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“Needlessly rigid from my peaceful path. "And thou hast left thine home then, and obey'd "The feverish fancies of thine ardent brain !

"And has thou left him too, the youth whose eye, "For ever glancing on thee, spake so well

"Affection's eloquent tale?"

So as he said,

Rush'd the warm purple to the Virgin's cheek.
"I am alone," she answer'd, "for this realm
"Devoted." Nor to answer more the Maid
Endur'd; for many a melancholy thought

Throng'd on her aching memory. Her mind's eye
Beheld Domremi and the fields of Arc:

Her burthen'd heart was full; such grief she felt,
Yet such sweet solacing of self-applause

As cheers the banish'd Patriot's lonely hours
When Fancy pictures to him all he loved,
Till the big tear-drop rushes o'er its orb,

And drowns the soft enchantment.

2

With a look

That spake solicitous wonder, Conrade eyed

The silent Maid; nor would the Maid

suppress

The thoughts that swell'd within her, or from him Hide her soul's workings. ""Twas on the last day "Before I left Domremi; eve had closed,

"I sate beside the brook, my soul was full, "As if inebriate with Divinity

--

“Then, Conrade! I beheld a ruffian herd "Circle a flaming pile, where at the stake "A woman stood; the iron bruised her breast, "And round her limbs ungarmented, the fire "Curl'd its fierce flakes. I saw her countenance, "I knew MYSElf.' Then, in subdued tones

Of calmness, "There are moments when the soul

"From her own impulse with strange dread recoils, Suspicious of herself: but with a full

"And perfect faith I know this vision sent

"From Heaven, and feel of its unerring truth,

"As that God liveth, that I live myself,

"The feeling that deceives not."

By the hand Her Conrade held and cried, "Ill-fated Maid,

"That I have torn thee from Affection's breast,

66

My soul will groan in anguish. Thou wilt serve, "Like me, the worthless Court, and having servéd, "In the hour of ill abandon'd, thou wilt curse

"The duty that deluded. Of the world

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Fatigued, and loathing at my fellow-men,

"I shall be seen no more. There is a path... "The eagle hath not mark'd it, the young wolf Knows not its hidden windings:... I have trod "That path, and mark'd a melancholy den, "Where one whose jaundiced soul abhors itself, "May pamper him in complete wretchedness. "There sepulchred, the ghost of what he was, "Conrade shall dwell; and in the languid hour, "When the jarr'd senses sink to a sick calm, "Shall mourn the waste of phrenzy!"

Then the Maid

Fix'd upon Conrade her commanding eye:

VOL. I.

F

"I pass'd the fertile Auxerrois," she cried, "The vines had spread their interwoven shoots "Over the unpruned vineyards, and the grape "Rotted beneath the leaves, for there was none "To tread the vintage, and the birds of heaven "Had had their fill. I saw the cattle start "As they did hear the loud alarum bell, "And with a piteous moaning vainly seek "To fly the coming slaughterers. I look'd back "Upon the cottage where I had partook

"The peasant's meal, and saw it wrapt in flames. "And then I thank'd my God that I had burst "The stubborn ties which fetter down the soul "To selfish happiness, and on this earth "Was as a pilgrim...Conrade! rouse thyself! "Cast the weak nature off! a time like this "Is not for gentler feelings, for the glow

"Of love, the overflowings of the heart; "There is oppression in thy country, Conrade!

"There is a cause, a holy cause, that needs

"The brave man's aid. Live for it, and enjoy "Earth's noblest recompense, thine own esteem; "Or die in that good cause, and thy reward

"Shall sure be found in Heaven."

He answer'd not,

But clasping to his heart the Virgin's hand,
Hasten'd across the plain. She with dim eyes,
For gushing tears obscured them, follow'd him
Till lost in distance. With a weight of thought
Opprest, along the poplar-planted Vienne

Awhile she wander'd, then upon the bank

She laid her down, and watch'd the tranquil stream Flow with a quiet murmuring, by the clouds

Of evening purpled. The perpetual flow,

The ceaseless murmuring, lull'd her to such dreams

As Memory in her melancholy mood

Loves best. The wonted scenes of Arc arose;

She saw the forest brook, the weed that waved
Its long green tresses in the stream, the crag
Which overbrow'd the spring, and that old yew

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