Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/67

 These are the fiends that o'er thy native land Spread Guilt and Horror. Maid belov'd of Heaven! Dar'st thou inspir'd by the holy flame of Love Encounter such fell shapes, nor fear to meet Their wrath, their wiles? O Maiden, dar'st thou die?

"! I will not fear, she said My arm is weak, but mighty is thy sword.

She spake and as she spake the trump was heard That echoed ominous o'er the streets of Rome, When the first Cæsar totter'd o'er the grave By delv'd: the Trump, whose chilling blast On Marathon and on Platæa's plain Scatter'd the Persian. From his obscure haunt Shriek'd, the ghastliest of throng, Fev'rish yet freezing, eager paced, yet slow; As she that creeps from forth her swampy reeds , the biform Hag! when early Spring Beams on the marsh-bred vapours. "Lo! she goes! "To