Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/401

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
BOOK THE TENTH.
389
Pierced by her forceful spear. Amid the troopsPlunged her strong war-horse, by the noise of armsElate, and rous'd to rage, he tramples o'er,Or with the lance protended from his front, 370Thrusts down the thronging squadrons. Where she turnsThe foe tremble and die. Such ominous fearSeizes the Traveller o'er the trackless sands,Who marks the dread Simoom across the waste,Sweep its swift pestilence: to earth he falls, 375Nor dares give utterance to the inward prayer,Deeming the Genius of the Desart breathesThe purple blast of Death.Such was the sound As when the tempest, mingling air and sea, Flies o'er the uptorn ocean: dashing high 380Their foamy heads amid the incumbent clouds, The madden'd billows, with their deafening roar, Drown the loud thunder's peal. In every form Of horror, Death was there. They fall, transfix'd By the random arrow's point, or fierce-thrust lance, 385

Or

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.