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"Soon sadden'd Orleans. There the bravest chiefs "Assemble: Thouars, Coarase, Chabannes,

"And the Sire Chappelle in successful war

"Since wounded to the death, and that good Knight "Giresme of Rhodes, who in a better cause

"Can never wield the crucifix that hilts

"His hallow'd sword, and Xaintrailles ransom'd now, "And Fayette late released, and that young Duke "Who at Verneuil senseless with many a wound "Fell prisoner, and La Hire, the merriest man "That ever yet did win his soldiers' love,

"And over all for hardihood renown'd

"The Bastard Orleans.

"These within the town

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Expect the foe. Twelve hundred chosen men "Well tried in war, uprear the guardian shield "Beneath their banners. Dreadful was the sight "Of preparation. The wide suburbs stretch'd

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Along the pleasant borders of the Loire,

"Late throng'd with multitudes, now feel the hand "Of ruin. These preventive care destroys,

“Lest England, shelter'd by the friendly walls,

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Securely should approach. The monasteries

"Fell in the general waste. The holy monks

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Unwillingly their long-accustom'd haunts

“Abandon, haunts where every gloomy nook
"Call'd to awaken'd memory some trace
"Of vision seen, or sound miraculous.

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Trembling and terrified, their noiseless cells

"For the rude uproar of a world unknown

"The nuns desert: their abbess, more composed, "Collects her maids around, and tells her beads, "And pours the timid prayer of piety.

"The citizens with long and ceaseless stroke Dig up the violated earth, to impede

"The foe: the hollow chambers of the dead "Echoed beneath. The brazen-trophied tomb, "Thrown in the furnace, now prepares to give "The death it late recorded. It was sad

"To see so wide a waste; the aged ones "Hanging their heads, and weeping as they went

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"O'er the fall'n dwellings of their happier years; "The stern and sullen silence of the men

"Musing on vengeance: and, but ill represt, "The mother's fears as to her breast she clasp'd "Her ill-doom'd infant. Soon the suburbs lay

"One ample ruin; the huge stones removed, "Wait in the town to rain the storm of death.

"And now without the walls the desolate plain "Stretch'd wide, a rough and melancholy waste, "With uptorn pavements and foundations deep "Of many a ruin'd dwelling: nor within "Less dreary was the scene; at evening hour "No more the merry viol's note was heard,

"No more the aged matron at her door: "Humm'd cheery to her spinning-wheel, and mark'd "Her children dancing to the roundelay.

"The chieftains, strengthening still the massy walls,

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Survey them with the prying eye of fear.

"The eager youth in dreadful preparation

"Strive in the mimic war.

Silent and stern,

"With the hurrying restlessness of fear, they urge "Their gloomy labours. In the city dwelt "An utter silence of all pleasant sounds,

"But all day long the armourers beat was heard, "And all the night it echoed.

"Soon the foe

"Led to our walls the siege: as on they move "The clarions clangor, and the cheerful fife,

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According to the thundering drum's deep sound, "Direct their measured march. Before the ranks "Stalks the stern form of Salisbury, the

Scourge "Of France; and Talbot tower'd by his side,

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Talbot, at whose dread name the froward child

Clings mute and trembling to his nurse's breast. "Suffolk was there, and Hungerford, and Scales, "And Fastolffe, victor in the frequent fight. "Dark as the autumnal storm they roll'd along,

"A countless host! From the high tower I mark'd "The dreadful scene; I saw the iron blaze

"Of javelins sparkling to the noontide sun,
"Their banners tossing to the troubled gale,
"And...fearful music...heard upon the wind
"The modulated step of multitudes.

"There in the midst, shuddering with fear, I saw "The dreadful stores of death; tremendous roll'd "Over rough roads the harsh wheels; the brazen tubes "Flash'd in the sun their fearful splendor far, "And last the loaded waggons creak'd along.

"Nor were our chieftains, whilst their care procured "Human defence, neglectful to implore

"That heavenly aid, deprived of which the strength "Of man is weakness. Bearing thro' our streets "The precious relics of the holy dead,

"The monks and nuns pour'd many an earnest prayer, "Devoutly join'd by all. Saint Aignan's shrine "Was throng'd by supplicants, the general voice "Call'd on Saint Aignan's name again to save

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