Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/94

 "I survive, A solitary friendless wretched one, Knowing no joy save in the faith I feel That I shall soon be gather'd to my sires, And soon repose there where the wicked cease From troubling, and the weary are at rest.

"And happy, cried the delegated Maid, And happy they who in that holy faith Bow meekly to the rod! a little while Shall they endure the proud man's contumely, The hard wrongs of the great. A little while Tho' shelterless they feel the wintry wind, The wind shall whistle o'er their turf-grown grave, And all beneath be peace. But woe to those, Woe to the Mighty Ones who send abroad Their train'd assassins, and who give to Fury The flaming firebrand; these indeed shall live The heroes of the wand'ring minstrel's song, But they have their reward: the innocent blood "Steams