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And much revolving in her troubled mind,
Retrod the court.

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And now the horn announced The ready banquet; they partook the feast, Then rose and in the cooling water cleansed 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

of earlier years embalm your fame;

And haply yet some Poet shall arise,

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Like that divinest Tuscan, and enwreathe

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The immortal garland for himself and you.

The harp still rung beneath the high-arch'd roof, And listening eager to the favourite lay,

The guests sat silent, when into the hall

The Messenger from that besieged town,
Re-enter'd." It is pleasant, King of France,"
Said he, "to sit and hear the harper's song;
Far other music hear the men of Orleans!
Famine is there; and there the imploring cry
Of Hunger ceases not."

"Insolent man!"

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Exclaim'd the Monarch, " cease to interrupt

Our hour of festival; it is not thine

To instruct me in my duty."

Of reproof

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Careless, the stranger to the minstrel cried,
"Why harpest thou of good King Arthur's fame
Amid these walls? Virtue and genius love
That lofty lay. Hast thou no loose lewd tale
To pamper and provoke the appetité ?
Such should procure thee worthy recompence!
Or rather sing thou of that wealthy Lord,
Who took the ewe lamb from the poor man's bosom,
That was to him even as a daughter! Charles,

This parable would I tell, prophet-like,

And look at thee and say, 'Thou art the man !'"

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He said, and with a quick and troubled step 210 Withdrew. Astonish'd at his daring guise, The guests sat heedless of the lay awhile, Pondering his words mysterious, till at length The Court dispersed. Retiring from the hall, Charles and the delegated damsel sought The inner palace. There the gentle Queen Awaited them: with her Joan lov'd to pass Her intervals of rest; for she had won The Virgin's heart by her mild melancholy, The calm and duteous patience that deplored 220 A husband's cold half-love. To her she told With what strange words the messenger from Orleans Had roused uneasy wonder in her mind; For on her ear yet vibrated his voice,

When lo! again he came, and at the door
Stood scowling round.

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Why dost thou haunt me thus," The monarch cried, “Is there no place secure From thy rude insolence? unmanner'd man! I know thee not!"

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"Then learn to know me, Charles !" Solemnly he replied; "read well my face, That thou may'st know it on that dreadful day, When at the Throne of God I shall demand His justice on thee!" Turning from the King, To Agnes as she enter'd, in a tone

More low, more mournfully severe, he cried, 235 Dost thou too know me not!"

She glanced on him, And pale and breathless hid her head convulsed

In the Maid's bosom.

"King of France!" he said,

"She loved me, and by mutual word and will
We were betroth'd, when, in unhappy hour,
I left her, as in fealty bound, to fight

Thy battles. In mine absence thou didst come
To tempt her then unspotted purity...

For
pure she was;.. Alas! these courtly robes
Hide not the indelible stain of infamy!

Thou canst not with thy golden belt put on
An honourable name, O lost to me,

And to thyself, for ever, ever lost,

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My poor polluted Agnes!.. Charles, that faith Almost is shaken, which should be henceforth 250,

My only hope thou hast thy wicked will,

While I the victim of her guilt and thine,

Though meriting alike from her and thee
Far other guerdon, bear about with me

A wound for which this earth affords no balm, 255 And doubt Heaven's justice."

So he said, and frown'd

Austere as he who at Mahommed's door

Knock'd loud and frequent, at whose dreadful mien Stricken with terror, all beholders fled.

Even the prophet almost terrified,

Scarcely could bear his presence; for he knew
That this was the Death-Angel AZRAEL,

And that his hour was come.

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Conscious of guilt

The Monarch sate, nor could endure to face

His bosom-probing frown. The Maid of Arc 265
Meantime had read his features, and she cried
"I know thee, Conrade!" Rising from her seat,
She took his hand, for he stood motionless,
Gazing on Agnes now with steady eye,

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Severe though calm: him from the Court she drew, And to the river side resisting not,

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Both sad and silent, led; till at the last
As from a dream awaking, Conrade look'd
Full on the Maid, and falling on her neck,
He wept.
"I know thee, Damsel!" he exclaim'd,
"Dost thou remember that tempestuous night,
When I, a weather-beaten traveller, sought
Your hospitable door? ah me! I then
Was happy! you too sojourn'd then in peace.
Fool that I was! I blamed such happiness,
Arraign'd it as a guilty selfish sloth,
Unhappily prevailing, so I fear me,

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Or why art thou at Chinon?"

Him the Maid

Answering, address'd, "I do remember well,
That night; for then the holy Spirit first,
Waked by thy words, possess'd me."

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Conrade cried,

"Poor Maiden, thou wert happy! thou hadst lived Blessing and blest, if I had never stray'd,

Needlessly rigid from my peaceful path.

And thou hast left thine home then, and obey'd
The feverish fancies of an ardent brain!
And hast thou left him too, the youth whose eye
For ever glancing on thee, spake so well

Affection's eloquent tale?"

So as he said,

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Rush'd the warm purple to the Virgin's cheek. 295
"I am alone," she answered, "for this realm
Devoted." Nor to answer more the Maid
Endured, for many a melancholy thought
Throng'd on her aching memory. Her mind's eye
Beheld Domremi and the fields of Arc:
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Her burthen'd heart was full; such grief she felt
Yet such sweet solacing of self-applause
As cheers a 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.

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With a look

That spake solicitous wonder, Conrade eyed
The silent Maid; nor would the Maid repress
The thoughts that swell'd within her, or from him
Hide her soul's workings. "'Twas on the last day

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