Powerless opposed to valor. Forth he spurr'd Before the ranks; she mark'd the coming foe, And fix'd her lance in rest, and rush'd along. Midway they met; full on her buckler driven, 325 Shiver'd the English spear: her better force Drove the brave foeman senseless from his seat. Headlong he fell, nor ever to the sense Of shame awoke, for crowding multitudes Soon crush'd the helpless warrior.
Rode through the thickest battle; fast they fell, Pierced by her forceful spear. Amid the troops Plunged her strong war-horse, by the noise of arms Elate and roused to rage, he tramples o'er, Or with the lance protended from his front, Thrusts down the thronging squadrons. Where she
The foe tremble and die. Such ominous fear Seizes the traveller o'er the trackless sands, Who marks the dread Simoom across the waste Sweep its swift pestilence: to earth he falls, Nor dares give utterance to the inward prayer, Deeming the Genius of the desart breathes The purple blast of death.
As when a tempest, mingling air and sea, Flies o'er the uptorn ocean: dashing high Their foamy heads amid the incumbent clouds, The madden'd billows with their deafening roar Drown the loud thunder's peal. In every form Of horror, death was there. They fall, transfix'd By the random arrow's point, or fierce-thrust lance,
Or sink, all battered by the ponderous mace: Some from their coursers thrown, lie on the earth, Helpless because of arms, that weak to save, Lengthened the lingering agonies of death. But most the English fell, by their own fears Betray'd, for fear the evil that it dreads Increaseth. Even the chiefs, who many a day Had met the war and conquer'd, trembled now, Appall'd before the Maid miraculous.
As the blood-nurtur'd monarch of the wood, That o'er the wilds of Afric in his strength Resistless ranges, when the mutinous clouds Burst, and the lightnings through the midnight sky Dart their red fires, lies fearful in his den, And howls in terror to the passing storm.
But Talbot, fearless where the bravest fear'd
Mow'd down the hostile ranks. The chieftain stood Like a strong oak, amid the tempest's rage, That stands unharm'd, and while the forest falls Uprooted round, lifts his high head aloft, And nods majestic to the warring wind.
He fought, resolved to snatch the shield of death And shelter him from shame. The very herd Who fought near Talbot, though the Virgin's name Made their cheeks pale and drove the curdling blood Back to their hearts, caught from his daring deeds New force, and went like eaglets to the prey Beneath their mother's wing: to him they look'd, Their tower of strength, and follow'd where his sword Made through the foe a way. Nor did the son 380 Of Talbot shame his lineage; by his sire
Emulous he strove, like the young lionet
When first he bathes his murderous jaws in blood. They fought intrepid, though amid their ranks Fear and confusion triumph'd; for such dread 385 Possess'd the English, as the Etruscans felt, When self-devoted to the infernal gods The aweful Decius stood before the troops, Robed in the victim garb of sacrifice,
And spake aloud, and call'd the shadowy powers To give to Rome the conquest, and receive Their willing prey; then rush'd amid the foe, And died upon the hecatombs he slew.
But hope inspired the assailants. Xaintrailles there Spread fear and death, and Orleans' valiant son 395 Fought as when Warwick fled before his arm. O'er all pre-eminent for hardiest deeds
Was Conrade. Where he drove his battle-axe, Weak was the buckler or the helm's defence, Hauberk, or plated mail, through all it pierced, 400 Resistless as the fork'd flash of heaven.
The death-doom'd foe, who mark'd the coming chief, Felt such a chill run through his shivering frame, As the night-traveller of the Pyrenees, Lone and bewilder'd on his wintery way, When from the mountains round reverberates The hungry wolves' deep yell: on every side, Their fierce eyes gleaming as with meteor fires, The famish'd pack come round; the affrighted mule Snorts loud with terror, on his shuddering limbs 410 The big sweat starts, convulsive pant his sides, Then on he gallops, wild in desperate speed.
Him dealing death an English knight beheld, And spurr'd his steed to crush him: Conrade leap'd Lightly aside, and through the warrior's grieves 415 Fix'd a deep wound: nor longer could the foe, Disabled thus, command his mettled horse, Or his rude plunge endure; headlong he fell, And perish'd. In his castle-hall was hung On high his father's shield, with many a dint 420 Graced on the glorious field of Agincourt. His deeds the son had heard; and when a boy, Listening delighted to the old man's tale, His little hand would lift the weighty spear In warlike pastime he had left behind An infant offspring, and had fondly deem'd He too in age the exploits of his youth Should tell, and in the stripling's bosom rouse
Smote where the heaving membrane separates 430 The chambers of the trunk. The dying man, In his lord's castle dwelt, for many a year, A well-beloved servant: he could sing Carols for Shrove-tide, or for Candlemas,
Songs for the wassel and when the boar's head, 435 Crown'd with gay garlands and with rosemary, Smoked on the Christmas board: he went to war Following the lord he loved, and saw him fall Beneath the arm of Conrade, and expired, Slain on his master's body.
Was doubtful long. Fierce on the invading host Press the French troops impetuous, as of old,
When pouring o'er his legion slaves on Greece, The eastern despot bridged the Hellespont, The rushing sea against the mighty pile Roll'd its full weight of waters; far away The fearful Satrap mark'd on Asia's coasts The floating fragments, and with ominous fear Trembled for the great king.
Still Talbot strove, His foot firm planted, his uplifted shield Fencing that breast which never yet had known The throb of fear. But when the warrior's eye, Glancing around the fight, beheld the French Pressing to conquest, and his heartless troops Striking with feebler force in backward step, 455 Then o'er his cheek he felt the indignant flush Of shame, and loud he lifted up his voice, And cried, "Fly, cravens! leave your aged chief Here in the front to perish! his old limbs Are not like yours so supple in the flight. Go tell your countrymen how ye escaped When Talbot fell!"
In vain the warrior spake, In the uproar of the fight his voice was lost; And they, the nearest, who had heard, beheld The Prophetess approach, and every thought Was overwhelm'd in terror. But the son Of Talbot mark'd her thus across the plain Careering fierce in conquest, and the hope Of glory rose within him. Her to meet He spurr'd his horse, by one decisive deed Or to retrieve the battle, or to fall With honour.
Each beneath the others' blow
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