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JOAN OF ARC.
Yes, Theodore, I shall redeem my country, Abandoning for this the joys of life, Yea, life itself!" then on his neck she fell, 415And with a faultering voice, "return to Arc; I do not tell thee there are other maids As fair: for thou wilt love my memory, Hallowing to it the temple of thy heart. Worthy a happier, not a better love, 420My Theodore!"—Then, pressing his pale lips, A last and holy kiss the Virgin fix'd, And rush'd across the plain. She reach'd the court Breathless. The mingled movements of her mind Shook ev'ry fibre. Sad and sick at heart, 425 Fain to her lonely chamber's solitude The Maiden had retir'd; but her the King Met on the threshold. He of the late scene Forgetful and his crime, as chearful seem'd As tho' there had not been a God in Heav'n! 430"Enter the hall," he cried, "the masquers there

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