JOAN OF ARC.

THE EIGHTH BOOK.

Now was the noon of night; and all was still,
Save where the centinel paced on his rounds
Humming a broken song. Along the camp
High flames the frequent fire. The warrior Franks,
On the hard earth extended, rest their limbs

Fatigued, their spears lay by them, and the shield
Pillow'd the helmed head: secure they slept,

And busy fancy in her dream renewed

The fight of yesterday.

But not to JOAN,

But not to her, most wretched, came thy aid,

Soother of sorrows, Sleep! no more her pulse,
Amid the battle's tumult throbbing fast,

Allow'd no pause for thought. With clasped hands

And fixed eye she sat, the while around
The spectres of the days departed rose,
A melancholy train! upon the gale

The raven's croak was heard; she started up,
And passing thro' the camp with hasty step

Strode to the field of blood.

The night was calm;

Nor ever clearer welkin canopied

Chaldea, while the watchful shepherd's eye

Survey'd the host of heaven, and mark'd them rise

Successive, and successively decay,

Lost in the stream of light, as lesser springs

Amid Euphrates' current. The high wall

Cast a deep shadow, and her faltering feet
Stumbled o'er broken arms and carcasses;
And sometimes did she hear the heavy groan
Of one yet struggling in the pangs of death.
She reach'd the spot where Theodore had fall'n,
Before fort London's gate; but vainly there

Sought she the youth, on every clay-cold face

Gazing with such a look as tho' she fear'd
The thing she sought. Amazement seiz'd the Maid,
For there the victim of his vengeful arm,
Known by the buckler's blazon'd heraldry,
Salisbury lay dead. So as the virgin stood
Gazing around the plain, she mark’d a man
Pass slowly on, as burthened. Him to aid
She sped, and soon with unencumber'd speed

O'ertaking, thus bespake: "Stranger! this weight

66

Impedes thy progress. Dost thou bear

away

"Some slaughter'd friend? or lives the sufferer

"With many a sore wound gush'd? oh! if he lives,

"I will with earnest prayer petition heaven

"To shed its healing on him!"

So she said,

And as she spake stretch'd forth her careful hands To ease the burthen. "Warrior!" he replied,

"Thanks for thy proffer'd aim: but he hath ceas'd "To suffer, and my strength may well suffice

"To bear him to the sepulchre. Farewell!

"The night is far advanced; thou to the camp "Return: it fits not darkling thus to stray."

"Conrade!" the Maid exclaim'd, for well she knew His voice...with that she fell upon his neck And cried, "my Theodore!... but wherefore thus "Thro' the dead midnight dost thou bear his corse?"

"Peace, Maiden!" Conrade cried, "collect thy soul! "He is but gone before thee to that world "Whither thou soon must follow! in the morn, "Ere yet from Orleans to the war we went, "He pour'd his tale of sorrow on mine ear.

"Lo, Conrade, where she moves! beloved Maid! "Devoted for the realm of France she goes

"Abandoning for this the joys of life,

"Yea.. life itself! yet on my heart her words

"Vibrate.

If she must perish in the war,

"I will not live to bear the dreadful thought,

"That I perchance had saved her. I will go

"Her unknown guardian. Conrade, if I fall, "And trust me I have little love of life,..

"Do thou in secret bear me from the field,

"Lest haply I might meet her wandering eye "A mangled corpse. She must not know my fate. "Do this last act of friendship, and in the flood "Whelm me: so shall she think of Theodore "Without a pang." Maiden, I vow'd with him "That I would dare the battle by thy side, "And shield thee in the war.

"Thou hadst not seen his fall."

And now I hop'd

As thus he spake,

He on the earth the clay-cold carcass laid.

With steady eye the wretched Maiden view'd

The life-left tenement: his batter'd arms

Were with the night-dews damp; his brown hair clung Gore-clotted in the wound, and one loose lock

Play'd o'er his cheeks black paleness.

youth!"

"Gallant

She cried, "I would to God the hour were come