Who came the saviour of the realm of France, When vanquish'd in the frequent field of shame, Her bravest warriors trembled. JOAN the while Foodless and silent to the Convent pass'd : To give a voice to. Now they reach'd the dome: Stream'd a sad splendour. Flowers and funeral herbs Bedeck'd the bier of Theodore: the rue, The dark green rosemary, and the violet, That pluck'd like him withered in its first bloom. Dissolved in sorrow, Isabel her grief Pour'd copious; Conrade wept: the Maid alone To hear, tho' listening to the dirge of death. And now upon the coffin thrown, the earth Fell heavy the Maid started-for the sound Smote on her heart; her eye one lightning glance Shot wild, and shuddering, upon Isabel She hung, her pale lips trembling, and her cheek As wan as tho' untenanted by life. Then in the Priest arose the earnest hope, That weary of the world and sick with woe, The Maid might dwell with them a vestal vowed. "Let not thy soul beneath its sorrow sink "The froward heart, and chastens whom it loves; "Where happiness provokes the traveller's chase, "And like the midnight meteor of the marsh, "Allures his long and perilous pursuit, "Then leaves him dark and comfortless. O Maid! "Fix thou thine eyes upon that heavenly dawn Beyond the night of life! thy race is run, "Thou hast delivered Orleans: now perfect Thyself; accomplish all, and be the child "Of God. Amid these sacred haunts the groan "The chaunted mass, and Virgin's holy hymn, "This is the abode of Piety and Peace : "Oh! be their inmate Maiden! come to rest, "Die to the world, and live espous'd to Heaven!" Then Conrade answered, "Father! Heaven has doom'd "This Maid to active virtue." "Active!" cried The astonish'd Priest; "thou dost not know the toils "This holy warfare asks; thou dost not know "It is an easy task from the fond breast "Of social man? to rouse the unwilling spirit, "The cold lip-worship of the wearying prayer? "To fear and tremble at him, yet to love "A God of Terrors? Maid, beloved of Heaven! "The day of penance and the night of prayer! "The lot of fallen mankind! oh hither come! "Shall live amid the blessed host of saints, "And unborn pilgrims at thy hallowed shrine "Pour forth their pious offerings." "Hear me Priest!" Exclaim'd the awakened Maid; "amid these tombs, "Cold as their clayey tenants, know, my heart "Must never grow to stone chill thou thyself, "And break thy midnight rest, and tell thy beads, "And labour thro' thy still repeated prayer; "Fear thou thy God of Terrors; spurn the gifts "He gave, and sepulchre thyself alive! "But far more valued is the vine that bends "Beneath its swelling clusters, than the dark "And joyless ivy, round the cloister's wall Wreathing its barren arms. For me I know "Mine own worth, Priest! that I have well perform'd My duty, and untrembling shall appear "Before the just tribunal of that God, "Whom grateful Love has taught me to adore !" Severe she spake, for sorrow in her heart |