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

The youth's cheek A rapid blush disorder'd.

6 Oh! the court 461 Is pleasant then, and thou wouldst fair forget A humble villager, who only boasts The treasure of the heart !”

She look'd at him With a reproaching eye of tenderness : 465

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,

475 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,

479 And Aed across the plain.

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 485 Forgetful and his crime, as cheerful seem'd

As though there had not been a God in Heaven !
“ Enter the ball,” 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 ? "

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, 494
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

500 The general prayer. Be these our holy rites To-morrow's task ; – to night for merriment!"

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." 510 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 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

15 To

pour his blessing on the chosen host. And now a soft and solemn symphony Was heard, and chaunting high the hallow'd hymn, From the near convent came the vestal maids. A holy banner, woven by virgin hands,

20 Snow-white they bore. A mingled sentiment Of awe and eager ardor for the fight,

Thrill'd through the army, as the reverend man
Took the white standard, and with heaven-ward eye
Callid on the God of Justice, blessing it. 25
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,

30
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.
The sixth sun,

35
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,” 55
Said he, “ for this is one of gentle kind,
Whom even the wretched need not fear to love."

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 I 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,

65 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,
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, 75
Their happiest consolation.”

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

70

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