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

We win forgetfulness.»>

Then from the bank

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.

Their

« 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 ?»

From the host

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!»>

Nor paused they now

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 JOAN,

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.

The night was calm;

Nor ever clearer welkin canopied
Chaldea, while the watchful shepherd's eye

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.

BOOK VIL

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.»

fate.

And now I hoped

As thus he spake,

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

youth!»

«Gallant

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,

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

roar

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.

150

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

Meanders.

<< 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