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JOAN OF ARC.
Resting his head upon her lap, there lay
A dark-hair'd man, listening as she did sing
Sad ditties, and enwreathe to bind his brow
The melancholy rue. Scar'd at the sound
Of one in arms approaching, she had fled; 55
But Conrade, looking upward, recogniz'd
The Maid of Arc. "Fear not, poor Isabel,"
He said, "for this is one of gentle kind,
Whom even the wretched need not fear to love."
A dark-hair'd man, listening as she did sing
Sad ditties, and enwreathe to bind his brow
The melancholy rue. Scar'd at the sound
Of one in arms approaching, she had fled; 55
But Conrade, looking upward, recogniz'd
The Maid of Arc. "Fear not, poor Isabel,"
He said, "for this is one of gentle kind,
Whom even the wretched need not fear to love."
So saying, he arose and took her hand, 60
And held it to his bosom. "My fond heart,
Tho' school'd by wrongs to loath at human kind,
Beats high, a rebel to its own resolves.
Come hither outcast One! and call her friend,
And she shall be thy friend more readily 65
Because thou art unhappy."
Isabel
Saw a tear starting in the Virgin's eye,
And glancing upon Conrade, she too wept,
Wailing his wilder'd senses.
And held it to his bosom. "My fond heart,
Tho' school'd by wrongs to loath at human kind,
Beats high, a rebel to its own resolves.
Come hither outcast One! and call her friend,
And she shall be thy friend more readily 65
Because thou art unhappy."
Isabel
Saw a tear starting in the Virgin's eye,
And glancing upon Conrade, she too wept,
Wailing his wilder'd senses.
"Mission'd
