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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 She helm'd her head; hung from her neck the shield, 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