Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/333

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BOOK THE NINTH.
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And where thou seest the pamper'd flesh-worm trail, 140Once the white bosom heaved. She fondly thoughtThat at the hallowed altar, soon the PriestShould bless her coming union, and the torch,Its joyful lustre o'er the hall of joy,Cast on her nuptial evening: earth to earth 145That Priest consign'd her, and the funeral lampGlares on her cold face; for her lover went,By glory lur'd to war, and perish'd there;Nor she endur'd to live. Ha! fades thy cheek?Dost thou then, Maiden, tremble at the tale? 150Look here! behold the youthful paramour!The self-devoted hero!"Fearfully The Maid look'd down, and saw the well known face Of—Theodore! in thoughts unspeakable, Convulsed with horror, o'er her face she clasp'd 155Her cold damp hands: "Shrink not," the Phantom cried, "Gaze on! for ever gaze!" more firm he grasp'd Her quiv'ring arm: "this lifeless mouldering clay,

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