There was high feasting held at Vaucouleur,
For old Sir Robert had a famous guest,
The Bastard Orleans; and the festive hours,
Cheer'd with the Trobador's sweet minstrelsy,
Pass'd gayly at his hospitable board.
But not to share the hospitable board
And hear sweet minstrelsy, Dunois had sought
Sir Robert's hall; he came to rouse Lorraine,
And glean what force the wasting war had left
For one last effort. Little had the war
Left in Lorraine, but age, and youth unripe
For slaughter yet, and widows, and young maids
Of widow'd loves. And now with his great guest
The Lord of Vaucouleur sat communing
On what might profit France, and found no hope,
Despairing of their country, when he heard
An old man and a maid awaited him
In the castle-hall. He knew the old man well,
His vassal Claude; and at his bidding Claude
Approach'd, and after meet obeisance made,
Bespake Sir Robert.
" Good my Lord, I come
With a strange tale; I pray you pardon me
If it should seem impertinent, and like
An old man's weakness. But, in truth, this Maid
Hath with such boding thoughts impress'd my heart,
I think I could not longer sleep in peace
Gainsaying what she sought. She saith that God
Bids her go drive the Englishmen from France!
Her parents mock at her and call her crazed,
And father Regnier says she is possess'd; —
But I, who know that never thought of ill
Found entrance in her heart, — for, good my Lord,
From her first birth-day she hath been to me
As mine own child, — and I am an old man,
Who have seen many moon-struck in my time,
And some who were by evil Spirits vex'd, —
I, Sirs, do think that there is more in this.
And who can tell but, in these perilous times,
It may please God, — but hear the Maid yourselves,
For if, as I believe, this is of Heaven,
My silly speech doth wrong it. "
While he spake,
Curious they mark'd the Damsel. She appear'd
Of eighteen years; there was no bloom of youth
Upon her cheek, yet had the loveliest hues
Of health with lesser fascination fix'd
The gazer's eye; for wan the Maiden was,
Of saintly paleness, and there seem'd to dwell
In the strong beauties of her countenance
Something that was not earthly.
" I have heard
Of this your niece's malady, " replied
The Lord of Vaucouleur, " that she frequents
The loneliest haunts and deepest solitude,
Estranged from human kind and human cares
With loathing like to madness. It were best
To place her with some pious sisterhood,
Who duly, morn and eve, for her soul's health
Soliciting Heaven, may likeliest remedy
The stricken mind, or frenzied or possess'd. "

So as Sir Robert ceased, the Maiden cried,
" I am not mad. Possess'd indeed I am!
The hand of God is strong upon my soul,
And I have wrestled vainly with the L ORD ,
And stubbornly, I fear me. I can save
This country, Sir! I can deliver France!
Yea — I must save the country! — God is in me;
I speak not, think not, feel not of myself.
H E knew and sanctified me ere my birth,
H E to the nations hath ordained me;
And whither HE shall send me, I must go;
And whatso HE commands, that I must speak;
And whatso is HIS will, that I must do;
And I must put away all fear of man,
Lest HE in wrath confound me. "
At the first
With pity or with scorn Dunois had heard
The Maid inspired; but now he in his heart
Felt that misgiving which precedes belief
In what was disbelieved and scoff'd at late
For folly. " Damsel! " said the Chief, " methinks
It would be wisely done to doubt this call,
Haply of some ill Spirit prompting thee
To self-destruction. "
" Doubt! " the Maid exclaim'd:
It were as easy when I gaze around
On all this fair variety of things,
Green fields and tufted woods, and the blue depth
Of heaven, and yonder glorious sun, to doubt
Creating wisdom! — When in the evening gale
I breathe the mingled odors of the spring,
And hear the wildwood melody, and hear
The populous air vocal with insect life,
To doubt God 's goodness! There are feelings, Chief,
Which cannot lie; and I have oftentimes
Felt in the midnight silence of my soul
The call of God . "
They listen'd to the Maid,
And they almost believed. Then spake Dunois,
" Wilt thou go with me, Maiden, to the King,
And there announce thy mission? " Thus he said,
For thoughts of politic craftiness arose
Within him, and his faith, yet unconfirm'd,
Determin'd to prompt action. She replied,
" Therefore I sought the Lord of Vaucouleur,
That with such credence as prevents delay,
He to the King might send me. Now beseech you
Speed our departure! "
Then Dunois address'd
Sir Robert, " Fare thee well, my friend and host!
It were ill done to linger here when Heaven
Vouchsafes such strange assistance. Let what force
Lorraine can raise to Chinon follow us;
And with the tidings of this holy Maid,
Sent by the L ORD , fill thou the country; soon
Therewith shall France awake as from the sleep
Of death. Now, Maid! depart we at thy will. "

