406
JOAN OF ARC.
And fix'd it on the altar, whilst her hand
Pour'd on the Monarch's head the mystic oil,
Wafted of yore by milk-white Dove from Heaven,
(So legends say) to Clovis, when he stood
At Rheims for baptism; dubious since that day, 685
When Tolbiac plain reek'd with his warrior's blood,
And fierce upon their flight the Alemanni prest,
And rear'd the shout of triumph; in that hour
Clovis invok'd aloud the Christian God,
And conquer'd: wak'd to wonder thus, the Chief 690
Became Love's convert, and Clotilda led
Her husband to the font.
The Mission'd Maid
Then placed on Charles's brow the Crown of France,
And back retiring, gazed upon the King
One moment, quickly scanning all the past, 695
Till in a tumult of wild wonderment
She wept aloud. The assembled multitude
In awful stillness witness'd: then at once,
As with a tempest-rushing noise of winds,
Pour'd on the Monarch's head the mystic oil,
Wafted of yore by milk-white Dove from Heaven,
(So legends say) to Clovis, when he stood
At Rheims for baptism; dubious since that day, 685
When Tolbiac plain reek'd with his warrior's blood,
And fierce upon their flight the Alemanni prest,
And rear'd the shout of triumph; in that hour
Clovis invok'd aloud the Christian God,
And conquer'd: wak'd to wonder thus, the Chief 690
Became Love's convert, and Clotilda led
Her husband to the font.
The Mission'd Maid
Then placed on Charles's brow the Crown of France,
And back retiring, gazed upon the King
One moment, quickly scanning all the past, 695
Till in a tumult of wild wonderment
She wept aloud. The assembled multitude
In awful stillness witness'd: then at once,
As with a tempest-rushing noise of winds,
Lifted
