«Lo these the walls of Chinon, this the abode Of empire still he turns the unwilling ear, His strong holds taken, and his bravest Chiefs So as he entered cried the haughty Fair, Of this thy Sovereign Liege. He will retreat To distant Dauphiny, 52 and fly the war! A fugitive's fate; when thou hast lost thy crown Fit only, like the Merovingian race On a May morning deck'd with flowers, 33 to mount Go, Charles-and hide thee in a woman's garb, 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 Chiefs Fall'n 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, Rush'd 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, 55 Cold, Graville, is thy sinewy arm in death; Fall'a is Ventadaur; silent in the grave Rambouillet sleeps: Bretagne's unfaithful chief Leagues with my foes, and Richemont, 56 or in arms Defies my weak control, or from my side, A friend more dreaded than the enemy, Drives my bests servants with the assassin sword. Soon must the towers of Orleans fall!--But now Stood Charles. Astonish'd by his speech «At one of meaner estimation I should have smiled, Dunois. Thy well-known worth, The loyalty of all thy noble house, Compel me even to this, a most strange tale, To lend a serious ear. A woman sent « If then she knows me not, abide thou here, The courtiers heard. The astonish'd King exclaimed, <<This is indeed the agency of Heaven! Hard, Maiden, were I of belief,» he cried, <«< Did I not now, with full and confirm'd faith, Believe. Not doubting therefore the strange will Those who at distance from this most clear proof The Doctors met, from cloister gloom recluse, Now to the grave gone down. The branching arms Wreath'd on the roof emboss'd. Through storied panes Mark'd with the mystic tonsure and enrobed In sacred vests, a venerable train, They stand. The delegated Maid obeys Their summons. As she came, a loveliest blush Though of her own worth conscious. Through the aisle By the Maiden's side « Woman, if any Slowly he spake, « Most holy Sires, «<Thou speakest,» said the Priest, « Of dark and shadowing visions of the night. Canst thou remember, Maid, what vision first Seem'd more than Fancy's shaping. From such tale, Minutely told with accurate circumstance, Best judgment might be formed.>> The Maid replied, «Amid the mountain valleys I had driven My father's flock. The eve was drawing on, When by a sudden storm surprised, I sought Had sack'd the hamlet near, and none was left Saint Agnes' chapel. In the desolate pile I drove my flock, with no irreverent thoughts, Then heap'd the wither'd leaves which autumn winds The Power whom with such fervent love she served Of time and place.»> Attentive to her words Thus the Priest answer'd. « Brethren, ye have heard Monstrous and vain, perchance might stray beyond That, by the Grace vouchsafed to him from Heaven, << Father, she replied, The forms of worship in mine earlier years Wak'd my young mind to artificial awe, And made me fear my GoD. Warm with the glow Of health and exercise, whene'er I pass'd The threshold of the house of prayer, I felt A cold damp chill me; I beheld the flame That with a pale and feeble glimmering Dimm'd the noon-light; I heard the solemn mass, And with strange feelings and mysterious dread Telling my beads, gave to the mystic prayers Devoutest meaning. Often when I saw The pictur'd flames writhe round a penanced soul, Have I retired, and knelt before the cross, And wept for grace, and trembled, and believed A God of Terrors. But in riper years, When as my soul grew strong in solitude, I saw the eternal energy pervade The boundless range of nature, with the sun Pour life and radiance from his flamy path, Was silence to my soul, 63 and mark'd the swarm Oh! was it strange, if for such scenes as these, The house of worship? strange that when I felt As she spake « Woman, thou seemst to scorn Its error.»> Thus he spake; the applauding look Went round. Nor dubious to reply the Maid Was silent. « Fathers of the holy Church, If on these points abstruse a simple maid Like me should err, impute not you the crime To self-will'd reason, vaunting its own strength Above the eternal wisdom. True it is That for long time I have not heard the sound Of mass high-chaunted, nor with trembling lips Fartook the mystic wafer: yet the bird Who to the matin ray prelusive pour'd His joyous song, methought did warble forth Sweeter thanksgiving to Religion's ear In his wild melody of happiness, Than ever rung along the high-arch'd roofs If it be sin to seek the wounded lamb, To bind its wounds, and bathe them with my tears, All Beauty! In the greenwood's quiet shade Solemn and slow the reverend Priest replied, « Much, woman, do I doubt that all-wise Heaven In the deep pond; there if she float, no doubt The sacred trial.» «Grace of God!» exclaim'd The astonish'd Bastard; « plunge me in the pool! O'er red-hot ploughshares make me dance to please Your dotard fancies! Fathers of the church, Where is your gravity? what! elder-like Would ye this fairer than Susannah eye' Ye call for ordeals; and I too demand The noblest ordeal, on the English host By victory to approve the mission sent From favouring Heaven. To the Pope refer For judgment! Know ye not that France even now Stands tottering on destruction?» Starting wild, With a strange look, the mission'd Maid exclaim'd, «The sword of God is here! the grave shall speak To manifest me!»