" God 's blessing go with ye! " exclaim'd old Claude,
" Good Angels guard my girl! " and as he spake
The tears stream'd fast adown his aged cheeks.
" And if I do not live to see thee more,
As sure I think I shall not, — yet sometimes
Remember thine old Uncle. I have loved thee
Even from thy childhood, Joan! and I shall lose
The comfort of mine age in losing thee.
But God be with thee, Child! "
Nor was the Maid,
Though all subdued of soul, untroubled now
In that sad parting; — but she calm'd herself,
Painfully keeping down her heart, and said,
" Comfort thyself, my Uncle, with the thought
Of what I am, and for what enterprise
Chosen from among the people. Oh! be sure
I shall remember thee, in whom I found
A parent's love, when parents were unkind!
And when the ominous broodings of my soul
Were scoff'd and made a mock of by all else,
Thou for thy love didst hear me and believe.
Shall I forget these things? " — By this Dunois
Had arm'd, the steeds stood ready at the gate.
But then she fell upon the old man's neck
And cried, " Pray for me! — I shall need thy prayers!
Pray for me, that I fail not in my hour! "
Thereat awhile, as if some awful thought
Had overpower'd her, on his neck she hung;
Then rising with flush'd cheek and kindling eye,
" Farewell! " quoth she, " and live in hope! Anon
Thou shalt hear tidings to rejoice thy heart,
Tidings of joy for all, but most for thee!
Be this thy comfort! " The old man received
Her last embrace, and weeping like a child,
Scarcely through tears could see them on their steeds
Spring up, and go their way.
So on they went,
And now along the mountain's winding path
Upward they journey'd slow, and now they paused
And gazed where o'er the plain the stately towers
Of Vaucouleur arose, in distance seen,
Dark and distinct; below its castled height,
Through fair and fertile pastures, the deep Meuse
Roll'd glittering on. Domremi's cottages
Gleam'd in the sun hard by, white cottages,
That in the evening traveller's weary mind
Had waken'd thoughts of comfort and of home,
Making him yearn for rest. But on one spot,
One little spot, the Virgin's eye was fix'd,
Her native Arc; embower'd the hamlet lay
Upon the forest edge, whose ancient woods,
With all their infinite varieties,
Now form'd a mass of shade. The distant plain
Rose on the horizon rich with pleasant groves,
And vineyards in the greenest hue of spring,
And streams now hidden on their winding way,
Now issuing forth in light.
The Maiden gazed
Till all grew dim upon her dizzy eye.
" Oh what a blessed world were this! " she cried,
" But that the great and honorable men
Have seized the earth, and of the heritage
Which God, the Sire of all, to all had given,
Disherited their brethren! Happy those
Who in the after days shall live, when Time
Hath spoken, and the multitude of years
Taught wisdom to mankind! — Unhappy France!
Fiercer than evening wolves thy bitter foes
Rush o'er the land, and desolate, and kill;
Long has the widow's and the orphan's groan
Accused Heaven's justice; — but the hour is come!
God hath inclined his ear, hath heard the voice
Of mourning, and his anger is gone forth. "

Then said the Son of Orleans, " Holy Maid!
Fain would I know, if blameless I may seek
Such knowledge, how the heavenly call was heard
First in thy waken'd soul; nor deem in me
Aught idly curious, if of thy past life
I ask the story. In the hour of age,
If haply I survive to see this realm
Deliver'd, precious then will be the thought
That I have known the delegated Maid,
And heard from her the wondrous ways of Heaven.

" A simple tale, " the mission'd Maid replied:
" Yet may it well employ the journeying hour,
And pleasant is the memory of the past.

