THE MAID OF ORLEANS.
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And what though dressed in armor bright, And mounted on thy snow-white steed,Proud France, her warriors in their might, Did trust thy hand to lead?Beneath thy warrior's coat of mail, There beat the woman's heart,Though born a nation's crown to win, To act the soldier's part.
Oh! when the tide of battle rolled, Around thy maiden brow,When shriek and groan and trumpets clang, And thundering cannon's roar,Assailed thine ear, and columned smoke, Did veil both earth and sky,Thy banner, with its emblem fair, Triumphant waved on high.
And in the thickest of the fight, Thy snow-white palfrey bore,Thee, clothed in maiden grace sublime, The flower of France before.And beat each heart with loyal throb, When marshalled in the ranks of war,To know thy woman's courage led, Them neath the shield of Mars.
And when Orleans' triumph won, Thy sovereign's crown restored,And France at thy illustrious shrine, Her lowliest homage poured.
