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Pierced to her neck, and tinged its point with blood.
“She bleeds! she bleeds!» exulting cried the Chief;
“The sorceress bleeds! nor all her hellish arts
Can charm my arrows from their destined course.”
Ill-fated man! in vain with murderous hand
Placing thy feather'd quarrel in its groove,
Dream'st thou of JoAN subdued. She from her neck
Plucking the shaft unterrified, exclaim'd,
“This is a favour! 13. Frenchmen, let us on!
Escape they cannot from the hand of God!»
But Conrade, rolling round his angry eyes,
Belield the English Chieftain as he aim'd
Again the bow: with rapid step he strode;
Nor did not Glacidas the Frank perceive;
At him he drew the string: the powerless dart
Fell blunted from his buckler. Fierce he came,
And lifting high his ponderous battle-axe,
Full on his shoulder drove the furious stroke,
Deep buried in his bosom: prone he fell,
The cold air rush'd upon his heaving heart.
One whose low lineage gave no second name
Was Glacidas,” a tallant man, and still
His memory in the records of the foe
Survives.
And now, dishearten’d at his death,
The vanquish'd English fly towards the gate,
Seeking the inner court, 153 as vet in hope
Again to dare the siege, and with their friends
Find present refuge there. Mistaken men!
The vanquish'd have no friends' Defeated thus,
Press'd by pursuit, in vain with eager voice
They call their comrades in the suppliant tones
Of pitv now, now with the bitter curse
Of fruitless anger; they indeed within
Fast from the ramparts on the victor troops
Hurl their keen javelins...but the gate is barr'd...
The huge portcullis down!
Then terror seized
Their hopeless hearts: some, furious in despair,
Turn on their foes; fear-palsied some await
The coming death; some drop the useless sword,
And cry for mercy.
Then the Maid of Arc
Had pity on the vanquish'd; and she call'd
Aloud, and cricq unto the host of France,
And bade them cease from slaughter. They obey'd
The delegated Damsel. Some there were
Apart who communed murmuring, and of those
Graville address'd her: « Mission'd Maid! our troops
Are few in number; and to well secure
These many prisoners such a force demands,
As should we spare might shortly make us necd
The mercy we bestow; not mercy then,
Rather to these our soldiers, cruelty.
Justice to them, to France, and to our King,
And that regard wise Nature hath in each
Implanted of self-safety, all demand
Their deaths.”
• Foul fall such evil policy'”
The indignant Maid exclaim'd. “I tell thee, Chief.
God is with us! but God shall hide his face
From him who sheds one drop of human blood
In calm cold-hearted wisdom; him who weighs
The right and the expedient, and resolves,
Just as the well-poised scale shall rise or fall.
These men shall live, live to be happy, Chief,

And in the latest hour of life shall bless
Us who preserved. What is the conqueror's name,
Compared to this when the death-hour shall come?
To think that we have from the murderous sword
Rescued one man, and that his heart-pour'd prayers
Already with celestial eloquence
Plead for us to the All-just on
Severe she spake :
Then turn'd to Conrade. “Thou from these our troops
Appoint fit escort for the prisoners:
I need not tell thee, Conrade, they are men,
Misguided men, led from their little homes,
The victims of the mighty! Thus subdued,
They are our foes no longer: hold them safe
In Orleans. From the war we may not spare -
Thy valour long.»
She said: when Conrade cast
His eyes around, and mark'd amid the court
From man to man where Francis rush'd along,
Bidding them spare the vanquish'd, Him he hail'd:
« The Maid hath bade me chuse a leader forth
To guard the captives; thou shalt be the man;
For thou wilt guard them with due diligence,
Yet not forgetting they are men, our foes
No longer!o
Nor meantime the garrison
Ceased from the war; they, in the hour of need,
Abandoning their comrades to the sword,
A daring band, resolved to bide the siege
In desperate valour. Fast against the walls
The battering-ram drove fierce; the enginery
Plied at the ramparts fast; the catapults
Drove there their dreadful darts; the war-wolfs there
Hurl’d their huge stones; and through the kindled sky,
The engines shower'd their sheets of liquid fire. ***

