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Too bright a thing art thou to pine in aching love

away, Thy mother bears thee far, young Fawn! from sorrow

and decay.

She bears thee to the glorious bowers where none are

heard to weep,

And where th' unkind one hath no power again to

trouble sleep; And where the soul shall find its youth, as wakening

from a dream, One moment, and that realm is ours- -On, on, dark

rolling stream!


Jeanne d'Arc avait eu la joie de voir à Chalons quelques amis de son enfance. Une joie plus ineffable encore l'attendait à Rheims, au sein de son triomphe : Jacques d'Arc, son père y se trouva, aussitot que de troupes de Charles VII. y furent entreés; et comme les deux frères de notre Héroine l'avaient accompagnés, elle se vit, pour un instant au milieu de sa famille, dans les bras d'un père vertueux.

Vie de Jeanne d'Arc.

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That was a joyous day in Rheims of old,
When peal on peal of mighty music roll'd
Forth from her throng'd cathedral ; while around,
A multitude, whose billows made no sound,

Chain'd to a hush of wonder, tho' elate

With victory, listen'd at their temple's gate.

And what was done within ?---within, the light

Thro' the rich gloom of pictured windows flowing, Tinged with soft awfulness a stately sight,

The chivalry of France, their proud heads bowing In martial vassalage !—while midst that ring, And shadow'd by ancestral tombs, a king Receiv'd his birthright's crown. For this, the hymn

Swelld out like rushing waters, and the day With the sweet censer's misty breath grew dim,

As thro’ long aisles it floated o'er th' array Of arms and sweeping stoles. But who, alone And unapproach'd, beside the altar-stone, With the white banner, forth like sunshine streaming, And the gold helm, thro' clouds of fragrance gleaming, Silent and radiant stood ?--the helm was rais'd, And the fair face reveald, that upward gaz'd,

Intensely worshipping a still, clear face, Youthful, but brightly solemn !--Woman's cheek And brow were there, in deep devotion meek,

Yet glorified with inspiration's trace

On its pure paleness; while, enthron'd above,
The pictur'd virgin, with her smile of love,
Seem'd bending o'er her votaress.- That slight form!

Was that the leader thro' the battle storm?

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Had the soft light in that adoring eye,
Guided the warrior where the swords flash'd high?
'Twas so, even so !--and thou, the shepherd's child,
Joanne, the lowly dreamer of the wild !
Never before, and never since that hour,
Hath woman, mantled with victorious power,
Stood forth as thou beside the shrine didst stand,
Holy amidst the knighthood of the land ;
And beautiful with joy and with renown,
Lift thy white banner o’er the olden crown,
Ransom’d for France by thee!

The rites are done.

Now let the dome with trumpet-notes be shaken,
And bid the echoes of the tombs awaken,

And come thou forth, that Heaven's rejoicing sun

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