Joan of Arc (Southey)/Book 7
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JOAN of ARC.
BOOK THE SEVENTH.
ARGUMENT.
Description of the English forts. The French troops attack and capture the forts of St. Loup and St. John. Attack of Fort London. Salisbury encounters the Maid. Event of that encounter. The Tournelles surrounded by the French, who dispatch a troop to Orleans for provisions, and encamp before it for the night.
JOAN of ARC
BOOK THE SEVENTH.
STRONG were the English forts, by daily toil
Of thousands rear'd on high, what time, elate
With fancied conquest, Salisbury bade rise
The amazing pile, from succour to include
Besieged Orleans. Round the city walls 5
Stretch'd the wide circle, massy as the fence
Erst by the fearful Roman on the bounds
Of Caledonia rais'd, for, soul-enslaved
Her hireling plunderers fear'd the car-borne chiefs
Who rush'd from Morven down.
Strong battlements 10
Crested the mighty bulwark; on whose top
Secure the charioteer might wheel along.
From base declining; at just distance rose
The frequent buttress, and thrice twenty forts
Lifted aloft their turret-crowned heads, 15
All firm and massy. But of these most firm
As tho' of some large castle each the Keep
Stood six square fortresses with turrets flank'd,
Piles of unequall'd strength—tho' now deem'd weak
'Gainst puissance more than mortal, and the flames 20
Shot from celestial banner. Safely hence
The skilful archer entering with his eye
The city, might himself the while unseen,
Thro' the long opening, shower his winged deaths.
Loire's waves diverted fill'd the deep-dug moat 25
Circling the pile, a bulwark vast, as what
Round their disheartened camp and stranded ships
The Greeks uprear'd, a common sepulchre
Of thousands slaughter'd, and the doom'd death-place
Of many a Chief, when Priam's patriot son 30
Rush'd in his wrath and scattered their pale tribes.
Of thousands rear'd on high, what time, elate
With fancied conquest, Salisbury bade rise
The amazing pile, from succour to include
Besieged Orleans. Round the city walls 5
Stretch'd the wide circle, massy as the fence
Erst by the fearful Roman on the bounds
Of Caledonia rais'd, for, soul-enslaved
Her hireling plunderers fear'd the car-borne chiefs
Who rush'd from Morven down.
Strong battlements 10
Crested the mighty bulwark; on whose top
Secure the charioteer might wheel along.
From base declining; at just distance rose
The frequent buttress, and thrice twenty forts
Lifted aloft their turret-crowned heads, 15
All firm and massy. But of these most firm
As tho' of some large castle each the Keep
Stood six square fortresses with turrets flank'd,
Piles of unequall'd strength—tho' now deem'd weak
'Gainst puissance more than mortal, and the flames 20
Shot from celestial banner. Safely hence
The skilful archer entering with his eye
The city, might himself the while unseen,
Thro' the long opening, shower his winged deaths.
Loire's waves diverted fill'd the deep-dug moat 25
Circling the pile, a bulwark vast, as what
Round their disheartened camp and stranded ships
The Greeks uprear'd, a common sepulchre
Of thousands slaughter'd, and the doom'd death-place
Of many a Chief, when Priam's patriot son 30
Rush'd in his wrath and scattered their pale tribes.
But cowering now amid their sheltering forts
Tremble the English host. Their leaders care
In anxious vigilance prepares to ward
Assault expected. Nor the Maid's intent 35
Did he not rightly areed: tho' vain the attempt
To kindle in their breasts the wonted flame
Of valour; for by prodigies unmann'd
They wait the morning, or in silent dread,
Or pouring out their fears in many a prayer. 40
Tremble the English host. Their leaders care
In anxious vigilance prepares to ward
Assault expected. Nor the Maid's intent 35
Did he not rightly areed: tho' vain the attempt
To kindle in their breasts the wonted flame
Of valour; for by prodigies unmann'd
They wait the morning, or in silent dread,
Or pouring out their fears in many a prayer. 40
The morning came. The martial Maid arose.
Lovely in arms she moved. Around the gate
Eager again for conquest throng the troops.
High towered the Son of Orleans, in his strength
Poising the ponderous spear. His batter'd shield, 45
Witnessing the fierce fray of yesternight,
Hung on his sinewy arm.
"Maiden of Arc,
Hail!" so to her approaching, cried the Chief.
"Well hast thou prov'd thy mission, as, by words
And miracles attested when dismayed 50
The stern Theologists forgot their doubts,
So in the field of slaughter now confirm'd.
Yon well-fenced forts protect the fugitives,
And seem as in their strength they mock'd our force.
Yet must they fall."
"And fall they shall!" replied 55
The Maid of Orleans. "Ere the sun be set
The lily on that shattered wall shall wave
Triumphant.—Men of France! ye have fought well
On that blood-reeking plain. Your humbled foes
Lurk trembling now amid their massy walls. 60
Wolves that have ravaged the neglected flock!
The Shepherd—the Great Shepherd is arisen!
Ye fly! yet shall not ye by flight escape
His vengeance. Men of Orleans! it were vain
By words to waken wrath within your breasts. 65
Look round. Your holy buildings and your homes—
Ruins that choke the way! your populous town—
One open sepulchre! who is there here
That does not mourn a friend, a brother slain,
A parent famish'd—or his dear loved wife 70
Torn from his bosom—outcast—broken-hearted—
Cast on the mercy of mankind?"
She ceased.
The cry of indignation from the host
Burst forth, and all impatient for the war
Demand the signal. These Dunois arrays 75
In four battalions. Xaintrailles, tried in war,
Commands the first; Xaintrailles, who oft subdued
By adverse fortune to the captive chain,
Still more tremendous to the enemy,
Lifted his death-fraught lance, as erst from earth 80
Antæus vaunting in his giant bulk,
When graspt by force Herculean, down he fell
Vanquisht; anon uprose more fierce for war.
Lovely in arms she moved. Around the gate
Eager again for conquest throng the troops.
High towered the Son of Orleans, in his strength
Poising the ponderous spear. His batter'd shield, 45
Witnessing the fierce fray of yesternight,
Hung on his sinewy arm.
"Maiden of Arc,
Hail!" so to her approaching, cried the Chief.
"Well hast thou prov'd thy mission, as, by words
And miracles attested when dismayed 50
The stern Theologists forgot their doubts,
So in the field of slaughter now confirm'd.
Yon well-fenced forts protect the fugitives,
And seem as in their strength they mock'd our force.
Yet must they fall."
"And fall they shall!" replied 55
The Maid of Orleans. "Ere the sun be set
The lily on that shattered wall shall wave
Triumphant.—Men of France! ye have fought well
On that blood-reeking plain. Your humbled foes
Lurk trembling now amid their massy walls. 60
Wolves that have ravaged the neglected flock!
The Shepherd—the Great Shepherd is arisen!
Ye fly! yet shall not ye by flight escape
His vengeance. Men of Orleans! it were vain
By words to waken wrath within your breasts. 65
Look round. Your holy buildings and your homes—
Ruins that choke the way! your populous town—
One open sepulchre! who is there here
That does not mourn a friend, a brother slain,
A parent famish'd—or his dear loved wife 70
Torn from his bosom—outcast—broken-hearted—
Cast on the mercy of mankind?"
She ceased.
