394
JOAN OF ARC.
Should tell, and in the Stripling's bosom rouse
The fire of glory.
Conrade the next foe
Smote where the heaving membrane separates
The chambers of the trunk. The dying man, 465
In his Lord's castle dwelt, for many a year,
A well-beloved servant: he could sing
Carols for Shrove-tide, or for Candlemas,
Songs for the Wassel, and when the Boar's head,
Crown'd with gay garlands, and with Rosemary, 470
Smoaked on the Christmas board: he went to war
Following the Lord he loved, and saw him fall
Beneath the arm of Conrade, and expir'd,
Slain on his Master's body.
Nor the fight
Was doubtful long. Fierce on the invading host 475
Press the French troops impetuous, as of old,
When, pouring o'er his legion slaves on Greece,
The Eastern Despot bridged the Hellespont,
The rushing sea against the mighty pile
The fire of glory.
Conrade the next foe
Smote where the heaving membrane separates
The chambers of the trunk. The dying man, 465
In his Lord's castle dwelt, for many a year,
A well-beloved servant: he could sing
Carols for Shrove-tide, or for Candlemas,
Songs for the Wassel, and when the Boar's head,
Crown'd with gay garlands, and with Rosemary, 470
Smoaked on the Christmas board: he went to war
Following the Lord he loved, and saw him fall
Beneath the arm of Conrade, and expir'd,
Slain on his Master's body.
Nor the fight
Was doubtful long. Fierce on the invading host 475
Press the French troops impetuous, as of old,
When, pouring o'er his legion slaves on Greece,
The Eastern Despot bridged the Hellespont,
The rushing sea against the mighty pile
Roll'd
