Drew round their children of the after days, And pointing to the turf, told how he lived, And taught by his example how to die. Maiden! and such the evening of my days Fondly I hoped; and would that I had lived 127 In those old times, or till some better age Slumber'd unborn; for this is a hard race, An evil generation: nor by day
Nor in the night have respite from their cares And wretchedness. But I shall be at rest Soon, in that better world of peace and love Where evil is not: in that better world, JOAN! we shall meet, and he too will be there, Thy Theodore.>>
Soothed by his words, the Maid Had listen'd sadly, till at that loved name She wept.
Nay, Maid!» he cried, « I did not think To wake a tear-yet pleasant is thy grief! Thou know'st not what it is, around thy heart To have a false one wreathe in viper folds. But to the battle! in the clang of arms
He sprang, and helm'd his head. The Maid arose, 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 cliffs Had never spread the sail. Cold terror creeps Through every vein already they turn back eager eyes to meditate the flight, Though Talbot there presided, with their Chief, The dauntless Salisbury.
« Soldiers tried in arms!»> 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 Agincourt, when vanquish'd France Fled with her thousands from your fathers' arms? llave ye forgotten how our English swords, On that illustrious day before Verneuil, Cut down the flower of all their chivalry? Then was that noble heart of Douglas pierced, 128 Bold Buchan bit the earth, and Narbonne died, And this Alençon, boaster as he is,
Cried mercy to his conqueror. Shall I speak Of our victorious banner on the walls Of Yenville and Baugenci triumphing: And of that later hour of victory
When Clermont and the Bastard plied their spurs ? Shame! shame! that beaten boy is here in arms, And ye will fly before the fugitives- Fly from a woman! from a frantic girl! Who with her empty mummeries tries to blast Your courage; or if miracles she brings,
Aid of the devil! Who is there among you False to his country-to his former fame- To your old leader who so many a time Hath led ye on to glory ?»
A heartless shout arose; then Talbot's cheek Grew red with indignation. « Earl,» said he, Addressing Salisbury, « there is no hope From these white-liver'd dastards; and this fort
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 the man Who all the day has by our side endured 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: knowest thou him? There is not one amid the host of France Of fairer promise.»>
« He,» the Chief replied,
« Wretched and prodigal of life, achieves The exploits of despair: a gallant youth, Widow'd like me of hope, and but for whom I had been seen among mankind no more. Maiden! with me thy comrade in the war, His arm is vow'd to heaven. Lo! where he stands Bearing the battle's brunt in unmoved strength, Firm as the mountain, round whose misty head The unharming tempest breaks!»>
In farther converse, to the perilous fray Speeding, not unobserved; for Salisbury saw And called on Talbot. Six, the bravest knights And sworn with them, against the Virgin's life Bent their fierce course. She by the herald's side Now urged the war, when on her white plumed helm The hostile falchion fell. On high she lifts Her hallow'd sword, the tenant of the tomb, And drench'd it in his bosom. Conrade's blow Fell on another, and the ponderous axe Shatter'd his brain. With Talbot's giant force The daring herald urged unequal fight; For like some oak that firm with deep-fix'd roots Defies the storm, the undaunted earl endured 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
Bending anon more fierce in swift attack. Ill-fated man! one deed of glory more
Shall with the short-lived lightning's splendour grace This thy death-day; for SLAUGHTER even now Stands o'er the loom of life, and lifts his sword
Upon her shield the martial Maiden bore An English warrior's blow, and in his side Pierced him; that instant Salisbury sped his sword, Which glancing from her helm fell on the folds That arm'd her neck, and making there its way, 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
It fell, and pierced his mail, and through 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
Humming a broken song. Along the camp High flames the frequent fire. The warrior Franks, On the hard earth extended, rest their limbs Fatigued, their spears lay by them, and the shield Pillow'd the helmed head: 29 secure they slept; And busy fancy in her dream renew'd The fight of yesterday.
But not to her, most wretched, came thy aid, Soother of sorrows, Sleep! No more her pulse, Amid the battle's tumult throbbing fast,
Allow'd no pause for thought. With clasped hands And fixed cyc she sat, the while around The spectres of the days departed rose, A melancholy train! Upon the gale The raven's croak was heard; she started up, And passing through the camp with hasty step, Strode to the field of blood.
