"The mother and her babes! .. and yet no lightning

"Blasted this man!"

"Aye, Lady," Bertram cried;

"And when we sent the herald to implore "His mercy on the helpless, his stern face "Assumed a sterner smile of callous scorn, "And he replied in mockery. On the wall "I stood and mark'd the miserable outcasts, "And every moment thought that Henry's heart,' "Hard as it was, would melt. All night I stood,.. "Their deep groans came upon the midnight gale, "Fainter they grew, for the cold wintry wind

"Blew bleak; fainter they grew, and at the last "All was still, save that ever and anon

"Some mother shriek'd o'er her expiring child "The shriek of phrenzying anguish.

"From that hour

"On all the busy turmoil of the world

"I gazed with strange indifference; bearing want "With the sick patience of a mind worn out.

"Nor when the traitor yielded up our town

Ought heeded I as through our ruin'd streets, "Through putrid heaps of famish'd carcases, "Pass'd the long pomp of triumph. One keen pang "I felt, when by that bloody King's command "The gallant Blanchard died. Calmly he died, "And as he bow'd beneath the axe, thank'd God "That he had done his duty.

“ I survive,

"A solitary, friendless, wretched one,

"Knowing no joy save in the faith I feel

"That I shall soon be gather'd to my sires, "And soon repose, there where the wicked cease "From troubling, and the weary are at rest."

"And happy," cried the delegated Maid, "And happy they who in that holy faith "Bow meekly to the rod! A little while "Shall they endure the proud man's contumely, "The injustice of the great. A little while "Tho' shelterless they feel the wintry wind,

"The wind shall whistle o'er their turf-grown grave,

"And all be peace below. But woe to those, "Woe to the Mighty Ones who send abroad "Their train'd assassins, and who give to Fury "The flaming firebrand; these indeed shall live "The heroes of the wandering minstrel's song; "But they have their reward; the innocent blood "Steams up to Heaven against them. God shall hear "The widow's groan."

"I saw him," Bertram cried, "Henry of Agincourt, this conqueror King, "Go to his grave. The long procession past

66

Slowly from town to town, and when I heard

"The deep-toned dirge, and saw the banners wave

"A pompous shade, and the high torches glare "In the mid-day sun a dim and gloomy light,

"I thought what he had been on earth who now "Was gone to his account, and blest my God "I was not such as he!"

So spake the old man,

And then his guests betook them to repose

1

JOAN OF ARC.

THE THIRD BOOK.

FAIR dawn'd the morning, and the early sun
Pour'd on the latticed cot a cheerful gleam,
And up the travellers rose, and on their way
Hasten'd, their dangerous way, thro' fertile tracks
The waste of war. They pass'd the Auxerrois ;
The autumnal rains had beaten to the earth
The unreap'd harvest, from the village church
No even-song bell was heard, the shepherd's dog
Prey'd on the scatter'd flock, for there was now
No hand to feed him, and upon the hearth
Where he had slumber'd at his master's feet
The rank weed flourish'd. Did they sometimes find
A welcome, he who welcomed them was one

Who linger'd in the place where he was born,