'Tis that precisely which displeases me! She shuns her sisters' gay companionship; Seeks out the desert mountains, leaves her couch Before the crowing of the morning cock, And in the dreadful hour, when men are wont Confidingly to seek their fellow-men, She, like the solitary bird, creeps forth, And in the fearful spirit-realm of night, To yon crossway repairs, and there alone Holds secret commune with the mountain wind. Wherefore this place precisely doth she choose? Why hither always doth she drive her flock? For hours together I have seen her sit In dreamy musing 'neath the Druid tree, Which every happy creature shuns with awe. For 'tis not holy there; an evil spirit Hath since the fearful pagan days of old Beneath its branches fixed his dread abode. The oldest of our villagers relate Strange tales of horror of the Druid tree; Mysterious voices of unearthly sound From its unhallowed shade oft meet the ear. Myself, when in the gloomy twilight hour My path once chanced to lead me near this tree, Beheld a spectral figure sitting there, Which slowly from its long and ample robe Stretched forth its withered hand, and beckoned me. But on I went with speed, nor looked behind, And to the care of God consigned my soul. RAIMOND (pointing to the image of the Virgin). Yon holy image of the Virgin blest, Whose presence heavenly peace diffuseth round, Not Satan's work, leadeth thy daughter here.

Thibaut D'Arc Monologue from The Maid of Orleans: A Tragedy

Rehearse Thibaut D'Arc's monologue