Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/163

The all-creating Parent to destroy
The works he made. Proud tyranny to Man,
To God foul insult! Mortify your pride;
Be clad in sackcloth when the conqueror's car
Rolls o'er the field of blood.—Believe me, King, 500
If thou didst know the untold misery
When from the bosom of domestic Love
But one—one victim goes! if that thine heart
Be human, it would bleed!"
Her heart was full,
And, pausing for a moment, she repress'd 505
The unbidden anguish. "Lo! they croud around
The standard! Thou Dunois the chosen troops
Marshal in speed, for early with the dawn
We march to rescue Orleans from the foe."