Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 2.djvu/21

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Where thro' the crazy vessel's yawning sideThe muddy wave oozed in: a female guides,And spreads the sail before the wind, that moan'dAs melancholy mournful to her ear,As ever by the dungeon'd wretch was heardHowling at evening round the embattled towersOf that hell-house[1] of France, ere yet sublimeThe almighty people from their tyrant's handDash'd down the iron rod.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 downBeneath her hood: then thro' the Maiden's veinsChill crept the blood, for, as the night-breeze pass'd,
  1. ↑ The Bastille. The expression is in one of Fuller's works, an Author from whose quaintness and ingenuity I have always found amusement, and sometimes assistance
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