" Seest thou, Sir Chief, where yonder forest skirts
The Meuse, that in its winding mazes shows,
As on the farther bank, the distant towers
Of Vaucouleur? there in the hamlet Arc
My father's dwelling stands; a lowly hut,
Yet nought of needful comfort did it lack,
For in Lorraine there lived no kinder Lord
Than old Sir Robert, and my father Jaques
In flocks and herds was rich; a toiling man,
Intent on worldly gains, one in whose heart
Affection had no root. I never knew
A parent's love; for harsh my mother was,
And deem'd the care which infancy demands
Irksome, and ill-repaid. Severe they were,
And would have made me fear them; but my soul
Possess'd the germ of inborn fortitude,
And stubbornly I bore unkind rebuke
And angry chastisement. Yet was the voice
That spake in tones of tenderness most sweet
To my young heart; how have I felt it leap
With transport, when my Uncle Claude approach'd!
For he would take me on his knee, and tell
Such wondrous tales as childhood loves to hear,
Listening with eager eyes and open lips
Devoutly in attention. Good old man!
Oh, if I ever pour'd a prayer to Heaven
Unhallow'd by the grateful thought of him,
Methinks the righteous winds would scatter it!
He was a parent to me, and his home
Was mine, when in advancing years I found
No peace, no comfort in my father's house.
With him I pass'd the pleasant evening hours,
By day I drove my father's flock afield,
And this was happiness.
" Amid these wilds
Often to summer pasture have I driven
The flock; and well I know these woodland wilds,
And every bosom'd vale, and valley stream
Is dear to memory. I have laid me down
Beside yon valley stream, that up the ascent
Scarce sends the sound of waters now, and watch'd
The beck roll glittering to the noon-tide sun,
And listen'd to its ceaseless murmuring,
Till all was hush'd and tranquil in my soul,
Fill'd with a strange and undefined delight
That pass'd across the mind like summer clouds
Over the vale at eve; their fleeting hues
The traveller cannot trace with memory's eye,
Yet he remembers well how fair they were,
How beautiful.
" In solitude and peace
Here I grew up, amid the loveliest scenes
Of unpolluted nature. Sweet it was,
As the white mists of morning roll'd away,
To see the upland's wooded heights appear
Dark in the early dawn, and mark the slope
With gorse-flowers glowing, as the sun illumed
Their golden glory with his deepening light;
Pleasant at noon beside the vocal brook
To lay me down, and watch the floating clouds,
And shape to fancy's wild similitudes
Their ever-varying forms; and oh how sweet!
To drive my flock at evening to the fold,
And hasten to our little hut, and hear
The voice of kindness bid me welcome home.
" Amid the village playmates of my youth
Was one whom riper years approved a friend.
A gentle maid was my poor Madelon;
I loved her as a sister, and long time
Her undivided tenderness possess'd,
Until a better and a holier tie
Gave her one nearer friend; and then my heart
Partook her happiness, for never lived
A happier pair than Arnaud and his wife.

" Lorraine was call'd to arms, and with her youth
Went Arnaud to the war. The morn was fair,
Bright shone the sun, the birds sung cheerfully,
And all the fields seem'd joyous in the spring;
But to Domremi wretched was that day,
For there was lamentation, and the voice
Of anguish, and the deeper agony
That spake not. Never can my heart forget
The feelings that shot through me, when the horn
Gave its last call, and through the castle-gate
The banner moved, and from the clinging arms
Which hung on them, as for a last embrace,
Sons, brethren, husbands, went.
" More frequent now
Sought I the converse of poor Madelon,
For now she needed friendship's soothing voice.
All the long summer did she live in hope
Of tidings from the war; and as at eve
She with her mother by the cottage door
Sat in the sunshine, if a traveller
Appear'd at distance coming o'er the brow,
Her eye was on him, and it might be seen
By the flush'd cheek what thoughts were in her heart,
And by the deadly paleness which ensued,
How her heart died within her. So the days
And weeks and months pass'd on; and when the leaves
Fell in the autumn, a most painful hope
That reason own'd not, that with expectation
Did never cheer her as she rose at morn,
Still linger'd in her heart, and still at night
Made disappointment dreadful. Winter came,
But Arnaud never from the war return'd;
He far away had perish'd; and when late
The tidings of his certain death arrived,
Sore with long anguish underneath that blow
She sunk. Then would she sit and think all day
Upon the past, and talk of happiness
That never could return, as though she found
Best solace in the thoughts which minister'd
To sorrow: and she loved to see the sun
Go down, because another day was gone,
And then she might retire to solitude
And wakeful recollections, or perchance
To sleep more wearying far than wakefulness,
Dreams of his safety and return, and starts
Of agony; so neither night nor day
Could she find rest, but pined and pined away.

