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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 !
Ere the Maid replied,
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
Twelve hundred men,
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
But Conrade, looking upward, recognized
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!”
80 England shall triumph, then to be awaked