Nor ever clearer welkin canopied Chaldea, while the watchful shepherd's eye
Drives with strong arm the murderous sword. She saw, Survey'd the host of heaven, and mark'd them rise,
Nor could the Maiden save her Theodore.
Conrade behield, and from his vanquish'd foc Strode terrible in vengeance. Front to front
They stood, and each for the death-blow prepared 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 Convey'd with fearful speed: nor did his stroke Fali vainly on the Frenchman's crested helm, Though 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 confused, 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 seck, Now reckless which, so from that battle's rage 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, 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 The host beleaguering. There they pitch their tents, And plant their engines for the morrow's war, Theu to their meal, and o'er the cheerful bowl Recount the tale of danger; soon to rest Betaking them, for now the night drew on.
Now was the noon of night; and all was still, Save where the sentinel paced on his rounds
Successive, and successively decay,
Lost in the stream of light, as lesser springs Amid Euphrates' current. The high wall Cast a deep shadow, and her faltering feet Stumbled o'er broken arms and carcasses; And sometimes did she hear the heavy groan Of one yet struggling in the pangs of death. She reach'd the spot where Theodore had fall'n, Before fort London's gate; but vainly there Sought she the youth, on every clay-cold face Gazing with such a look 130 as though she fear'd The thing she sought. Amazement seized the Maid, For there the victim of his vengeful arm, Known by the buckler's blazon'd heraldry, Salisbury lay dead. So as the Virgin stood Gazing around the plain, she mark'd a man Pass slowly on, as burthen'd. Him to aid She sped, and soon with unencumber'd speed O'ertaking, thus bespake : « Stranger! this weight Impedes thy progress. Dost thou bear away Some slaughter'd friend? or lives the sufferer With many a sore wound gush'd! oh! if he lives, I will with earnest prayer petition Heaven To shed its healing on him!»
So she said; And, as she spake, stretch'd forth her careful hands To case the burthen. << Warrior!» he replied, «Thanks for thy proffer'd aim; but he hath ceased To suffer, and my strength may well suffice To bear him to the sepulchre. Farewell! The night is far advanced; thou to the camp Return it fits not darkling thus to stray.»
Devoted for the realm of France she goes, Abandoning for this the joys of life, Yea-life itself! Yet on my heart her words Vibrate. If she must perish in the war, I will not live to bear the dreadful thought, That I perchance had saved her. I will go, Her unknown guardian. Conrade, if I fall... And trust me I have little love of life... Do thou in secret bear me from the field, Lest haply I might meet her wandering eye A mangled corpse. She must not know my Do this last act of friendship, and in the flood Whelm me: so shall she think of Theodore Without a pang. Maiden, I vow'd with him That I would dare the battle by thy side, And shield thee in the war. Thou hadst not seen his fall.»
Ile on the earth the clay-cold carcass laid.
With steady eye the wretched Maiden view'd
The life-left tenement: his batter'd arms
Together will we journey, and beguile The dreary road, telling with what gay hopes We in the morning eyed the pleasant fields Vision'd before; then wish that we had reach'd The bower of rest!»>
Thus communing they gain'd The camp, yet hush'd in sleep; there separating, Each in the post allotted, restless waits The day-break.
Morning came: dim through the shade The first rays glimmer; soon the brightening clouds Drink the rich beam, and o'er the landscape spread The dewy light. The soldiers from the earth Leap up invigorate, and each his food Receives, impatient to renew the war. Dunois his javelin to the Tournelles points:
Soldiers of France! behold, your foes are there!»
As when a band of hunters, round the den Of some wood-monster, point their spears, elate In hope of conquest and the future feast; When on the hospitable board their spoil
| Were with the night-dews damp; his brown hair clung Shall smoke, and they, as the rich bowl goes round, Gore-clotted in the wound, and one loose lock Play'd o'er his cheek's black paleness. 131
She cried, I would to God the hour were come When I might meet thee in the bowers of bliss! No, Theodore! the sport of winds and waves, Thy body shall not roll adown the stream, The sea-wolfs banquet. Conrade, bear with me The corpse to Orleans, there in hallow'd ground To rest; the priest shall say the sacred prayer, And hymn the requiem to his parted soul. So shall not Elinor in bitterness
Lament that no dear friend to her dead child Paid the last office.»
From the earth they lift The mournful burthen, and along the plain Pass with slow footsteps to the city gate. The obedient sentinel at Conrade's voice Admits the midnight travellers; on they pass, Till, in the neighbouring abbey's porch arrived, They rest the lifeless load.