« Feel ye not, comrades, how the ramparts shake
Reneath the ponderous ram's incessant stroke?"
Exclaim'd a venturous Englishman. “Our foes,
In woman-like compassion, have dismiss'd
A powerful escort, weakening thus themselves,
And giving us fair hope, in equal field,
Of better fortune. Sorely here annoy’d
And slaughter'd by their engines from afar,
We perish. Wainly does the soldier boast
Undaunted courage and the powerful arm.
If thus pent up, like some wild beast he falls,
Mark'd for the hunter's arrows: let us out
And meet them in the battle, man to man,
Either to conquer, or, at least, to die
A soldier's death.”

« Nay, nav...not so,” replied
One of less daring valour. “ Though they point
Their engines here, our archers not in vain
Speed their death-doing shafts. Let the strong walls
First by the foe be won; 't will then be time
To meet them in the battle man to man,
When these shall fail us.”

Scarcely had he spoke, When full upon his breast a ponderous stone Fell fierce impell'd, and drove him to the earth, All shatterd. Horror the spectators seized, For as the dreadful weapon shiver'd him, His blood besprinkled round, and they belield His mangled lungs lie quivering! * Such the fate

Of those who trust them to their walls' defence,”
Again exclaim'd the soldier: “thus they fall,
letray'd by their own fears. Courage alone
Can save us.”

Nor to draw them from the fort
Now needed eloquence; with one accord
They bade him lead to battle. Forth they rush'd
Impetuous. With such fury o'er the plain,
Swoln by the autumnal tempest, Vega rolls
|lis rapid waters, when the gather'd storm,
On the black heights of Hatteril burstiug, swells
The tide of desolation.

Then the Maid

Spake to the Son of Orleans: « Let our troops
Fall hack, so shall the English in pursuit
leave this strong fortress, thus an easy prey.”
Time was not for long counsel. From the court,
Obedient to Dunois, a band of Franks
Retreat, as at the irruption of their foes
thshearten’d; they, with shouts and loud uproar,
Rush to their fancied conquest: JOAN, the while
Piring a small but gallant garrison,
fade them secure the gates: then forth she rush'd,
with such fierce onset charging on their rear,
That terror smote the English, and they wish'd
Again that they might hide them in their walls
hashly abandon'd, for now wheeling around
The Son of Orleans fought. All captainless,
Ill-marshall'd, ill-directed, in vain rage
They waste their furious efforts, falling fast
Before the Maid's good falchion and the sword
Of Conrade: loud was heard the mingled sound
Of arms and men; the earth, that trampled late
By multitudes, gave to the passing wind
Its dusty clouds, now reek'd with their hot gore.

High on the fort's far summit Talbot mark'd
The fight, and calld impatient for his arms,
Eager to rush to war; and scarce withheld,
For now, disheartened and discomfited,
The troops fled fearful.
On the bridge there stood

A strong-built tower, commanding o'er the Loire.

The traveller sometimes linger'd on his way,
Marking the playful tenants of the stream,
Seen in its shadow, stem the sea-ward tide;
This had the invaders won in hard assault,
Before the delegate of Heaven came forth
And made them fear who never fear'd till then.
Hither the English troops with hasty steps
Retired, yet not forgetful of defence,
But waging still the war: the garrison
Them thus retreating saw, and open threw
Their guarded gates, and on the Gallic host,
Covering their vanquish'd fellows, pour'd their shafts.
Check'd in pursuit they stop. Then Graville cried,
“sil, Maiden, hart thou done! Those valiant troops
Thy womanish pity has dismiss'd, with us
Conjoind might press upon the vanquish'd foes,
Though aided thus, and plaut the lilied flag
Victorious on yon tower.”

