Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/339

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
BOOK THE NINTH.
327
If thou didst know the worth of one good deedIn life's last hour, thou would'st not bid me loseThe power to benefit; if I but saveA drowning fly, I shall not live in vain.I have great duties, Fiend! me France expects, 255Her heaven-doom'd Champion.""Maiden, thou hast doneThy mission here," the unbaffled Fiend replied:The foes are fled from Orleans: thou, perchance Exulting in the pride of victory,Forgettest him who perish'd; yet albeit 260Thy harden'd heart forget the gallant youth; That hour allotted, canst thou not escape That dreadful hour, when Contumely and Shame Shall sojourn in thy dungeon. Wretched Maid!Destined to drain the cup of bitterness, 265Even to its dregs! England's inhuman Chiefs Shall scoff thy sorrows, black thy spotless fame, Wit-wanton it with lewd barbarity,And force such burning blushes to the cheek

"Of

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.