« Glory to those who in their country's cause Fall in the field of battle! Citizens,
I stand not here to mourn these gallant men, Our comrades, nor with vain and idle phrase Of pity and compassion, to console
The friends who loved them. They, indeed, who fall Beneath oppression's banner, merit well
Our pity; may the GOD OF PEACE AND LOVE
Be merciful to those blood-guilty men Who came to desolate the realm of France,
To make us bow the knee, and crouch like slaves Before a tyrant's footstool! Give to these, And to their wives and orphan little-ones That on their distant father vainly cry
For bread, give these your pity!... Wretched men, Forced or inveigled from their homes, or driven By need and hunger to the trade of blood; Or, if with free and willing mind they came, Most wretched... for before the Eternal Throne They stand, as hireling murderers arraign'd. But our dead comrades for their freedom fought; No arts they needed, nor the specious bribes Of promise, to allure them to this fight, This holy warfare! Them their parents sent, And as they raised their streaming eyes to heaven, Bade them go forth, and from the ruffian's sword Save their grey hairs: these men their wives sent out, Fix'd their last kisses on their armed hands,169 And bade them in the battle think they fought For them and for their babes. Thus roused to rage By every milder feeling, they rush'd forth; They fought, they conquer'd. To this high-rear'd mound The men of Orleans in the days to come
Shall bring their boys, and tell them of the deeds Their countrymen achieved, and hid them learn Like them to love their country, and like them Should wild oppression pour again its tide Of desolation, to step forth and stem, Fearless, the furious torrent. Men of France! Mourn not for these our comrades; boldly they Fought the good fight, and that Eternal One, Who bade the angels harbinger his word
With peace on earth,» rewards them. We survive, Honouring their memories to avenge their fall Upon the invading host; in vain the foe
Madly will drain his wealth and waste his blood To conquer this vast realm! for, easier were it To hurl the rooted mountain from its base, Than force the yoke of slavery upon men Determined to be free! Yes. let them rage, And drain their country's wealth, and waste her blood, pour their hireling thousands on our coasts; Sublime amid the storm shall France arise, And, like the rock amid surrounding waves, Repel the rushing ocean... she shall wield she shall blast her despot focs.»>
Taus to the martyrs in their country's cause The Maiden gave their fame, and when she ceased, Such murmur from the multitude arose, As when at twilight hour the summer breeze
Moves o'er the elmy vale: there was not one Who mourn'd with feeble sorrow for his friend, Slain in the fight of freedom; or if chance Remembrance with a tear suffused the eye, The patriot's joy flash'd through.
Of sepulture perform'd, the hymn to Heaven They chaunted. To the town the Maid return'd, Dunois with her, and Richemont, and the man, Conrade, whose converse most the Virgin loved. They of pursuit and of the future war
Sat communing; when loud the trumpet's voice Proclaim'd approaching herald.
Exclaim'd the messenger, «< and thee, Dunois, Son of the Chief he loved! Du Chastel sends Greeting. The aged warrior hath not spared All active efforts to partake your toil, And serve his country; and though, late arrived, He share not in the fame your arms acquire, His heart is glad that he is late arrived, And France preserved thus early. He were here To join your host, and follow on their flight, But Richemont is his foe. To that high lord Thus says my master: We though each to each Be hostile, are alike the embattled sons Of this our common country. Do thou join The conquering troops, and prosecute suceess: I will the while assault what guarded towns Bedford yet holds in Orleannois: one day, Perhaps the Constable of France may learn He wrong'd Du Chastel.»>
As the herald spake, The crimson current rush'd to Richemont's cheek: «Tell to thy master,» eager he replied, « I am the foe of those court parasites Who poison the King's ear. Our country in the field, I hold my Such may Du Chastel prove.>>
Him who shall serve friend:
And pausing as the herald went his way, Gazed on the Virgin. «Maiden! if aright I deem, thou dost not with a friendly eye Scan my past deeds.»>
Then o'er the Damsel's cheek
A faint glow spread. <«< True, chieftain! » she replied, Report bespeaks thee haughty, of thy power Jealous, and to the shedding human blood Revengeful.»
