Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/335

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BOOK THE NINTH.
323
And thou dost deem it impious to destroyThe life God gave? What, Maiden, is the lotAssign'd to mortal man? born but to drag, 180Thro' Life's long pilgrimage, the wearying loadOf Being; care-corroded at the heart;Assail'd by all the numerous train of illsThat flesh inherits; till at length worn out,This is his consummation! think again: 185What, Maiden, canst thou hope from lengthen'd lifeBut lengthen'd sorrow? If protracted long,Till on the bed of Death thy feeble limbsOutstretch their languid length? Oh think what thoughts,What agonizing woes, in that dread hour, 190Assail the sinking heart! slow beats the pulse!Dim grows the eye, and clammy drops bedewThe shuddering frame; then in its mightiest force,Mightiest in impotence, the love of lifeShall seize the throbbing heart—the faltering lips 195Pour out the impious prayer, that fain would changeThe Immutable's decree—surrounding friends

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