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JOAN OF ARC.
Struggling within. In trembling doubt she stood,Even as the wretch, whose famish'd entrails craveSupply, before him sees the poison'd foodIn greedy horror.Yet not long the Maid 235Debated, "Cease thy dangerous sophistry,Eloquent tempter!" cried she, "gloomy one!What tho' affliction be my portion here,Think'st thou I do not feel high thoughts of joy,Of heart-ennobling joy, when I look back 240Upon a life of duty well perform'd,Then lift mine eyes to Heaven, and there in faithKnow my reward? I grant, were this life all;Was there no morning to the Tomb's long night;If man did mingle with the senseless clod, 245Himself as senseless, then wert thou indeedA wise and friendly comforter! But———Fiend!There is a morning to the Tomb's long night,A dawn of glory, a reward in Heaven,He shall not gain who never merited. 250

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