in a version of our own, as neither of the versions before us is quite to our mind.

"And is it true, then? Am I with my people?

And am no more rejected and despised?

They curse me not; kindly they look upon me!
Yes, now I clearly recognize it all.-

This is my king! the banners these of France;
But mine is not among them.-Where is that?
Without my banner I may not appear.
My Lord committed it to me, and I
Before his throne must render it. I may
Freely present it, for I bore it truly.

See

She receives her flag, and continues :

you the rainbow yonder in the air?
Its golden portals heaven does unfold;
There in th' angelic choir she radiant stands,
The Son Eternal to her bosom clasped ;

Her arms to me in love she stretches forth.-
How do I feel!-Light clouds are lifting me ;-
A winged robe the ponderous armour grows.
Aloft-aloft-back flies the reeling earth-
Brief is the pang, eternal is the joy!"

Whether Schiller was justified in departing as completely as he has done from the historical truth of this remarkable episode in the annals of the world, is a question into which we will not enter further than to express our conviction that, in the hands of such a poet as he, the heroine of Orleans would have lost none of the interest attaching to her career, if the crown of Christian martyrdom had been superadded to her well-earned laurels. Certain it is that no one has ever seized her character as completely as Schiller; nor does any part of his splendid poem contain a more graphic picture of the state of her mind, as it appears on the face of the historical documents now for the first time published, reluctant to enter upon her career of greatness, and yet full of holy enthusiasm and of pious resolution,-than the stanzas at the conclusion of the prologue, in which she takes leave of the scenes of her youth, to go forth on her high errand; and which will form the most appropriate conclusion to this tribute of our pen to the memory of Joan of Arc':

4 We are again obliged to have recourse to a version of our own. Mr. Thompson's rendering of these stanzas is altogether a failure. Instead of imitating the appropriate lyric stanzas of Schiller, he has lengthened them out, more suo, into epic Spenserian stanzas; and the translation, if translation it can be called, is throughout so full of affectation, and so unfaithful to the original, that we do not

66

Farewell ye mountains, and ye pastures lov'd;
Ye vallies lone and tranquil, fare ye well!
Through you Joanna will no longer roam,
Joanna now for aye bids you farewell.
Ye meads which I have water'd oft, ye trees
Which I have planted, be ye verdant still!
Farewell, ye caves, ye fountains cool, farewell!
And thou sweet echo, too, voice of the dale,
Which ever wast responsive to my strain,
Joanna parts, and ne'er returns again.

"Ye haunts of mine, where I my heart did yield
To silent joy, for aye from you I wend.
Ye lambs, all o'er the heath now stray a-field,
I may no longer guide you, nor defend.
For far away, upon the bloody field

Of danger, I another flock must tend.
The Spirit's call of me this service claims,
No vain, no earthly ardour me inflames.

think it worth while to reproduce it. Miss Swanwick has preserved the metre, but taken a liberty, in our opinion unwarrantable, with the arrangement of the rhymes; her version is, as usual, simpler, closer to the original, and altogether superior; yet it does not satisfy us. We subjoin it, together with the original:

Lebt wohl, ihr Berge, ihr geliebten Triften,
Ihr traulich stillen Thäler, lebet wohl!
Johanna wird nun nicht mehr auf euch
wandeln,

Johanna sagt euch ewig Lebewohl.

Ihr Wiesen, die ich wässerte! Ihr Bäume,
Die ich gepflanzet! Grünet fröhlich fort!
Lebt wohl, ihr Grotten und ihr kühlen
Brunnen!

Du Echo, holde Stimme dieses Thals,
Die oft mir Antwort gab auf meine Lieder,
Johanna geht, und nimmer kehrt sie wieder.

Ihr Plätze alle meiner stillen Freuden,

Euch lass ich hinter mir auf immerdar! Zerstreuet euch, ihr Lämmer, auf der Heiden!

Ihr seid jetzt eine hirtenlose Schaar, Denn eine andre Herde muss ich weiden,

Dort auf dem blut'gen Felde der Gefahr. So ist des Geistes Ruf an mich ergangen; Mich treibt nicht eitles, irdisches Verlangen.

Farewell ye mountains, ye beloved glades,

Ye silent peaceful valleys, fare ye well!
Through you Johanna never more may
stray,

Johanna bids you all a long farewell.
Ye meads in which I wander'd! and ye
trees,

Which I have planted, bloom in beauty
still!

Farewell ye grottos and ye crystal springs!

And thou, sweet vocal spirit of the vale, Who sang'st responsive to my simple strain,

Johanna goes and ne'er returns again!

Ye scenes of all my peaceful heartfelt joys,

For ever now I leave you far behind! My gentle lambs, poor flock without a fold,

O'er the wide heath now wander unconfined;

For I am call'd another flock to tend,

Where armies on the field of battle

blend.

This hath the holy Spirit's voice made known;

No earthly motive drives me forth alone.

