8
JOAN OF ARC.
From his bleak mountain and his den of snows50
Leaps terrible, and mocks the shepherd's spear."
So spake the delegated Maid. Meantime
From many a potent herb the juice she press'd[1]
Medicinal, and touch'd with lenient hand
Each gaping wound, where life as loath to fly55
Sat trembling: not the plants Medea cull'd
On Colchis' plain, nor those ingredients dire
Erichtho mingled on Pharsalia's field,
Making the soul retenant its cold corse,
More potent; thro' his frame with force divine60
The subtle spirit ran, and every limb
Fill'd with unwonted vigor; from the ground
On nimble feet he sprang, and knelt, and spake.
"O more
- ↑ Line 53—Hue quicquid fetu genuit Natura sinistro
Miscetur. Non spuma canum, quibus unda timori est,
Viscera non lyncis, non diræ nodus hyænæ
Deluit: infando saturatas carmine frondes,
Et quibus os dirum nascentibus inspuit, herbas
Addidit, et quicquid mundo dedit ipsa veneni.
Aspicit astantem projecti corporis umbram,
Exanimes artus, invisaque claustra timentem
Carceris antiqui.Lucan. Lib. vi
