Such mischief stirs within this cloistered hall
Where shadows slither on the silent stone,
In silent prayers the maid of France lies prone,
I fear her pleas on deafened ears will fall.
Malodorous the smoke falls like a pall,
The battle pyres still burn from dusk to dawn;
This child of Orleans was just a pawn,
Her words the common soldier to enthrall.
Inquisitors with rough and calloused hands
Have stripped her of her dignity and pride
And only God can save her from her fate;
Abandoned by all allies now she stands.
By trickery and falsehood she was tried:
The cardinals have closed their last debate.
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