130
JOAN OF ARC.
And rude-ensculptur'd effigy o'erlaid
The sepulchre. Above stood Victory,
With lifted arm and trump as she would blow 125
The blast of Fame, but on her out-stretch'd arm
Death laid his ebon rod.
The Maid approach'd—
Death dropt his ebon rod—the lifted trump
Pour'd forth a blast whose sound miraculous
Burst the rude tomb. Within the arms appear'd 130
The crested helm, the massy bauldrick's strength,
The oval shield, the magic-temper'd blade.
A sound of awe-repress'd astonishment
Rose from the crowd. The delegated Maid
O'er her white robes the hallowed breast-plate threw, 135
Self-fitted to her form. On her helm'd head
The white plumes nod, majestically slow.
She lifts the buckler and the magic sword,
Gleaming portentous light.
The amazed crowd
Raise the loud shout of transport. "God of Heaven," 140
The sepulchre. Above stood Victory,
With lifted arm and trump as she would blow 125
The blast of Fame, but on her out-stretch'd arm
Death laid his ebon rod.
The Maid approach'd—
Death dropt his ebon rod—the lifted trump
Pour'd forth a blast whose sound miraculous
Burst the rude tomb. Within the arms appear'd 130
The crested helm, the massy bauldrick's strength,
The oval shield, the magic-temper'd blade.
A sound of awe-repress'd astonishment
Rose from the crowd. The delegated Maid
O'er her white robes the hallowed breast-plate threw, 135
Self-fitted to her form. On her helm'd head
The white plumes nod, majestically slow.
She lifts the buckler and the magic sword,
Gleaming portentous light.
The amazed crowd
Raise the loud shout of transport. "God of Heaven," 140
The
