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"I am alone," she answered, "for this realm
Devoted." Nor to answer more the Maid
Endured, for many a melancholy thought
Throng'd on her aching memory. Her mind's eye
Beheld Domremi and the fields of Arc:
Her burden'd heart was full; such grief she felt,
Yet such sweet solacing of self-applause,
As cheers a banish'd Patriot's lonely hours
When Fancy pictures to him all he loved,
Till the big tear-drop rushes o'er its orb.
And drowns the soft enchantment.
                                   With a look
That spake solicitous wonder, Conrade eyed
The silent Maid; nor would the Maid repress
The thoughts that swell'd within her, or from him
Hide her soul's workings. "'Twas on the last day
Before I left Domremi; eve had closed;
I sat beside the brook; my soul was full,
As if inebriate with Divinity.
Then, Conrade! I beheld a ruffian herd
Circle a flaming pile, where at the stake
A woman stood; the iron bruised her breast.
And round her limbs, half-garmented, the fire
Curl'd its fierce flakes. I saw her countenance,
I knew Myself."^[1] Then, in a tone subdued
Of calmness, "There are moments when the soul
From her own impulse with strange dread recoils,
Suspicious of herself; but with a full,
And perfect faith I know this vision sent
From Heaven, and feel of its unerring truth,
As that God liveth, that I live myself.
The feeling that deceives not."
                                  By the hand
Her Conrade held and cried, "Ill-fated Maid,
That I have torn thee from affection's breast,
My soul will groan in anguish. Thou wilt serve,
Like me, the worthless Court, and having served,
In the hour of ill abandon'd, thou wilt curse
The duty that deluded. Of the world
Fatigued, and loathing at my fellow-men,
I shall be seen no more. There is a path^[2] —
The eagle hath not mark'd it, the young wolf
Knows not its hidden windings: I have trod
That path, and found a melancholy den,
Fit place for penitence and hopeless woe.
Where sepulchred, the ghost of what he was,
Conrade may pass his few and evil days,
Waiting the wish'd-for summons to lay down
His weary load of life."
                           But then the Maid
Fix'd on the warrior her reproving eye;
"I pass'd the fertile Auxerrois," she said;
"The vines had spread their interwoven shoots
Over the unpruned vineyards, and the grape
Rotted beneath the leaves; for there was none
To tread the vintage, and the birds of Heaven
Had had their fill. I saw the cattle start
As they did hear the loud alarum-bell,^[3]
And with a piteous moaning vainly seek
To fly the coming slaughterers. I look'd back
Upon the cottage where I had partaken
The peasant's meal, — and saw it wrapt in flames.
And then I thank'd my God that I had burst
The ties, strong as they are, which bind us down
To selfish happiness, and on this earth
Was as a pilgrim^[4] — Conrade! rouse thyself!
Cast the weak nature off!^[5] A time like this
Is not for gentler feelings, for the glow
Of love, the overflowings of the heart.
There is oppression in thy country, Conrade!
There is a cause, a holy cause, that needs
The brave man's aid. Live for it, and enjoy
Earth's noblest recompense, thine own esteem;
Or die in that good cause, and thy reward
Shall sure be found in Heaven."
                                 He answer'd not,
But pressing to his heart the virgin's hand,
Hasten'd across the plain. She with dim eyes —
For gushing tears obscured them — follow'd him
Till lost in distance. With a weight of thought
Opprest, along the poplar-planted Vienne
Awhile she wander'd, then upon the bank
She laid her down, and watch'd the tranquil stream
Flow with a quiet murmuring, by the clouds
Of evening purpled. The perpetual flow,
The ceaseless murmuring, lull'd her to such dreams
As memory in her melancholy mood
Loves best. The wonted scenes of Arc arose;
She saw the forest brook, the weed that waved
Its long green tresses in the stream, the crag
Which overbrow'd the spring, and that old yew
Which through the bare and rifted rock had forced
Its twisted trunk, the berries cheerful red
Starring its gloomy green. Her pleasant home
She saw, and those who made that home so dear,
Her lov'd lost friends. The mingled feelings fill'd
Her eyes, when from behind a voice was heard —
"O Lady! canst thou tell me where to find
The Maid whom Heaven hath sent to rescue France?"
Thrill'd by the well-known tones, she started up,
And fell upon the neck of Theodore.

"Have I then found thee!" cried the impassioned youth;
"Henceforth we part no more; but where thou goest
Thither go I. Beloved! in the front
Of battle thou shalt find me at thy side;
And in the breach this breast shall be thy shield
And rampart. Oh, ungenerous! Why from me
Conceal the inspiration? why from me
Hide thy miraculous purpose? Am I then
So all-unworthy that thou shouldst set forth
Beneath another's guidance?"
                                Thus he cried,
Mingling reproach with tenderness, yet still
Clasping in warm embrace the maid beloved.
She of her bidding and futurity
Awhile forgetful, patient of the embrace,
With silent tears of joy bedew'd his neck.
At length, "I hope," she cried, "thou art not come
With heavier fault and breach of nearer tie!
How did thy mother spare thee, — thou alone
The stay and comfort of her widowed age?
Did she upon thy parting steps bestow
Her free-will blessing? or hast thou set forth,
Which Heaven forbid, unlicensed and unblest?"
 
"Oh, surely not unblest!" the youth replied;

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