"For He, who did descend on Horeb's height
To Moses once, in flaming fire enshrin'd,
And bade him stand before proud Egypt's might;
Who Jesse's son of old, the pious hind,
His champion chose and headman of the fight,
Who aye to shepherds has been wondrous kind;
He from these spreading branches spake to me,
'Go forth! thou shalt on earth my witness be.

"Round thy soft limbs rude armour thou must bear ',
Thy gentle bosom all in steel encase;

No man must e'er thy heart with visions fair
Of love beguile and earthly happiness;
No bridal wreath thou in thy locks shalt wear,
Nor to thy breast a smiling infant press.
In martial gear triumphant shalt thou ride,
Above all earth-born maidens glorified.

"Rude armour now must clothe thy tender frame,

Thy bosom heave beneath a plate of steel.

No mortal there may kindle earthly flame,

Thy heart the glow of passion ne'er may feel,

Dir blüht kein lieblich Kind an deiner For thee no hand the bridal wreath shall

5 M. Soumet has imitated this stanza in the following lines :

"Il faut d'un dur acier que mon front s'environne:
L'hymen, pour mes cheveux, n'aura point de couronne.

"For when weak fear the stoutest shalt dismay,
And fast approach the doom of France renown'd,
Then high shalt thou my oriflamme display,

And, as the reap'ress swift mows to the ground
The corn, shalt low the haughty victor lay;

His fortune's prosperous wheel shalt thou turn round,
To the heroic sons of France shalt bring
Salvation, rescue Rheims and crown thy king.'

"He who thus spake, bade me expect a sign;

And here it is: the helmet comes from Him;
Its iron touch fills me with strength divine,
With ardour bold of flaming cherubim ;
I'm carried onward in the fray to join,

As if by tempest or impetuous stream;
The war-whoop wild all other thoughts confounds,
High rears the charger, and the trumpet sounds."

'Denn wenn im Kampf die Muthigsten

"For when the most courageous hearts despair,

When humbled France is just about to yield,

Then thou my conquering oriflamme shalt bare,

And, like a reaper in the harvest field, Mow down the haughty victors to the ground;

Thou soon shalt turn the wheel of fortune round,

To Gaul's heroic sons deliverance bring, Relieve beleaguer'd Rheims, and crown the king."

The holy Spirit promised me a sign;

He sends the helmet,-it hath come from Him;

Its touch endues me as with strength
divine;

I feel the courage of the cherubim !
It drives me forth the din of war to find,
Its power impels me like the rushing
wind;

I hear the charger's neigh, the trumpet's
sound,

And the loud war-cry echo shrilly round.

Je ne serai point mère; offert à mon baiser,
Nul enfant sur mon sein ne viendra reposer.
Mon cœur doit ignorer l'amour; mais, en partage,
Du laurier des combats je ceindrai l'héritage!
Dieu me parle. sa voix retentit aujourd'hui."

6 The helmet brought to Dom Remi by Bertrand. See above, p. 271.

ART. II.-1. English Churchwomen of the Seventeenth Century. Second Edition. Derby: H. Mozley and Sons. London: James Burns.

2. The Women of England, &c. By MRS. ELLIS. Twentieth Edition. London: Fisher and Co.

3. The Daughters of England. By MRS. ELLIS.

4. The Wives of England. By MRS. ELLIS. Edition, in white morocco.

5. The Mothers of England. By MRS. ELLIS.

A Marriage-day

6. Strictures on the Modern System of Education. By HANNAH MORE. London: Cadell.

7. Woman in her Social and Domestic Character. By MRS. JOHN SANDFORD. Sixth Edition. London: Longman and Co.

ENGLISH gentlewomen of the present day are little likely to err for want of advice. Counsel, such as it is, abounds; it can be had by the pound, by the hundredweight, or the ton; by duodecimo, octavo, or quarto, as it may be required. "Hints, "Strictures," "Letters," "Remarks," "Essays," on female education or female character have been perpetually bubbling forth from the press for the last few voluminous generations. Hannah More, Mrs. Sandford, Miss Edgeworth, Miss Hamilton, Mrs. Ellis, these are but a few of the governesses of the sex. Mrs. Ellis alone has given birth to a complete library for women. Advice is ever trickling-nay, streaming from her pen. "Women of England," "Mothers of England," "Daughters of England," have each their respective volumes of advice; while "coming" volumes "cast their shadows before," and to complete the set, we are threatened with some special lecturings of governesses and old maids. By that time she will have gone round all the points of the compass, N., N.E., N.N.E., and so on. She will have circumnavigated the female world; every variety of female condition will have had its separate book; the Ellis-ium will be complete; and even the ingenuity of the most inveterate bookmaker will fail to find another peg to hang any further advice upon. By that time, too, we doubt not, her powers, like her subjects, will be exhausted, and her strength spent ; for we con