Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/110

 Recreant from Battle! I will not partake A fugitive's fate, but to my home returning In bitterness of memory curse the hour When to a coward basely I resign'd My virgin worth." "Nay Agnes," Charles replied, "Add not the anguish of thy keen reproach! I have enough of sorrow. Look around, See this fair country ravag'd by the foe, My strong holds taken, and my bravest Chiefs FalFn in the field, or captives far away. Dead is the Douglas—cold thy warrior frame, Illustrious Buchan; ye from Scotland's hills, Not mindless of your old ally distress'd, Rush'd to his succour: in his cause ye fought, Ye perish'd. Gallant rash ill-destin'd Nabonne! Thy mangled corse waves to the winds of Heaven. Cold, Graville, is thy sinewy arm in death. Fall'n is Ventadaur. Silent in the grave Ramboilillet sleeps. Bretagne's unfaithful chief "Leagues