“Dark minded man!”
The Maid of Orleans answerd, a To act well
orings with itself an ample recompense.
I have not reard the oritlamme of death,”
The butcher flag; the banner of the Lord

Is this, and come what will, me it behoves,
Mindful of that good power who delegates,
To spare the fallen foe: that gracious God
Sends me the minister of mercy forth,
Sends me to save this ravaged realin of France,
To England friendly as to all the world;
Foe only to the great blood-guilty ones,
The masters and the murderers of mankind.”

She said, and suddenly threw off her helm;
Her breast heaved high... her cheek grew red...her eyes
Flash'd forth a wilder lustre: “Thou dost deem
That I have illy spared so large a band,
Disabling from pursuit our weakened troops...
God is with us!» she cried... • God is with us!
Our champion manifest!"
Even as she spake,
The tower, the bridge, and all its multitudes,
Sunk with a mighty crash.
Astonishment
Seized on the French...an universal cry”
Of terror burst from them. Crush'd in the fall,
Or by their armour whelm'd beneath the tide,
The sufferers sunk, or vainly plied their arms,
Caught by some sinking wretch, who grasp'd them fast,
And dragg d them down to death: shrieking they sunk;
Huge fragments frequent dash'd with thundering roar.
Amid the foaming current. From the fort
Talbot beheld, and gnash'd his teeth, and cursed
The more than mortal Virgin; whilst the towers
Of Orleans echoed to the loud uproar,
And all who heard trembled, and cross'd their breasts,
And as they hasten’d to the city walls,
Told fearfully their beads.
"T was now the hour
When o'er the plain the fading rays of eve
Their sober light effuse; when the lowing herd,
Slow as they stalk to shelter, draw behind
Their lengthening shades; and, seeking his high nest,
As heavily he tlaps the dewy air,
The hoarse rook pours his melaucholy note.
« Now then, Dunois, for Orleans 'w cried the Maid,
“And give we to the flames these monuments
Of sorrow and disgrace. The ascending flames
Shall to the dwellers of yon rescued town
Blaze with a joyful splendour, while the foe
Belmold and tremble.”
As she spake, they rush'd
To fire the forts; they shower their wild fire there,
And high amid the gloom the ascending flames
Blaze up ; then joyful of their finish'd toil
The host retire. Hush'd is the field of fight
As the calm'd ocean, when its gentle waves
Heave slow and silent, wafting tranquilly
The shatter'd fragments of the midnight wreck.

BOOK IX.

Faa through the shadowy sky the ascending flames '97.
Stream'd their fierce torrents, by the gales of night
Now curl’d, now flashing their long lightnings up
That made the stars seem pale; less frequent now
Through the red volumes briefer splendours shot,
And blacker waves roll'd o'er the darken'd heaven.

Dismay'd amid the forts which yet remain'd The invaders saw, and clamour'd for retreat, Deeming that aided by invisible powers The Maid went forth to conquer. Not a sound Moved on the air but fill'd them with vague dread Of unseen dangers; if the blast arose Sudden, through every fibre a deep fear Crept shivering, and to their expecting minds Silence itself was dreadful.” One there was, Who, learning wisdom in the hour of ill, Exclaim’d, “I marvel not that the Most High Hath hid his face from England! Wherefore thus, Quitting the comforts of domestic life, Swarm we to desolate this goodly land, Making the drench'd earth rank with human blood, Scatter pollution on the winds of heaven? Oh! that the sepulchre had closed its jaws On that foul priest, 39 on that blood-guilty man, Who, trembling for the church's ill-got wealth, Bade Henry look on France, ere he had drawn The desolating sword, and sent him forth To slaughter! Sure that holy hermit spake '5" The Almighty's bidding, who in his career Of conquest met the King, and bade him cease The work of death, before the wrath divine Fell heavy on his head;—and soon it fell And sunk him to the grave;—and soon that wrath On us, alike in sin, alike shall fall, For thousands and ten thousands, by the sword Cut off, and sent before the Eternal Judge, With all their unrepented crimes upon them, Cry out for vengeance! For the widow's groan, Though here she groan umpitied or unheard, Is heard in heaven against us! O'er this land For hills of human slain, unsepulchred, Steam pestilence, and cloud the blessed sun' The wrath of God is on us—God hath call'd This virgin forth, and gone before her path — Our brethren, vainly valiant, fall beneath them, Clogging with gore their weapons, or in the flood Whelm'd like the Egyptian tyrant's impious host, Mangled and swoln, their blacken'd carcasses Toss on the tossing billows! We remain, For yet our rulers will pursue the war, We still remain to perish by the sword, Soon to appear before the throne of God, Lost, guilty wretches, hireling murderers, Uninjured, unprovoked, who dare to risk The life his goodness gave us, on the chance Of war, and in obedience to our chiefs Durst disobey our God.” Then terror seized The troops and late repentance; and they thought The spirits of the mothers and their babes Famish'd at Roan sat on the clouds of night Circling the forts, to hail with gloomy joy The hour of vengeance.” Nor the English chiefs Heard their loud murmurs heedless; counselling, They met despondent. Suffolk, now their chief, Since conquer'd by the arm of Theodore Fell Salisbury, thus began :« It now were vain Lightly of this our more than mortal foe To speak contemptuous. She hath vanquish'd us, Aided by hell's leagued powers, nor aught avails

