276
JOAN OF ARC.
And loved to see the dappled foresters
Browze fearless on their lair, with friendly eye,
And happy in beholding happiness, 290
Not meditating death: the bowman's art
Therefore he little knew, nor was he wont
To aim the arrow at the distant foe,
But uprear in close conflict, front to front,
His death-red battle-axe, and break the shield, 295
First in the war of men. There too the Maid
Awaits, impatient on the wall to wield
Her falchion. Onward moves the heavy tower,
Slow o'er the moat and steady, tho' the foe
Showered there their javelins, aim'd their engines there, 300
And from the arbalist the fire-tipt dart
Shot lightening thro' the air. In vain it flam'd,
For well with many a reeking hide secured,
Pass'd on the dreadful pile, and now it reach'd
The wall. Below, with forceful impulse driven, 305
The iron-horned engine swings its stroke,
Then back recoils, whilst they within who guide,
Browze fearless on their lair, with friendly eye,
And happy in beholding happiness, 290
Not meditating death: the bowman's art
Therefore he little knew, nor was he wont
To aim the arrow at the distant foe,
But uprear in close conflict, front to front,
His death-red battle-axe, and break the shield, 295
First in the war of men. There too the Maid
Awaits, impatient on the wall to wield
Her falchion. Onward moves the heavy tower,
Slow o'er the moat and steady, tho' the foe
Showered there their javelins, aim'd their engines there, 300
And from the arbalist the fire-tipt dart
Shot lightening thro' the air. In vain it flam'd,
For well with many a reeking hide secured,
Pass'd on the dreadful pile, and now it reach'd
The wall. Below, with forceful impulse driven, 305
The iron-horned engine swings its stroke,
Then back recoils, whilst they within who guide,
In
