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And her lip quiver'd, and on Isabel,
Trembling and faint, she leant, and pale as death.
 
Then in the priest arose an earnest hope,
That, weary of the world and sick with woe,
The Maid might dwell with them a virgin vow'd.
"Ah, damsel!" slow he spake, and cross'd his breast,
"Ah, damsel! favor'd as thou art of Heaven,
Let not thy soul beneath its sorrow sink
Despondent; Heaven by sorrow disciplines
The froward heart, and chastens whom it loves.
Therefore, companion of thy way of life,
Shall sorrow wean thee from this faithless world,
Where happiness provokes the traveller's chase,
And like the midnight meteor of the marsh
Allures his long and perilous pursuit,
Then leaves him dark and comfortless. O Maid!
Fix thou thine eyes upon that heavenly dawn
Beyond the night of life! Thy race is run,
Thou hast deliver'd Orleans: now perfect
Thyself, accomplish all, and be the child
Of God. Amid these sacred haunts the groan
Of woe is never heard; these hallow'd roofs
Reëcho only to the pealing quire,
The chanted mass, and virgin's holy hymn,
Celestial sounds! Secluded here, the soul
Receives a foretaste of her joys to come;
This is the abode of piety and peace;
Oh! be their inmate, Maiden! Come to rest,
Die to the world, and live espoused to Heaven!"
 
Then Conrade answered, "Father! Heaven has call'd
This Maid to active duties."
                         "Active!" cried
The astonish'd Monk; "thou dost not know the toils
This holy warfare asks; thou dost not know
How powerful the attacks that Satan makes
By sinful Nature aided! Dost thou think
It is an easy task from the fond breast
To root affection out? to burst the cords
Which grapple to society the heart
Of social man? to rouse the unwilling spirit,
That, rebel to devotion, faintly pours
The cold lip-worship of the wearying prayer?
To fear and tremble at Him, yet to love
A God of Terrors? Maid beloved of Heaven,
Come to this sacred trial! share with us
The day of penance and the night of prayer!
Humble thyself; feel thine own worthlessness,
A reptile worm, before thy birth condemn'd
To all the horrors of thy Maker's wrath,
The lot of fallen mankind! Oh, hither come!
Humble thyself in ashes. So thy name
Shall live amid the blessed host of saints,
And unborn pilgrims at thy hallowed shrine
Pour forth their pious offerings."
                              "Hear me, father!"
Exclaim'd the awaken'd Maid. "Amid these tombs,
Cold as their clayey tenants, know, my heart
Must never grow to stone! Chill thou thyself,
And break thy midnight rest, and tell thy beads,
And Labor through thy still repeated prayer;
Fear thou thy God of Terrors; spurn the gifts
He gave, and sepulchre thyself alive!
But far more valued is the vine that bends
Beneath its swelling clusters, than the ,dark
And joyless ivy, round the cloister's wall
Wreathing its barren arms. For me, I know
That I have faithfully obey'd my call,
Confiding not in mine own strength, but His
Who sent me forth to suffer and to do
His will; and in that faith I shall appear
Before the just tribunal of that God
Whom grateful love has taught me to adore!"
 
Severe she spake, for sorrow in her heart
Had wrought unwonted sternness. From the dome
They pass'd in silence, when, with hasty steps,
Sent by the chiefs, a messenger they met,
Who, in alarm, the mission'd Virgin sought,
A bearer of ill tidings.
                         "Holy Maid!"
He said, "they ask thy counsel. Burgundy
Comes in the cause of England, and his troops
Scarce three leagues from the walls, a fearful power,
Rest tented for the night."
                              "Say to the chiefs,
At morn I will be with them," she replied;
"And to this urgency will give meantime
My nightly thoughts."
                       So saying, on she went
In thoughtful silence. A brief while she mused,
Brief, but sufficing to excite her soul,
As with a power and impulse not its own,
To some great purpose. "Conrade!" then she said,
"I pray thee meet me at the eastern gate
With a swift steed prepared, — for I must hence."

Her voice was calm, and Conrade through the gloom
Saw not the flush that witness'd on her cheek
Inward emotion at some thought conceived.
She to her quarters hastily repair'd,
There with a light and unplumed casquetel^[1]
She helm'd her head; hung from her neck the shield,^[2]
And forth she went. Her Conrade by the gate
Awaited. "May I, Maiden, ask unblamed
Whither this midnight journey? may I share
The peril?" cried the warrior. She rejoin'd,
"This, Conrade, must not be. Alone I go.
That impulse of the soul which comes from God
Sends me. But thou of this remain assured,
If aught that I must enterprise required
Associate firmness, thou shouldst be the man,
Best, — last, — and only friend!"
                               So up she sprung
And left him. He beheld the warden close
The gate, and listen'd to her courser's tramp,
Till soon upon his ear the far-off sound
Fell faintly, and was lost.
                            Swift o'er the vale
Sped the good courser; eagerly the Maid
Gave the loose rein; and now her speed attain'd
The dark encampment. Through the sleeping ranks
Onward she past. The trampling of her steed

1. ???
2. ???