Man unassisted 'gainst the powers of hell 6To dare the conflict : Were it best remain Waiting the doubtful aid of Burgundy, Doubtful and still delay'd? or from this scene, Scene of our shame, retreating as we may, Yet struggle to preserve the guarded towns Of Orleannois ow He ceased; and with a sigh, Struggling with pride that heaved his gloomy breast, Talbot replied : « Our council little boots; For by their numbers now made bold in fear 69 The soldiers will not fight, they will not heed Our vain resolves, heart-withered by the spells Of this accursed sorceress. Soon will come The expected host from England : even now Perchance the tall hark scuds across the deep That bears my son : young Talbot comes—he comes To find his sire disgraced! But soon mine arm, By vengeance nerved, and shame of such defeat, Shall from the crest-fall'n courage of yon witch, Regain its ancient glory. Near the coast Best is it to retreat, and there expect The coming succour.” Thus the warrior spake. Joy ran through all the troops, 64 as though retreat Were safety. Silently in order'd ranks They issue forth, favour’d by the deep clouds Which mantled o'er the moon. With throbbing hearts Fearful they speeded on ; some, thinking sad Of distant England, and, now wise too late, Cursing in bitterness the evil laour That led them from her shores : some in faint hope Calling to mind the comforts of their home : Talbot went musing on his blasted fame Sullen and stern, and feeding on dark thoughts, And meditating vengeance. In the walls Of Orleans, though her habitants with joy Humbly acknowledged the high aid of Heaven, Of many a heavy ill and bitter loss Mindful, such mingled sentiments they felt As one from shipwreck saved, the first warm glow Of transport past, who contemplates himself, Preserved alone, a solitary wretch, Possess'd of life indeed, but reft of all That makes man love to live. The chieftains shared The social bowl, 165 glad of the town relieved, And communing of that miraculous Maid, Who came the saviour of the realm of France, When vanquish'd in the frequent field of shame Her bravest warriors trembled. JoAN the while Foodless and silent to the convent pass'd : Conrade with her, and Isabel; both mute, Yet gazing on her, oft with eloquent eye, Looking the consolation that they fear'd To give a voice to. Now they reach'd the dome : The glaring torches o'er the house of death Stream'd a sad splendour. Flowers and funeral herbs Bedeck'd the bier of Theodore: the rue, The dark green rosemary, and the violet, That pluck'd like him wither'd in its first bloom. Dissolved in sorrow Isabel her grief Pourd copious; Conrade wept : the Maid alone Was tearless, for she stood unheedingly, Gazing the vision'd scene of her last hour,

Absorbid in contemplation; from her eye
Intelligence was absent; nor she seem'd
To hear, though listening to the dirge of death.
Laid in his last home now was Theodore.
And now upon the coffin thrown, the earth
Fell heavy : the Maid started, for the sound
Smote on her heart; her eye one lightning glance
Shot wild; and shuddering, upon Isabel
She hung, her pale lips trembling, and her cheek
As wan as though untenanted by life.

