Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/69

 Treading, and Storms beneath their feet, they soar Higher, and higher soar, and soaring sing Loud Songs of Triumph! O ye Spirits of God, Hover around my mortal agonies!" She spake: and instantly faint melody Melts on her ear, soothing, and sad, and slow, Such measures as at calmy midnight heard By aged Hermit in his holy dream Foretell and solace death: and now they rise Louder, as when with harp and mingled voice The white-rob'd multitude of slaughter'd Saints At Heaven's wide-open'd portals gratulant Receive some martyr'd Patriot. The harmony Entranc'd the maid, 'till each suspended sense Brief slumber seiz'd and confus'd extacy. At length awak'ning slow she gaz'd around; But lo! no more was seen the ice-pil'd mount. Rh