« Maid of Orleans! » he exclaim'd,
« Should the wolf slaughter thy defenceless flock, Were it a crime if thy more mighty force Destroyed the fell destroyer? If thy hand Had pierced the ruffian as he burst thy door Prepared for midnight murder, wouldst thou feel The weight of blood press heavy on thy soul? I slew the wolves of state, the murderers
Of thousands. JOAN! when rusted in its sheath, The sword of justice hung, blamest thou the man That lent his weapon for the virtuous deed? »
Conrade replied: «Nay, Richemont, it were well To pierce the ruffian as he burst thy doors; But if he bear the plunder safely thence, And thou shouldst meet him on the future day, Vengeance must not be thine: there is the law
To punish; and if thy impatient hand, Unheard and uncondemn'd should execute Death on the culprit, law will not allow The judge in the accuser!»>
«Thou hast said Right wisely, warrior;» cried the Constable; << But there are guilty ones above the law, Men whose black crimes exceed the utmost bound Of private guilt: court vermin that buzz round, And fly-blow the King's ear, and make him waste, In this most perilous time, his people's wealth And blood: immersed one while in criminal sloth, Heedless though ruin threat the realm they rule; And now projecting some mad enterprise, To certain slaughter send their wretched troops. These are the men that make the King suspect His wisest, faithfullest, best counsellors; And for themselves, and their dependants, seize All places, and all profits; and they wrest To their own ends the statutes of the land, Or safely break them; thus, or indolent, Or active, ruinous alike to France. Wisely thou sayest, warrior! that the law Should strike the guilty; but the voice of justice Cries out, and brings conviction as it cries, Whom the laws cannot reach the dagger should,»
The Maid replied: « I blame thee not, O Chief! If, reasoning to thine own conviction thus, Thou didst, well satisfied, destroy these men Above the law: but if a meaner one, Self-constituting him the minister
Of justice to the death of these bad men
Had wrought the deed, him would the laws have seized, And doom'd a murderer: thee, thy power preserv'd! And what hast thou exampled? thou hast taught All men to execute what deeds of blood Their will or passion sentence: right and wrong Confounding thus, and making power, of all, Sole arbiter. Thy acts were criminal:
Yet, Richemont, for thou didst them self-approved, I may not blame the agent. Trust me, Chief That when a people sorely are opprest, The hour of violence will come too soon! He best meanwhile performs the patriot's part, Who, in the ear of rage and faction, breathes The healing words of love.>>
Thus communed they. Meantime, all panic-struck and terrified, The English urge their flight; by other thoughts Possess'd than when, elate with arrogance, They dreamt of conquest, and the crown of France At their disposal. Of their hard-fought fields, Of glory hardly-earn'd, and lost with shame, Of friends and brethren slaughter'd, and the fate Threatening themselves, they brooded sadly, now Repentant late and vainly. They whom fear Erst made obedient to their conquering march, At their defeat exultant, wreak what ills Their power allow'd. Thus many a league they fled, Marking their path with ruin, day by day Leaving the weak and wounded destitute To the foe's mercy; thinking of their home, Though to that far-off prospect scarcely Hope Could raise her sickly eye. Oh then what joy Inspired anew their bosoms, when like clouds
Moving in shadows down the distant hill, They mark'd their coming succours! In each heart Doubt raised a busy tumult; soon they knew The friendly standard, and a general shout Burst from the joyful ranks: yet came no joy To Talbot: he, with dark and downward brow, Mused sternly, till at length aroused to hope Of vengeance, welcoming his warrior son, He brake a sullen smile. '7°
« Son of my age! Welcome, young Talbot, to thy first of fields. Thy father bids thee welcome, though disgraced, Baffled, and flying from a woman's arm! Yes, by my former glories, from a woman! The scourge of France! the conqueror of men! Flying before a woman! Son of Talbot,
Had the winds wafted thee a few days sooner, Thou hadst seen me high in honour, and thy name Alone had scatter'd armies; yet, my child,
I bid thee welcome! Rest we here our flight, And lift again the sword.>>
So spake the Chief; And well he counsell'd: for not yet the sun Had reach'd meridian height, when, o'er the plain Of Patay, they beheld the troops of France Speed in pursuit. Soon as the troops of France Beheld the dark battalions of the foe Shadowing the distant plain, a general shout Burst from the expectant host, and on they prest, Elate of heart and eager for the fight, With clamours ominous of victory. Thus urging on, one from the adverse host Advanced to meet them: they his garb of peace Knew, and they stay'd them as the herald spake His bidding to the chieftains: «Sirs!» he cried, << I bear defiance to you from the earl William of Suffolk. Here on this fit plain, He wills to give you battle, power to power, So please you, on the morrow.»