The cry of indignation from the host
Burst forth, and all impatient for the war
Demand the signal. These Dunois arrays 75
In four battalions. Xaintrailles, tried in war,
Commands the first; Xaintrailles, who oft subdued
By adverse fortune to the captive chain,
Still more tremendous to the enemy,
Lifted his death-fraught lance, as erst from earth 80
Antæus vaunting in his giant bulk,
When graspt by force Herculean, down he fell
Vanquisht; anon uprose more fierce for war.
Gaucour o'er one presides. The steady friend
Of him imprisoned Orleans. Of his town 85
Beloved guardian, he the dreadful siege
Firmly abiding, prudent still to plan
Irruption, and with youthful vigor swift
To lead the battle, from his soldiers love
Prompter obedience gained, than ever fear 90
Forced from the heart reluctant.
The third band
Alencon leads. He on the fatal field
Verneuil when Buchan and the Douglas died,
Fell senseless. Guiltless he of that day's loss,
Wore undisgraced awhile the captive chain. 95
The Monarch him grateful to his high rank
Had ransom'd, once again to meet the foe
With better fortune.
O'er the last presides
Dunois the Bastard, mighty in the war.
His prowess knew the foes, and his fair fame 100
Confess'd, since when before his stripling arm
Fled Warwick—Warwick that King-making Chief,
In after days the arbiter of England,
Who, bearing on his sword her diadem,
Gave or bereft at will. Yet by Dunois 105
Baffled, and yielding him the conqueror’s praise.
And by his side the Martial Maiden pass’d,
Lovely in arms as that Arcadian boy
Parthenopæus, when the war of beasts
Disdaining, he to murder man rush’d forth, 110
Bearing the bow, and those Dictæan shafts
Diana gave, when she the youth’s fair form
Saw softened, and forgave the mother’s fault.
Of him imprisoned Orleans. Of his town 85
Beloved guardian, he the dreadful siege
Firmly abiding, prudent still to plan
Irruption, and with youthful vigor swift
To lead the battle, from his soldiers love
Prompter obedience gained, than ever fear 90
Forced from the heart reluctant.
The third band
Alencon leads. He on the fatal field
Verneuil when Buchan and the Douglas died,
Fell senseless. Guiltless he of that day's loss,
Wore undisgraced awhile the captive chain. 95
The Monarch him grateful to his high rank
Had ransom'd, once again to meet the foe
With better fortune.
O'er the last presides
Dunois the Bastard, mighty in the war.
His prowess knew the foes, and his fair fame 100
Confess'd, since when before his stripling arm
Fled Warwick—Warwick that King-making Chief,
In after days the arbiter of England,
Who, bearing on his sword her diadem,
Gave or bereft at will. Yet by Dunois 105
Baffled, and yielding him the conqueror’s praise.
And by his side the Martial Maiden pass’d,
Lovely in arms as that Arcadian boy
Parthenopæus, when the war of beasts
Disdaining, he to murder man rush’d forth, 110
Bearing the bow, and those Dictæan shafts
Diana gave, when she the youth’s fair form
Saw softened, and forgave the mother’s fault.
Saint Loup’s strong fort stood first. Oe’r this commands,
Nobled by valour, Gladdisdale; and here 115
The heir of Poyning’s name, and Molyns lead
The fearful garrison.
As lowering clouds
Swept by the hoarse wind o’er the blacken’d plain,
Mov’d on the host of France: they from the fort,
Thro' secret opening, shower their pointed shafts, 120
Or from the battlements the death-tipt spear
Hurl fierce. Nor from the strong arm only launch'd
The javelin fled, but driven by the strained force
Of the balista,[1] in one carcass spent
Stay'd not; thro' arms and men it makes its way, 125
And leaving death behind, still holds its course
By many a death unclogg'd. With rapid march
Right onward they advanced, and soon the shafts,
Impell'd by that strong stroke beyond the host
Wasting their force, fell harmless. Now they reach'd 130
Where by the bayle's[2] embattled wall in arms
The Knights of England stood. There Poynings shook
His lance, and Gladdisdale his heavy mace
For the death-blow prepar'd. Alencon here,
And here the Bastard strode, and by the Maid 135
That daring man who to the English host
Then insolent of many a conquest gain'd,
Bore her bold bidding. A rude coat of mail
Unhosed, unhooded, as of lowly line
Arm'd him, tho' here amid the high-born chiefs 140
Præeminent for prowess. On his head[3]
A black plume shadowed the rude-featur'd helm.
Then was the war of men, when front to front[4]
They rear'd the hostile hand, for low the wall
Where the bold Frenchman's upward-driven spear, 145
Might pierce the foe. Then rang along the lists
The clash of battle. As Alencon moved
On his crown-crested helm[5] with ponderous blow
Fell Gladdisdale's huge mace. Back he recoil'd
Astounded. Soon recovering, his keen lance 150
Thrust on the warrior's shield. There fast-infix'd,
Nor could Alencon the deep-driven spear
Recover, nor the foeman from his grasp
Wrench the contended weapon. Fierce again
He lifts the mace, that on the ashen hilt 155
Fell full. It shiver'd, and the Frenchman held
A pointless truncheon. Where the Bastard fought
The spear of Poynings, thro' his plated mail
Pierced, and against the iron fence beneath[6]
Blunted its point. Again he speeds the spear; 160
At once Dunois on his broad buckler bears
The unharming stroke, and aims with better fate
His javelin. Thro' his sword-arm did it pierce
Maugre the mail. Hot from the streaming wound
Again the weapon fell, and in his breast 165
Even thro' the hauberk drove.
But there the war
Raged fiercest where the Martial Maiden moved
The minister of wrath. For thither throng'd
The bravest champions of the adverse host.
And on her either side two warriors stood 170
Of unmatch'd prowess, still with eager eye
Shielding her form, and aiming at her foes
Their deadly weapons, of themselves the while
Little regarding. One was that bold man
Who bade defiance to the English Chiefs. 175
Firmly he stood, untir'd and undismay'd,
Tho' on his burgonet the frequent spear
Drove fierce, and on his arm the buckler hung
Heavy, thick-bristled with the hostile shafts,
Even like the porcupine when in his rage 180
Rous'd, he collects within him all his force,
Himself a quiver. And of loftier port
On the other hand towered Conrade. Firmly fenced,
A jazerent of double mail he wore,
Beneath whose weight one but of common strength 185
Had sunk. Untir'd the conflict he endur'd,
Wielding a battle-axe ponderous and keen,
That gave no second stroke. For where it fell,
Not the strong buckler nor the plated mail
Might save, nor crested casque. On Molyn's head, 190
As at the Maid he aimed his javelin,
Forceful it fell, and shiver'd with the blow
The iron helm, and to his brain-pan drove
The fragments. At their comrades death amaz'd,
And for a moment fearful shrunk the foes. 195
That instant Conrade, with an active bound,
Sprung on the battlements. There firm he stood,
Guarding ascent. The warrior Maid of Arc,
And he the partner of that battle's fame,
Followed, and soon the exulting cry of France 200
Along the lists was heard, as waved aloft
The holy banner. Gladdisdale beheld,
And hasting from his well-defended post,
Sped to the fiercer conflict. To the Maid
He strode, on her resolved to wreak his rage, 205
With her to end the war. Nor did not JOAN
Read his stern purpose. Lifting up her shield
Prepar'd she stood, and pois'd her sparkling spear.
