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For while she hoped and trusted through her means
Charh's should be reëstablish'd in his realm,
She felt rebuked before her.
                               Through the land
Meantime the King's convoking voice went forth,
And from their palaces and monasteries
The theologians came, men who had grown
In midnight studies gray; Prelates, and Priests,
And Doctors: teachers grave, and with great names,
Seraphic, Subtile, or Irrefragable,
By their admiring scholars dignified.

They met convened at Chinon, to the place
Of judgment, in St. Katharine's fane assign'd.
The floor with many a monumental stone
Was spread, and brass-ensculptured effigies
Of holy abbots honor'd in their day,
Now to the grave gone down. The branching arms
Of many a ponderous pillar met aloft,
Wreath'd on the roof emboss'd. Through storied panes
Of high arch'd windows came the tinctured light;
Pure water in a font beneath reflects
The many-color'd rays; around that font
The fathers stand, and there with rites ordain'd
And signs symbolic strew the hallowing salt,
Wherewith the limpid water, consecrate,
So taught the Church, became a spell approved
Against the fiends of Satan's fallen crew;
A licit spell of mightier potency
Than e'er the hell-hags taught in Thessaly;
Or they who sitting on the rifled grave,
By the blue tomb-fire's lurid light dim seen,
Share with the Gouls their banquet.
                              This perform'd,
The Maid is summon'd. Round the sacred font,
Mark'd with the mystic tonsure and enrobed
In sacred vests, a venerable train,
They stand. The delegated Maid obeys
Their summons. As she came, a blush suffused
Her pallid cheek, such as might well beseem
One mindful still of maiden modesty,
Though to her mission true. Before the train
In reverent silence waiting their sage will,
With half-averted eye she stood composed.
So have I seen a single snow-drop rise
Amid the russet leaves that hide the earth
In early spring, so seen it gently bend
In modest loveliness alone amid
The waste of winter.

                      By the Maiden's side
The Son of Orleans stood, prepared to vouch
That when on Charles the Maiden's eye had fix'd,
As led by pow-er miraculous, no fraud,
Nor juggling artifice of secret sign
Dissembled inspiration. As he stood
Steadily viewing the mysterious rites,
Thus to the attentive Maid t)ie President
Severely spake.
                   "If any fiend of Hell
Lurk in thy bosom, so to prompt the vaunt
Of inspiration, and to mock the power
Of God and holy Church, thus by the virtue
Of water hallowed in the name of God
Adjure I that foul spirit to depart
From his deluded prey."
                             Slowly he spake,
And sprinkled water on the virgin's face.
Indignant at the unworthy charge, the Maid
Felt her cheek flush; but soon, the transient glow
Fading, she answer'd meek.
                             "Most holy Sires,
Ye reverend Fathers of the Christian church,
Most catholic! I stand before you here
A poor weak woman; of the grace vouchsafed,
How far unworthy, conscious; yet though mean,
Innocent of fraud, and call'd by Heaven to be
Its minister of aid. Strange voices heard,
The dark and shadowing visions of the night,
And feelings which I may not dare to doubt,
These portents make me certain of the God
Within me; He who to these eyes reveal'd
My royal Master, mingled with the crowd
And never seen till then. Such evidence
Given to my mission thus, and thus confirm'd
By public attestation, more to say,
Methinks, would little boot, — and less become
A silly Maid."
                "Thou speakest," said the Priest,
"Of dark and shadowing visions of the night.
Canst thou remember, Maid, what vision first
Seem'd more than fancy's shaping? From such tale,
Minutely told with accurate circumstance,
Some judgment might be form'd."
                               The Maid replied
"Amid the mountain valleys I had driven
My father's flock. The eve was drawing on,
When by a sudden storm surprised, I sought
A chapel's neighboring shelter; ruin'd now,
But I remember when its vesper bell
Was heard among the hills, a pleasant sound,
That made me pause upon my homeward road,
Awakening in me comfortable thoughts
Of holiness. The unsparing soldiery
Had sack'd the hamlet near, and none was left
Duly at sacred seasons to attend
St. Agnes' chapel.^[1] In the desolate pile
I drove my flock, with no irreverent thoughts,
Nor mindless that the place on which I trod
Was holy ground. It was a fearful night!
Devoutly to the virgin Saint I pray'd,
Then heap'd the wither'd leaves which autumn winds
Had drifted in, and laid me down upon them,
And sure I think I slept. But so it was
That, in the dead of night, Saint Agnes stood
Before mine eyes, such and so beautiful
As when, amid the house of wickedness,
The Power whom with such fervent love she served
Veil'd her with glory.^[2] And I saw her point
To the moss-grown altar, and the crucifix
Half hid by weeds and grass; — and then I thought
I could have wither'd armies with a look,
For from the present Saint such divine power
I felt infused — 'Twas but a dream perhaps.
And yet methought that when a louder peal
Burst o'er the roof, and all was left again
Utterly dark, the bodily sense was clear

1. ???
2. ???