Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/93

 Fainter they grew, for the cold wintry wind Blew bleak; fainter they grew, and at the last All was still, save that ever and anon Some mother shriek'd o'er her expiring child The shriek of frenzying anguish. "From that hour On all the busy turmoil of the world I gaz'd with strange indifference; bearing want With the sick patience of a mind worn out. Nor when the Traitor yielded up our town Ought heeded I as through our ruin'd streets, Thro' putrid heaps of famish'd carcasses Pass'd the long pomp of triumph. One keen pang I felt, when by that bloody King's command The gallant Blanchard died. Calmly he died, And as he bow'd beneath the axe, thank'd God That he had done his duty.  Rh