The English Chief came on; on high he rais'd
His mace, and all his might into one blow 210
Collected. As the Maiden rear'd her shield,
Before her rush'd the man of lowly line,
And on his buckler caught the mighty stroke,
And at that instant thro' the warrior's neck
Thrust the keen lance. Prone fell the English Knight. 215
Fast from the deadly wound the blood gush'd forth.
Then thro' the host contagious terror ran,
Their Chieftain slain. And lo! where on the wall
Bulwark'd of late by Gladdisdale so well
The son of Orleans stood, and swayed around 220
His falchion, keeping thus at bay the foe,
Till on the battlements his comrades sprang,
And rais'd the shout of conquest. Then appall'd
The English fled; nor fled they unpursued,
For mingling with the foremost fugitives, 225
The gallant Conrade rush'd; and with the throng,
The Knights of France together o'er the bridge
Fast speeded. Nor the garrison within
Durst let the ponderous portcullis fall,
For in the entrance of the fort the fight 230
Raged fiercely, and together thro' the gate
The vanquish'd English and their eager foes
Pass'd in the flying conflict.
Well I deem
And wisely did that daring Spaniard act
At Vera-Cruz, when he his yet sound ships 235
Dismantling, left no spot where treacherous Fear
Might still with wild and wistful eye look back.
For knowing no retreat, his desperate troops
In conquest sought their safety. Victors hence
At Tlascala, and o'er the Cholulans, 240
And by Otompan, on that bloody field
When Mexico her patriot thousands pour'd,
Fierce in vain valor on their ruffian foes.
There was a portal to the English fort
That opened on the wall; a speedier path 245
In peace affording, whence the charmed eye
Might linger down the river's pleasant course.
Fierce in the gate-way raged the deadly war;
For there the Maiden strove, and Conrade there,
And he of lowly line, bravelier than whom 250
Fought not in that day's battle. Of success
Desperate, for from above, the garrison
Could wield no arms so certain to bestow
Equal destruction; of the portal's aid
The foe bethought them: then with lesser force 255
Their weapons fell: abandoned was the gate;
And soon from Orleans the glad citizens
Beheld the hallowed banner on the tower
Triumphant. Swift along the lofty wall
The English haste to St. John's neighbouring fort, 260
Flying with fearful speed. Nor from pursuit
The v16lors ceased, but with the fugitives
Mingled and waged the war: the combatants,
Lock'd in the hostile grasp, together fall
Precipitate.
But foremost of the French, 265
Dealing destruction, Conrade rush'd along:
Heedless of danger, he to the near fort
Pass'd in the fight; nor did not then the Chief
What most might serve bethink him: firm he stood
In the portal, and one moment looking back 270
Lifted his loud voice: thrice the warrior cried,
Then to the war addrest him, now assail'd
By numerous foes, who arrogant of power
Threatened his single valor. He the while
Stood firm, not vainly confident, or rash, 275
But of his own strength conscious, and the post
Friendly; for narrow was the portal way
To one alone fit passage, from above
O'erbrow'd by no out-jutting parapet,
Whence death might crush him. He in double mail 280
Was arm'd; a massy burgonet, well tried
In many a hard-fought field, helming his head;
A buckler broad, and fenced with iron plates,
Bulwark'd his breast. Nor to dislodge the Chief
Could the English pour their numbers, for the way 285
By upward steps presented from the fort
Narrow ascent, where one alone could meet
The war. Yet were they of their numbers proud,
Tho' useless numbers were in that strait path,
Save by assault, unceasing to out-last 290
A single warrior, who at length must sink
Fatigued with conquering, by long victory
Vanquished.
There was amid the garrison
A fearless Knight who at Verneuil had fought,
And high renown for his bold chivalry 295
Acquir'd in that day's conquest. To his fame
The thronging English yield the foremost place.
He his keen javelin to transpierce the Frank
Hurl'd forceful: harmless in his shield it fix'd,
Advantaging the foe, for by his side 300
The battle-axe, an unfit weapon there,
He hung, and seized the spear; then in himself
Collected stood, and calm. Nor the English Knight
Remain'd unweapon'd: to have sped so ill,
Indignant, from behind he snatch'd a lance 305
And hurl'd with fiercer fury. Conrade lifts
The ponderous buckler. Thro' three iron folds
Pierced the keen point, there, innocent of ill
Unharming hung. He with forceful grasp,
Plucking the javelin forth, with mightier arm, 310
Launch'd on his foe. With wary bend, the foe
Shrunk from the flying death; yet not in vain
From that strong hand the fate-fraught weapon fled:
Full on the corselet of a meaner man
It fell, and pierced, there where the heaving lungs, 315
With purer air distended, to the heart
Roll back their purged tide: from the deep wound
The red blood gush'd: prone on the steps he fell,
And in the strong convulsive grasp of death
Grasp'd his long pike. Of unrecorded name 320
Died the mean man; yet did he leave behind
One who did never say her daily prayers,
Of him forgetful; who to every tale
Of the distant war, lending an eager ear,
Grew pale and trembled. At her cottage door, 325
The wretched one shall sit, and with dim eye
Gaze o'er the plain, where on his parting steps
Her last look hung. Nor ever shall she know
Her husband dead, but tortur'd with vain hope,
Gaze on—then heart-sick turn to her poor babe, 330
And weep it fatherless!
The enraged Knight
Drew his keen falchion, and with dauntless step
Moved to the closer conflict. Then the Frank,
Laying his javelin by, his battle-axe
Uplifted. Where the buckler was below 335
Rounded, the falchion struck; but impotent
To pierce its plated folds, more forceful driven,
Fierce on his crested helm, the Frenchman's stroke
Fell; the helm shivered; from his eyes the blood
Started; with blood the chambers of the brain 340
Were fill'd; his breast-plate with convulsive throes,
Heaved as he fell; victorious, he the prize
At many a tournament had borne away
In the mimic war: happy, if so content
With bloodless glory, he had never left 345
The mansion of his sires.
Warn'd by his fall,
With a long pike at distance, the next foe
Thrust on the Frank. Then Conrade his sharp spear
Flung, and transfix'd him; seizing the fall'n pike
He in the portal stood, so well prepared 350
To greet who should assail. But terrified
The English stood, nor durst adventure now
Near that death-doing man. Amid their host
Was one who well could from the stubborn bow
Shower his sharp shafts: well skill'd in wood-craft he, 355
Even as the merry Outlaws who their haunts
In Sherwood held, and bade their bugles rouse
The sleeping stag, ere on the web-woven grass
The dew-drops sparkled to the rising-sun.
He safe in distance at the warrior aim'd 360
The feather'd dart—with force he drew the bow:
Loud on his bracer struck the sounding string:
Deep in his shield it hung: then Conrade rais'd
Again his echoing voice, and call'd for aid,
Nor was the call unheard: the troops of France, 365
From St. Loup's captur'd fort along the wall
Haste to the portal; cheering was the sound
Of their near footsteps to the Chief: he drew
His falchion forth, and down the steps he rush'd.
Then terror seized the English, for their foes 370
Swarm'd thro' the open portal, and the sword
Of Conrade was among them. Not more fierce
The injur'd Turnus swayed his angry arm,
Slaughtering the robber emigrants of Troy:
Nor with more fury thro' the streets of Paris 375
Rush'd he, the King of Sarza, Rodomont
Clad in his dragon mail.
