BOOK THE SEVENTH.
245
Had listened sadly, till at that loved name
She wept. "Nay, Maid!" he cried, "I did not think
To wake a tear; but pleasant is thy grief! 475
Thou know'st not what it is, round thy warm heart
To have a false one wreath in viper folds.
But to the battle! in the clang of arms,
We win forgetfulness."
Then from the bank
He sprung, and helm'd his head. The Maid arose, 480
Bidding awhile adieu to milder thoughts.
On to the fort they speed, whose name recall'd
England's proud capital to the English host,
Now half subdued, anticipating death,
And vainly wishing they from her white clifts 485
Had never spread the sail. Cold terror creeps
Thro' every vein: already they turn back
Their eager eyes to meditate the flight,
Tho' Talbot there presided, with their Chief,
The gallant Salisbury.
"Soldiers fam'd in arms!" 490
She wept. "Nay, Maid!" he cried, "I did not think
To wake a tear; but pleasant is thy grief! 475
Thou know'st not what it is, round thy warm heart
To have a false one wreath in viper folds.
But to the battle! in the clang of arms,
We win forgetfulness."
Then from the bank
He sprung, and helm'd his head. The Maid arose, 480
Bidding awhile adieu to milder thoughts.
On to the fort they speed, whose name recall'd
England's proud capital to the English host,
Now half subdued, anticipating death,
And vainly wishing they from her white clifts 485
Had never spread the sail. Cold terror creeps
Thro' every vein: already they turn back
Their eager eyes to meditate the flight,
Tho' Talbot there presided, with their Chief,
The gallant Salisbury.
"Soldiers fam'd in arms!" 490
Thus
