374
JOAN OF ARC.
And to their wives and orphan little-ones
That on their distant father vainly cry
For bread, give these your pity. Wretched men,
Forced or inveigled from their homes, or driven 90
By Need and Hunger to the trade of blood;
Or, if with free and willing mind they came,
Most wretched—for before the eternal throne
They stand, as hireling murderers arraign'd.
But our dead comrades for their freedom fought; 95
No arts they needed, nor the specious bribes
Of promise, to allure them to this fight,
This holy warfare! them their parents sent,
And as they raised their streaming eyes to Heaven,
Bade them go forth, and from the ruffian's sword 100
Save their grey hairs: these men their wives sent forth,
Fix'd their last kisses on their armed hands,
And bade them in the battle think they fought
For them and for their babes. Thus rous'd to rage
By every milder feeling, they rush'd forth, 105
They fought, they conquer'd. To this high-rear'd mound,
That on their distant father vainly cry
For bread, give these your pity. Wretched men,
Forced or inveigled from their homes, or driven 90
By Need and Hunger to the trade of blood;
Or, if with free and willing mind they came,
Most wretched—for before the eternal throne
They stand, as hireling murderers arraign'd.
But our dead comrades for their freedom fought; 95
No arts they needed, nor the specious bribes
Of promise, to allure them to this fight,
This holy warfare! them their parents sent,
And as they raised their streaming eyes to Heaven,
Bade them go forth, and from the ruffian's sword 100
Save their grey hairs: these men their wives sent forth,
Fix'd their last kisses on their armed hands,
And bade them in the battle think they fought
For them and for their babes. Thus rous'd to rage
By every milder feeling, they rush'd forth, 105
They fought, they conquer'd. To this high-rear'd mound,
"The