We will join battle then,» replied Dunois,
« And God befriend the right!» Then on the herald A robe rich-furr'd and broider'd he bestow'd,'7' A costly guerdon. Through the army spread The unwelcome tidings of delay: possess'd With agitating hopes they felt the hours Pass heavily; but soon the night wan'd on, And the loud trumpets' blare from broken sleep Roused them; a second time the thrilling blast Bade them be arm'd, and at the third deep sound172 They ranged them in their ranks. From man to man With pious haste hurried the confessor
To shrieve them, 173 lest with souls all unprepared They to their death might go. Dunois meantime Rode through the host; the shield of dignity 174 Before him borne, and in his hand he held The white wand of command. The open helm Disclosed that eye which temper'd the strong lines Of steady valour to obedient awe Winning the will's assent. To some he spake Of late earn'd glory; others, new to war, He bade bethink them of the feats achieved When Talbot, recreant to his former fame, Fled from beleaguer'd Orleans. Was there one Whom he had known in battle? By the hand Him did he take, and bid him on that day
Summon his wonted courage, and once more Support his chief and comrade. Happy he Who caught his glance, or from the chieftain's lips Heard his own name! joy more inspiriting Fills not the Persian's soul, when sure he deems That Mithra hears propitiously his prayer, And o'er the scatter'd cloud of morning pours A brighter ray responsive. Then the host
Partook due food, this their last meal belike Receiving with such thoughtful doubts, as make The soul, impatient of uncertainty,
Rush eager to the event; being thus prepared, Upon the grass the soldiers laid themselves, Each in his station, waiting there the sound Of onset, that in undiminish'd strength
Strong they might meet the battle: 175 silent some Pondering the chances of the coming day, Some whiling with a careless gaiety
The fearful pause of action.
In such array and high in confident hope Await the signal; whilst with other thoughts, And ominous awe, once more the invading host Prepare them in the field of fight to meet The Maid of God. Collected in himself Appear'd the might of Talbot. Through the ranks He stalks, reminds them of their former fame, Their native land, their homes, the friends they loved, All the rewards of this day's victory.
But awe had fill'd the English, and they struck Faintly their shields; for they who had beheld The hallow'd banner with celestial light Irradiate, and the mission'd Maiden's deeds, Felt their heart sink within them, at the thought Of her near vengeance; and the tale they told Roused such a tumult in the new-come troops, As fitted them for fear. The aged Chief Beheld their drooping valour: his stern brow, Wrinkled with thought, bewray'd his inward doubts: Still he was firm, though all might fly, resolved That Talbot should retrieve his old renown, And period life with glory. Yet some hope Inspired the veteran, as, across the plain Casting his eye, he mark'd the embattled strength Of thousands; archers of unequall'd skill, Brigans, and pikemen, from whose lifted points A fearful radiance flash'd, and young esquires, And high-born warriors, bright in blazon'd arms. Nor few, nor fameless were the English chiefs: In many a field victorious, he was there, The garter'd Fastolffe; Hungerford, and Scales, Men who had seen the hostile squadrons fly Before the arms of England. Suffolk there, The haughty chieftain, tower'd; blest had he fallen Ere yet a courtly minion he was mark'd By public hatred, and the murderer's name! There too the son of Talbot, young in arms, Moved eager; he, at many a tournament,
With matchless force, had pointed his strong lance, O'er all opponents victor: confident
In strength, and jealous of his future fame, His heart beat high for battle. Such array Of marshall'd numbers fought not on the field Of Crecy, nor at Poictiers; nor such force Led Henry to the fight of Agincourt
When thousands fell before him.