Then in the priest arose the earnest hope, That, weary of the world and sick with woe, The \laid might dwell with them a vestal vow'd. * Ah, damsel!" slow he spake, and cross'd his breast, “Ah, damsel! favour'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, | Sull 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 delivered 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 Re-echo only to the pealing quire, : The chaunted 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 answer'd : « Father! Ileaven has doom'd
This Maid to active virtue.”
- « Activel» cried
The astonish’d priest : « 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 deem
It is an easy task from the fond breast
| To root affection out: to burst the cords
| Which trapple 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 hallow'd shrine
Four forth their pious offerings.”
• Hear me, priest,”
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 labour through thy still repeated prayer;
Fear thou thy God of terrors; spurn the gifts
Ile 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
Mine own worth, priest! that I have well perform'd
My duty, and untrembling shall appear
Before the just tribunal of that God
Whom brateful love has taught me to adore!»
Severe she spake, for sorrow in her heart
Had wrought unwonted sternness. From the dome
They past in silence, when with hasty steps,
Sent by the assembled chieftains, one they met
Seeking the mission'd Virgin, as alarm'd,
The herald of ill tidings.
• Holy Maid!»
He cried, “ they ask thy counsel. Burgundy
Comes in the cause of England, and his troops
Scarce three leagues from our walls, a fearful power,
Rest tented for the night.”
• Say to the Chiefs,

At morn I will be with them,” she replied.
• Meantime their welfare well shall occupy
My nightly thoughts.”

So saying, on she past
Thoughtful and silent. A brief while she mused,
Irief, but sufficing to impel the soul,
As with a strange and irresistible force,
To loftiest daring. “ Conrade!» she exclaim'd,
* I pray thee meet me at the eastern gate
With a swift steed prepared: for I must hence.”

Her voice was calm; nor Conrade through the gloom
Saw the faint flush that witness'd on her cheek
High thoughts conceived. She to her home repair’d,
And 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 wall
• May I, Maiden, seek unblamed
Whither this midnight journey? may I share
The peril?, cried the warrior. She rejoin'd,
< This, Conrade, may not be. Alone I go.
That impulse of the soul which comes from God;
Iluth summon'd me. Of this remain assured,
If aught of patriot enterprise required
Associate firmness, thou shouldst be the man,
Best ... last . . . and only friend!»

So up she sprang,

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.

Awaited.

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 the steed Or mingled with the soldier's busy dreams, Or with vague terrors fill d his startled sense, Prompting the secret prayer.

So on she past

To where in loftier shade arose the tent
Of Burgundy: light leaping from her seat
She enter'd.

On the earth the Chieftain slept,
His mantle scarft around him; all in arms,
Save that his shield hung near him, and his helm,
And by his side in warrior readiness
The sheathed falchion lay. Profound he slept,
Nor heard the speeding courser's sounding hoof,
Nor entering footstep. “Burgundy,” she cried,
• What, Burgundy! awake!» He started up,
And caught the gleam of arms, and to his sword
Reach'd the quick hand. But soon his upward glance
Thrill'd him, for full upon her face the lamp