Loud rings the bell; The awaken'd porter turns the heavy door. To him the Virgin : « Father, from the slain On yonder reeking field a dear loved friend I bring to holy sepulture, chaunt ye The requiem to his soul: to-morrow eve Will I return, and in the narrow house Behold him laid to rest.» The father knew The mission'd Maid, and humbly bow'd assent.
Now from the city, o'er the shadowy plain, Backward they bend their way. From silent thoughts The Maid awakening cried...« There was a time, When thinking on my closing hour of life, Though with resolved mind, some natural fears Shook the weak frame: but now the happy hour, When my emancipated soul shall burst The cumberous fetters of mortality, Wishful I contemplate. Conrade! my friend, My wounded heart would feel another pang Shouldst thou forsake me!»
«JOAN!» the Chief replied, Along the weary pilgrimage of life
Tell to their guests their exploits in the chase; They with their shouts of exultation make The forest ring; so elevate of heart,
With such loud clamours for the fierce assault The French prepare. Nor, guarding now the lists, Durst the disheartened English man to man
Or from the embattled wall, 133 they their yeugh bows Bent forceful, and their death-fraught enginery Discharged; nor did the Gallic archers cease
With well-directed shafts their loftier foes
To assail: behind the guardian pavais fenced, 134 They at the battlements their arrows aim'd, Showering an iron storm, whilst o'er the bayle, The bayle now levell'd by victorious France, Pass'd the bold troops with all their mangonels; 135 Or tortoises, 136 beneath whose roofing safe, They, filling the deep moat, might for the towers Make fit foundation, or with petraries,
War-wolfs, and beugles, and that murderous sling The matafund, from whence the ponderous stone Fled fierce, and made one wound of whom it struck, Shattering the frame so that no pious hand Gathering his mangled limbs might him convey To where his fathers slept: a dreadful train 137 Prepared by Salisbury over the town besieged To hurl its ruin; but that dreadful train, Must hurl its ruin on the invaders' head, Such retribution righteous Heaven decreed.
Nor lie the English trembling, for the fort Was ably garrison'd. Glacidas, the chief, A gallant man, sped on from place to place Cheering the brave; or if the archer's hand, Palsied with fear, shot wide the ill-aim'd shaft, Threatening the coward who betray'd himself, He drove him from the ramparts. In his hand The Chief a cross-bow held; 138 an engine dread Of such wide-wasting fury, that of yore The assembled fathers of the Christian church Pronounced that man accursed whose impious hand Should point the murderous weapon. Such decrees Befits the men of God to promulgate,
And with a warning voice, though haply vain,
To cry aloud and spare not, Woe to them Whose hands are full of blood!'
An English King, The lion-hearted Richard, their decree First broke, and heavenly retribution doom'd His fall by the keen quarrel; since that day Frequent in fields of battle, and from far
To many a good knight bearing his death-wound From hands unknown. With such an instrument, Arm'd on the ramparts, Glacidas his eye
Cast on the assailing host. A keener glance Darts not the hawk when from the feather'd tribe lle marks his victim.
His gaze, who, kneeling by the Trebuchet, 139 Charged its long sling with death. Him Glacidas, Secure behind the battlements, beheld,
And strung his bow; then, bending on one knee, He in the groove the feather'd quarrel placed, 140 And levelling with firm eye, the death-wound mark'd. The bow-string twang'd, on its swift way the dart Whizz'd fierce, and struck, there where the helmet's clasps Defend the neck; a weak protection now,
For through the tube which draws the breath of life Pierced the keen shaft; blood down the unwonted way Gush'd to the lungs, prone fell the dying man Grasping, convulsed, the earth: a hollow groan In his throat struggled, and the dews of death Stood on his livid cheek. The days of youth He had pass'd peaceful, and had known what joys Domestic love bestows, the father once Of two fair infants; in the city hemm'd During the hard siege, he had seen their cheeks Grow pale with famine, and had heard their cries For bread! his wife, a broken-hearted one, Sunk to the cold grave's quiet, and her babes With hunger pined, and followed; he survived, A miserable man, and heard the shouts Of joy in Orleans, when the Maid approach'd, As o'er the corpse of his last little one
He heap'd the unhallow'd earth. To him the foe Perform'd a friendly part, hastening the hour Grief else had soon brought on.
