THE MAID OF ORLEANS. Friedrich Schiller

THE MAID OF ORLEANS

   Humanity’s bright image to impair. 
    Scorn laid thee prostrate in the deepest dust;
   Wit wages ceaseless war on all that’s fair,-
    In angel and in God it puts no trust;
   The bosom’s treasures it would make its prey,-
   Besieges fancy,-dims e’en faith’s pure ray.

   Yet issuing like thyself from humble line,
    Like thee a gentle shepherdess is she-
   Sweet poesy affords her rights divine,
    And to the stars eternal soars with thee. 
   Around thy brow a glory she hath thrown;
   The heart ’twas formed thee,-ever thou’lt live on!

The world delights whate’er is bright to stain,
And in the dust to lay the glorious low;
Yet fear not! noble bosoms still remain,
That for the lofty, for the radiant glow
Let Momus serve to fill the booth with mirth;
A nobler mind loves forms of nobler worth.

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