Like some tall rock,
Around whose billow-beaten foot the waves
Waste their wild fury, stood the unshaken man;
Tho' round him prest his foemen, by Despair 380
Hearten'd. He, mowing thro' the throng his path,
Call'd on the troops of France, and bade them haste
Where he should lead the way. A daring band
Followed the adventurous Chieftain: he moved on
Unterrified, amid the arrowy shower, 385
Tho' on his shield and helm the darts fell fast;
As the sear'd leaves that from the trembling tree
The autumnal whirlwind shakes.
Nor Conrade paus'd,
Still thro' the fierce fight urging on his way,
Till to the gate he came, and with strong hand 390
Seiz'd on the massy bolts. These as he drew,
Full on his helm the weighty English sword
Descended; swift he turn'd to wreak his wrath,
When lo! the assailant gasping on the ground,
Cleft by the Maiden's falchion: she herself 395
To the foe opposing with that lowly man,
For they alone following the adventurous steps
Of Conrade, still had equall'd his bold course,
Shielded him as with eager hand he drew
The bolts: the gate turn'd slow: forth leapt the Chief 400
And shivered with his battle-axe the chains
That hung on high the bridge. The impetuous troops,
By Gaucour led, rush'd o'er to victory.
Nobled by valour, Gladdisdale; and here 115
The heir of Poyning’s name, and Molyns lead
The fearful garrison.
As lowering clouds
Swept by the hoarse wind o’er the blacken’d plain,
Mov’d on the host of France: they from the fort,
Thro' secret opening, shower their pointed shafts, 120
Or from the battlements the death-tipt spear
Hurl fierce. Nor from the strong arm only launch'd
The javelin fled, but driven by the strained force
Of the balista,[1] in one carcass spent
Stay'd not; thro' arms and men it makes its way, 125
And leaving death behind, still holds its course
By many a death unclogg'd. With rapid march
Right onward they advanced, and soon the shafts,
Impell'd by that strong stroke beyond the host
Wasting their force, fell harmless. Now they reach'd 130
Where by the bayle's[2] embattled wall in arms
The Knights of England stood. There Poynings shook
His lance, and Gladdisdale his heavy mace
For the death-blow prepar'd. Alencon here,
And here the Bastard strode, and by the Maid 135
That daring man who to the English host
Then insolent of many a conquest gain'd,
Bore her bold bidding. A rude coat of mail
Unhosed, unhooded, as of lowly line
Arm'd him, tho' here amid the high-born chiefs 140
Præeminent for prowess. On his head[3]
A black plume shadowed the rude-featur'd helm.
Then was the war of men, when front to front[4]
They rear'd the hostile hand, for low the wall
Where the bold Frenchman's upward-driven spear, 145
Might pierce the foe. Then rang along the lists
The clash of battle. As Alencon moved
On his crown-crested helm[5] with ponderous blow
Fell Gladdisdale's huge mace. Back he recoil'd
Astounded. Soon recovering, his keen lance 150
Thrust on the warrior's shield. There fast-infix'd,
Nor could Alencon the deep-driven spear
Recover, nor the foeman from his grasp
Wrench the contended weapon. Fierce again
He lifts the mace, that on the ashen hilt 155
Fell full. It shiver'd, and the Frenchman held
A pointless truncheon. Where the Bastard fought
The spear of Poynings, thro' his plated mail
Pierced, and against the iron fence beneath[6]
Blunted its point. Again he speeds the spear; 160
At once Dunois on his broad buckler bears
The unharming stroke, and aims with better fate
His javelin. Thro' his sword-arm did it pierce
Maugre the mail. Hot from the streaming wound
Again the weapon fell, and in his breast 165
Even thro' the hauberk drove.
But there the war
Raged fiercest where the Martial Maiden moved
The minister of wrath. For thither throng'd
The bravest champions of the adverse host.
And on her either side two warriors stood 170
Of unmatch'd prowess, still with eager eye
Shielding her form, and aiming at her foes
Their deadly weapons, of themselves the while
Little regarding. One was that bold man
Who bade defiance to the English Chiefs. 175
Firmly he stood, untir'd and undismay'd,
Tho' on his burgonet the frequent spear
Drove fierce, and on his arm the buckler hung
Heavy, thick-bristled with the hostile shafts,
Even like the porcupine when in his rage 180
Rous'd, he collects within him all his force,
Himself a quiver. And of loftier port
On the other hand towered Conrade. Firmly fenced,
A jazerent of double mail he wore,
Beneath whose weight one but of common strength 185
Had sunk. Untir'd the conflict he endur'd,
Wielding a battle-axe ponderous and keen,
That gave no second stroke. For where it fell,
Not the strong buckler nor the plated mail
Might save, nor crested casque. On Molyn's head, 190
As at the Maid he aimed his javelin,
Forceful it fell, and shiver'd with the blow
The iron helm, and to his brain-pan drove
The fragments. At their comrades death amaz'd,
And for a moment fearful shrunk the foes. 195
That instant Conrade, with an active bound,
Sprung on the battlements. There firm he stood,
Guarding ascent. The warrior Maid of Arc,
And he the partner of that battle's fame,
Followed, and soon the exulting cry of France 200
Along the lists was heard, as waved aloft
The holy banner. Gladdisdale beheld,
And hasting from his well-defended post,
Sped to the fiercer conflict. To the Maid
He strode, on her resolved to wreak his rage, 205
With her to end the war. Nor did not JOAN
Read his stern purpose. Lifting up her shield
Prepar'd she stood, and pois'd her sparkling spear.
The English Chief came on; on high he rais'd
His mace, and all his might into one blow 210
Collected. As the Maiden rear'd her shield,
Before her rush'd the man of lowly line,
And on his buckler caught the mighty stroke,
And at that instant thro' the warrior's neck
Thrust the keen lance. Prone fell the English Knight. 215
Fast from the deadly wound the blood gush'd forth.
Then thro' the host contagious terror ran,
Their Chieftain slain. And lo! where on the wall
Bulwark'd of late by Gladdisdale so well
The son of Orleans stood, and swayed around 220
His falchion, keeping thus at bay the foe,
Till on the battlements his comrades sprang,
And rais'd the shout of conquest. Then appall'd
The English fled; nor fled they unpursued,
For mingling with the foremost fugitives, 225
The gallant Conrade rush'd; and with the throng,
The Knights of France together o'er the bridge
Fast speeded. Nor the garrison within
Durst let the ponderous portcullis fall,
For in the entrance of the fort the fight 230
Raged fiercely, and together thro' the gate
The vanquish'd English and their eager foes
Pass'd in the flying conflict.
Well I deem
And wisely did that daring Spaniard act
At Vera-Cruz, when he his yet sound ships 235
Dismantling, left no spot where treacherous Fear
Might still with wild and wistful eye look back.
For knowing no retreat, his desperate troops
In conquest sought their safety. Victors hence
At Tlascala, and o'er the Cholulans, 240
And by Otompan, on that bloody field
When Mexico her patriot thousands pour'd,
Fierce in vain valor on their ruffian foes.
There was a portal to the English fort
That opened on the wall; a speedier path 245
In peace affording, whence the charmed eye
Might linger down the river's pleasant course.
Fierce in the gate-way raged the deadly war;
For there the Maiden strove, and Conrade there,
And he of lowly line, bravelier than whom 250
Fought not in that day's battle. Of success
Desperate, for from above, the garrison
Could wield no arms so certain to bestow
Equal destruction; of the portal's aid
The foe bethought them: then with lesser force 255
Their weapons fell: abandoned was the gate;
And soon from Orleans the glad citizens
Beheld the hallowed banner on the tower
Triumphant. Swift along the lofty wall
The English haste to St. John's neighbouring fort, 260
Flying with fearful speed. Nor from pursuit
The v16lors ceased, but with the fugitives
Mingled and waged the war: the combatants,
Lock'd in the hostile grasp, together fall
Precipitate.
But foremost of the French, 265
Dealing destruction, Conrade rush'd along:
Heedless of danger, he to the near fort
Pass'd in the fight; nor did not then the Chief
What most might serve bethink him: firm he stood
In the portal, and one moment looking back 270
Lifted his loud voice: thrice the warrior cried,
Then to the war addrest him, now assail'd
By numerous foes, who arrogant of power
Threatened his single valor. He the while
Stood firm, not vainly confident, or rash, 275
But of his own strength conscious, and the post
Friendly; for narrow was the portal way
To one alone fit passage, from above
O'erbrow'd by no out-jutting parapet,
Whence death might crush him. He in double mail 280
Was arm'd; a massy burgonet, well tried
In many a hard-fought field, helming his head;
A buckler broad, and fenced with iron plates,
Bulwark'd his breast. Nor to dislodge the Chief
Could the English pour their numbers, for the way 285
By upward steps presented from the fort
Narrow ascent, where one alone could meet
The war. Yet were they of their numbers proud,
Tho' useless numbers were in that strait path,
Save by assault, unceasing to out-last 290
A single warrior, who at length must sink
Fatigued with conquering, by long victory
Vanquished.
There was amid the garrison
A fearless Knight who at Verneuil had fought,
And high renown for his bold chivalry 295
Acquir'd in that day's conquest. To his fame
The thronging English yield the foremost place.
He his keen javelin to transpierce the Frank
Hurl'd forceful: harmless in his shield it fix'd,
Advantaging the foe, for by his side 300
The battle-axe, an unfit weapon there,
He hung, and seized the spear; then in himself
Collected stood, and calm. Nor the English Knight
Remain'd unweapon'd: to have sped so ill,
Indignant, from behind he snatch'd a lance 305
And hurl'd with fiercer fury. Conrade lifts
The ponderous buckler. Thro' three iron folds
Pierced the keen point, there, innocent of ill
Unharming hung. He with forceful grasp,
Plucking the javelin forth, with mightier arm, 310
Launch'd on his foe. With wary bend, the foe
Shrunk from the flying death; yet not in vain
From that strong hand the fate-fraught weapon fled:
Full on the corselet of a meaner man
It fell, and pierced, there where the heaving lungs, 315
With purer air distended, to the heart
Roll back their purged tide: from the deep wound
The red blood gush'd: prone on the steps he fell,
And in the strong convulsive grasp of death
Grasp'd his long pike. Of unrecorded name 320
Died the mean man; yet did he leave behind
One who did never say her daily prayers,
Of him forgetful; who to every tale
Of the distant war, lending an eager ear,
Grew pale and trembled. At her cottage door, 325
The wretched one shall sit, and with dim eye
Gaze o'er the plain, where on his parting steps
Her last look hung. Nor ever shall she know
Her husband dead, but tortur'd with vain hope,
Gaze on—then heart-sick turn to her poor babe, 330
And weep it fatherless!
The enraged Knight
Drew his keen falchion, and with dauntless step
Moved to the closer conflict. Then the Frank,
Laying his javelin by, his battle-axe
Uplifted. Where the buckler was below 335
Rounded, the falchion struck; but impotent
To pierce its plated folds, more forceful driven,
Fierce on his crested helm, the Frenchman's stroke
Fell; the helm shivered; from his eyes the blood
Started; with blood the chambers of the brain 340
Were fill'd; his breast-plate with convulsive throes,
Heaved as he fell; victorious, he the prize
At many a tournament had borne away
In the mimic war: happy, if so content
With bloodless glory, he had never left 345
The mansion of his sires.
Warn'd by his fall,
With a long pike at distance, the next foe
Thrust on the Frank. Then Conrade his sharp spear
Flung, and transfix'd him; seizing the fall'n pike
He in the portal stood, so well prepared 350
To greet who should assail. But terrified
The English stood, nor durst adventure now
Near that death-doing man. Amid their host
Was one who well could from the stubborn bow
Shower his sharp shafts: well skill'd in wood-craft he, 355
Even as the merry Outlaws who their haunts
In Sherwood held, and bade their bugles rouse
The sleeping stag, ere on the web-woven grass
The dew-drops sparkled to the rising-sun.
He safe in distance at the warrior aim'd 360
The feather'd dart—with force he drew the bow:
Loud on his bracer struck the sounding string:
Deep in his shield it hung: then Conrade rais'd
Again his echoing voice, and call'd for aid,
Nor was the call unheard: the troops of France, 365
From St. Loup's captur'd fort along the wall
Haste to the portal; cheering was the sound
Of their near footsteps to the Chief: he drew
His falchion forth, and down the steps he rush'd.
Then terror seized the English, for their foes 370
Swarm'd thro' the open portal, and the sword
Of Conrade was among them. Not more fierce
The injur'd Turnus swayed his angry arm,
Slaughtering the robber emigrants of Troy:
Nor with more fury thro' the streets of Paris 375
Rush'd he, the King of Sarza, Rodomont
Clad in his dragon mail.
Like some tall rock,
Around whose billow-beaten foot the waves
Waste their wild fury, stood the unshaken man;
Tho' round him prest his foemen, by Despair 380
Hearten'd. He, mowing thro' the throng his path,
Call'd on the troops of France, and bade them haste
Where he should lead the way. A daring band
Followed the adventurous Chieftain: he moved on
Unterrified, amid the arrowy shower, 385
Tho' on his shield and helm the darts fell fast;
As the sear'd leaves that from the trembling tree
The autumnal whirlwind shakes.
Nor Conrade paus'd,
Still thro' the fierce fight urging on his way,
Till to the gate he came, and with strong hand 390
Seiz'd on the massy bolts. These as he drew,
Full on his helm the weighty English sword
Descended; swift he turn'd to wreak his wrath,
When lo! the assailant gasping on the ground,
Cleft by the Maiden's falchion: she herself 395
To the foe opposing with that lowly man,
For they alone following the adventurous steps
Of Conrade, still had equall'd his bold course,
Shielded him as with eager hand he drew
The bolts: the gate turn'd slow: forth leapt the Chief 400
And shivered with his battle-axe the chains
That hung on high the bridge. The impetuous troops,
By Gaucour led, rush'd o'er to victory.
The banner'd lillies on the captur'd wall
Tossed to the wind. "On to the neighbouring fort!" 405
Cried Conrade, "Xaintrailles! ere the night draws on
Once more to conquest lead the troops of France:
Force ye the lists, and fill the deep-dug moat,
And with the ram, shake down their batter'd walls.
Anon I shall be with you." Thus he said; 410
Then to the Damsel, "Maid of Arc! awhile
Cease we from battle, and by short repose
Renew our strength." So saying he his helm
Unlaced, and in the Loire's near-flowing stream
Cleansed his hot face. The Maid her head unhelm'd, 415
And stooping to the stream, reflected there
Saw her white plumage stain'd with human blood!
Shudd'ring she saw, but soon her steady soul
Collected: on the banks she laid her down
Freely awhile respiring, for her breath 420
Quick panted from the fight: silent they lay,
For gratefully the cooling breezes bathed
Their throbbing temples.
It was now the noon:
The sun-beams on the gently-waving stream
Danced sparkling. Lost in thought the warrior lay, 425
And softening sadly his stern face, exclaim'd,
"Maiden of Arc! at such an hour as this,
Beneath the o'er-arching forest's checquer'd shade,
With that lost woman have I wandered on,
Talking of years of happiness to come! 430
Oh hours for ever fled! delightful dreams
Of the unsuspecting heart! I do believe
If Agnes on a worthier one had fix'd
Her love, that tho' mine aching heart had nurst
Its sorrows, I had never on her choice 435
Pour'd one upbraiding—but to stoop to him!
A harlot!—an adulteress!"
In his eye
Red anger flash'd; anon of what she was
Ere yet the foul pollution of the Court
Stain'd her fair fame, he thought. "Oh happy age!" 440
He cried, "when all the family of man
Freely enjoyed the goodly earth he gave,
And only bow'd the knee in prayer to God!
Calm flow'd the unruffled stream of years along,
Till o'er the peaceful rustic's head, grew grey 445
The hairs in full of time. Then he would sit
Beneath the coetaneous oak, whilst round,
Sons, grandsons, and their offspring join'd to form
The blameless merriment; and learnt of him
What time to yoke the oxen to the plough, 450
What hollow moanings of the western wind
Foretel the storm, and in what lurid clouds
The embryo lightning lies. Well-pleas'd, he taught,
The heart-smile glowing on his aged cheek,
Mild as decaying light of summer sun. 455
Thus calmly constant flowed the stream of life
Till lost at length amid that shoreless sea,
Eternity. Around the bed of death
Gathered his numerous race—his last advice
In sad attention heard—caught his last sigh—460
Then underneath the aged tree that grew
With him, memorial planted at his birth,
They delved the narrow house: there oft at eve
Drew round their children of the after days,
And pointing to the turf, told how he lived, 465
And taught by his example how to die.
Tossed to the wind. "On to the neighbouring fort!" 405
Cried Conrade, "Xaintrailles! ere the night draws on
Once more to conquest lead the troops of France:
Force ye the lists, and fill the deep-dug moat,
And with the ram, shake down their batter'd walls.
Anon I shall be with you." Thus he said; 410
Then to the Damsel, "Maid of Arc! awhile
Cease we from battle, and by short repose
Renew our strength." So saying he his helm
Unlaced, and in the Loire's near-flowing stream
Cleansed his hot face. The Maid her head unhelm'd, 415
And stooping to the stream, reflected there
Saw her white plumage stain'd with human blood!
Shudd'ring she saw, but soon her steady soul
Collected: on the banks she laid her down
Freely awhile respiring, for her breath 420
Quick panted from the fight: silent they lay,
For gratefully the cooling breezes bathed
Their throbbing temples.
It was now the noon:
The sun-beams on the gently-waving stream
Danced sparkling. Lost in thought the warrior lay, 425
And softening sadly his stern face, exclaim'd,
"Maiden of Arc! at such an hour as this,
Beneath the o'er-arching forest's checquer'd shade,
With that lost woman have I wandered on,
Talking of years of happiness to come! 430
Oh hours for ever fled! delightful dreams
Of the unsuspecting heart! I do believe
If Agnes on a worthier one had fix'd
Her love, that tho' mine aching heart had nurst
Its sorrows, I had never on her choice 435
Pour'd one upbraiding—but to stoop to him!
A harlot!—an adulteress!"
In his eye
Red anger flash'd; anon of what she was
Ere yet the foul pollution of the Court
Stain'd her fair fame, he thought. "Oh happy age!" 440
He cried, "when all the family of man
Freely enjoyed the goodly earth he gave,
And only bow'd the knee in prayer to God!
Calm flow'd the unruffled stream of years along,
Till o'er the peaceful rustic's head, grew grey 445
The hairs in full of time. Then he would sit
Beneath the coetaneous oak, whilst round,
Sons, grandsons, and their offspring join'd to form
The blameless merriment; and learnt of him
What time to yoke the oxen to the plough, 450
What hollow moanings of the western wind
Foretel the storm, and in what lurid clouds
The embryo lightning lies. Well-pleas'd, he taught,
The heart-smile glowing on his aged cheek,
Mild as decaying light of summer sun. 455
Thus calmly constant flowed the stream of life
Till lost at length amid that shoreless sea,
Eternity. Around the bed of death
Gathered his numerous race—his last advice
In sad attention heard—caught his last sigh—460
Then underneath the aged tree that grew
With him, memorial planted at his birth,
They delved the narrow house: there oft at eve
Drew round their children of the after days,
And pointing to the turf, told how he lived, 465
And taught by his example how to die.
"Maiden! and such the evening of my days
Fondly I hoped; but I shall be at rest
Soon, in that better world of Peace and Love
Where evil is not: in that better world 470
JOAN we shall meet, and he too will be there,
Thy Theodore."
Sooth'd by his words, the Maid
Had listened sadly, till at that loved name
She wept. "Nay, Maid!" he cried, "I did not think
To wake a tear; but pleasant is thy grief! 475
Thou know'st not what it is, round thy warm heart
To have a false one wreath in viper folds.
But to the battle! in the clang of arms,
We win forgetfulness."
Then from the bank
He sprung, and helm'd his head. The Maid arose, 480
Bidding awhile adieu to milder thoughts.
On to the fort they speed, whose name recall'd
England's proud capital to the English host,
Now half subdued, anticipating death,
And vainly wishing they from her white clifts 485
Had never spread the sail. Cold terror creeps
Thro' every vein: already they turn back
Their eager eyes to meditate the flight,
Tho' Talbot there presided, with their Chief,
The gallant Salisbury.
"Soldiers fam'd in arms!" 490
Thus, in vain hope to renovate the strength
Of England, spake the Chief. "Victorious friends,
So oft victorious in the hard-fought fight,
What—shrink ye now dismay'd? have ye forgot
The plains of Azincour, when vanquished France 495
Fled with her thousands from your father's arms,
Tho' worn with sickness? or your own exploits,
When on Verneuil, the flower of chivalry
Fell by your daring prowess? when the Scot
Bit the red earth in death, and Narbonne died, 500
And the young boaster proud Alencon felt
The weight of English fetters? then we broke
The plated shield, and cleft the warrior's helm,
For ever victors. On Baugenci's wall
Ye placed the English flag; beneath your force 505
Fell Jenville and Gergeau, the neighbouring towns
Of well-nigh captur'd Orleans. I omit
To speak of Caen subdued, and vanquish'd Rouen,
And that late day when Clermont fled the fight,
And the young Bastard of that prison'd Duke. 510
Shame! shame! that beaten Boy is here in arms,
And ye will fly before the fugitives;
Fly from a woman! from a frenzied girl!
That with her empty mummeries, would blast
Your courage; or if miracles she brings, 515
Aid of the Devil! who is there among you
False to his country—to his former fame—
To me—your leader to the frequent field,
The field of glory?"
From the heartless host
A timid shout arose: then Talbot's cheek 520
Grew red with indignation. "Earl!" he cried,
Addressing him the Chief: "there is no hope
From these white-liver'd dastards; and this fort
Will fall an easy conquest: it were well
To reach the Tournelles, better fortified, 525
Fit to endure long siege: the hope in view
To reach a safer fortress, these our troops
Shall better dare the battle."
So he spake,
Wisely advising. Him the Chief replied:
"Well hast thou said; and, Talbot, if our swords 530
Could thro' the thickest ranks this Sorceress reach,
The hopes of France were blasted. I have strove
In many a field, yet never to a foe
Stoop'd my proud crest: nor difficult to meet
This wizard girl, for from the battlements, 535
Her have I mark'd the foremost in attack,
Playing right valiantly the soldier's part;
Yet shall not all her witcheries avail
To blunt my good sword's edge."
Thus communed they,
And thro' the host the gladdening tidings ran, 540
That they should seek the Tournelles. Then their hearts
Gathered new strength, placing on those strong walls
Dependence; empty hope! nor the strong wall,
Nor the deep moat can save, if Fear within
Palsy the soldier's arm.
Them issuing forth, 545
As from the river's banks they past along,
The Maid beheld! "Lo! Conrade!" she exclaim'd,
"The foes advance to meet us—look! they lower
The bridge—and now they rush upon the troops:
A gallant onset! Dost thou mark that man 550
Who all the day has by our side endur'd
The hottest conflict? I did then behold
His force, and wonder: now his deeds of death
Make all the actions of the former fight
Seem as of no account: know'st thou the man? 555
There is not one amid the host of France,
Of fairer promise."
"He," the Chief replied,
"Wretched and prodigal of life atchieves
The exploits of Despair: a gallant youth
Widowed like me of Hope, and but for whom, 560
I had been seen among mankind no more.
Maiden! with me thy comrade in the war,
His arm is vowed to Heaven. Lo! where he stands
Bearing the battle's brunt in unmoved strength,
Firm as the mountain round whose misty head, 565
The unharming tempest breaks!"
Nor paus'd they now
In farther converse, to the perilous fray
Speeding, not unobserved—them Salisbury saw
And call'd on Talbot. Six, the bravest Knights
And vow'd with them, against the Virgins life 570
Bent their fierce course. She by that unknown man
Now urged the war, when on her plumed helm
The hostile falchion fell. On high she lifts
That hallowed sword, the tenant of the tomb,
And drench'd it in his bosom. On the front 575
Of one, his comrade, fell the battle-axe
Of him the dark-brow'd Chief: the ponderous blow
Shattered his brain. With Talbot's giant force
The daring Herald urged unequal fight;
For like some oak that firm with deep-fix'd roots 580
Mocks at the storm, the undaunted Earl endur'd
His rude assault. Warding with wary eye
The angry sword, the Frank around his foe
Wheels rapid, flashing his keen weapon fast;
Now as he marks the Earl's descending stroke 585
Bending, anon more fierce in swift attack.
Ill-fated man! one deed of glory more
Shall with the short-lived lightning's splendor grace
This thy death-day; for Slaughter even now
Stands o'er the loom of life, and lifts his sword. 590
Fondly I hoped; but I shall be at rest
Soon, in that better world of Peace and Love
Where evil is not: in that better world 470
JOAN we shall meet, and he too will be there,
Thy Theodore."
Sooth'd by his words, the Maid
Had listened sadly, till at that loved name
She wept. "Nay, Maid!" he cried, "I did not think
To wake a tear; but pleasant is thy grief! 475
Thou know'st not what it is, round thy warm heart
To have a false one wreath in viper folds.
But to the battle! in the clang of arms,
We win forgetfulness."
Then from the bank
He sprung, and helm'd his head. The Maid arose, 480
Bidding awhile adieu to milder thoughts.
On to the fort they speed, whose name recall'd
England's proud capital to the English host,
Now half subdued, anticipating death,
And vainly wishing they from her white clifts 485
Had never spread the sail. Cold terror creeps
Thro' every vein: already they turn back
Their eager eyes to meditate the flight,
Tho' Talbot there presided, with their Chief,
The gallant Salisbury.
"Soldiers fam'd in arms!" 490
Thus, in vain hope to renovate the strength
Of England, spake the Chief. "Victorious friends,
So oft victorious in the hard-fought fight,
What—shrink ye now dismay'd? have ye forgot
The plains of Azincour, when vanquished France 495
Fled with her thousands from your father's arms,
Tho' worn with sickness? or your own exploits,
When on Verneuil, the flower of chivalry
Fell by your daring prowess? when the Scot
Bit the red earth in death, and Narbonne died, 500
And the young boaster proud Alencon felt
The weight of English fetters? then we broke
The plated shield, and cleft the warrior's helm,
For ever victors. On Baugenci's wall
Ye placed the English flag; beneath your force 505
Fell Jenville and Gergeau, the neighbouring towns
Of well-nigh captur'd Orleans. I omit
To speak of Caen subdued, and vanquish'd Rouen,
And that late day when Clermont fled the fight,
And the young Bastard of that prison'd Duke. 510
Shame! shame! that beaten Boy is here in arms,
And ye will fly before the fugitives;
Fly from a woman! from a frenzied girl!
That with her empty mummeries, would blast
Your courage; or if miracles she brings, 515
Aid of the Devil! who is there among you
False to his country—to his former fame—
To me—your leader to the frequent field,
The field of glory?"
From the heartless host
A timid shout arose: then Talbot's cheek 520
Grew red with indignation. "Earl!" he cried,
Addressing him the Chief: "there is no hope
From these white-liver'd dastards; and this fort
Will fall an easy conquest: it were well
To reach the Tournelles, better fortified, 525
Fit to endure long siege: the hope in view
To reach a safer fortress, these our troops
Shall better dare the battle."
So he spake,
Wisely advising. Him the Chief replied:
"Well hast thou said; and, Talbot, if our swords 530
Could thro' the thickest ranks this Sorceress reach,
The hopes of France were blasted. I have strove
In many a field, yet never to a foe
Stoop'd my proud crest: nor difficult to meet
This wizard girl, for from the battlements, 535
Her have I mark'd the foremost in attack,
Playing right valiantly the soldier's part;
Yet shall not all her witcheries avail
To blunt my good sword's edge."
Thus communed they,
And thro' the host the gladdening tidings ran, 540
That they should seek the Tournelles. Then their hearts
Gathered new strength, placing on those strong walls
Dependence; empty hope! nor the strong wall,
Nor the deep moat can save, if Fear within
Palsy the soldier's arm.
Them issuing forth, 545
As from the river's banks they past along,
The Maid beheld! "Lo! Conrade!" she exclaim'd,
"The foes advance to meet us—look! they lower
The bridge—and now they rush upon the troops:
A gallant onset! Dost thou mark that man 550
Who all the day has by our side endur'd
The hottest conflict? I did then behold
His force, and wonder: now his deeds of death
Make all the actions of the former fight
Seem as of no account: know'st thou the man? 555
There is not one amid the host of France,
Of fairer promise."
"He," the Chief replied,
"Wretched and prodigal of life atchieves
The exploits of Despair: a gallant youth
Widowed like me of Hope, and but for whom, 560
I had been seen among mankind no more.
Maiden! with me thy comrade in the war,
His arm is vowed to Heaven. Lo! where he stands
Bearing the battle's brunt in unmoved strength,
Firm as the mountain round whose misty head, 565
The unharming tempest breaks!"
Nor paus'd they now
In farther converse, to the perilous fray
Speeding, not unobserved—them Salisbury saw
And call'd on Talbot. Six, the bravest Knights
And vow'd with them, against the Virgins life 570
Bent their fierce course. She by that unknown man
Now urged the war, when on her plumed helm
The hostile falchion fell. On high she lifts
That hallowed sword, the tenant of the tomb,
And drench'd it in his bosom. On the front 575
Of one, his comrade, fell the battle-axe
Of him the dark-brow'd Chief: the ponderous blow
Shattered his brain. With Talbot's giant force
The daring Herald urged unequal fight;
For like some oak that firm with deep-fix'd roots 580
Mocks at the storm, the undaunted Earl endur'd
His rude assault. Warding with wary eye
The angry sword, the Frank around his foe
Wheels rapid, flashing his keen weapon fast;
Now as he marks the Earl's descending stroke 585
Bending, anon more fierce in swift attack.
Ill-fated man! one deed of glory more
Shall with the short-lived lightning's splendor grace
This thy death-day; for Slaughter even now
Stands o'er the loom of life, and lifts his sword. 590
Upon her shield the Martial Maiden bore
An English warrior's blow, and in his side
Pierced him: that instant Salisbury speeds his sword
That glancing from her helm fell on the folds
That arm'd her neck, and making there its way, 595
Stain'd with her blood its edge. The Herald saw,
He saw her red blood gushing from the wound,
And turn'd from Talbot heedless of himself,
And lifting up his falchion, all his force
Concenter'd. On the breast of Salisbury 600
It fell, and pierced his mail, and thro' the plate
Beneath drove fierce, and in his heart's-blood plunged.
Lo! as he struck the strength of Talbot came:
Full on his treacherous helm he smote: it burst,
And the stern Earl against his fenceless head 605
Drives with strong arm the murderous sword. She saw—
She knew—she could not save—her Theodore.
An English warrior's blow, and in his side
Pierced him: that instant Salisbury speeds his sword
That glancing from her helm fell on the folds
That arm'd her neck, and making there its way, 595
Stain'd with her blood its edge. The Herald saw,
He saw her red blood gushing from the wound,
And turn'd from Talbot heedless of himself,
And lifting up his falchion, all his force
Concenter'd. On the breast of Salisbury 600
It fell, and pierced his mail, and thro' the plate
Beneath drove fierce, and in his heart's-blood plunged.
Lo! as he struck the strength of Talbot came:
Full on his treacherous helm he smote: it burst,
And the stern Earl against his fenceless head 605
Drives with strong arm the murderous sword. She saw—
She knew—she could not save—her Theodore.
Conrade beheld, and from his vanquish'd foe
Strode terrible in vengeance. Front to front
They stood, and each for the death-blow prepar'd 610
His angry might. At once their weapons fell,
The Frank's huge battle-axe, and the keen sword
Of Talbot. He, stunn'd by the weighty blow,
Sunk senseless; by his followers from the field
Conveyed with fearful speed: nor did his stroke 615
Fall vainly on the Frenchman's crested helm,
Tho' weak to wound, for from his eyes the fire
Sparkled, and back recoiling with the blow,
He in the Maiden's arms astounded fell.
Strode terrible in vengeance. Front to front
They stood, and each for the death-blow prepar'd 610
His angry might. At once their weapons fell,
The Frank's huge battle-axe, and the keen sword
Of Talbot. He, stunn'd by the weighty blow,
Sunk senseless; by his followers from the field
Conveyed with fearful speed: nor did his stroke 615
Fall vainly on the Frenchman's crested helm,
Tho' weak to wound, for from his eyes the fire
Sparkled, and back recoiling with the blow,
He in the Maiden's arms astounded fell.
But now their troops all captainless confus'd, 620
Fear seized the English. Not with more dismay
When over wild Caffraria's wooded hills,
Echoes the lion's roar, the timid herd
Fly the death-boding sound. The forts they seek.
Now reckless which, so from that battle's rage 625
A present refuge. On their flying ranks
The victors press, and mark their course with blood.
Fear seized the English. Not with more dismay
When over wild Caffraria's wooded hills,
Echoes the lion's roar, the timid herd
Fly the death-boding sound. The forts they seek.
Now reckless which, so from that battle's rage 625
A present refuge. On their flying ranks
The victors press, and mark their course with blood.
But loud the trumpet of retreat resounds,
For now the westering sun with many a hue
Streak'd the gay clouds.
"Dunois!" the Maiden cried, 630
"Form we around yon stronger pile the siege,
There for the night encamping." So she said.
The Chief to Orleans for their needful food,
And enginery to batter that huge pile,
Dismiss'd a troop, and round the Tournelles led 635
The host beleagering. There they pitch their tents,
And plant their engines for the morrow's war,
Then to their meal, and o'er the chearful bowl,
Recount the tale of danger; soon to rest
Betaking them, for now the night drew on. 640
For now the westering sun with many a hue
Streak'd the gay clouds.
"Dunois!" the Maiden cried, 630
"Form we around yon stronger pile the siege,
There for the night encamping." So she said.
The Chief to Orleans for their needful food,
And enginery to batter that huge pile,
Dismiss'd a troop, and round the Tournelles led 635
The host beleagering. There they pitch their tents,
And plant their engines for the morrow's war,
Then to their meal, and o'er the chearful bowl,
Recount the tale of danger; soon to rest
Betaking them, for now the night drew on. 640
- ↑ Line 122. Neque enim. solis excussa lacertis
Lancea, sed tenso balistæ turbine rapta,
Haud unum contenta latus transire, quiescit;
Sed pandens perque arma viam, perque ossa, relicta
Lucan. III.Morte fugit: superest telo post vulnera cursus. - ↑ Line 132. The bayle or lists was a space on the outside of the ditch, surrounded by strong pallisades, and sometimes by a low embattled wall. In the attack of fortresses, as the range of the machines then in use did not exceed the distance of four stadia, the besiegers did not carry on their approaches by means of trenches, but began their operations above ground, with the attack of the bayle or lists, where many feats of chivalry were performed by the Knights and men at arms, who considered the assault of that work as particularly belonging to them, the weight of their armour preventing them from scaling the walls. As this part was attacked by the Knights and men at arms, it was also defended by those of the same rank in the place, whence many single combats were fought here. This was at the first investing of the place.
Grose.
- ↑ Line 141. In France only persons of a certain estate, called un fief de hauber, were permitted to wear a hauberk, which was the armor of a Knight. Esquires might only wear a simple coat of mail without the hood and hose. Had this aristocratic distinction consisted in the ornamental part of the arms alone, it would only have been ridiculous. In the enlightened and free States of Greece, every soldier was well provided with defensive arms. In Rome, a civic wreath was the reward of him who should save the life of a citizen. To use the words of Dr. Gillies, "the miserable peasants of modern Europe are exposed without defence as without remorse, by the ambition of men, whom the Greeks would have stiled tyrants."
- ↑ Line 143. The burgonet, which represented the shape of the head and features.
- ↑ Line 149. Earls and Dukes frequently wore their coronets on the crests of their helmets.
- ↑ Line 159. A breast-plate was sometimes worn under the hauberk.