The host of France. It was a goodly sight To see the embattled pomp, as with the step Of stateliness the barbed steeds came on; To see the pennons rolling their long waves Before the gale, and banners broad and bright 176 Tossing their blazonry; and high-plumed chiefs, Vidames '77 and Seneschalls and Chastellains, Gay with their buckler's gorgeous heraldry, And silken surcoats to the mid-day sun Glittering. 178
And now the knights of France dismount, For not to brutal strength they deem'd it right To trust their fame and their dear country's weal; '79 Rather to manly courage, and the glow
Of honourable thoughts, such as inspire Ennobling energy. Unhorsed, unspurr'd, Their javelins lessen'd to a wieldy length, 180 They to the foe advanced. The Maid alone, Conspicuous on a coal-black courser, meets The war. They moved to battle with such sound As rushes o'er the vaulted firmament,
When from his seat, on the utmost verge of heaven That overhangs the void, father of winds, Hræsvelger starting, 181 rears his giant bulk, And from his eagle pinions shakes the storm.
High on her stately steed the martial Maid Rode foremost of the war: her burnish'd arms Shone like the brook that o'er its pebbled course Runs glittering gaily to the noon-tide sun. The foaming courser, of her guiding hand Impatient, smote the earth, and toss'd his mane, And rear'd aloft with many a froward bound, Then answer'd to the rein with such a step, As, in submission, he were proud to shew His unsubdued strength. Slow on the air Waved the white plumes that shadow'd o'er her helm. Even such, so fair, so terrible in arms Pelides moved from Scyros, where, conceal'd He lay obedient to his mother's fears, A seemly virgin; thus the youth appear'd Terribly graceful, when upon his neck Deidameia hung, and with a look That spake the tumult of her troubled soul, Fear, anguish, and upbraiding tenderness, Gazed on the father of her unborn babe.
An English knight, who, eager for renown, Late left his peaceful mansion, mark'd the Maid. Her power miraculous, and fearful deeds, He from the troops had heard incredulous, And scoff'd their easy fears, and vow'd that he, Proving the magic of this dreaded girl In equal battle, would dissolve the spell, Powerless opposed to valour. 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, 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 rushing 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, 182 Thrusts down the thronging squadrons. Where she turns 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 desert breathes The purple blast of death.
Such was the sound As when the 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 batter'd by the ponderous mace: Some from their coursers thrown, lie on the earth, Unwieldy in their arms, that, weak to save, Protracted all the agonies of death. But most the English fell, by their own fears Betray'd, for fear the evil that it dreads Increases. 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-nurtured monarch of the wood, That o'er the wilds of Afric, in his strength Resistless when the mutinous clouds ranges, 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 the 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 183 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, 184 and follow'd where his sword Made through the foe a way. Nor did the son 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 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 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, Resistless as the forked 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 Pyrenées, 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 tires, The famish'd troop come round: the affrighted mule Snorts loud with terror, on his shuddering limbs The big sweat starts, convulsive pant his sides, Then on he rushes, 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 greaves Fix'd a deep wound: nor longer could the foe, Tortured with anguish, guide 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 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 did fondly deem He too in age the exploits of his youth Should tell, and in the stripling's bosom rouse The fire of glory.
Conrade the next foe Smote where the heaving membrane separates 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, 185 Crown'd with gay garlands and with rosemary, Smok'd 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.
