A VOICE TO CHARLES VII.
(1431.)
A stone is in thy bosom, not a heart;
Water is in thy veins instead of blood:
Or art thou some stiff painted king of wood,
Heartless and tongueless, sitting there apart,
While she who crowned and made thee what thou art,
Who even like God's warlike angel stood
To guard thee in her steel-clad maidenhood,
Rolls to the stake upon the English cart?
And fear'st thou not lest every tongue of flame
Which round her martyr limbs shall play and ply
Here upon earth, where she to save thee came,
Should breed for thee in hell, when thou shalt die,
Flames which should hold thee in their restless game,
Like multiplying snakes, eternally?
