So have I seen a single snow-drop rise
Amid the russet leaves that hide the earth
In early spring, so seen it gently bend
In modest loveliness alone amid
The Son of Orleans stood, prepared to vouch
That when on Charles the Maiden's eye had fix'd,
As led by power miraculous, no fraud,
Nor juggling artifice of secret sign
Dissembled inspiration. As he stood
Steadily viewing the mysterious rites,
Thus to the attentive Maid the President
Severely spake.
Lurk in thy bosom, so to prompt the vaunt
Of inspiration, and to mock the power
Of God and holy Church, thus by the virtue
Of water hallowed in the name of God
Felt her cheek flush, but soon, the transient glow
Fading, she answer'd meek.
Ye reverend Fathers of the Christian church,
Most catholic! I stand before you here
A poor weak woman; of the grace vouchsafed, 345 How far unworthy, conscious; yet though mean, Innocent of fraud, and call'd by Heaven to be
The dark and shadowing visions of the night,
And feelings which I may not dare to doubt,
These portents make me certain of the God
Within me; He who to these eyes reveal'd
My royal Master, mingled with the crowd.
And never seen till then. Such evidence
Given to my mission thus, and thus confirm'd 355
By public attestation, more to say,
Methinks, would little boot,.. and less become
A silly Maid."
"Thou speakest," said the Priest, "Of dark and shadowing visions of the night. Canst thou remember, Maid, what vision first 360 Seem'd more than fancy's shaping? From such tale, Minutely told with accurate circumstance,
Some judgement might be form'd."
The Maid replied:
"Amid the mountain vallies I had driven
My father's flock. The eve was drawing on,
When by a sudden storm surprised, I sought
A chapel's neighbouring shelter; ruin'd now,
But I remember when its vesper bell
Was heard among the hills, a pleasant sound,
That made me pause upon my homeward road, 370
Awakening in me comfortable thoughts
Of holiness. The unsparing soldiery
Had sack'd the hamlet near, and none was left
Duly at sacred seasons to attend
St. Agnes' chapel. In the desolate pile
I drove my flock, with no irreverent thoughts,
Nor mindless that the place on which I trod
Was holy ground. It was a fearful night!
Devoutly to the virgin Saint I pray'd,
Then heap'd the wither'd leaves which autumn winds Had drifted in, and laid me down upon them,
And sure I think I slept. But so it was
That, in the dead of night, Saint Agnes stood
Before mine eyes, such and so beautiful
As when, amid the house of wickedness,
The Power whom with such fervent love she served
Veil'd her with glory. And I saw her point
To the moss-grown altar, and the crucifix
Half hid by weeds and grass; and then I thought
I could have wither'd armies with a look,
For from the present Saint such divine power
I felt infused.... 'T was but a dream perhaps.
And yet methought that when a louder peal
Burst o'er the roof, and all was left again
Utterly dark, the bodily sense was clear
And accurate in every circumstance
Thus the Priest answer'd :
66 Brethren ye have heard
The woman's tale. Behoves us now to ask
Whether of holy Church a duteous child
Before our court appears, so not unlike
Heaven might vouchsafe its gracious miracle;
Or misbelieving heretic whose thoughts,
Erring and vain, easily might stray beyond
All reason, and conceit strange dreams and signs
Impossible. Say, woman, from thy youth
Hast thou, as rightly mother Church demands,
Confess'd at stated times thy secret sins,
And, from the priestly power conferr'd by Heaven, Sought absolution ?”
"The forms of worship in mine earlier years 411
Waked my young mind to artificial awe,
And made me fear my GOD. Warm with the glow
Of health and exercise, whene'er I pass'd
The threshold of the house of prayer, I felt
A cold damp chill me; I beheld the tapers
That with a pale and feeble glimmering
Dimm'd the noon-light; I heard the solemn mass,
And with strange feelings and mysterious dread
Telling my beads, gave to the mystic prayers
Devoutest meaning. Often when I saw
The pictured flames writhe round a penanced soul,
I knelt in fear before the Crucifix
And wept and pray'd, and trembled, and adored
A GOD of Terrors. But in riper years,
When as my soul grew strong in solitude,
I saw the eternal energy pervade
The boundless range of nature, with the sun
Pour life and radiance from his flamey path,
And on the lowliest flowret of the field
The kindly dew-drops shed. And then I felt
That HE who form'd this goodly frame of things
Must needs be good, and with a FATHER'S name
I call'd on HIM, and from my burthen'd heart
Pour'd out the yearnings of unmingled love.
Methinks it is not strange then, that I fled
The house of prayer, and made the lonely grove
My temple, at the foot of some old oak
Watching the little tribes that had their world
Within its mossy bark; or laid me down
Beside the rivulet whose murmuring
Was silence to my soul, and mark'd the swarm
Whose light-edged shadows on the bedded sand
Mirror'd their mazy sports, . . the insect hum,
The flow of waters, and the song of birds
Making a holy music to mine ear:
Oh! was it strange, if for such scenes as these,
Such deep devoutness, such intense delight
Of quiet adoration, I forsook
The house of worship? strange that when I felt
How GOD had made my spirit quick to feel
And love whate'er was beautiful and good,
And from aught evil and deform'd to shrink
Even as with instinct;.. father! was it strange
That in my heart I had no thought of sin
And did not need forgiveness?"
The Doctors stood astonish'd, and some while
They listen'd still in wonder. But at length
A Monk replied,
"Woman, thou seem'st to scorn
The ordinances of our holy Church;
And, if I rightly understand thy words,
Nature, thou say'st, taught thee in solitude
Thy feelings of religion, and that now
Masses and absolution and the use
Of the holy wafer, are to thee unknown.
But how could Nature teach thee true religion,
Deprived of these? Nature doth lead to sin,
But 'tis the Priest alone can teach remorse,
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