Nor the fight 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, Quick glancing round the fight, beheld the foe Pressing to conquest, and his heartless troops
Striking with feebler force in backward step, Then o'er his cheek he felt the patriot 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. 186 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 martial Maid 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 other's blow Bow'd down; their lances shiver'd with the shock: To earth their coursers fell: at once they rose, He from the saddle-bow his falchion caught 187 Rushing to closer combat, and she bared
The lightning of her sword, 188 In vain the youth Essay'd to pierce those arms which even the power Of time was weak to injure: she the while Through many a wound beheld her foeman's blood Ooze fast. << Yet save thee, warrior!» cried the Maid, Me thou canst not destroy: be timely wise, And live!» He answer'd not, but lifting high
Talbot beheld his fall; on the next foe,
With rage and anguish wild, the warrior turn'd;
His ill-directed weapon to the earth
So saying, for the war He stood prepared: nor now with heedless rage The champions fought, for either knew full well His foeman's prowess: now they aim the blow Insidious, with quick change then drive the steel Fierce on the side exposed. The unfaithful arms Yield to the strong-driven edge; the blood streams down Their batter'd mails. With swift eye Conrade mark'd The lifted buckler, and beneath impell'd His battle-axe; that instant on his helm The sword of Talbot fell, and with the blow Shiver'd. « Yet yield thee, Englishman!» exclaim'd The generous Frank; « vain is this bloody strife: Me shouldst thou conquer, little would my death Avail thee, weak and wounded !»
« Long enough Talbot has lived,» replied the sullen Chief :
<< His hour is come; yet shalt not thou survive To glory in his fall!» So, as he spake, He lifted from the ground a massy spear, And rush'd again to battle.
The conflict raged, for, careless of himself, And desperate, Talbot fought. Collected still Was Conrade. Wheresoe'er his foeman aim'd His barbed javelin, there he swung around The guardian shield: the long and vain assault Exhausted Talbot now; foredone with toil, He bare his buckler low for weariness,
Drove down the unwounded Frank: he lifts the sword, His buckler now splinter'd with many a stroke 192
And through his all-in-vain imploring hands Cleaves the poor suppliant. On that dreadful day The sword of Talbot, 189 clogg'd with hostile Made good its vaunt. Amid the heaps his arm Had slain, the Chieftain stood and sway'd around His furious strokes; nor ceased he from the fight, Though now discomfited the English troops Fled fast, all panic-struck and spiritless; And mingling with the routed, Fastolffe fled, Fastolffe, all fierce and haughty as he was, 190 False to his former fame; for he beheld The Maiden rushing onward, and such fear Ran through his frame, as thrills the African, When, grateful solace in the sultry hour, He rises on the buoyant billow's breast, If then his eye behold the monster shark Gape eager to devour.
But Talbot now A moment paused, for bending thitherwards He mark'd a warrior, such as well might ask His utmost force. Of strong and stately port The onward foeman moved, and bore on high A battle-axe, '91 in many a field of blood Known by the English Chieftain. Over heaps Of slaughter'd, strode the Frank, and bade the troops Retire from the bold Earl: then Conrade spake : Vain is thy valour, Talbot! Look around,
Fell piecemeal; from his riven arms the blood Stream'd fast and now the Frenchman's battle-axe Drove unresisted through the shieldless mail. Backward the Frank recoil'd. « Urge not to death This fruitless contest!» he exclaim'd: « Oh Chief! Are there not those in England who would feel Keen anguish at thy loss? a wife perchance Who trembles for thy safety, or a child Needing a father's care!>>
Smote him. << Warrior!» he cried, «if thou dost think That life is worth preserving, hie thee hence, And save thyself: I loathe this useless talk.»
So saying, he address'd him to the fight, Impatient of existence: from their arms Fire flash'd, and quick they panted; but not long Endured the deadly combat. With full force Down through his shoulder even to the chest, Conrade impell'd the ponderous battle-axe; And at that instant underneath his shield Received the hostile spear. Prone fell the Earl, Even in his death rejoicing that no foe Should live to boast his fall.
Then with faint hand Conrade unlaced his helm, and from his brow Wiping the cold dews, ominous of death,
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