Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/19

And gazing wonder'd; o'er his aching soul
Soon Memory rush'd and woke with ruthless hand
Each sleeping care. O France, he cried, my country!"
When soft as breeze that curls the summer clouds
At close of day, stole on his ear a voice35
Seraphic.
"Son of Orleans! grieve no more.
His eye not slept, tho' long the All-Just endur'd
The woes of France; at length his bar'd right arm
Volleys red thunder. From his veiling clouds
Rushes the storm, Ruin, and Fear, and Death.40
Take Son of Orleans the relief of Heaven:
Nor thou the wintry hour of adverse fate
Deem useless: tho' unhous'd thou roam awhile,
The keen and icy wind that shivers thee
Shall brace thine arm, and with stern discipline45
Firm thy young heart for fearless enterprise.
As who, through many a summer night serene
Had hover'd round the fold with coward wish;
Horrid with brumal ice, the fiercer wolf

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