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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=509948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Charles VII And Joan Of Arc At Rheims</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A glorious pageant filled the church of the proud old city of Rheims,<br>One such as poet artists choose to form their loftiest themes:<br>There France beheld her proudest sons grouped in a glittering ring,<br>To place the crown upon the brow of their now triumphant king. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The full, rich tones of music swelled out on the perfumed air,<br>And chosen warriors, gaily decked, emblazoned banners bear:<br>Jewels blazed forth, and silver bright shone armor, shield and lance,<br>Of princes, peers, and nobles proud, the chivalry of France. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The object of these honors high, on lowly bended knee,<br>Before the altar homage paid to the God of Victory;<br>Whilst Renaud Chartres prayed that Heaven might blessings shower down<br>On that young head on which he now was chosen to place a crown. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fair was the scene, but fairer far than pomp of church or state,<br>Than starry gems or banners proud, or trappings of the great,<br>Was the maiden frail whose prophet glance from heaven seemed to shine,<br>Who, in her mystic beauty, looked half mortal, half divine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her slight form cased in armor stern, the Maid of Orleans stood,<br>Her place a prouder one than that of prince of royal blood:<br>With homage deep to Heaven above, and prayers to Notre Dame,<br>She waived above the monarch’s head proud Victory’s Oriflamme. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then, as the clouds of incense rose, encircling in its fold<br>That shining form, the kneeling king, the canopy of gold,<br>It seemed unto the gazers there a scene of magic birth,<br>Such as is rarely granted to the children of this earth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sudden a mystic sadness steals o’er Joan’s features bright,<br>Robbing her brow, her earnest eyes, of their unearthly light:<br>A voice from Him, by whose right arm her victories had been won,<br>Had whispered, ’bove the clank of steel, “Thy mission now is done.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perchance the future, then, was shown to her pure spirit’s gaze,<br>The future with its sufferings, the shame, the scaffold’s blaze;<br>The deaf’ning shouts, the surging crowd, the incense, mounting high,<br>Foreshadowed to her shrinking soul the death she was to die. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The youthful monarch now was crowned, and lowly at his feet<br>Did France’s saviour bend her form, rendering homage meet.<br>No guerdon for past deeds of worth sought that young noble heart,<br>She, who might all rewards have claimed, asked only to depart. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! France! of all the stoned names that deck thy history’s page,<br>Thy sainted kings, thy warriors proud, thy statesmen stern and sage,<br>None, none received the glorious light, the strange Promethean spark<br>That Heaven vouchsafed thy spotless maid, immortal Joan of Arc!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Rosanna+Eleanor+Leprohon">Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=509948" data-title="Charles VII And Joan Of Arc At Rheims de Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon" data-description="A glorious pageant filled the church of the proud old city of Rheims,
One such as poet artists choose to form their loftiest themes:
There France beheld her proudest sons grouped in a glittering ring,
To place the crown upon the brow of their now ..."></div>
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