" Death ! to the happy thou art terrible;
But how the wretched love to think of thee,
Oh thou true comforter, the friend of all
Who have no friend beside! By the sick bed
Of Madelon I sat, when sure she felt
The hour of her deliverance drawing near;
I saw her eye kindle with heavenly hope,
I had her latest look of earthly love,
I felt her hand's last pressure. — Son of Orleans!
I would not wish to live to know that hour,
When I could think upon a dear friend dead,
And weep not; but they are not bitter tears, —
Not painful now; for Christ hath risen, first fruits
Of them that slept; and we shall meet again,
Meet, not again to part: the grave hath lost
Its victory.
" I remember, as her bier
Went to the grave, a lark sprung up aloft,
And soar'd amid the sunshine, carolling
So full of joy, that to the mourner's ear
More mournfully than dirge or passing bell,
The joyous carol came, and made us feel
That of the multitude of beings, none
But man was wretched.
" Then my soul awoke,
For it had slumber'd long in happiness,
And never feeling misery, never thought
What others suffer. I, as best I might,
Solaced the keen regret of Elinor;
And much my cares avail'd, and much her son's,
On whom, the only comfort of her age,
She centred now her love. A younger birth,
Aged nearly as myself was Theodore,
An ardent youth, who with the kindest care
Had sooth'd his sister's sorrow. We had knelt
By her death-bed together, and no bond
In closer union knits two human hearts
Than fellowship in grief.
" It chanced as once
Beside the fire of Elinor I sat,
The night was comfortless, the loud blast howl'd,
And as we drew around the social hearth,
We heard the rain beat hard. Driven by the storm
A warrior mark'd our distant taper's light;
We heapt the fire, and spread the friendly board.
" 'T is a rude night," the stranger cried: " safe housed
Pleasant it is to hear the pelting rain.
I too could be content to dwell in peace,
Resting my head upon the lap of love,
But that my country calls. When the winds roar,
Remember sometimes what a soldier suffers,
And think on Conrade."
" Theodore replied,
" Success go with thee! Something we have known
Of war, and tasted its calamity;
And I am well content to dwell in peace,
Albeit inglorious, thanking the good God
Who made me to be happy."
" " Did that God,"
Cried Conrade, " form thy heart for happiness,
When Desolation royally careers
Over thy wretched country? Did that God
Form thee for Peace when Slaughter is abroad,
When her brooks run with blood, and Rape, and Murder,
Stalk through her flaming towns? Live thou in peace,
Young man! my heart is human: I must feel
For what my brethren suffer." While he spake
Such mingled passions character'd his face
Of fierce and terrible benevolence,
That I did tremble as I listen'd to him;
And in my heart tumultuous thoughts arose
Of high achievements, indistinct, and wild,
And vast, — yet such they were as made me pant
As though by some divinity possess'd.

" " But is there not some duty due to those
We love?" said Theodore; " is there an employ
More righteous than to cheer declining age,
And thus with filial tenderness repay
Parental care?"
" " Hard is it," Conrade cried,
" Ay, hard indeed, to part from those we love;
And I have suffer'd that severest pang.
I have left an aged mother; I have left
One upon whom my heart has fasten'd all
Its dearest, best affections. Should I live
Till France shall see the blessed hour of peace,
I shall return; my heart will be content,
My duties then will have been well discharged,
And I may then be happy. There are those
Who deem such thoughts the fancies of a mind
Strict beyond measure, and were well content,
If I should soften down my rigid nature
Even to inglorious ease, to honor me.
But pure of heart and high in self-esteem
I must be honor'd by myself: all else,
The breath of Fame, is as the unsteady wind
Worthless."
" So saying from his belt he took
The encumbering sword. I held it, listening to him,
And wistless what I did, half from the sheath
Drew forth its glittering blade. I gazed upon it,
And shuddering, as I touch'd its edge, exclaim'd,
How horrible it is with the keen sword
To gore the finely-fibred human frame!
I could not strike a lamb.
" He answer'd me,
" Maiden, thou sayest well. I could not strike
A lamb! — But when the merciless invader
Spares not gray age, and mocks the infant's shriek
As it doth writhe upon his cursed lance,
And forces to his foul embrace the wife
Even where her slaughter'd husband bleeds to death,
Almighty God! I should not be a man
If I did let one weak and pitiful feeling
Make mine arm impotent to cleave him down.
Think well of this, young man!" he cried, and took
The hand of Theodore; " think well of this;
As you are human, as you hope to live
In peace, amid the dearest joys of home,
Think well of this! You have a tender mother;
As you do wish that she may die in peace,
As you would even to madness agonize
To hear this maiden call on you in vain
For help, and see her dragg'd, and hear her scream
In the blood-reeking soldier's lustful grasp,
Think that there are such horrors! that even now,
Some city flames, and haply, as in Roan,
Some famish'd babe on his dead mother's breast
Yet hangs and pulls for food! — Woe be to those
By whom the evil comes! And woe to him,
For little less his guilt, — who dwells in peace,
When every arm is needed for the strife!"

