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

"I survive,
A solitary friendless wretched one,705
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,710
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,715
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 live720
The heroes of the wand'ring minstrel's song,
But they have their reward: the innocent blood

"Steams