Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/337

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BOOK THE NINTH.
325
A goodly gift to those who, fortune-blest, 215Bask in the sunshine of Prosperity,And such do well to keep it. But to him,Sick at the heart with misery, and soreWith many a hard unmerited affliction,It is a hair that chains to wretchedness 220The slave who dares not burst it!"Thinkest thou, The parent, if his child should unrecall'dReturn and fall upon his neck, and cry,[1]Oh! the wide world is comfortless, and fullOf vacant joys or heart-consuming cares! 225I can be only happy in my homeWith thee—my friend!—my father!" Think'st thou, MaidThat he would thrust him as an outcast forth?Oh! he would clasp the truant to his heart, And love the trespass."Whilst he spake, his eye 230Dwelt on the Maiden's cheek, and read her soul

Struggling

  1. ↑ Line 223. This thought is taken from Goethe's Sorrows of Werter.
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