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

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 ardour for the fight,
Thrill'd thro' 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 ensign. From the host
A loud and universal shout burst forth,

As rising from the ground, on her white 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,

Purpling the sky with his dilated light,

Sunk westering; when embosom'd in the depth
Of that old forest, which for many a league
Shadows the hills and vales of Orleannois,
They pitch their tents. The hum of occupation
Sounds ceaseless. Waving to the evening gale
The streamers wanton; 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,
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 as she did sing
Sad ditties, and enwreathe 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."

So saying, he arose and took her hand,
And held it to his bosom. "My weak heart,

"Tho' school'd by wrongs to loathe at human kind,

"Will beat, rebellious to its own resolves.

"Come hither, outcast one! and call her friend,

And she shall 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, "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."

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

"England shall triumph; then to be awaked
"By the loud thunder of Almighty wrath!
"Irksome meantime the busy camp to me,
"A solitary woman. Isabel,

"Wert thou the while companion of my tent,

Lightlier the time would pass. Return with me, "I may not long be absent."

So she spake.

The wanderer in half-utter'd words express'd

Grateful assent.

"Art thou astonish'd, Maid,

"That one tho' powerful is benevolent?

"In truth thou well mayest wonder!" Conrade cried. "But little cause to love the mighty ones

"Hath the low cottager! for with its shade "Doth POWER, a barren death-dew-dropping tree, "Blast ev'ry herb beneath its baleful boughs! "Tell thou thy sufferings, Isabel! Relate "How warr'd the chieftains, and the people died. "The mission'd Virgin hath not heard thy woes; "And pleasant to mine ear the twice-told tale "Of sorrow."

Gazing on the martial Maid

She read her wish, and spake.

"A wanderer now,

"Friendless and hopeless, still I love to think

66

Upon my native home, and call to mind

"Each haunt of careless youth; the woodbined wall, "The jessamine that round the straw-roof'd cot

"Its fragrant branches wreath'd, beneath whose shade