The English Chief, Pointing again his arbalist, let loose
The string; the quarrel, driven by that strong blow, True to its aim, fled fatal: one it struck Dragging a tortoise to the moat, and fix'd
Deep in his liver; blood and mingled gall
Firm footing: some the mangonels supply,
Or charging with huges stones the murderous sling, 14a Or petrary, or in the espringal
Fix the brass-winged arrows. 143 Iloarse around Rose the confused din of multitudes.
Fearless along the ramparts Gargrave moved, Cheering the English troops. The bow he bore; The quiver rattled as he moved along.
He knew aright to aim the feather'd shafts, Well-skill'd to pierce the mottled roe-buck's side, O'ertaken in his flight. Him passing on,
From some huge martinet, 144 a ponderous stone Struck on his breast-plate falling, there the driving
Shatter'd the bone, and with his mangled lungs The fragments mingled. On the sunny brow Of a fair hill, wood-circled, stood his home, A pleasant dwelling, whence the well-pleased eye Gazed o'er the subject distance, and survey'd Streams, hills, and forests, fair variety! The traveller knew its hospitable towers, For open were the gates, and blazed for all The friendly fire. By glory lured, the youth Went forth; and he had bathed his falchion's edge In many a Frenchman's gore; now crush'd beneath The ponderous fragments' force, his mangled limbs Lie quivering. Lo! towards the levelled moat,
A moving tower the men of Orleans wheel 145 Four stages elevate. Above was hung, Equalling the walls, a bridge; in the lower stage The ponderous battering-ram: a troop within Of archers, through the opening, shot their shafts. 146 In the loftiest part was Conrade, so prepared To mount the rampart; for he loathed the chase, And loved to see the dappled foresters
Browze fearless on their lair with friendly eye,
And happy in beholding happiness,
Not meditating death: the bowman's art Therefore he little knew, nor was he wont To aim the arrow at the distant foe, But uprear in close conflict, front to front, His death-red battle-axe, and break the shield, First in the war of men. There, too, the Maid Awaits, impatient on the wall to wield
Her falchion. Onward moves the heavy tower, Slow o'er the moat, and steady, though the foe Shower'd there their javelins, aim'd their engines there, And from the arbalist the fire-tipt dart 147
Flow'd from the wound, and writhing with keen pangs Shot lightning through the sky. In vain it flamed, Headlong he fell. He for the wintry hour Knew many a merry ballad and quaint tale, A man in his small circle well-beloved. None better knew with prudent hand to guide The vine's young tendrils, or at vintage time To press the full-swoln clusters; be, heart-glad, Taught his young boys the little all he knew, Enough for happiness. The English host Laid waste his fertile fields: he to the war, By want compell'd, adventured, in his gore Now weltering. Their eager efforts; some the watery fence, 141 Beneath the tortoise roof'd, with engines apt Drain paiuful; part, laden with wood, throw there Their buoyant burthens, labouring so to gain
Nor the Gallic host remit
For well with many a reeking hide secured, Pass'd on the dreadful pile, and now it reach'd The wall. Below, with forceful impulse driven, The iron-horned engine swings its stroke, Then back recoils; while they within who guide, In backward step collecting all their strength, Anon the massy beam with stronger arm Drive full and fierce. So rolls the swelling sea Its curly billows to the unmoved foot Of some huge promontory, whose broad base Breaks the rough wave; the shiver'd surge rolls back, Till, by the coming billow borne, it bursts Again, and foams with ceaseless violence: The wanderer, on the sunny clift outstretch'd, Harks to the roaring surges, as they rock His weary senses to forgetfulness.
But nearer danger threats the invaders now; For on the ramparts, lower'd from above The bridge reclines. 148 An universal shout Rose from the hostile hosts. The exultant Franks Clamour their loud rejoicing, whilst the foe Lift up the warning voice, and call aloud For speedy succour there, with deafening shout Cheering their comrades. Not with louder din The mountain torrent flings precipitate Its bulk of waters, though amid the fall Shatter'd, and dashing silvery from the rock.
