The consecrated dome they reach,

Rear'd to St. Catharine's holy memory.
Her tale the altar told; when Maximin,
His raised lip kindled with a savage smile,
In such deep fury bade the tenter'd wheel
Tear her life piecemeal, that the very face
Of the hard executioner relax'd

With horror; calm she heard, no drop of blood
Forsook her cheek, her steady eye was turn'd
Heaven-ward, and Hope and meekest Piety
Beam'd in that patient look. Nor vain her trust,
For lo! the Angel of the Lord descends

And crumbles with his fiery touch the wheel!
One glance of holy triumph Catharine cast,
Then bow'd her to the sword of martyrdom.

Her eye averting from the storied woe, The delegated Damsel knelt and pour'd To Heaven the earnest prayer.

A trophied tomb

Close to the altar rear'd its ancient bulk.

Two pointless javelins and a broken sword,
Time-mouldering now, proclaim'd some warrior slept
The sleep of death beneath. A massy stone
And rude-ensculptured effigy o'erlaid
The sepulchre. In silent wonderment

The expectant multitude with eager eye
Gaze, listening as the mattock's heavy stroke
Invades the tomb's repose: the heavy stroke
Sounds hollow; over the high-vaulted roof
Roll the repeated echoes: soon the day

Dawns on the grave's long night, the slant sun-beam
Beams on the inshrined arms, the crested helm,
The bauldrick's strength, the shield, the sacred sword.
A sound of awe-repress'd astonishment

Rose from the crowd. The delegated Maid
Over her robes the hallowed breast-plate threw,
Self-fitted to her form; on her helm'd head
The white plumes nod, majestically slow;

She lifts the buckler and the sacred sword,

Gleaming portentous light.

The wondering crowd

Raise the loud shout of transport. "God of Heaven," The Maid exclaimed, "Father all merciful!

"Devoted to whose holy will, I wield

"The sword of vengeance, go before our host! All-just avenger of the innocent,

"Be thou our Champion! God of Love, preserve "Those whom no lust of glory leads to arms."

She ceased, and with an eager hush the crowd Still listen'd; a brief while throughout the dome Deep silence dwelt; then with a sudden burst Devout and full, they rais'd the choral hymn, "Thee, Lord, we praise, our God!"the throng without Catch the strange tidings, join the hymn of joy, And thundering transport peals along the heavens.

As thro' the parting crowd the Virgin pass'd, He who from Orleans on the yesternight

Demanded succour, clasp'd with warmth her hand, And with a bosom-thrilling voice exclaim'd, "Ill-omen'd Maid! victim of thine own worth,

"Devoted for the king-curst realm of France! "Ill-omen'd Maid, I pity thee!" so saying, He turn'd into the crowd. At his strange words Disturb'd, the warrior Virgin pass'd along, And much revolving in her troubled mind, Retreads the court.

And now the horn announced

The ready banquet; they partook the feast,
Then rose and in the cooling water cleans'd
Their hands; and seated at the board again
Enjoy'd the bowl, or scented high with spice,
Or flavour'd with the fragrant summer fruit,
Or luscious with metheglin mingled rich.
Meantime the Trouveur struck the harp; he sung
Of Lancelot du Lake, the truest Knight

That ever loved fair Lady; and the youth

Of Cornwall, underneath whose maiden sword

The strength of Ireland fell, and he who struck The dolorous stroke, the blameless and the brave, Who died beneath a brother's erring arm.

Ye have not perish'd, Chiefs of Carduel!
The songs
And haply yet some Poet shall arise,
Like that divinest Tuscan, and enwreathe
The immortal garland for himself and you.

of earlier years embalm your fame,

The full sound echoed o'er the arched roof, And listening eager to the favourite lay, The guests sat silent, when into the hall The messenger from that besieged town Stalk'd stately. "It is pleasant, King of France, "To feast at ease, and hear the harper's song; "Far other music hear the men of Orleans!

"DEATH is among them; there the voice of Woe "Moans ceaseless."

"Rude unmannerly intruder !"

Exclaim'd the Monarch," cease to interrupt