeaps, joyful to escape, yet trembling stillIn recollection.There, a mouldering pile 45Stretch'd its wide ruins, o'er the plain belowCasting a gloomy shade, save where the moonShone thro' its fretted windows: the dark Yew,

Withering

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