Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/24

 For the poor villagers remembering all Their grandsires told of war, fled wing'd with fear To Harfleur's shelter; thither me, yet young, (For scarce four summers o'er my head had beam'd Their radiance) bore my sire; the well barr'd gate, The massy wall, the turrets guarded strength, Too fondly wish'd, too fondly deem'd secure.

"Firm on the battlements the natives stand, Heedless of Death that rode the iron storm. Fire-brands and darts and stones and javelins (Vainly destructive) thinn'd the hostile host. The intrepid foe rush onward. "Fourteen years Young as I was, have not effaced the scene From bleeding memory. The widow's cry "The