" When we had all betaken us to rest,
Sleepless I lay, and in my mind revolved
The high-soul'd warrior's speech. Then Madelon
Rose in remembrance; over her the grave
Had closed; her sorrows were not register'd
In the rolls of fame; but when the tears run down
The widow's cheek, shall not her cry be heard
In Heaven against the oppressor? Will not God
In sunder smite the unmerciful, and break
The sceptre of the wicked? — Thoughts like these
Possess'd my soul, till at the break of day
I slept; nor did my heated brain repose
Even then; for visions, sent, as I believe,
From the Most High, arose. A high-tower'd town
Hemm'd in and girt with enemies, I saw,
Where Famine on a heap of carcasses,
Half envious of the unutterable feast,
Mark'd the gorged raven clog his beak with gore.
I turn'd me then to the besieger's camp,
And there was revelry: a loud, lewd laugh
Burst on mine ear, and I beheld the chiefs
Sit at their feast, and plan the work of death.
My soul grew sick within me; I look'd up,
Reproaching Heaven, — lo! from the clouds an arm
As of the avenging Angel was put forth,
And from his hand a sword, like lightning, fell.

" From that night I could feel my burden'd soul
Heaving beneath incumbent Deity.
I sate in silence, musing on the days
To come, unheeding and unseeing all
Around me, in that dreaminess of thought
When every bodily sense is as it slept,
And the mind alone is wakeful. I have heard
Strange voices in the evening wind; strange forms
Dimly discover'd throng'd the twilight air.
The neighbors wonder'd at the sudden change;
They call'd me crazed; and my dear Uncle, too,
Would sit and gaze upon me wistfully,
A heaviness upon his aged brow,
And in his eye such sorrow, that my heart
Sometimes misgave me. I had told him all
The mighty future laboring in my breast,
But that the hour, methought, not yet was come.

" At length I heard of Orleans, by the foe
Wall'd in from human help: thither all thoughts,
All hopes were turn'd; that bulwark beaten down,
All were the invaders. Then my troubled soul
Grew more disturb'd, and shunning every eye,
I loved to wander where the woodland shade
Was deepest, there on mightiest deeds to brood
Of shadowy vastness, such as made my heart
Throb loud: anon I paused, and in a state
Of half expectance, listen'd to the wind.

" There is a fountain in the forest call'd
The Fountain of the Fairies: when a child
With a delightful wonder I have heard
Tales of the Elfin tribe who on its banks
Hold midnight revelry. An ancient oak,
The goodliest of the forest, grows beside;
Alone it stands, upon a green grass plat,
By the woods bounded like some little isle.
It ever hath been deem'd their favorite tree;
They love to lie and rock upon its leaves,
And bask in moonshine. Here the Woodman leads
His boy, and showing him the green-sward mark'd
With darker circlets, says their midnight dance
Hath traced the rings, and bids him spare the tree.
Fancy had cast a spell upon the place
Which made it holy; and the villagers
Would say that never evil thing approach'd
Unpunish'd there. The strange and fearful pleasure
Which fill'd me by that solitary spring,
Ceased not in riper years; and now it woke
Deeper delight, and more mysterious awe.

" A blessed spot! Oh, how my soul enjoy'd
Its holy quietness, with what delight
Escaping from mankind I hasten'd there
To solitude and freedom! Thitherward
On a spring eve I had betaken me,
And there I sat, and mark'd the deep red clouds
Gather before the wind — the rising wind,
Whose sudden gusts, each wilder than the last,
Appear'd to rock my senses. Soon the night
Darken'd around, and the large rain-drops fell
Heavy; anon tempestuously the gale
Swept o'er the wood. Methought the thunder-shower
Fell with refreshing coolness on my head,
And the hoarse dash of waters, and the rush
Of winds that mingled with the forest roar
Made a wild music. On a rock I sat;
The glory of the tempest fill'd my soul;
And when the thunders peal'd, and the long flash
Hung durable in heaven, and on my sight
Spread the gray forest, memory, thought, were gone,
All sense of self annihilate, I seem'd
Diffused into the scene.
" At length a light
Approach'd the spring; I saw my Uncle Claude;
His gray locks dripping with the midnight storm.
He came, and caught me in his arms, and cried,
" My God! my child is safe!"
" I felt his words
Pierce in my heart; my soul was overcharged;
I fell upon his neck and told him all;
God was within me; as I felt, I spake,
And he believed.
" Ay, Chieftain! and the world
Shall soon believe my mission; for the L ORD
Will raise up indignation and pour on't
His wrath, and they shall perish who oppress. "