With many a winding crept along the mead,
A Knight they saw, who there at his repast
Let the west wind play round his ungirt brow.
Approaching near, the Bastard recognised
That faithful friend of Orleans, the brave chief
Du Chastel; and their mutual greeting pass'd,
They on the streamlet's mossy bank reclined
Beside him, and his frugal fare partook,
And drank the running waters.
For the Court, Dunois?" exclaim'd the aged Knight;
"I thought thou hadst been far away, shut up In Orleans, where her valiant sons the siege Right loyally endure!"
Dunois replied, "thinking that my prompt speed
Might seize the enemy's stores, and with fresh force
Re-enter. Fastolffe's better fate prevail'd,
And from the field of shame my maddening horse
Bore me, an arrow having pierced his flank.
Worn out and faint with that day's dangerous toil,
My deep wounds bleeding, vainly with weak hand
I check'd the powerless rein. Nor aught avail'd 42
When heal'd at length, defeated and alone
Again to enter Orleans. In Lorraine
I sought to raise new powers, and now return'd 45
With strangest and most unexpected aid
Sent by high Heaven, I seek the Court, and thence
To that beleaguer'd town shall lead such force,
That the proud English in their fields of blood
Shall perish."
"I too," Tanneguy reply'd,
In the field of battle once again perchance
May serve my royal Master; in his cause
My youth adventur❜d much, nor can my age
Find better close than in the clang of arms
To die for him whom I have lived to serve.
Thou art for the Court. Son of the Chief I loved!
Be wise by my experience. He who seeks
Court-favour, ventures like a boy who leans
Over the brink of some high precipice
To reach the o'er-hanging fruit. Thou seest me here
A banish'd man, Dunois! so to appease
Richemont, who jealous of the royal ear,
With midnight murder leagues, and down the Loire
Sends the black carcass of his strangled foe.
Now confident of strength, at the King's feet
He stabs the King's best friends, and then demands,
As with a conqueror's imperious tone,
The post of honour. Son of that good Duke
Whose death my arm avenged, may all thy days 70
Be happy; serve thy country in the field,
But in the hour of peace amid thy friends
Dwell thou without ambition."
But when the Bastard told his wonderous tale,
How interposing Heaven had its high aid
Vouchsafed to France, the old man's eyes flash'd fire,
And rising from the bank, his ready steed
That grazed beside he mounted. "Farewell friend,
And thou, the Delegate of Heaven!" he cried.
I go to do my part, and we shall meet
At Orleans." Saying thus, he spurr'd away.
They journey on their way till Chinon's towers
Rose on the distant view; the royal seat
Of Charles, while Paris with her servile sons,
A headstrong, mutable, ferocious race,
Bow'd to the invader's yoke; City even then
Above all Cities noted for dire deeds!
Yet doom'd to be the scene of blacker guilt,
Opprobry more enduring, crimes that call'd
For heavier vengeance, than in those dark days 90
When the Burgundian faction fill'd thy streets
With carnage. Twice hast thou since then been made
A horror and a warning to all lands;
When kingly power conspired with papal craft
To plot and perpetrate that massacre,
Which neither change of kalendar, nor lapse
Of time, shall hide from memory, or efface;
And when in more enlighten'd days,.. so deem'd,
So vaunted,.. the astonish'd nations saw
A people, to their own devices left,
Therefore as by judicial frenzy stricken,
Lawless and godless, fill the whole wide realm
With terror, and with wickedness and woe,..
A more astounding judgement than when Heaven
Shower'd on the cities of the accursed plain
Its fire and sulphur down.
The Invader triumph'd. On an infant's head
Had Bedford placed the crown of Charlemagne,
And factious nobles bow'd the subject knee,
And own'd an English infant for their King,
False to their own liege Lord.
Then said the Son of Orleans to the Maid,
"Lo these the walls of Chinon, this the abode
Of Charles our monarch. Here in revelry
He of his armies vanquish'd, his fair towns
Subdued, hears careless and prolongs the dance.
And little marvel I that to the cares
Of empire still he turns the unwilling ear,
For loss on loss, defeat upon defeat,
His strong holds taken, and his bravest Chiefs 120
Or slain or captured, and the hopes of youth
All blasted have subdued the royal mind
Undisciplined in Fortitude's stern school.
So may thy voice arouse his sleeping virtue!"
The mission'd Maid replied, "Do thou, Dunois, Announce my mission to the royal ear.
I on the river's winding bank the while
Will roam, collecting for the interview
My thoughts, though firm, yet troubled. Who essays
Achievements of great import will perforce
Feel the heart heave; and in my breast I own
Such perturbation."
Devious the Damsel turn'd, while through the gate The Son of Orleans press'd with hasty step
To seek the King. Him from the public view 135 He found secluded with his blameless Queen,
And his partaker of the unlawful bed,
The lofty-minded Agnes.
So as he enter'd cried the haughty fair,
Thou art well come to witness the disgrace,
The weak, unmanly, base despondency
Of this thy Sovereign Liege. He will retreat
To distant Dauphiny and fly the war!
Go then, unworthy of thy rank! retreat
To distant Dauphiny, and fly the war,
Recreant from battle! I will not partake
A fugitive's fate; when thou hast lost thy crown
Thou losest Agnes.-Do'st not blush, Dunois!
To bleed in combat for a Prince like this,
Fit only like the Merovingian race
On a May morning deck'd with flowers, to mount His gay-bedizen'd car, and ride abroad
And make the multitude a holiday.
Go Charles! and hide thee in a woman's garb,
And these long locks will not disgrace thee then!"155
"Nay, Agnes!" Charles replied, "reproach me not! I have enough of sorrow. Look around, See this fair country ravaged by the foe, My strong holds taken, and my bravest friends Fallen in the field, or captives far away. Dead is the Douglas; cold thy gallant heart, Illustrious Buchan! ye from Scotland's hills, Not mindless of your old ally distress'd, Came to his succour; in his cause ye fought, For him ye perish'd. Rash impetuous Narbonne ! Thy mangled corse waves to the winds of Heaven. Coid, Graville, is thy sinewy arm in death; Fallen is Ventadaur; silent in the grave Rambouillet sleeps. Bretagne's unfaithful chief Leagues with my foes; and Richemont, or in arms 170
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