> Even as she spake, A pale blue flame rose from the trophied tomb «Hear ye?» the Damsel cried; « these are the arms Which shall flash terror o'er the hostile host. These, in the presence of our Lord the King, And of the assembled people, I will take ilere from the sepulchre, where many an age, Incorruptible, they have lain conceal'd, For me preserved, the delegate of Heaven >> King of France! I come From Orleans, speedy and effectual aid Demanding for her gallant garrison, Faithful to thee, though thinn'd in many a fight, And wither'd now by want. Thee it beseems, For ever anxious for thy people's weal, To succour the brave men whose honest breasts Culwark thy throne.»> He said, and from the hall With upright step departing, in amaze At his so bold deportment left the court. The King exclaim'd, « But little need to send Quick succour to this gallant garrison, If to the English half so firm a front They bear in battle!»> « In the field, my liege,» Dunois replied, "yon Knight has served thee well. Him have I seen the foremost of the fight, Wielding so fearfully his death-red axe, That wheresoe'er he turn'd, the affrighted foe Let fall their palsied arms with powerless stroke, Desperate of safety. I do marvel much That he is here: Orleans must be hard press'd, To send the bravest of her garrison On such commission.»> Swift the Maid exclaim'd, I tell thee, Chief, that there the English wolves Shall never pour their yells of victory! The will of God defends those fated walls; And resting in full faith on that high will, I mock their efforts. But the night draws on; Shall on that armour gleam, through many an age She said, and, rising from the board, retired. Meantime the herald's brazen voice proclaim'd Spread the strange tidings. Every labour ceased; On to St Catharine's sacred fane they go; The holy fathers with the imaged cross Leading the long procession. Next, as one Suppliant for mercy to the King of Kings, And grateful for the benefits of Heaven, The Monarch pass'd; and by his side the Maid, Her lovely limbs robed in a snow-white vest; Wistless that every eye on her was fixd, 64 With stately step she moved: her labouring soul To high thoughts elevate; and gazing round With the wild eye, that of the circling throng And of the visible world unseeing, saw The shapes of holy fantasy. By her The warrior Son of Orieans strode along Preeminent. He, nerving his young frame With manly exercise, had scaled the cliff, And dashing in the torrent's foaming flood, Stemm'd with broad breast its fury; so his form, Sinewy and firm, and fit for loftiest deeds, Tower'd high amid the throng effeminate; No dainty bath had from his hardy limbs Effaced the hauberk's honourable marks; His helmet bore of hostile steel the dints Many and deep; upon his pictured shield A Lion vainly struggled in the toils, Whilst by his side the cub with pious rage, His young mane floating to the desert air, Rends the fallen huntsman. Tremouille him behind, The worthless favourite of the slothful Prince, Stalk'd arrogant, in shining armour clasp'd, Emboss'd with gold and gems of richest hue, Gaudily graceful, by no hostile blade Defaced, and rusted by no hostile blood; Trimly accoutred court habiliments, Gay lady-dazzling armour, fit to adorn In dangerless manœuvres some review, The mockery of murder! follow'd him The train of courtiers, summer-flies that sport In the sun-beam of favour, insects sprung From the court dunghill, greedy blood-suckers, The foul corruption-gender'd swarm of state. As o'er some flowery field the busy bees Pour their deep music, pleasant melody To the tired traveller, under some old oak Stretch'd in the checquer'd shade; or as the sound Of many waters down the far off steep Dash'd with loud uproar, rose the murmur round Of admiration. Every gazing eye Dwelt on the mission'd Maid; of all beside, The long procession and the gorgeous train, Though glittering they with gold and sparkling gems, The consecrated dome they reach, With horror; calm she heard, no drop of blood Her eye averting from the storied woe, The delegated Damsel knelt and pour'd To Heaven the earnest prayer. A trophied tomb Close to the altar rear'd its ancient bulk. Two pointless javelins and a broken sword, Time-mouldering now, proclaim'd some warrior slept The sleep of death beneath. A massy stone And rude-ensculptured effigy o'erlaid The sepulchre. In silent wonderment The expectant multitude with eager eye Gaze, listening as the mattock's heavy stroke Invades the tomb's repose: the heavy stroke Sounds hollow; over the high-vaulted roof Roll the repeated echoes: soon the day Dawns on the grave's long night, the slant sun-beam Beams on the inshrined arms, the crested helm, The baldrick's strength, the shield, the sacred sword. A sound of awe-repress'd astonishment Rose from the crowd The delegated Maid Over her robes the hallowed breast-plate threw, Self-fitted to her form; on her helm'd head The white plumes nod, majestically slow; She lifts the buckler and the sacred sword, 66 Gleaming portentous light. The wondering crowd The sword of vengeance, go before our host! Be thou our Champion! God of Love, preserve She ceased, and with an eager hush the crowd Still listen'd; a brief while throughout the dome Deep silence dwelt; then with a sudden burst Devout and full, they rais'd the choral hymn, Thee, Lord, we praise, our God!» the throng without Catch the strange tidings, join the hymn of joy, And thundering transport peals along the heavens. As through the parting crowd the Virgin pass'd, He who from Orleans on the yesternight Demanded succour, clasp'd with warmth her hand, And with a bosom-thrilling voice exclaim'd, <«<lll-omen'd Maid! vietim of thine own worth, |