Will save. I shall be happier, Theodore,
Thinking that thou dost sojourn safe at home,
And make thy mother happy."

A rapid blush disorder'd.

The youth's cheek

"Oh! the court

Is pleasant then, and thou wouldst fain forget
A humble villager, who only boasts

The treasure of the heart!"

461

She look'd at him

465

With a reproaching eye of tenderness :

66

Injurious man! devoted for this realm,

I go a willing victim. The dark veil

Hath been withrawn for me, and I have seen
The fearful features of Futurity.

Yes, Theodore, I shall redeem my country,

470

Abandoning for it the joys of life,

Yea, life itself!" Then on his neck she fell,
And with a faultering voice, "Return to Arc!
I do not tell thee there are other maids
As fair; for thou wilt love my memory,
Hallowing to me the temple of thy heart.
Worthy a happier, not a better love,
My Theodore!"-Then, pressing his pale lips,
A last and holy kiss the virgin fix'd,

And fled across the plain.

475

479

She reach'd the court

Breathless. The mingled movements of her mind
Shook every fibre. Sad and sick at heart,
Fain to her lonely chamber's solitude
The Maiden had retired; but her the King
Met on the threshold. He of the late scene
Forgetful and his crime, as cheerful seem'd

485

As though there had not been a God in Heaven!
"Enter the hall," he said, "the masquers there
Join in the dance. Why, Maiden, art thou sad?
Has that rude madman shook thy gentle frame 490
With his strange speeches? "

494

Ere the Maid replied, The Son of Orleans came with joyful speed, Poising his massy javelin. "Thou hast roused The sleeping virtue of the sons of France, They crowd around the standard," cried the chief. "Our brethern pent in Orleans, every moment Gaze from the watch-tower with the sickening eye Of expectation."

Then the King exclaim'd,

"O chosen by Heaven! defer one day thy march, That humbled at the altar we may join

The general prayer. Be these our holy rites
To-morrow's task;

to night for merriment!”

500

The Maid replied, "The wretched ones in Orleans, In fear and hunger and expiring hope,

Await my succour, and my prayers would plead 505
In Heaven against me, did they waste one hour
When active duty calls. For this night's mirth
Hold me excused; in truth I am not fit
For merriment; a heavy charge is on me,
And I must put away all mortal thoughts."
Her heart was full, and pausing, she repress'd
The unbidden anguish. "Lo! they crowd around
The standard! Thou, Dunois, the chosen troops
Marshal in speed, for early with the dawn

510

We march to rescue Orleans from the foe." 515

JOAN OF ARC.

THE FIFTH BOOK.

SCARCE had the early dawn from Chinon's towers
Made visible the mist that curl'd along

The river's winding way, when from her couch
The martial Maid arose. She mail'd her limbs;

The white plumes nodded o'er her helmed head; 5
She girt the sacred falchion by her side,

And, like a youth who from his mother's arms,
For his first field impatient, breaks away,

Poising the lance went forth.

Twelve hundred men,

Rearing in order'd ranks their glittering spears, 10
Await her coming. Terrible in arms

Before them tower'd Dunois, his manly face
O'er-shadow'd by the helmet's iron cheeks.

The assembled court gazed on the marshall'd train,

And at the gate the aged prelate stood
To pour his blessing on the chosen host.

And now a soft and solemn symphony

15

Was heard, and chaunting high the hallow'd hymn,
From the near convent came the vestal maids.

A holy banner, woven by virgin hands,
Snow-white they bore. A mingled sentiment
Of awe and eager ardor for the fight,

20

25

Thrill'd through the army, as the reverend man
Took the white standard, and with heaven-ward eye
Call'd on the God of Justice, blessing it.
The Maid, her brows in reverence unhelm'd,
Her dark hair floating on the morning gale,
Knelt to his prayer, and stretching forth her hand
Received the mystic banner. From the host
A loud and universal shout burst forth,
As rising from the ground, upon her brow
She placed the plumed casque, and waved on high
The banner'd lilies. On their way they march,
And dim in distance, soon the towers of Chinon
Fade from the eye reverted.

30

Purpling the sky with his dilated light,

Sunk westering; when embosom'd in the depth
Of that old forest, which for many a league
Shadow'd the hills and vales of Orleannois,

They pitch their tents. The hum of occupation 40
Sounds ceaseless. Waving to the evening gale
The streamers flutter; and ascending slow
Beneath the foliage of the forest trees,

With many a light hue tinged, the curling smoke
Melts in the impurpled air. Leaving her tent, 45
The martial Maiden wander'd through the wood;
There, by a streamlet, on the mossy bank
Reclined, she saw a damsel, her long locks
With willow wreathed; upon her lap there lay
A dark-hair'd man, listening the while she sung 50
Sad ditties, and enwreathed to bind his brow
The melancholy garland. At the sound,
Of one in arms approaching, she had fled;

But Conrade, looking upward, recognized
The Maid of Arc. "Nay, fear not, Isabel,"
Said he, " for this is one of gentle kind,
Whom even the wretched need not fear to love."

55

So saying, he arose and took her hand, And press'd it to his bosom.. "My weak heart, 59 Though school'd by wrongs to loath at human kind, Will beat, rebellious to its own resolves.

Come hither, outcast one! and call her friend,

And she will be thy friend more readily

Because thou art unhappy."

Isabel

Saw a tear starting in the virgin's eye,
And glancing upon Conrade, she too wept,
Wailing his wilder'd senses.

"Mission'd Maid!"

The warrior cried, "be happy! for thy power Can make this sufferer so. From Orleans driven, Orphan'd by war, and of her only friend

Bereft, I found her wandering in the wilds,

65

70

Worn out with want and wretchedness. Thou, Joan, Wilt his beloved to the youth restore;

And trust me, Maid! the miserable feel

When they on others bestow happiness,
Their happiest consolation."

75

She replied,

Pressing the damsel's hand, in the mild tone

Of equal friendship, solacing her cares.

"Soon shall we enter Orleans," said the Maid; A few hours in her dream of victory

80

England shall triumph, then to be awaked