| Stream'd its deep glare, and in her solemn look

Was most unearthly meaning. Pale she was;
But in her eye a saintly lustre bean'd,
And that most calm and holiest confidence
That guilt knows never. ... Burgundy, thou seest
The MAnd of Okle ANs lo
As she spake, a voice
Exclaim'd, “ Die, sorceress!» and a knight rush'd in,
Whose name by her illustrated yet lives,
Franquet of Arras. With uplifted arm
Furious he came; her buckler broke the blow,
And forth she flash'd her sword, aud with a stroke
Swift that no eye could ward it, and of strength
No mail might blunt, smote on his neck, his neck
Unfenced, for he in haste aroused had cast
An armet "" on; resistless there she smote,
And to the earth prone fell the headless trunk
Of Franquet.
Then on Burgundy she fix'd
Her eye severe: « Go, Chief, and thank thy God
That he with lighter judgments visits thee
Than fell on Sisera, or by Judith's hand
He wrought upon the Assyrian! Thank thy God,
That when his vengeance smote the invading sons
Of England, equall'd though thou wert in guilt,
Thee he has spared to work by penitenee
And better deeds atonement.”
Thus she spake;
Then issued forth, and, bounding on her steed,
Sped o'er the plain. Dark on the upland bank
The hedge-row trees distinct and colourless
Rose o'er the grey horizon, and the Loire
Form'd in its winding way islands of light
Amid the shadowy vale, when now she reach'd
The walls of Orleans.
From the eastern clouds
The sun came forth, as to the assembled chiefs
The Maiden past. Her bending thitherwards
The Bastard met. “ New perils threaten us,”
He cried, a new toils await us: Burgundy ...”

* Fear not for Burgundy!» the Maid exclaim'd. * Him will the Lord direct. Our earliest scouts Shall tell his homeward march. What of the troops Of England?»

• They,” the Son of Orleans cried, • By darkness favour'd, fled; yet not by flight Shall England's robber-sons escape the arm Of retribution. Even now our troops, By battle unfatigued, unsatisfied With conquest, clamour to pursue the foe.”

The delegated Damsel thus replied:
* So let them fly, Dunois! but other toils
Than those of battle these our hallow'd troops
Await. Look yonder to that carnaged plain!
Behoves us there to delve the general grave.
Then, Chieftain, for pursuit, when we have paid
The rites of burial to our fellow men,
And hymn'd our gratitude to that All-just
Who gave the conquest. Thou, meantime, dispatch
Tidings to Chinon: bid the King set forth,
That, crowning him before assembled France,
In Rheims, delivered from the enemy,
I may accomplish all.»

So said the Maid,
Then to the gate moved on. The assembled troops
Beheld their coming Chief, and smote their shields,
Clamouring their admiration; for they thought
That she would lead them to the instant war.
She waved her hand, and silence still'd the host.
Then thus the mission'd Maid : « Fellows in arms'
We must not speed to joyful victory,
Whilst our unburied comrades, on yon plain,
Allure the carrion-bird. Give we this day
To our dead friends !»

Nor did she speak in vain;

For as she spake, the thirst of battle dies
In every breast, such awe and love pervade

The listening troops. They o'er the corse-strewn plain

Speed to their sad employment: some dig deep
The house of death ; some bear the lifeless load;
One little troop search carefully around,
If haply they might find surviving yet
Some wounded wretches. As they labour thus,
They mark far off the iron-blaze of arms;
See distant standards waving on the air,
And hear the clarion's clang. Then spake the Maid
To Comrade, and she bade him speed to view
The coming army; or to meet their march
With friendly greeting, or if foes they came
With such array of battle as short space
Allowed; the warrior sped across the plain,
And soon beheld the banner'd lilies wave.

Their chief was Richemont; he, when as he heard
What rites employ'd the Virgin, straightway bade
His troops assist in burial; they, though grieved
At late arrival, and the expected day
Of conquest past, yet give their willing aid:
They dig the general trave, and thither bear
English or French alike commingled now,
And heap the mound of death.

Amid the plain
There was a little eminence, of old
Piled o'er some honoured chieftain's narrow house.
Ilis praise the song had ceased to celebrate,
And many an unknown age had the long grass
Waved o'er the nameless mound, though barren now
Beneath the frequent tread of multitudes.
There clevate, the martial Maiden stood,
Her brow unhelm’d, and floating on the wind
Her long dark locks. The silent troops around
Stood thickly throngd, as o'er the fertile field
Billows the ripen'd corn. The passing breeze
Bore not a murmur from the numerous host,
Such deep attention held them. She began:

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