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A poor weak woman. Of the grace vouchsaf'd,
How far unworthy conscious: yet tho' mean,
Guiltless of ill, and chosen by highest heaven
The minister of aid. Strange voices heard,
The dark and shadowing visions of the night, 330
And that miraculous power that thro' the frame,
Then gored with wounds and senseless, of Dunois,
Pour'd rapid the full tide of life and health,
These portents make me conscious of the God
Within me—he who gifted my purg'd eye 335
To know the Monarch 'mid the menial throng,
Unseen before. Thus much it boots to say.
The life of simple virgin ill deserves
To call your minds from studies wise and deep,
Not to be fathom'd by the weaker sense 340
Of man profane."
Blushing the Maiden spake.
Thus then the Father:
"Brethren ye have heard
The woman's tale. Beseems us now to ask

"Whether