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No more the merry viol's note was heard;^[1]
No more the aged matron at her door
Humm'd cheery to her spinning-wheel, and saw
Her children dancing to the roundelay.
The chieftains strengthening still the ancient walls,
Survey them every where with prying eye;
The eager youth, in anxious preparation,
Practise the arts of war; silent and stern,
With the hurrying restlessness of fear, they urge
Their gloomy labors. In the city dwelt
An utter silence of all pleasant sounds;
But all day long the armorer's beat was heard,
And all night long it echoed.
                               "Soon the foe
Led to our walls the siege: as on they move
The clarions clangor, and the cheerful fife,
Accordant to the thundering drum's deep sound,
Direct their measured march. Before the ranks
Salisbury was seen, Salisbury, so long the scourge
Of France; and Talbot towered by his side,
Talbot, at whose dread name the froward child
Clings mute and trembling to his nurse's breast.
Suffolk was there, and Hungerford, and Scales,
And Fastolffe, victor in the frequent fight.
Dark as the autumnal storm they roll'd along,
A countless host! From the high tower I mark'd
The dreadful scene; I saw the iron gleam
Of javelins sparkling to the noontide sun,
Their banners tossing to the troubled gale,
And — fearful music — heard upon the wind
The modulated step of multitudes.

"There in the midst, shuddering with fear, I saw
The dreadful stores of death; tremendous roll'd
Over rough roads the harsh wheels; the brazen tubes
Flash'd in the sun their fearful splendor far,
And, last, the loaded wagons creak'd along.

"Nor were our chieftains, whilst their care procured
Human defence, neglectful to implore
That heavenly aid, deprived of which the strength
Of man is weakness. Bearing through our streets
The precious relics of the holy dead,
The monks and nuns pour'd many an earnest prayer,
Devoutly join'd by all. Saint Aignan's shrine
Was throng'd by supplicants, the general voice
Call'd on Saint Aignan's name^[2] again to save
His people, as of yore, before he past
Into the fulness of eternal rest;
When by the Spirit to the lingering camp
Of Ætius borne, he brought the timely aid,
And Attila, with all his multitudes,
Far off retreated to their field of shame."

And now Dunois — for he had seen the camp
Well-order'd — cnter'd. "One night more in peace
England shall rest," he cried, "ere yet the storm
Burst on her guilty head! then their proud vaunts
Forgotten, or remember'd to their shame,
Vainly her chiefs shall curse the hour when first
They pitch'd their tents round Orleans."

                                 "Of that siege,"
The Maid of Arc replied, "gladly I hear
The detail. Isabel, proceed! for soon
Destined to rescue this devoted town,
The tale of all the ills she hath endured
I listen, sorrowing for the past, and feel
Joy and contentment in the merciful task
For which I am sent forth."
                           Thus spake the maid.
And Isabel pursued. "And now more near
The hostile host advancing pitch their tents.
Unnumber'd streamers wave, and clamorous shouts,
Anticipating conquest, rend the air
With universal uproar. From their camp
A herald came; his garb emblazon'd o'er
With leopards and the lilies of our realm —
Foul shame to France! The summons of the foe
He brought."
               The Bastard interrupting cried,
"I was with Gaucour and the assembled chiefs,
When by his office privileged and proud
That herald spake, as certain of success
As he had made a league with Victory.
'Nobles of France rebellious! from the chief
Of yon victorious host, the mighty Earl
Of Salisbury, now there in place of him
Your Regent John of Bedford: in his name
I come, and in our sovereign Lord the King's,
Henry. Ye know full well our master's claim,
Incontrovertible to this good realm,
By right descent, and solemnly confirm'd
By your great monarch and our mighty king
Fifth Henry, in the treaty ratified
At Troyes,^[3] wherein your monarch did disclaim
All future right and title to this crown,
His own exempted, for his son and heirs
Down to the end of time. This sign'd and seal'd
At the holy altar, and by nuptial knot
Of Henry and your princess, gives the realm,
Charles dead and Henry, to his infant son
Henry of Windsor. Who then dares oppose
My master's title, in the face of God,
Of wilful perjury, most atrocious crime,
Stands guilty, and of flat rebellion 'gainst
The Lord's anointed. He, at Paris crown'd
With loud acclaim of duteous multitudes,
Thus speaks by me. Deliver up your town
To Salisbury, and yield yourselves and arms,
So shall your lives be safe: and such his grace,
If of your free accord to him you pay
Due homage as your sovereign Lord and King,
Your rich estates, your houses shall be safe,
And you in favor stand, as is the Duke,
Philip of Burgundy. But — mark me well!
If, obstinately wilful, you persist
To scorn his proffer'd mercy, not one stone
Upon another of this wretched town
Shall then be left; and when the English host
Triumphant in the dust have trod the towers
Of Orleans, who survive the dreadful war
Shall die like traitors by the hangman's hand.
Ye men of France, remember Caen and Roan!'
 
"He ceased: nor Gaucour for a moment paused
To form reply.
               "'Herald! to all thy vaunts
Of English sovereignty let this suffice

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