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| THAT was a joyous day in Rheims of old, | |
| When peal on peal of mighty music rolled | |
| Forth from her thronged cathedral; while around, | |
| A multitude, whose billows made no sound, | |
| Chained to a hush of wonder, though elate | 5 |
| With victory, listened at their temple’s gate. | |
| And what was done within? Within, the light | |
| Through the rich gloom of pictured windows flowing, | |
| Tinged with soft awfulness a stately sight. | |
| The chivalry of France, their proud heads bowing | 10 |
| In martial vassalage, while midst that ring, | |
| And shadowed by ancestral tombs, a king | |
| Received his birthright’s crown. For this the hymn | |
| Swelled out like rushing waters, and the day | |
| With the sweet censer’s misty breath grew dim, | 15 |
| As through long aisles it floated o’er the array | |
| Of arms and sweeping stoles. But who, alone | |
| And unapproached, beside the altar-stone, | |
| With the white banner, forth like sunshine streaming, | |
| And the gold helm, through clouds of fragrance gleaming. | 20 |
| Silent and radiant stood? The helm was raised, | |
| And the fair face revealed, that upward gazed, | |
| Intensely worshipping: a still, clear face, | |
| Youthful, but brightly solemn! Woman’s cheek | |
| And brow were there, in deep devotion meek, | 25 |
| Yet glorified with inspiration’s trace | |
| On its pure paleness; while, enthroned above, | |
| The pictured virgin, with her smile of love, | |
| Seemed bending o’er her votaress. That slight form! | |
| Was that the leader through the battle-storm? | 30 |
| Had the soft light in that adoring eye | |
| Guided the warrior where the swords flashed high? | |
| ’T was so, even so! and thou, the shepherd’s child, | |
| Joanne, the lowly dreamer of the wild! | |
| Never before, and never since that hour, | 35 |
| Hath woman, mantled with victorious power, | |
| Stood forth as thou beside the shrine didst stand, | |
| Holy amid the knighthood of the land; | |
| And, beautiful with joy and with renown, | |
| Lift thy white banner o’er the olden crown, | 40 |
Ransomed for France by thee!
The rites are done. | |
| Now let the dome with trumpet-notes be shaken, | |
| And bid the echoes of the tombs awaken, | |
| And come thou forth, that Heaven’s rejoicing sun | |
| May give thee welcome from thine own blue skies, | 45 |
| Daughter of victory! A triumphant strain, | |
| A proud, rich stream of warlike melodies, | |
| Gushed through the portals of the antique fane, | |
| And forth she came. Then rose a nation’s sound, | |
| O, what a power to bid the quick heart bound | 50 |
| The wind bears onward with the stormy cheer | |
| Man gives to glory on her high career! | |
| Is there indeed such power? far deeper dwells | |
| In one kind household voice, to reach the cells | |
| Whence happiness flows forth! The shouts that filled | 55 |
| The hollow heaven tempestuously were stilled | |
| One moment; and in that brief pause the tone | |
| As of a breeze that o’er her home had blown, | |
| Sank on the bright maid’s heart. “Joanne!” Who spoke | |
| Like those whose childhood with her childhood grew | 60 |
| Under one roof? “Joanne!”—that murmur broke | |
| With sounds of weeping forth! She turned, she knew | |
| Beside her, marked from all the thousands there, | |
| In the calm beauty of his silver hair, | |
| The stately shepherd; and the youth, whose joy | 65 |
| From his dark eye flashed proudly; and the boy | |
| The youngest-born, that ever loved her best; | |
| “Father! and ye, my brothers!” On the breast | |
| Of that gray sire she sank, and swiftly back, | |
| Even in an instant, to their native track | 70 |
| Her free thoughts flowed. She saw the pomp no more, | |
| The plumes, the banners: to her cabin-door, | |
| And to the fairy’s fountain in the glade, | |
| Where her young sisters by her side had played, | |
| And to her hamlet’s chapel, where it rose | 75 |
| Hallowing the forest unto deep repose, | |
| Her spirit turned. The very wood-note, sung | |
| In early spring-time by the bird, which dwelt | |
| Where o’er her father’s roof the beech-leaves hung, | |
| Was in her heart; a music heard and felt, | 80 |
| Winning her back to nature. She unbound | |
| The helm of many battles from her head, | |
| And, with her bright locks bowed to sweep the ground, | |
| Lifting her voice up, wept for joy, and said, | |
| “Bless me, my father, bless me! and with thee, | 85 |
| To the still cabin and the beechen tree, | |
Let me return!”
O, never did thine eye | |
| Through the green haunts of happy infancy | |
| Wander again, Joanne! too much of fame | |
| Had shed its radiance on thy peasant name; | 90 |
| And bought alone by gifts beyond all price, | |
| The trusting heart’s repose, the paradise | |
| Of home with all it loves, doth fate allow | |
| The crown of glory unto woman’s brow. | |
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