WHO is this, with calm demeanor, | |
| And with form of matchless grace, | |
| Wearing yet the modest beauty | |
| Of her childhood in her face? | |
| |
| Close the white folds of her kerchief | 5 |
| All her neck and bosom wrap, | |
| And her soft brown hair is hidden | |
| Underneath her Norman cap. | |
| |
| This is she who left the convent, | |
| For the fierce and restless throngs, | 10 |
| Who were gathering head for battle, | |
| To avenge her country’s wrongs. | |
| |
| This is she who to its rescue, | |
| Was the foremost to advance- | |
| She who struck to death the tyrant | 15 |
| Of her well-beloved France. | |
| |
| She who had the martyr’s spirit | |
| To perform as she had planned; | |
| Taking thus her life’s sweet promise | |
| In her own presumptuous hand. | 20 |
| |
| All the while, herself deceiving, | |
| With this dangerous subtletry,— | |
| “Evil, surely, is not evil | |
| If a good is gained thereby. | |
| |
| “If I perish for my country, | 25 |
| Is not this a righteous deed? | |
| If I save the lives of thousands, | |
| What is it that one should bleed?” | |
| |
| So, arraigned at the tribunal, | |
| This alone was her reply: | 30 |
| “It was I who did this murder, | |
| And I do not fear to die.” | |
| |
| Therefore pitying, admiration, | |
| More than blame, for her we feel— | |
| Hers was noble and heroic, | 35 |
| Though it was mistaken zeal. | |
| |
| And so long as France shall honour | |
| Those whose blood for her is shed, | |
| Shall the name of Charlotte Corday | |
| Live among the martyred dead! | 40 |
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