Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/26

 Thy head; look down—behold thine orphan child! She goes to fill her destiny; like thee, Leaving domestic joys, in rugged arms. To clasp her limbs;—like thee to dare the war, To die—yet not inglorious! "Wild with woe O'er my poor father's shatter'd corse I lay, And kist his rigid cheek, and tore my vest To bind his mangled limbs; nor, now bereft Of him the only parent of my youth, Fear'd I the horrors that prevail'd around. Suddenly all was still: anon burst forth The shout of conquest: from their long lov'd homes Thrust forth, the unhappy natives wander o'er  The