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Or wisely fearful, or by speedy force
Compelled, the embattled towns submit and own
Their rightful King. Baugenci strives in vain :
Jenville and Mehun yield; from Sully's wall
Hurl'd is the bannered Lion': on they pass.
Auxerre, and Troyes, and Chalons, ope their gates,
And by the Mission'd Maiden's rumoured deeds
Inspirited, the Citizens of Rheims
Feel their own strength; against the English troops
With patriot valour, irresistible,
They rise, they conquer, and to their liege Lord
Present the city keys.

The morn was fair
When Rheims re-echoed to the busy hum.
Of multitudes, for high solemnity
Assembled. To the holy fabric moves
The long procession, thro' the streets bestrewn
With flowers and laurel boughs. The Courtier throng
Were there, and they in Orleans, who endured
The siege right bravely;. Gaucour, and La Hire,

The gallant Xaintrailles, Boussac, and Chabannes,
La Fayette, name that Freedom still shall love
Alencon, and the bravest of the brave,
The Bastard Orleans, now in hope elate,
Soon to release from hard captivity
A dear-beloved brother; gallant men,
And worthy of eternal memory,
For they, in the most perilous times of France
Despaired not of their country. By the King
The Delegated Damsel passed along
Clad in her battered arms. She bore on high
Her hallowed banner to the sacred pile,
And fixed it on the altar, whilst her hand,
Poured on the Monarch's head the mystic * oil,

* “ The Frenchmen wonderfully reverence this oyle; and at the coronation of their Kings, fetch it from the church where it is kept, with great solemnity. For it is brought (saith Sleiden in his Commentaries) by the Prior sitting on a white ambling Palfrey, and attended by his Monkes; the Archbishop of the town (Rheims) and such Bishops as are present, going to the church door to meet it, and leaving for

Wafted of yore by milk-white Dove from Heaven,
(So legends say) to Clovis, when he stood
At Rheims for baptism; dubious since that day,
When Tolbiac plain reek'd with his warrior's blood,
And fierce upon their flight the Alemanni prest,
And reared the shout of triumph; in that hour
Clovis invoked aloud the Christian God,
And conquered : waked to wonder thus, the Chief
Became Love's convert, and Clotilda led
Her husband to the font.

The Missioned Maid

Then placed on Charles's brow the Crown of France,
And back retiring, gazed upon the King
One moment, quickly scanning all the past,
Till in a tumult of wild wonderment
She wept aloud. The assembled multitude

it with the Prior some gage, and the King, when it is by the Archbishop brought to the altar, bowing himself before it with great reverence.”

Peter Heylyn.

In awful stillness witnessed: then at once,

As with a tempest-rushing noise of winds,

Lifted their mingled clamours. Now the Maid - Stood as prepared to speak, and waved her hand, And instant silence followed.

King of France !" She cried" At Chinon, when my gifted eye “ Knew thee disguised, what inwardly the Spirit « Prompted, I spake-armed with the sword of God To drive from Orleans far the English Wolves, " And crown thee in the rescued walls of Rheims. All is accomplished. I have here this day “ Fulfilled my mission, and anointed thee • Chief Servant of the People. Of this charge, “ Or well performed or wickedly, high Heaven “ Shall take account. If that thine heart be good, " I know no limit to the happiness “ Thou mayest create. I do beseech thee King !" The Maid exclaimed, and fell upon the ground And clasped his knees, “I do beseech thee King!

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By all the millions that depend on thee, " For weal or woe-consider what thou art, " And know thy duty! if thou dost oppress

Thy people, if to aggrandize thyself “ Thou tear'st them from their homes, and sendest them "" To slaughter, prodigal of misery ! - If when the Widow and the Orphan groan “ In want and wretchedness, thou turnest thee “. To hear the music of the flatterer's tongue; “ If when thou hear'st of thousands massacred, Thou sayest, “ I am a King ! and fit it is “ That these should perish for me." If thy realm « Should, thro' the counsels of thy government, “ Be filled with woe, and in thy streets be heard “ The voice of mourning and the feeble cry

Of asking hunger; if at such a time “ Thou dost behold thy plenty-covered board, " And shroud thee in thy robes of Royalty, -66 And say that all is well-Oh gracious God! • Be merciful to such a monstrous man,

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