144
JOAN OF ARC.
Concentring all the anguish of the soul,
And strain'd in anxious love, on her wan cheek
Fearfully silent gazed. But by the thought 380
Of her high mission rous'd, the Maiden's soul
Collected, and she spake.
"My Theodore,
Thou hast done wrong to quit thy mother's home!
Alone and aged she will weep for thee,
Wasting the little that is left of life 385
In anguish. Go thee back again to Arc,
And cheering so her wintry hour of age,
Cherish my memory there."
Swift he exclaim'd,
"Nay Maid! the pang of parting is o'erpast,
And Elinor looks on to the glad hour 390
When we shall both return. Amid the war
How many an arm will seek thy single life,
How many a sword pierce thro' thy brittle mail,
Wound thy fair face, or, driven with impious rage,
Gore thy white bosom! JOAN, I will go with thee, 395
And strain'd in anxious love, on her wan cheek
Fearfully silent gazed. But by the thought 380
Of her high mission rous'd, the Maiden's soul
Collected, and she spake.
"My Theodore,
Thou hast done wrong to quit thy mother's home!
Alone and aged she will weep for thee,
Wasting the little that is left of life 385
In anguish. Go thee back again to Arc,
And cheering so her wintry hour of age,
Cherish my memory there."
Swift he exclaim'd,
"Nay Maid! the pang of parting is o'erpast,
And Elinor looks on to the glad hour 390
When we shall both return. Amid the war
How many an arm will seek thy single life,
How many a sword pierce thro' thy brittle mail,
Wound thy fair face, or, driven with impious rage,
Gore thy white bosom! JOAN, I will go with thee, 395
"And
