« AnteriorContinuar »
JOAN of ARC.
THE EIGHTH BOOK.
Now was the noon of night; and all was still,
* Il n'est rien de si doux, pour des cours pleins de gloire,
The night after a battle is certainly more agreeable than the night before one. A soldier may use his shield for a pillow, but he must be very ingenious to sleep upon a Trophy.
And busy Fancy in her dream renewed
But not to JOAN,
The night was calm; Fair as was ever on Chaldea's plain When the pale moon-beams o'er the silvery scene Shone cloudless, whilst the watchful shepherd's eye Survey'd the host of heaven, and mark'd them rise Successive, and successively decay, Lost in the stream of light, as lesser springs
Amid Euphrates' current. The high wall
* With a dumb silence seeming that it fears
“ Impedes thy progress. Dost thou bear away “Some slaughter'd friend ? or lives the sufferer “ With many a sore wound gashid ? oh! if he lives,' " I will with earnest prayer petition Heaven “ To shed its healing on him!”
So she said, And as she spake stretched forth her careful hands To ease the burthen.
• Warrior !” he replied, Thanks for thy proffered succour: but this man " Lives not, and I with unassisted arm “ Can bear him to the sepulchre. Farewell ! “ The night is far advanced ; thou to the camp • Return : it fits not darkling thus to stray.”
" Conrade !" the Maid exclaim'd, for well she knew His voice :--with that she fell upon his neck And cried, “my Theodore ! but wherefore thus “ Thro' the dead midnight dost thou bear his corse ?"
“ Peace, Maiden !" Conrade cried, “ collect thy soul !
“ He is but gone before thee to that world “ Whither thou soon must follow ! in the morn, “ Ere yet from Orleans to the war we went, “ He pour'd his tale of sorrow on mine ear. « Lo Conrade where she moves-beloved Maid ! “ Devoted for the realm of France she goes * Abandoning for this the joys of life, “ Yea-life itself!" yet on my heart her words “ Vibrate. If she must perish in the war, “ I will not live to bear the dreadful thought,
Haply my arm had saved her. “Her unknown guardian. Conrade, if I fall, “ And trust me I have little love of life, “ Bear me in secret from the gory field, “ Lest haply I might meet her wandering eye “ A mangled corse. She must not know
fate. “ Do this last act of friendship in the flood “ Whelm me : so shall she think of Theodore “ Unangaish'd.” Maiden, I did vow with him - That I would dare the battle by thy side,
I shall go