Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/31

Roll'd undistinguish'd down the stream of Time,
'Till fourteen summers smiling o'er my head 235
Saw my young mind rich with the precious lore
Of virtue, and the leeches healing art
By him—the good man—taught.
"One morn it chanc'd,
As wandering thro' the wilds my steps stray'd on,
And from the high grass brushed the morning dew,240
The track of blood alarm'd me; void of fear,
For the innocent fear little; eagerly
I traced the stain, thinking some mangled fawn
Or lamb had from the savage wolf escap'd,
And I might haply heal its bleeding wounds. 245
It led me where outstretch'd on the red earth
There lay a youth wounded, and faint; his hair
Clotted with gore; fast from his side stream'd out
The blood; on his pale cheek the cold dews stood,
And from his hand the blood-stain'd sword had fall'n.250
Fearful to leave, yet impotent alone
To bear him to our cell—my echoing voice

"Calls