148
JOAN OF ARC.
And oft returns, and oft importunate
Reclaims her empire. Wilt thou Charles, reject
The suppliant angel? wilt thou thrust her from thee,
Turning thine ear from her unheeded cries,
To Riot's deaf'ning clamors? King of France! 455
To thee elated, thus above mankind
Subjected thousands gaze: they wait thy will,
They wait thy will to quit their peaceful homes,
To quit the comforts of domestic life,
For the camp's dissonance, the clang of arms, 460
The banquet of destruction. King of France,
Glows not thy crimson cheek—sinks not thine heart
At the dread thought of thousands in thy cause,
Mow'd by the giant scythe of Victory?
Of widows weeping for their slaughter'd husbands? 465
Of orphans groaning for their daily food?
Oh that my voice in thunder might awake
The monitor within thee! that thy soul
Might, like Manoah's iron-sinewed son,
Burst its base fetters!"
Reclaims her empire. Wilt thou Charles, reject
The suppliant angel? wilt thou thrust her from thee,
Turning thine ear from her unheeded cries,
To Riot's deaf'ning clamors? King of France! 455
To thee elated, thus above mankind
Subjected thousands gaze: they wait thy will,
They wait thy will to quit their peaceful homes,
To quit the comforts of domestic life,
For the camp's dissonance, the clang of arms, 460
The banquet of destruction. King of France,
Glows not thy crimson cheek—sinks not thine heart
At the dread thought of thousands in thy cause,
Mow'd by the giant scythe of Victory?
Of widows weeping for their slaughter'd husbands? 465
Of orphans groaning for their daily food?
Oh that my voice in thunder might awake
The monitor within thee! that thy soul
Might, like Manoah's iron-sinewed son,
Burst its base fetters!"
The
