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3. The Venus of the Tomb whose form

Was destiny and death;

The Siren's voice that stirred a storm
In each melodious breath;

4. Such was, what now by fate is hurled To rot, unwept, away.

A star has vanished from the world;
And none to miss the ray!

5. Stern Knox, that loneliness forlorn
A harsher truth might teach
To royal pomps, than priestly scorn
To royal sins can preach!

6. No victims now that lip can make!
That hand, how powerless now!
O God! and what a king-but take
A bauble from the brow?

7. The world is full of life and love;

The world, methinks, might spare From millions, one to watch above The dust of monarchs there.

8. And not one human eye!-yet lo
What stirs the funeral pall?
What sound-it is not human woe-
Wails moaning through the hall?

10. Close by the form mankind desert,
One thing a vigil keeps;

More near and near to that still heart
It wistful, wondering creeps.

11. İt

gazes on those glazed eyes,

It hearkens for a breath

It does not know that kindness dies,

And love departs from death.

12. It fawns as fondly as before
Upon that icy hand;

And hears from lips that speak no more
The voice that can command.

13. To that poor fool, alone on earth,
No matter what had been

The pomp, the fall, the guilt, the worth,
The Dead was still a Queen.

14. With eyes that horror could not scare,
It watch'd the senseless clay;

Crouch'd on the breast of Death, and there
Moaned its fond life away.

15. And when the bolts discordant clashed,
And human steps drew nigh,
The human pity shrunk abashed
Before that faithful eye;

16. It seemed to gaze with such rebuke
On those who could forsake;

Then turned to watch once more the look,
And strive the sleep to wake.

17. They raised the pall-they touched the dead,

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18. Semiramis of England, hail!

Thy crime secures thy sway;

But when thine eyes shall scan the tale.
Those hireling scribes convey.

19. When thou shalt read, with late remorse
slave was found

How one poor

Beside thy butchered rival's corse,
The headless and discrowned;

20. Shall not thy soul foretell thine own
Unloved, expiring hour,

When those who kneel around the throne
Shall fly the falling tower!

21. When thy great heart shall silent break,
When thy sad eyes shall strain

Through vacant space, one thing to seek―
One thing that loved-in vain?

22. Though round thy parting pangs of pride
Shall priest and noble crowd;

More worth the grief, that mourned beside
Thy victim's gory shroud!

XXVII.-JOAN OF ARC.

LINGARD.

1. This interesting female was born about the year 1412. Her education did not differ from that of the other poor girls in the neighborhood; but she was distinguished above them all by her diligence, modesty, and piety.

2. Near Domremy was a solitary chapel, called the Hermitage of the Virgin. Joan was accustomed to visit this hermitage every Saturday, and to hang up a garland of flowers, or burn a taper of wax in honor of the mother of Christ. These, her early habits, are worthy of notice, as they probably served to impress on her mind that romantic character which it afterward exhibited. The child was fond of solitude; whatever interested her became the subject of long and serious thought; and in these day-dreams the young enthusiast learned to invest with visible forms the creations of her own fancy.

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3. Besides religion, there was another sentiment which sprang up in the breast of Joan. Young as she was, she had heard enough of the calamities which oppressed her country, to bewail the hard fate of her sovereign, driven from the throne of his fathers. It chanced that in May, 1428, a marauding party of Burgundians compelled the inhabitants of Domremy to seek an asylum in Neufchâteau. The village was plundered, and the church reduced to a heap of ruins

4. On their departure the fugitives returned, and the sight wound up the enthusiasm of Joan to the highest pitch. She escaped from her parents, prevailed on an uncle to accompany her, and announced her mission to Baudricourt, one of the French generals, who, though he treated her with ridicule, deemed it his duty to communicate her history to the dauphin, and received an order to forward her to the French court. To travel a distance of one hundred and fifty leagues, through a long tract of country, of which one portion was possessed by hostile garrisons, and the other perpetually infested by parties of plunderers, was a perilous and almost hopeless attempt.

5. But Joan was confident of success; on horseback, and in male attire, with an escort of seven persons, she passed without meeting an enemy; and on the tenth day at Fierbois (feer-bwah'), a few miles from Chinon (she-nong'), announced to Charles her arrival and object. An hour was fixed for her admission to the royal presence; and the poor maiden of Domremy was ushered into a spacious hall, lighted up with fifty torches, and filled with some hundreds of knights, among whom Charles himself had mixed unnoted, and in plain attire.

6. Joan entered without embarrassment; the glare of the lights, the gaze of the spectators did not disconcert her. Singling out the dauphin at the first glance, she walked up to him with a tiru step, bent her

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