That was a joyous day in Rheims of old,
When peal on peal of mighty music roll'd
Forth from her throng'd cathedral; while around,
A multitude, whose billows made no sound,
Chain'd to a hush of wonder, though elate
With victory, listen'd at their temple's gate.
But who alone
And unapproach'd beside the altar stone,
With the white banner, forth like sunshine streaming,
And the gold helm, through clouds of fragrance gleaming,--
Silent and radiant stood?--The helm was raised,
And the fair face reveal'd that upward gazed
Intensely worshipping:--a still, clear face,
Youthful, but brightly solemn!--Woman's cheek
And brow were there, in deep devotion meek,
Yet glorified with inspiration's trace
On its pure paleness; while, enthroned above,
The pictured Virgin, with her smile of love,
Seem'd bending o'er her votaress.--That slight form!
Was that the leader through the battle storm?
Had the soft light in that adoring eye
Guided the warrior where the swords flash'd high?
'Twas so, even so!--and thou, the shepherd's child
Joanne, the lowly dreamer of the wild!
Never before, and never since that hour,
Hath woman, mantled with victorious power,
Stood forth as thou beside the shrine didst stand,
Holy amidst the knighthood of the land;
And beautiful with joy and with renown
Lift thy white banner o'er the olden crown,
Ransom'd for France by thee!