MARIE OF WURTEMBURG. 261
At her creative power Forth springs that warrior-maid
Who erst in danger's darkest hour Her country's foemen staid; Lo ! Joan of Arc, energic as of old, Stands forth at Marie's call, and fires the marble cold.
I hear rich music float,
Hark ! 'tis a marriage lay, Love swells with joy the enraptur'd note,
Kings and their realms are gay, Bright pageants gild the auspicious day,
While Germany, who wins the gem
Thus given from Gallia's diadem, A glad response doth pay ;
And Alexander, with a princely pride, Leads to his palace-home his all-accomplished bride.
The skies of Italy are bright, The olives green on Pisa's height,
But on that verdant shore Is one whom health with rosy light
Revisiteth no more. How sad, beneath such genial shade, To see the flower of France reposing but to fade.
An infant's plaint of woe ! Alas, poor babe ! how dire thy fate,
�� �
