Joan of Arc (Southey)/Book 6
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JOAN of ARC.
BOOK THE SIXTH.
ARGUMENT.
Conrade on his way to Orleans releases a French soldier. He enters that city. Council of the leaders. Their determination. Summons of the Maid to the English Generals. They receive it with scorn. The Maid attacks, defeats them, and enters Orleans in triumph at midnight, amid thunder and lightning.
JOAN of ARC
BOOK THE SIXTH.
THE night was calm, and many a moving cloud
Shadowed the moon. Along the forest glade
With swift foot Conrade past, and now had reach'd
The plain, where whilome by the pleasant Loire,
Cheer'd with the song, the rustics had beheld 5
The day go down upon their merriment:
No song of Peace now echoed on its banks.
There tents were pitched—and there the centinel,
Slow pacing on his sullen rounds, beheld
The frequent corse roll down the tainted stream. 10
Conrade with wider sweep pursued his way,
Shunning the camp, now hush'd in sleep and still.
And now no sound was heard save of the Loire,
Murmuring along. The noise of coming feet
Alarm'd him. Nearer drew the fearful sound 15
As of pursuit—anon—the clash of arms!
That instant rising o'er a broken cloud
The moon beams shone, where two with combined force
Prest on a single foe: he, warding still
Their swords, retreated in the unequal fight, 20
As he would make the city. Conrade shook
His long lance for the war, and strode along.
Full in the breast of one with forceful arm
Plunged he the spear of death; and as, dismayed
By his fellow's fall, the other turn'd to fly, 25
Hurl'd the red weapon reeking from the wound,
And fix'd him to the plain. "Now haste we on,
Frenchman!" he cried. On to the stream they speed,
And plunging stemm'd with sinewy stroke the tide.
Soon on the opposite shore arrived and safe. 30
Shadowed the moon. Along the forest glade
With swift foot Conrade past, and now had reach'd
The plain, where whilome by the pleasant Loire,
Cheer'd with the song, the rustics had beheld 5
The day go down upon their merriment:
No song of Peace now echoed on its banks.
There tents were pitched—and there the centinel,
Slow pacing on his sullen rounds, beheld
The frequent corse roll down the tainted stream. 10
Conrade with wider sweep pursued his way,
Shunning the camp, now hush'd in sleep and still.
And now no sound was heard save of the Loire,
Murmuring along. The noise of coming feet
Alarm'd him. Nearer drew the fearful sound 15
As of pursuit—anon—the clash of arms!
That instant rising o'er a broken cloud
The moon beams shone, where two with combined force
Prest on a single foe: he, warding still
Their swords, retreated in the unequal fight, 20
As he would make the city. Conrade shook
His long lance for the war, and strode along.
Full in the breast of one with forceful arm
Plunged he the spear of death; and as, dismayed
By his fellow's fall, the other turn'd to fly, 25
Hurl'd the red weapon reeking from the wound,
And fix'd him to the plain. "Now haste we on,
Frenchman!" he cried. On to the stream they speed,
And plunging stemm'd with sinewy stroke the tide.
Soon on the opposite shore arrived and safe. 30
"Whence comest thou?" cried the Chief; "on what high charge
Commission'd?"
Commission'd?"
"Is it not the voice of Conrade?"
Francis exclaim'd; "and dost thou bring to us
Tidings of speedy aid? oh! had it come
A few hours earlier! Isabel is gone!" 35
Francis exclaim'd; "and dost thou bring to us
Tidings of speedy aid? oh! had it come
A few hours earlier! Isabel is gone!" 35
"Nay she is safe," cried Conrade, "her I found
When wilder'd in the forest, and consign'd
To the protection of that holy Maid,
The delegate of Heaven. One evening more
And thou shalt have thine Isabel. Now say, 40
Wherefore alone? A fugitive from Orleans,
Or sent on dangerous service from the town?"
When wilder'd in the forest, and consign'd
To the protection of that holy Maid,
The delegate of Heaven. One evening more
And thou shalt have thine Isabel. Now say, 40
Wherefore alone? A fugitive from Orleans,
Or sent on dangerous service from the town?"
"There is no food in Orleans," he replied,
"Scarce a meal more! the assembled chiefs resolved
If thou shouldst bring no tidings of near aid 45
To cut their way to safety, or by death
Prevent the pang of famine. One they sought
Who venturous in the English camp should spy
Where safest they might rush upon the foe.
The perilous task I chose, then desperate 50
Of happiness."
So saying, they approach'd
The gate. The centinel, soon as he heard
Thitherward footsteps, with uplifted lance
Challenged the darkling travellers. At their voice
He draws the strong bolts back, and painful turns 55
The massy entrance. To the careful chiefs
They pass. At midnight of their extreme state
Counselling they sat, serious and stern. To them
Conrade.
"Assembled Warriors! sent from God
There is a holy Maid by miracles 60
Made manifest. Twelve hundred chosen men
Follow her hallowed standard. These Dunois,
The strength of France, arrays. With the next noon
Ye shall behold their march."
Astonishment
Seized the convened Chiefs, and joy by doubt 65
Little repress'd. "Open the granaries!"
Xaintrailles exclaim'd. "Give we to all the host
With hand unsparing now the plenteous meal;
To-morrow we are safe. For Heaven all just
Has seen our sufferings and decreed their end. 70
Let the glad tidings echo thro' the town!
God is with us!"
"Rest not in too full faith,"
D'Orval replied, "on this miraculous aid.
Some frenzied female whose wild phantasy,
Shaping vain dreams, infects the credulous 75
With her own madness! That Dunois is there,
Leading in arms twelve hundred chosen men,
Cheers me: yet let not we our little food
Be lavish'd, lest the warrior in the fight
Should haply fail, and Orleans be the prey 80
Of England!"
"Chief! I tell thee," Conrade cried,
"I did myself behold the marble tomb
Burst, to the holy Maid disclosing arms
Held in the grave inviolate for her.
She is the Delegate of the Most High, 85
And shall deliver Orleans!"
Gaucour then,
"Be it as thou hast said. High hope I feel,
For to no vulgar tale would Conrade yield
Belief, or he the Bastard. Our small stores
Must yield us, ere another week elapse, 90
To death or England. Tell thro' all our troops
There is a holy Virgin sent from God;
They in that faith invincible shall war
With more than mortal fury."
Thus the Chief,
And what he said seem'd good. The men of Orleans, 95
Long by their foemen bayed, a victim band,
To war, and woe, and want, such transport felt
As when the Mexicans, with eager eye[1]
Gazing to Huixachtla’s distant top,
On that last night, doubtful if ever morn 100
Again shall cheer them, mark the mystic fire,
That kindled by the fierce Copolcan priest,
Flames on the breast of some brave prisoner,
A dreadful altar. As they see the blaze
Beaming on Iztapalapan’s near towers, 105
Or on Tezcuco’s calmy lake flash’d far,
Songs of thanksgiving and the shout of joy
Wake the loud echo; the glad husband tears
The mantling aloe from the female’s face,
And children, now deliver’d from the dread 110
Of everlasting darkness, look abroad,
Hail the good omen, and expect the sun
Uninjur‘d still to run his flaming race.
"Scarce a meal more! the assembled chiefs resolved
If thou shouldst bring no tidings of near aid 45
To cut their way to safety, or by death
Prevent the pang of famine. One they sought
Who venturous in the English camp should spy
Where safest they might rush upon the foe.
The perilous task I chose, then desperate 50
Of happiness."
So saying, they approach'd
The gate. The centinel, soon as he heard
Thitherward footsteps, with uplifted lance
Challenged the darkling travellers. At their voice
He draws the strong bolts back, and painful turns 55
The massy entrance. To the careful chiefs
They pass. At midnight of their extreme state
Counselling they sat, serious and stern. To them
Conrade.
"Assembled Warriors! sent from God
There is a holy Maid by miracles 60
Made manifest. Twelve hundred chosen men
Follow her hallowed standard. These Dunois,
The strength of France, arrays. With the next noon
Ye shall behold their march."
Astonishment
Seized the convened Chiefs, and joy by doubt 65
Little repress'd. "Open the granaries!"
Xaintrailles exclaim'd. "Give we to all the host
With hand unsparing now the plenteous meal;
To-morrow we are safe. For Heaven all just
Has seen our sufferings and decreed their end. 70
Let the glad tidings echo thro' the town!
God is with us!"
"Rest not in too full faith,"
D'Orval replied, "on this miraculous aid.
Some frenzied female whose wild phantasy,
Shaping vain dreams, infects the credulous 75
With her own madness! That Dunois is there,
Leading in arms twelve hundred chosen men,
Cheers me: yet let not we our little food
Be lavish'd, lest the warrior in the fight
Should haply fail, and Orleans be the prey 80
Of England!"
"Chief! I tell thee," Conrade cried,
"I did myself behold the marble tomb
Burst, to the holy Maid disclosing arms
Held in the grave inviolate for her.
She is the Delegate of the Most High, 85
And shall deliver Orleans!"
Gaucour then,
"Be it as thou hast said. High hope I feel,
For to no vulgar tale would Conrade yield
Belief, or he the Bastard. Our small stores
Must yield us, ere another week elapse, 90
To death or England. Tell thro' all our troops
There is a holy Virgin sent from God;
They in that faith invincible shall war
With more than mortal fury."
Thus the Chief,
And what he said seem'd good. The men of Orleans, 95
Long by their foemen bayed, a victim band,
To war, and woe, and want, such transport felt
As when the Mexicans, with eager eye[1]
Gazing to Huixachtla’s distant top,
On that last night, doubtful if ever morn 100
Again shall cheer them, mark the mystic fire,
That kindled by the fierce Copolcan priest,
Flames on the breast of some brave prisoner,
A dreadful altar. As they see the blaze
Beaming on Iztapalapan’s near towers, 105
Or on Tezcuco’s calmy lake flash’d far,
Songs of thanksgiving and the shout of joy
Wake the loud echo; the glad husband tears
The mantling aloe from the female’s face,
And children, now deliver’d from the dread 110
Of everlasting darkness, look abroad,
Hail the good omen, and expect the sun
Uninjur‘d still to run his flaming race.
Thus whilst in that besieged town the night
Wain’d sleepless, silent slept the hallowed host. 115
And now the morning came. From his hard couch,
Lightly upstarting and bedight in arms,
The Bastard moved along, with provident eye
Marshalling the troops. All high in hope they march.
And now the sun shot from the southern sky 120
His noon-tide radiance, when afar they hear
The hum of men, and mark the distant towers
Of Orleans, and the bulwarks of the foe,
And many a streamer wantoning in air.
These as they saw and thought of all the ills 125
Their brethren had endured beleager'd there
For many a month; such ardor for the fight
Burnt in each bosom, as young Ali felt
When to the assembled tribe Mohammed spake,
Asking for one his Vizier. Fierce in faith, 130
Forth from the race of Hashem stept the youth,
"Prophet of God! lo—I will be the man!"
Nor did not Ali merit that high post,
Victorious upon Beder's fertile vale,
And on mount Ohud, and before the walls 135
Of Chaibar, then when cleaving to the chest
His giant foe, he grasp'd the massy gate,
Shook with strong arm and tore it from the fort,
And lifted it in air—portentous shield!
Wain’d sleepless, silent slept the hallowed host. 115
And now the morning came. From his hard couch,
Lightly upstarting and bedight in arms,
The Bastard moved along, with provident eye
Marshalling the troops. All high in hope they march.
And now the sun shot from the southern sky 120
His noon-tide radiance, when afar they hear
The hum of men, and mark the distant towers
Of Orleans, and the bulwarks of the foe,
And many a streamer wantoning in air.
These as they saw and thought of all the ills 125
Their brethren had endured beleager'd there
For many a month; such ardor for the fight
Burnt in each bosom, as young Ali felt
When to the assembled tribe Mohammed spake,
Asking for one his Vizier. Fierce in faith, 130
Forth from the race of Hashem stept the youth,
"Prophet of God! lo—I will be the man!"
Nor did not Ali merit that high post,
Victorious upon Beder's fertile vale,
And on mount Ohud, and before the walls 135
Of Chaibar, then when cleaving to the chest
His giant foe, he grasp'd the massy gate,
Shook with strong arm and tore it from the fort,
And lifted it in air—portentous shield!
"Behold the towers of Orleans," cried Dunois. 140
"Lo! this the vale where on the banks of Loire,
Of yore, at close of day the rustic band
Danced to the roundelay. In younger years
As oft I glided down the silver stream,
Frequent upon the lifted oar I paus'd 145
List'ning the sound of far-off merriment.
There wave the English banners! martial Maid,
Give thou the signal—let me rush upon
These ministers of murder, who have sack'd
The fruitful fields, and made the hamlet haunts 150
Silent—or hearing but the widow's groan,
Give thou the signal Maiden!"
Her dark eye
Fix'd sadly on the foe, the holy Maid
Answer'd him. "Ere the bloody sword be drawn,
Ere slaughter be let loose—befits us send 155
Some peaceful messenger, who shall make known
The will of Heaven. So timely warn'd, our foes
Haply may yet repent, and quit in peace
Besieged Orleans. Victory is sad
When even one man is murder'd."
So she said, 160
And as she spake a soldier from the ranks
Advanced. "I will be thy Messenger,
Maiden of God! I to the English camp
Will bear thy bidding."
"Go," the Virgin cried,
"Say to the Chief of Salisbury, and the host 165
Attending—Suffolk, Fastolffe, Talbot, Scales,
Invaders of the country—say, thus says
The Maid of Orleans. "With your troops retire
In peace. Of every captur'd town the keys
Restore to Charles; so bloodless you may seek 170
Your native England; for the God of Hosts
Thus has decreed. To Charles the rightful heir,
By long descent and voluntary choice,
Of duteous subjects hath the Lord assigned
His conquest. In his name the Virgin comes 175
Arm'd with his sword—yet not of mercy void.
Depart in peace: for ere the morrow dawns,
Victorious upon Orleans' wall shall wave
The holy banner." To the English camp
Fearless the warrior strode.
At mid-day meal, 180
With all the dissonance of boisterous mirth,
The British Chiefs carous'd and quaff'd the bowl
To future conquest. By the centinel
Conducted came the Frank.
"Chiefs," he exclaim'd,
"Salisbury, and ye the representatives 185
Of the English King, usurper of this realm,
To ye the leaders of the invading host
I come, no welcome messenger. Thus says
The Maid of Orleans. "With your troops retire
In peace. Of every captur'd town the keys 190
Restore to Charles; so bloodless may you seek
Your native England; for the God of Hosts
Thus has decreed. To Charles the rightful heir,
By long descent and voluntary choice
Of duteous subjects, hath the Lord assign'd 195
His conquest. In his name the Virgin comes,
Arm'd with his sword, yet not of mercy void.
Depart in peace: for ere the morrow dawns,
Victorious upon Orleans' wall shall wave
The holy banner."
Wonder made a pause; 200
To this the laugh succeeds. "What!" Fastolffe cried,
"A woman warrior has your monarch sent
To save devoted Orleans?" By the rood
"I thank his Grace. If she be young and fair
No worthless prize my Lords. Go tell your Maid 205
Joyful we wait her coming."
"Get thee gone,"
Sternly cried Talbot, "thou who think'st to scare
With girlish phantasies the English host
That scorns your bravest warriors. Hie thee hence,
Insolent Herald! tell this frantic girl, 210
This courtly minion, to avoid my wrath,
For if she dares the war, I will not stain
My good-blood-rusted sword—but she shall meet
The mockery of the camp."
"Nay, scare her not,"
Replied their Chief, "go tell this Maid of Orleans, 215
That Salisbury longs to meet her in the fight.
Nor let her fear that rude and iron chains
Shall gall her tender limbs; for I myself
Will be her prison, and—"
"Contemptuous Man!
"No more," the Frank exclaimed, as to his cheek 220
Rush'd the red anger. "Bearing words of peace
And timely warning, came I to your camp,
Here with rude mock'ry and stern insolence
Received. Bear witness Chieftains! that the French,
Free from blood-guiltiness, shall meet the war." 225
"Lo! this the vale where on the banks of Loire,
Of yore, at close of day the rustic band
Danced to the roundelay. In younger years
As oft I glided down the silver stream,
Frequent upon the lifted oar I paus'd 145
List'ning the sound of far-off merriment.
There wave the English banners! martial Maid,
Give thou the signal—let me rush upon
These ministers of murder, who have sack'd
The fruitful fields, and made the hamlet haunts 150
Silent—or hearing but the widow's groan,
Give thou the signal Maiden!"
Her dark eye
Fix'd sadly on the foe, the holy Maid
Answer'd him. "Ere the bloody sword be drawn,
Ere slaughter be let loose—befits us send 155
Some peaceful messenger, who shall make known
The will of Heaven. So timely warn'd, our foes
Haply may yet repent, and quit in peace
Besieged Orleans. Victory is sad
When even one man is murder'd."
So she said, 160
And as she spake a soldier from the ranks
Advanced. "I will be thy Messenger,
Maiden of God! I to the English camp
Will bear thy bidding."
"Go," the Virgin cried,
"Say to the Chief of Salisbury, and the host 165
Attending—Suffolk, Fastolffe, Talbot, Scales,
Invaders of the country—say, thus says
The Maid of Orleans. "With your troops retire
In peace. Of every captur'd town the keys
Restore to Charles; so bloodless you may seek 170
Your native England; for the God of Hosts
Thus has decreed. To Charles the rightful heir,
By long descent and voluntary choice,
Of duteous subjects hath the Lord assigned
His conquest. In his name the Virgin comes 175
Arm'd with his sword—yet not of mercy void.
Depart in peace: for ere the morrow dawns,
Victorious upon Orleans' wall shall wave
The holy banner." To the English camp
Fearless the warrior strode.
At mid-day meal, 180
With all the dissonance of boisterous mirth,
The British Chiefs carous'd and quaff'd the bowl
To future conquest. By the centinel
Conducted came the Frank.
"Chiefs," he exclaim'd,
"Salisbury, and ye the representatives 185
Of the English King, usurper of this realm,
To ye the leaders of the invading host
I come, no welcome messenger. Thus says
The Maid of Orleans. "With your troops retire
In peace. Of every captur'd town the keys 190
Restore to Charles; so bloodless may you seek
Your native England; for the God of Hosts
Thus has decreed. To Charles the rightful heir,
By long descent and voluntary choice
Of duteous subjects, hath the Lord assign'd 195
His conquest. In his name the Virgin comes,
Arm'd with his sword, yet not of mercy void.
Depart in peace: for ere the morrow dawns,
Victorious upon Orleans' wall shall wave
The holy banner."
Wonder made a pause; 200
To this the laugh succeeds. "What!" Fastolffe cried,
"A woman warrior has your monarch sent
To save devoted Orleans?" By the rood
"I thank his Grace. If she be young and fair
No worthless prize my Lords. Go tell your Maid 205
Joyful we wait her coming."
"Get thee gone,"
Sternly cried Talbot, "thou who think'st to scare
With girlish phantasies the English host
That scorns your bravest warriors. Hie thee hence,
Insolent Herald! tell this frantic girl, 210
This courtly minion, to avoid my wrath,
For if she dares the war, I will not stain
My good-blood-rusted sword—but she shall meet
The mockery of the camp."
"Nay, scare her not,"
Replied their Chief, "go tell this Maid of Orleans, 215
That Salisbury longs to meet her in the fight.
Nor let her fear that rude and iron chains
Shall gall her tender limbs; for I myself
Will be her prison, and—"
"Contemptuous Man!
"No more," the Frank exclaimed, as to his cheek 220
Rush'd the red anger. "Bearing words of peace
And timely warning, came I to your camp,
Here with rude mock'ry and stern insolence
Received. Bear witness Chieftains! that the French,
Free from blood-guiltiness, shall meet the war." 225
So saying he departed. Thro' the tents
As him the centinel conduced, round
He gaz'd and cried; "Oh! I am sad to think
So many men shall never see the sun
Go down! Ye English mothers mourn ye now, 230
Daughters of England weep! for hard of heart
Still your mad leaders urge the impious war,
And for their folly and their wickedness,
Your sons, your husbands, by the sword must fall.
Widow'd and friendless, ye shall sit and weep, 233
And, wanting bread, groan for the murdered ones
In whom your joys were murdered!"
So he cried,
And they who heard him trembled. Thro' the host
Ran the strange tidings. For the fight they arm,
Eager for war no longer, nor of blood 245
Greedy, but palsied by religious dread.
Some by bold words seeking to hide their fear
Even from themselves; some of the coming fray
Murmuring in hints half heard, tho' understood;
Some deadly pale and ominous of death, 245
Silently stood and breath'd the inward prayer.
As him the centinel conduced, round
He gaz'd and cried; "Oh! I am sad to think
So many men shall never see the sun
Go down! Ye English mothers mourn ye now, 230
Daughters of England weep! for hard of heart
Still your mad leaders urge the impious war,
And for their folly and their wickedness,
Your sons, your husbands, by the sword must fall.
Widow'd and friendless, ye shall sit and weep, 233
And, wanting bread, groan for the murdered ones
In whom your joys were murdered!"
So he cried,
And they who heard him trembled. Thro' the host
Ran the strange tidings. For the fight they arm,
Eager for war no longer, nor of blood 245
Greedy, but palsied by religious dread.
Some by bold words seeking to hide their fear
Even from themselves; some of the coming fray
Murmuring in hints half heard, tho' understood;
Some deadly pale and ominous of death, 245
Silently stood and breath'd the inward prayer.
Meantime the Herald had with hasty steps
Rejoin'd the hallowed troops. "Maiden of God!
Vainly I proffer'd peace to the proud chiefs:
Their hearts are hardened."
Thro' the marshall'd band 250
Ran the loud cry, "Lead, lead us to the foe!"
The mission'd Maid exclaim'd, "Not upon us,
Not upon us, cry out the innocent blood!"
Given was the signal now; and now were heard
The clarion's clangor, and the trumpet's blast, 255
Soul-rousing sounds. Like two conflicting clouds,
Pregnant with thunder, rush'd the hostile hosts.
Then man met man—then on the batter'd shield
Rung the loud lance, and thro' the darken'd sky
Fast fell the arrowy storm. Amidst his foes 260
The Bastard's arm sway'd irresistible
The strokes of death; and by his side the Maid
Led the fierce fight; the Maid, tho' all unus'd
To the rude conflict, now inspir'd by Heaven,
Flashing her flamy falchion thro' the troops, 265
That like the thunderbolt, where'er it fell,
Scattered the trembling ranks. Nor plated shield,
Nor the strong hauberk, nor the crested casque,
Stay that descending sword. Dreadful she moved,
Like as the Angel of the Lord went forth 270
And smote his army, when the Assyrian King,
Haughty of Hamath and Sepharvaim fallen,
Blasphem'd the God of Israel.
Yet the fight
Hung doubtful, where exampling hardiest deeds,
Salisbury mow'd down the foe, and Fastolffe strove, 275
And in the hottest doings of the war
Towered Talbot. He, remembering the past day
When from his name the affrighted sons of France
Fled trembling, all astonish'd at their force
And wontless valour, rages round the field 280
Dreadful in fury; yet in every man
Meeting a foe fearless, and in the faith
Of Heaven's assistance firm.
The clang of arms
Reaches the walls of Orleans. For the war
Prepar'd, and confident of victory, 285
Speed forth the troops. Not when afar exhal'd
The hungry raven snuffs the steam of blood
That from some carcass-cover'd field of fame
Taints the pure air, wings he more eagerly
To riot on the gore, than rush'd the ranks; 290
Impatient now for many an ill endur'd
In the long siege, to wreak upon their foes
Due vengeance. Then more fearful grew the fray;
The swords that late flash'd to the evening sun,
Now lost in blood their radiance.
O'er the host 295
Howl'd the deep wind that ominous of storms
Roll'd on the lurid clouds. The blacken'd night
Frown'd, and the thunder from the troubled sky
Roar'd hollow. Javelins clash'd and bucklers rang;
Shield prest on shield; loud on the helmet jarr'd 500
The ponderous battle axe; the groan of death
Commingling frequent with the storm was heard,
And the shrill shriek of Fear.
Amid the fight
Slaughter exultant rides. His giant limbs
Bestride the whirlwind, and his red right arm 305
Arrowed the lightning. Frantic Fury howls
Amid the thickest ranks, and from her torch
Tartarean flashes shook, and loud was heard
Horror's dread shriek amid the wild uproar.
Rejoin'd the hallowed troops. "Maiden of God!
Vainly I proffer'd peace to the proud chiefs:
Their hearts are hardened."
Thro' the marshall'd band 250
Ran the loud cry, "Lead, lead us to the foe!"
The mission'd Maid exclaim'd, "Not upon us,
Not upon us, cry out the innocent blood!"
Given was the signal now; and now were heard
The clarion's clangor, and the trumpet's blast, 255
Soul-rousing sounds. Like two conflicting clouds,
Pregnant with thunder, rush'd the hostile hosts.
Then man met man—then on the batter'd shield
Rung the loud lance, and thro' the darken'd sky
Fast fell the arrowy storm. Amidst his foes 260
The Bastard's arm sway'd irresistible
The strokes of death; and by his side the Maid
Led the fierce fight; the Maid, tho' all unus'd
To the rude conflict, now inspir'd by Heaven,
Flashing her flamy falchion thro' the troops, 265
That like the thunderbolt, where'er it fell,
Scattered the trembling ranks. Nor plated shield,
Nor the strong hauberk, nor the crested casque,
Stay that descending sword. Dreadful she moved,
Like as the Angel of the Lord went forth 270
And smote his army, when the Assyrian King,
Haughty of Hamath and Sepharvaim fallen,
Blasphem'd the God of Israel.
Yet the fight
Hung doubtful, where exampling hardiest deeds,
Salisbury mow'd down the foe, and Fastolffe strove, 275
And in the hottest doings of the war
Towered Talbot. He, remembering the past day
When from his name the affrighted sons of France
Fled trembling, all astonish'd at their force
And wontless valour, rages round the field 280
Dreadful in fury; yet in every man
Meeting a foe fearless, and in the faith
Of Heaven's assistance firm.
The clang of arms
Reaches the walls of Orleans. For the war
Prepar'd, and confident of victory, 285
Speed forth the troops. Not when afar exhal'd
The hungry raven snuffs the steam of blood
That from some carcass-cover'd field of fame
Taints the pure air, wings he more eagerly
To riot on the gore, than rush'd the ranks; 290
Impatient now for many an ill endur'd
In the long siege, to wreak upon their foes
Due vengeance. Then more fearful grew the fray;
The swords that late flash'd to the evening sun,
Now lost in blood their radiance.
O'er the host 295
Howl'd the deep wind that ominous of storms
Roll'd on the lurid clouds. The blacken'd night
Frown'd, and the thunder from the troubled sky
Roar'd hollow. Javelins clash'd and bucklers rang;
Shield prest on shield; loud on the helmet jarr'd 500
The ponderous battle axe; the groan of death
Commingling frequent with the storm was heard,
And the shrill shriek of Fear.
Amid the fight
Slaughter exultant rides. His giant limbs
Bestride the whirlwind, and his red right arm 305
Arrowed the lightning. Frantic Fury howls
Amid the thickest ranks, and from her torch
Tartarean flashes shook, and loud was heard
Horror's dread shriek amid the wild uproar.
Lo! where the holy banner waved aloft 310
The lambent lightnings play'd. Irradiate round
As with a blaze of glory, o'er the field
It shot miraculous splendor. Then their hearts
Sunk, and the English trembled. With such fear
Possessed, as when the combined host beheld 315
The sun stand still on Gibeon, at the voice
Of that king-conquering warrior, he who smote
The country of the hills, and of the south,
From Baal-gad to Halak, and their Kings,
Even as the Lord commanded. Swift they fled 320
From that portentous banner, and the sword
Of France; tho' Talbot with vain valiancy
Yet urged the war, and stemm'd alone the tide
Of conquest. Even their leaders felt dismay;
Fastolffe fled fast, and Salisbury in the rout 325
Mingles, and all impatient of defeat,
Borne backward Talbot turns. Then echoed loud
The cry of conquest. Deeper grew the storm,
And Darkness, hovering o'er on raven wing,
Brooded the field of death.
Nor in the camp 330
Deem themselves safe the trembling fugitives.
On to the forts they haste. Bewilder'd there
Amid the moats by fear, and the dead gloom
Of more than midnight darkness, plunge the troops,
Crush'd by fast following numbers who partake 335
The death they give. As rushing from the snows
Of winter liquified, the torrent tide
Resistless down the mountain rolls along,
Till at the brink of giddy precipice
Arrived, with deaf'ning clamor down it falls: 340
Thus borne along, the affrighted English troops
Driven by the force behind them, plunge amid
The liquid death. Then rose the dreadful cries
More dreadful, and the dash of breaking waves
That to the passing lightning as they broke 345
Gleam'd horrible.
Nor of the host so late
Triumphing in the pride of victory,
And swoln with confidence, had now escap'd
One wretched remnant, had not Talbot's mind,
Slow as he mov'd unwilling from the war, 350
What most might profit the defeated ranks,
Pondered. He reaching safe the massy fort
By St. John's name made holy, kindled up
The guiding fire. Not unobserved it blaz'd;
The watchful guards on Tournelles, and the pile 355
Of that proud city, in remembrance fond
Call'd London, light the beacon. Nor aloft
Did they not flame from every smaller fort,
That firm entrenched with walls and deep-delved moats
Included Orleans. O'er the shadowy plain 360
They cast a lurid splendor; to the troops
Grateful, as to the way-worn traveller,
Wand'ring with parched feet o'er the Arabian sands,
The far-seen cistern; he for many a league
Travelling the trackless desolate, where heaved 365
With tempest swell the desart billows round,
Pauses, and shudders at his perils past,
Then wild with joy speeds on to taste the wave
So long bewail'd.
Swift as the affrighted herd
Scud o'er the plain, when frequent thro' the sky 370
Flash the fierce lightnings, speed the routed host
Of England. To the sheltering forts they haste,
Tho' safe, of safety doubtful, still appall'd
And trembling, as the pilgrim who by night
On his way wilder'd, to the wolf's deep howl 375
Hears the wood echo, when from the fell beast
Escap'd, of some tall tree the topmost branch
He grasps close-clinging, still of that keen fang
Fearful, his teeth jar, and the big drops stand
On his cold quiv'ring limbs.
Nor now the Maid 380
Greedy of vengeance urges the pursuit.
She bids the trumpet of retreat resound;
A pleasant music to the routed ranks
Blows the loud blast. Obedient to its voice
The French, tho' eager on the invaders' heads 385
To wreak their wrath, stay the victorious sword.
The lambent lightnings play'd. Irradiate round
As with a blaze of glory, o'er the field
It shot miraculous splendor. Then their hearts
Sunk, and the English trembled. With such fear
Possessed, as when the combined host beheld 315
The sun stand still on Gibeon, at the voice
Of that king-conquering warrior, he who smote
The country of the hills, and of the south,
From Baal-gad to Halak, and their Kings,
Even as the Lord commanded. Swift they fled 320
From that portentous banner, and the sword
Of France; tho' Talbot with vain valiancy
Yet urged the war, and stemm'd alone the tide
Of conquest. Even their leaders felt dismay;
Fastolffe fled fast, and Salisbury in the rout 325
Mingles, and all impatient of defeat,
Borne backward Talbot turns. Then echoed loud
The cry of conquest. Deeper grew the storm,
And Darkness, hovering o'er on raven wing,
Brooded the field of death.
Nor in the camp 330
Deem themselves safe the trembling fugitives.
On to the forts they haste. Bewilder'd there
Amid the moats by fear, and the dead gloom
Of more than midnight darkness, plunge the troops,
Crush'd by fast following numbers who partake 335
The death they give. As rushing from the snows
Of winter liquified, the torrent tide
Resistless down the mountain rolls along,
Till at the brink of giddy precipice
Arrived, with deaf'ning clamor down it falls: 340
Thus borne along, the affrighted English troops
Driven by the force behind them, plunge amid
The liquid death. Then rose the dreadful cries
More dreadful, and the dash of breaking waves
That to the passing lightning as they broke 345
Gleam'd horrible.
Nor of the host so late
Triumphing in the pride of victory,
And swoln with confidence, had now escap'd
One wretched remnant, had not Talbot's mind,
Slow as he mov'd unwilling from the war, 350
What most might profit the defeated ranks,
Pondered. He reaching safe the massy fort
By St. John's name made holy, kindled up
The guiding fire. Not unobserved it blaz'd;
The watchful guards on Tournelles, and the pile 355
Of that proud city, in remembrance fond
Call'd London, light the beacon. Nor aloft
Did they not flame from every smaller fort,
That firm entrenched with walls and deep-delved moats
Included Orleans. O'er the shadowy plain 360
They cast a lurid splendor; to the troops
Grateful, as to the way-worn traveller,
Wand'ring with parched feet o'er the Arabian sands,
The far-seen cistern; he for many a league
Travelling the trackless desolate, where heaved 365
With tempest swell the desart billows round,
Pauses, and shudders at his perils past,
Then wild with joy speeds on to taste the wave
So long bewail'd.
Swift as the affrighted herd
Scud o'er the plain, when frequent thro' the sky 370
Flash the fierce lightnings, speed the routed host
Of England. To the sheltering forts they haste,
Tho' safe, of safety doubtful, still appall'd
And trembling, as the pilgrim who by night
On his way wilder'd, to the wolf's deep howl 375
Hears the wood echo, when from the fell beast
Escap'd, of some tall tree the topmost branch
He grasps close-clinging, still of that keen fang
Fearful, his teeth jar, and the big drops stand
On his cold quiv'ring limbs.
Nor now the Maid 380
Greedy of vengeance urges the pursuit.
She bids the trumpet of retreat resound;
A pleasant music to the routed ranks
Blows the loud blast. Obedient to its voice
The French, tho' eager on the invaders' heads 385
To wreak their wrath, stay the victorious sword.
Loud is the cry of conquest as they turn
To Orleans. There what few to guard the town
Unwilling had remained, haste forth to meet
The triumph. Many a blazing torch they held 390
That rais'd aloft amid the midnight storm,
Flash'd far a festive light. The Maid advanced—
Deep thro' the sky the hollow thunders roll'd—
Innocuous lightnings round the hallowed banner
Wreath'd their red radiance.
Thro' the open'd gate 395
Slow past, the laden convoy. Then was heard
The shout of exultation, and such joy
The men of Orleans at that welcome sight
Possess'd; as when from Bactria late subdued,
The Macedonian Madman led his troops 400
Amid the Sogdian desart, where no stream
Wastes on the wild its fertilizing waves.
Fearful alike to pause, or to proceed;
Scorch'd by the sun that o'er their morning march
Steam'd his hot vapors, heart subdued and faint; 405
Such joy as then they felt, when from the heights
Burst the soul-gladdening sound! for thence was seen
The evening sun silvering the tide below,
Where Oxus roll'd along.
Clamors of joy
Echo along the street of Orleans, wont 410
Long time to hear the infant's feeble cry,
The mother's frantic shriek, or the dread sound,
When from the cannon burst its stores of death.
Far flames the fire of joy on ruin'd piles,
And high heap'd carcasses, whence scar'd away 415
From his abhorred meal, on clattering wing
Rose the night-raven slow.
In the English forts,
Sad was the scene. There all the livelong night
Steals in the stragling fugitive; as when,
Past is the storm, and o'er the azure sky 420
Serenely shines the sun; with every breeze
The waving branches drop their gather'd rain,
Renewing the remembrance of the storm.
To Orleans. There what few to guard the town
Unwilling had remained, haste forth to meet
The triumph. Many a blazing torch they held 390
That rais'd aloft amid the midnight storm,
Flash'd far a festive light. The Maid advanced—
Deep thro' the sky the hollow thunders roll'd—
Innocuous lightnings round the hallowed banner
Wreath'd their red radiance.
Thro' the open'd gate 395
Slow past, the laden convoy. Then was heard
The shout of exultation, and such joy
The men of Orleans at that welcome sight
Possess'd; as when from Bactria late subdued,
The Macedonian Madman led his troops 400
Amid the Sogdian desart, where no stream
Wastes on the wild its fertilizing waves.
Fearful alike to pause, or to proceed;
Scorch'd by the sun that o'er their morning march
Steam'd his hot vapors, heart subdued and faint; 405
Such joy as then they felt, when from the heights
Burst the soul-gladdening sound! for thence was seen
The evening sun silvering the tide below,
Where Oxus roll'd along.
Clamors of joy
Echo along the street of Orleans, wont 410
Long time to hear the infant's feeble cry,
The mother's frantic shriek, or the dread sound,
When from the cannon burst its stores of death.
Far flames the fire of joy on ruin'd piles,
And high heap'd carcasses, whence scar'd away 415
From his abhorred meal, on clattering wing
Rose the night-raven slow.
In the English forts,
Sad was the scene. There all the livelong night
Steals in the stragling fugitive; as when,
Past is the storm, and o'er the azure sky 420
Serenely shines the sun; with every breeze
The waving branches drop their gather'd rain,
Renewing the remembrance of the storm.
- ↑ Line 98. "It was the belief of the Mexicans, that at the conclusion of one of their centuries the sun and earth would be destroyed. On the last night of every century they extinguished all their fires, covered the faces of the women and children, and expected the end of the world. The kindling of the sacred fire on the mountain of Huixachtla was believed an omen of their safety.
See the History of Mexico, by the Abbe Clavigero.