And where the soul shall find its youth, as wakening from a dream: One moment, and that realm is ours. On, on, dark-rolling stream!" JOAN OF ARC IN RHEIMS. ["Jeanne d'Arc avait eu la joie de voir à Chalons quelques amis de son enfance. Une joie plus ineffable encore l'attendait à Rheims, au sein de son triomphe: Jacques d'Arc, son père, y se trouva, aussitôt que de troupes de Charles VII. y furent entrées; et comme les deux frères de notre héroine l'avaient accompagnée, elle se vit pour un instant au milieu de sa famille, dans les bras d'un père vertueux."-Vie de Jeanne d'Arc.] Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame' A draught that mantles high, Away! to me-a woman-bring Sweet waters from affection's spring' THAT was a joyous day in Rheims of old, Tinged with soft awfulness a stately sight- The chivalry of France their proud heads bowing In martial vassalage! While midst that ring, And shadow'd by ancestral tombs, a king Received his birth-right's crown. For this, the hymn Swell'd out like rushing waters, and the day With the sweet censer's misty breath grew dim, As through long aisles it floated o'er th' array Of arms and sweeping stoles. But who, alone And unapproach'd, beside the altar-stone, With the white banner forth like sunshine streaming, [gleaming, And the gold helm through clouds of fragrance Silent and radiant stood? The helm was raised, And the fair face reveal'd, that upward gazed, Intensely worshipping-a still, clear face, Youthful, but brightly solemn! Woman's cheek And brow were there, in deep devotion meek, Yet glorified, with inspiration's trace On its pure paleness; while, enthroned above, The pictured Virgin, with her smile of love, Seem'd bending o'er her votaress. That slight form! Was that the leader through the battle-storm? Had the soft light in that adoring eye Guided the warrior where the swords flash'd high? 'Twas so, even so!--and thou, the shepherd's child, Holy amidst the knighthood of the land, The rites are done. Now let the dome with trumpet-notes be shaken, And bid the echoes of the tomb awaken, And come thou forth, that heaven's rejoicing sun May give thee welcome from thine own blue skies, Daughter of victory! A triumphant strain, A proud rich stream of warlike melodies, Gush'd through the portals of the antique fane, And forth she came. Then rose a nation's sound: Oh! what a power to bid the quick heart bound, The wind bears onward with the stormy cheer Man gives to glory on her high career! Is there indeed such power?-far deeper dwells In one kind household voice, to reach the cells Whence happiness flows forth! The shouts that fill'd The hollow heaven tempestuously, were still'd Like those whose childhood with her childhood Under one roof? "Joanne!"-that murmur broke With sounds of weeping forth! She turn'd she knew Beside her, mark'd from all the thousands there, In the calm beauty of his silver hair, [more The stately shepherd; and the youth, whose joy, 1 A beautiful fountain, near Domremi, believed to be haunted by fairies, and a favourite resort of Jeanne d'Arc in her childhood. "But when thou wakest, my prince, my lord! and hear'st how I have kept A lonely vigil by thy side, and o'er theẹ pray'd and wept How in one long deep dream of thee my nights and days have past Surely that humble patient love must win back love at last! And thou wilt smile-my own, my own, shall be the sunny smile, Which brightly fell, and joyously, on all but me erewhile! No more in vain affection's thirst my weary soul shall pine Oh! years of hope deferr'd were paid by one fond glance of thine! "Thou'lt meet me with that radiant look when thou comest from the chase For me, for me, in festal halls it shall kindle o'er thy face! Thou'lt reck no more though beauty's gift mine aspect may not bless; In thy kind eyes this deep, deep love shall give me loveliness. "But wake! my heart within me burns, yet once more to rejoice In the sound to which it ever leap'd, the music of thy voice. Awake! I sit in solitude, that thy first look and tone, And the gladness of thine opening eyes, may all be mine alone." In the still chambers of the dust, thus pour'd forth day by day, The passion of that loving dream from a troubled soul found way, Until the shadows of the grave had swept o'er every grace, Left midst the awfulness of death on the princely form and face. And slowly broke the fearful truth upon the watcher's breast, And they bore away the royal dead with requiems to his rest, With banners and with knightly plumes all waving in the wind But a woman's broken heart was left in its lone despair behind. THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL. A fearful gift upon thy heart is laid, WILDLY and mournfully the Indian drum On the deep hush of moonlight forests broke"Sing us a death-song, for thine hour is come"So the red warriors to their captive spoke. Still, and amidst those dusky forms alone, A youth, a fair-hair'd youth of England stood, Like a king's son; though from his cheek had flown The mantling crimson of the island blood, As the wind pass'd, and with a fitful glow With tall plumes crested and wild hues o'erspread, Girt him like feverish phantoms; and pale stars Look'd through the branches as through dungeon bars, Shedding no hope. He knew, he felt his doom- Trusting to die in silence! He, the love He stood beside his death-pyre, and the brand She had sat gazing on the victim long, To that sweet sound. A sudden wonder fell mien Something of heaven in silence felt and seen; And seeming, to their childlike faith, a token That the Great Spirit by her voice had spoken. They loosed the bonds that held their captive's breath; From his pale lips they took the cup of death; They quench'd the brand beneath the cypress tree: “Away,” they cried, "young stranger, thou art free!" COSTANZA. Art thou then desolate ? Of friends, of hopes forsaken ? Come to me! I am thine own. Have trusted hearts proved false? For thy sake? Know'st thou that thy voice hath power By ons kind tone?-to fill mine eyes with tears Of yearning love? And thou-oh! thou didst throw SHE knelt in prayer. A stream of sunset fell And with its rich, deep, melancholy glow, Music for weary hearts! Midst leaves and flowers Ere long, a cell, [birth A rock-hewn chapel rose, a cross of stone Gleam'd through the dark trees o'era sparkling well; And a sweet voice, of rich yet mournful tone, Told the Calabrian wilds that duly there Costanza lifted her sad heart in prayer. And now 'twas prayer's own hour. That voice again Through the dim foliage sent its heavenly strain, That made the cypress quiver where it stood, In day's last crimson soaring from the wood Like spiry flame. But as the bright sun set, Other and wilder sounds in tumult met The floating song. Strange sounds!-the trumpet's Made hollow by the rocks; the clash of steel; The rallying war-cry. In the mountain pass There had been combat; blood was on the grass, Banners had strewn the waters; chiefs lay dying, And the pine branches crash'd before the flying. [peal, And all was changed within the still retreat, Costanza's home: there enter'd hurrying feet, Dark looks of shame and sorrow-mail-clad men, Stern fugitives from that wild battle-glen, |