Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/88

 The white sail of supply. Ah me! no more Rose on our aching sight the food-fraught bark; For guarded was the Seine, and our stern foe Had made a league with Famine. How my heart Sunk in me when at night I carried home The scanty pittance of to-morrow's meal! You know not, strangers! what it is to see The asking eye of hunger! "Still we strove Expecting aid, till sickening Expectation Felt never hope, and yet most keen the pang Of disappointment. Tho' with christian zeal Ursino would have pour'd the balm of peace  "Into