For little loss his guilt, — who dwells in peace,
When every arm is needed for the strife!'
"When we had all betaken us to rest,
Sleepless I lay, and in my mind revolved
The high-soul'd warrior's speech. Then Madelon
Rose in remembrance; over her the grave
Had closed; her sorrows were not register'd
In the rolls of fame; but when the tears run down
The widow's cheek, shall not her cry be heard
In Heaven against the oppressor? Will not God
In sunder smite the unmerciful, and break
The sceptre of the wicked?[1] — Thoughts like these
Possess'd my soul, till at the break of day
I slept; nor did my heated brain repose
Even then; for visions, sent, as I believe,
From the Most High, arose. A high-tower'd town
Hemm'd in and girt with enemies, I saw,
Where Famine on a heap of carcasses,
Half envious of the unutterable feast,
Mark'd the gorged raven clog his beak with gore.
I turn'd me then to the besieger's camp,
And there was revelry: a loud, lewd laugh
Burst on mine ear, and I beheld the chiefs
Sit at their feast, and plan the work of death.
My soul grew sick within me; I look'd up,
Reproaching Heaven, — lo! from the clouds an arm
As of the avenging Angel was put forth,
And from his hand a sword, like lightning, fell.
"From that night I could feel my burden'd soul
Heaving beneath incumbent Deity.
I sate in silence, musing on the days
To come, unheeding and unseeing all
Around me, in that dreaminess of thought
When every bodily sense is as it slept,
And the mind alone is wakeful. I have heard
Strange voices in the evening wind; strange forms
Dimly discover'd throng'd the twilight air.
The neighbors wonder'd at the sudden change;
They call'd me crazed; and my dear Uncle, too.
Would sit and gaze upon me wistfully,
A heaviness upon his aged brow,
And in his eye such sorrow, that my heart
Sometimes misgave me. I had told him all
The mighty future laboring in my breast.
But that the hour, methought, not yet was come.
"At length I heard of Orleans, by the foe
Wall'd in from human help: thither all thoughts,
All hopes were turn'd; that bulwark beaten down,
All were the invaders. Then my troubled soul
Grew more disturb'd, and shunning every eye,
I loved to wander where the woodland shade
Was deepest, there on mightiest deeds to brood
Of shadowy vastness, such as made my heart
Throb loud: anon I paused, and in a state
Of half expectance, listen'd to the wind.
"There is a fountain in the forest call'd
The Fountain of the Fairies:[2] when a child
With a delightful wonder I have heard
Tales of the Elfin tribe who on its banks
Hold midnight revelry. An ancient oak,
The goodliest of the forest, grows beside;
Alone it stands, upon a green grass plat,
By the woods bounded like some little isle.
It ever hath been deem'd their favorite tree;
They love to lie and rock upon its leaves,[3]
And bask in moonshine. Here the Woodman leads
His boy, and showing him the green-sward mark'd
With darker circlets, says their midnight dance
Hath traced the rings, and bids him spare the tree.
Fancy had cast a spell upon the place
Which made it holy; and the villagers
Would say that never evil thing approach'd
Unpunish'd there. The strange and fearful pleasure
Which fill'd me by that solitary spring,
Ceased not in riper years; and now it woke
Deeper delight, and more mysterious awe.
"A blessed spot! Oh, how my soul enjoy'd
Its holy quietness, with what delight
Escaping from mankind I hasten'd there
To solitude and freedom! Thitherward
On a spring eve I had betaken me,
And there I sat, and mark'd the deep red clouds
Gather before the wind — the rising wind,
Whose sudden gusts, each wilder than the last,
Appear'd to rock my senses. Soon the night
Darken'd around, and the large rain-drops fell
Heavy; anon tempestuously the gale
Swept o'er the wood. Methought the thunder-shower
Fell with refreshing coolness on my head.
And the hoarse dash of waters, and the rush
Of winds that mingled with the forest roar
Made a wild music. On a rock I sat;
The glory of the tempest fill'd my soul;
And when the thunders peal'd, and the long flash
Hung durable in heaven, and on my sight
Spread the gray forest, memory, thought, were
All sense of self annihilate, I seem'd gone,[4]
Diffused into the scene.
"At length a light
Approach'd the spring; I saw my Uncle Claude;
His gray locks dripping with the midnight storm.
He came, and caught me in his arms, and cried,
'My God! my child is safe!'
"I felt his words
Pierce in my heart; my soul was overcharged;
I fell upon his neck and told him all;
God was within me; as I felt, I spake,
And he believed.
"Ay, Chieftain! and the world
Shall soon believe my mission; for the Lord
Will raise up indignation and pour on't
His wrath, and they shall perish who oppress."[5]
THE SECOND BOOK.
And now beneath the horizon westering slow
Had sinik the orb of day: o'er all the vale
A purple softness spread, save where some tree
Its lengthen'd shadow stretch'd, or winding stream
Mirror'd the light of Heaven, still traced distinct
When twilight dimly shrouded all beside.
