Stormy and fierce, the Maid of Arc withdrew
From human converse to frequent alone
The Fountain of the Fairies. What to her, 170
Smooth summer dreams, old favours of the place.
Pageant and revels of blithe elves—to her
Whose country groan’d under a foreign scourge?
She pondered murmurs that attuned her ear
For the reception of far other sounds 175
Than their too happy minstrelsy,—a Voice
Reached her with supernatural mandate charged