The well-known tones

Thrill'd her; her heart throbb'd fast; she started up, And fell upon the neck of Theodore.

"Oh! I have found thee!" cried the enraptur'a youth, And I shall dare the battle by thy side,

And shield thee from the war! but tell me, JOAN,
Why didst thou brood in such strange mystery,
Over thy Heaven-doom'd purpose? Trust me, Maiden,
I have shed many tears for that wild gloom
That so estranged thee from thy Theodore!
If thou couldst know the anguish I endur'd
When thou wert gone! in sooth, it was unkind
To leave us thus!"

Mindless of her high call,
Again the lowly shepherdess of Arc,
In half-articulated words the Maid
Express'd her joy. Of Elinor she ask'd,
How from a doting mother he had come
In arms array'd.

"Thou wakest in my mind
A thought that makes me sad," the youth replied,
For Elinor wept much at my resolve,

And, eloquent with all a mother's fears,

Urged me to leave her not. My wayward heart
Smote me, as I look'd back and saw her wave
Adieu! but high in hope I soon beguil'd
These melancholy feelings, by the thought
That we should both return to cheer her age,
Thy mission well fulfill'd, and quit no more
The copse-embosom'd cottage.'

But the Maid
Soon started from her dream of happiness,
For on her memory flash'd the flaming pile.
A death-like paleness at the dreadful thought
Wither'd her cheek; the dews on her cold brow
Started, and on the arm of Theodore,

Feeble and faint, she hung. His eager eye,
Concentring all the anguish of the soul,

And strain'd in anxious love, on her wan cheek
Fearfully silent gazed. But by the thought
Of her high mission rous'd, the Maiden's soul
Collected, and she spake.

"My Theodore,

Thou hast done wrong to quit thy mother's home!
Alone and aged, she will weep for thee,
Wasting the little that is left of life

In anguish. Go thee back again to Arc,
And cheering so her wintry hour of age,
Cherish my memory there."

Swift he exclaim'd,
"Nay, Maid! the pang oí parting is o'erpast,
And Elinor looks on to the glad hour
When we shall both return. Amid the war
How many an arm will seek thy single life,
How many a sword pierce thro' thy brittle mail,
Wound thy fair face, or, driven with impious rage,
Gore thy white bosom! JOAN, I will go with thee,
And spread the guardian shield!"

Again the Maid Grew pale; for of her last and terrible hour The vision'd scene she saw. "Nay," she replied, "I shall not need thy succour in the war. Me Heaven, if so seem good to its high will, Will save. I shall be happier, Theodore, Thinking that thou dost sojourn safe at home, And make thy mother happy."

The youth's cheek
A rapid blush disorder'd. "O! the Court
Is pleasant, and thy soul would fain forget
An obscure villager, who only boasts
The treasure of the heart!"

She look'd at him
With the reproaching eye of tenderness:
"Devoted for the realm of France, I go
A willing victim. The unpierced veil
To me was rais'd, my gifted eye beheld
The fearful features of Futurity.

Yes, Theodore, I shall redeem my country,
Abandoning for this the joys of life,

Yea, life itself!" Then on his neck she fell,
And with a faltering voice, "Return to Arc!
I do not tell thee there are other maids
As fair; for thou wilt love my memory,
Hallowing to it the temple of thy heart.
Worthy a happier, not a better love,
My Theodore!"-Then, pressing his pale lips,
A last and holy kiss the virgin fix'd,
And rush'd across the plain.

Chinnis Lavy 14166:1:1889

LIBRARY

OF THE

UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

She reach'd the court

Breathless. The mingled movements of her mind

Shook every fibre. Sad and sick at heart,
Fain to her lonely chamber's solitude
The Maiden had retir'd; but her the king
Met on the threshold. He of the late scene

1 Forgetful and his crime, as cheerful seem'd
As though there had not been a God in Heaven!
"Enter the hall," he cried, "the maskers there
Join in the dance. Why, Maiden, art thou sad?
Has that rude madman shook thy gentle frame
With his strange frenzies ?"

Ere the Maid replied, The son of Orleans came with joyful speed, Poising his massy javelin.

"Thou hast rous'd

The sleeping virtue of the sons of France;

They crowd around the standard," cried the chief.
'My lance is ponderous, I have sharp'd my sword
To meet the mortal combat. Mission'd Maid,
Our brethren sieged in Orleans, every moment
Gaze from the watch-tower with the sick'ning eye
Of expectation."

Then the King exclaim'd,
"O chosen by Heaven! defer one day thy march,
That humbled at the altar we may join
The general prayer. Be these our holy rites
To-morrow's task;-to-night for merriment!"

The Maid replied, "The wretched ones in Orleans,
In fear and hunger and expiring hope,
Await my succour, and my prayers would plead
In Heaven against me, did they waste one hour
When active duty calls. For this night's mirth
Hold me excused; in truth I am not fit
For merriment; a heavy charge is on me,
And I must let go from me mortal thoughts.”

Her heart was full, and pausing, she repress'd The unbidden anguish. "Lo! they crowd around The standard! Thou, Dunois, the chosen troops Marshal in speed, for early with the dawn We march to rescue Orleans from the foe."

H