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JOAN OF ARC.
In calm cold-hearted wisdom—him who weighsThe right and the expedient, and resolves,Just as the well-pois'd scale shall rise or fall.These men shall live—live to be happy Chief,And in the latest hour of life, shall bless 515Us who preserved. What is the Conqueror's name,Compar'd to this when the death hour shall come?To think that we have from the murderous swordRescued one man, and that his heart-pour'd prayers,Already with celestial eloquence, 520Plead for us to the All-just!"Severe she spake, Then turn'd to Conrade. "Thou from these our troops Appoint fit escort for the prisoners:I need not tell thee, Conrade, they are men,Misguided men, led from their little homes, 525The victims of the mighty! thus subdued They are our foes no longer: be they held Safely in Orleans. Thou chuse forth with speed One of known prudence, but whose heart is rich

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