Robert Southey

“ Orlando, he who from the magic horn
Breath'd such heart-withering sounds, that every foe
Fled from the fearful blast, and all-appall'd,
Spell-stricken Valour hid his recreant head. 175
The full sound echoed o'er the arched roof,
And listening eager to the favourite lay,
The guests sat silent. When into the hall
The Messenger from that besieged town,
Stalk'd stately. "It is pleasant, King of France, 180
To feast at ease and hear the harper's song;
Far other music hear the men of Orleans!
Death is among them ”

“ He who from Orleans on the yesternight
Demanded succour, clasp'd with warmth her hand, 155
And with a bosom-thrilling voice exclaim'd,
"Ill-omen'd Maid! victim of thine own worth,
Devoted for the King-curst realm of France!
Ill-omen'd Maid, I pity thee." So saying,
He turn'd into the crowd. At his strange words 160
Disturb'd, the warrior virgin pass'd along,
And much revolving in her troubled mind,
Retreads the palace: there the feast was spread,
And sparkling with the red dew of the vine-yard,
The bowl went round. Meantime the minstrel struck 165
His harp: the Palladins of France he sung ”

“ Yet such sweet solacing of self-applause,
As he the virtuous exile feels, who, driven [1]
By "that dark Vizier" from his native land, [2]
Roams on the sea beach, while the roaring waves 295
Rocking his senses, break upon the shore. ”

“ A Messenger arrives from Orleans, representing the distress of that city, and requesting immediate succours. JOAN, in the presence of the King and assembled people, takes the armour of Orlando from his tomb in the church of St. ”