Lo! on the bridge he stands, the undaunted man, Conrade! the gather'd foes along the wall Throng opposite, and on him point their pikes, Cresting with armed men the battlements. He undismay'd, thongh on that perilous height, Stood firm, and hurl'd his javelin; the keen point Pierced through the destined victim, where his arm Join'd the broad breast: a wound which skilful care Haply had heal'd; but, him disabled now For farther service, the unpitying throng Of his tumultuous comrades from the wall Thrust headlong. Nor did Conrade cease to hurl His deadly javelins fast, for well within The tower was stored with weapons, to the knight Quickly supplied: nor did the mission'd Maid Rest idle from the combat; she, secure, Aim'd the keen quarrel, taught the cross-bow's use By the willing mind that what it well desires Gains aptly nor amid the numerous throng, Though haply erring from their destined mark, Sped her sharp arrows frustrate. From the tower Ceaseless the bow-strings twang: the knights below, Each by his pavais bulwark'd, thither aim'd Their darts, and not a dart fell woundless there, So thickly throng'd they stood; and fell as fast As, when the monarch of the east goes forth From Gemna's banks and the proud palaces Of Delhi, the wild monsters of the wood Die in the blameless warfare: closed within The still-contracting circle, their brute force Wasting in mutual rage, they perish there, Or by each other's fury lacerate, The archer's barbed arrow, or the lance Of some bold youth of his first exploits vain, Rajah or Omrah, for the war of beasts Venturous, and learning thus the love of blood.
The shout of terror rings along the wall,
For now the French their scaling-ladders place, And, bearing high their bucklers, to the assault Mount fearless: from above the furious troops Hurl down such weapons as inventive care Or frantic rage supplies: huge stones and beams Crush the bold foe; some, thrust adown the height, Fall living to their death; some in keen pangs And wildly-writhing, as the liquid lead
Gnaws through their members, leap down desperate, Eager to cease from suffering. Still they mount, And, by their fellows' fate unterrified, Still dare the perilous way. Nor dangerless To the English was the fight, though from above Easy to crush the assailants: them amidst Fast fled the arrows; the brass-wing'd darts, '49 There driven resistless from the espringal,
Keeping their impulse even in the wound, Whirl as they pierce the victim. Some fall, crush'd Beneath the ponderous fragment that descends The heavier from its height: some the long lance, Impetuous rushing on its viewless way,
Transfix'd. The death-fraught cannon's thundering
Convulsing air, the soldier's eager shout, And terror's wild shriek, echo o'er the plain In dreadful harmony.
Meantime the Chief, Who equall'd on the bridge the rampart's height, With many a well-aim'd javelin dealing death, Made through the throng his passage: he advanced In wary valour o'er his slaughter'd foes,
On the blood-reeking wall. Him drawing near, Two youths, the boldest of the English host, Press'd on to thrust him from that perilous height; At once they rush'd upon him: he, his axe Dropping, the dagger drew: one through the throat He pierced, and, swinging his broad buckler round, Dash'd down his comrade. Even thus unmoved, Stood Corineus, the sire of Guendolen, When grappling with his monstrous enemy He the brute vastness held aloft, and bore, And headlong hurl'd, all shatter'd to the sea, Down from the rock's high summit, since that day Him, hugest of the giants, chronicling, Called Langoemagog.
The Maid of Arc Bounds o'er the bridge, and to the wind unfurls Her hallow'd banner. At that welcome sight A general shout of acclamation rose, And loud, as when the tempest-tossing forest Roars to the roaring wind. Then terror seized The garrison; and, fired anew with hope, The fierce assailants to their prize rush on Resistless. Vainly do their English foes Hurl there their beams, and stones, and javelins, And fire-brands; fearless in the escalade, The assailants mount, and now upon the wall Wage equal battle.
Burning at the sight With indignation, Glacidas beheld His troops fly scatter'd ; fast on every side The foes up-rushing eager to their spoil; The holy standard waving; and the Maid Fierce in pursuit. «Speed but this arrow, Heaven!» The Chief exclaim'd, « and I shall fall content.»> So saying, he his sharpest quarrel chose, And fix'd the bow-string, and against the Maid Levelling, let loose; her arm was raised on high To smite a fugitive; he glanced aside, Shunning her deadly stroke, and thus received The Chieftain's arrow: through his ribs it pass'd, And cleft that vessel, whence the purer blood Through many a branching channel o'er the frame
<< Fool!» the exasperate knight exclaim'd, « Would she had slain thee! thou hast lived too long.» Again he aim'd his arbalist: the string Struck forceful: swift the erring arrow sped Guiltless of blood, for lightly o'er the court Bounded the warrior Virgin. Glacidas Levell'd his bow again; the fated shaft Fled true, and difficultly through the mail
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