Too bright a thing art thou to pine in aching love away, Thy mother bears thee far, young Fawn! from sorrow and decay. She bears thee to the glorious bowers where none are heard to weep, And where th' unkind one hath no power again to trouble sleep; 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, aussitot que de troupes de Charles VII. y furent entreés; et comme les deux frères de notre Héroine l'avaient accompagnés, elle se vit, pour un instant au milieu de sa famille, dans les bras d'un père vertueux. Vie de Jeanne d'Arc. JOAN OF ARC, IN RHEIMS. Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame! A draught that mantles high, And seems to lift this earth-born frame Above mortality: Away! to me-a woman-bring Sweet waters from affection's spring. THAT was a joyous day in Rheims of old, Forth from her throng'd cathedral; while around, A multitude, whose billows made no sound, Chain'd to a hush of wonder, tho' elate With victory, listen'd at their temple's gate. And what was done within ?—within, the light Thro' the rich gloom of pictured windows flowing, Tinged with soft awfulness a stately sight, The chivalry of France, their proud heads bowing Receiv'd his birthright's crown. For this, the hymn Of arms and sweeping stoles. But who, alone With the white banner, forth like sunshine streaming, Silent and radiant stood?-the helm was rais'd, Intensely worshipping :-a still, clear face, Yet glorified with inspiration's trace On its pure paleness; while, enthron'd above, The pictur'd virgin, with her smile of love, Seem'd bending o'er her votaress.-That slight form! Was that the leader thro' 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, Joanne, the lowly dreamer of the wild! Never before, and never since that hour, Hath woman, mantled with victorious power, Holy amidst the knighthood of the land; And beautiful with joy and with renown, Lift thy white banner o'er the olden crown, The rites are done. Now let the dome with trumpet-notes be shaken, And come thou forth, that Heaven's rejoicing sun |