Page:Completepoetical1848sout.djvu/36



"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 ." 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 — 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, 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 — Conrade! rouse thyself! Cast the weak nature off! 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;