That to the passing lightning as they broke

Gleam'd horrible.

Nor of the host, so late

Triumphing in the pride of victory,

And swoln with confidence, had now escaped
One wretched remnant, had not Talbot's mind,
Slow as he moved unwilling from the war,
What most might profit the defeated ranks
Ponder'd. He, reaching safe the massy fort
Named from St. John, there kindled up on high
The guiding fire. Not unobserved it blazed;
The watchful guards on Tournelles, and the pile
Of that proud city in remembrance fond

Call'd London, light the beacon. Soon the fires
Flame on the summit of the circling forts

Which girt around with walls and deep-delved moats,
Included Orleans. O'er the shadowy plain

They cast a lurid splendour; to the troops
Grateful, as to the way-worn traveller,

Wandering with parch'd feet o'er Arabian sands,
The far-seen cistern; he for many a league

Travelling the trackless desolate, where heaved With tempest swell the desart billows round, Pauses, and shudders at his perils past,

Then wild with joy speeds on to taste the wave So long bewail'd.

Swift as the affrighted herd

Scud o'er the plain, when frequent thro' the sky
Flash the fierce lightnings, speed the routed host
Of England. To the sheltering forts they haste,
Tho' safe, of safety doubtful, still appall'd
And trembling, as the pilgrim who by night,
On his way wilder'd, to the wolf's deep howl
Hears the wood echo, when from the fell beast
Escaped, of some small tree the topmast branch
He grasps close clinging, still of that keen fang
Fearful, his teeth jar, and the big drops stand
On his cold quivering limbs.

Nor now the Maid

Greedy of vengeance urges the pursuit.
She bids the trumpet of retreat resound;

A pleasant music to the routed ranks

Blows the loud blast. Obedient to its voice

The French, tho' eager on the invaders' heads
To wreak their wrath, stay the victorious sword.

Loud is the cry of conquest as they turn

To Orleans.

There what few to guard the town

Unwilling had remain'd, haste forth to meet

The triumph. Many a blazing torch they held, Which, raised aloft amid the midnight storm, Flash'd far a festive light. The Maid advanced; Deep thro' the sky the hollow thunders roll'd; Innocuous lightnings round the hallow'd banner Wreath'd their red radiance.

Thro' the open'd gate

Slow past the laden convoy. Then was heard

The shout of exultation, and such joy

The men of Orleans at that welcome sight
Possess'd, as when, from Bactria late subdued,

The mighty Macedonian led his troops

Amid the Sogdian desart, where no stream
Wastes on the wild its fertilizing waves.
Fearful alike to pause, or to proceed;

Scorch'd by the sun that o'er their morning march
Steam'd his hot vapours, heart-subdued and faint;
Such joy as then they felt, when from the heights
Burst the soul-gladdening sound! for thence was seen
The evening sun silvering the vale below,

Where Oxus roll'd along.

Clamours of joy

Echo along the streets of Orleans, wont

Long time to hear the infant's feeble cry,
The mother's frantic shriek, or the dread sound,
When from the cannon burst its stores of death.
Far flames the fire of joy on ruin'd piles,
And high heap'd carcases, whence scared away
From his abhorred meal, on clattering wing

Rose the night-raven slow.

In the English forts

Sad was the scene.

There all the livelong night

Steals in the straggling fugitive; as when
Past is the storm, and o'er the azure sky
Serenely shines the sun, with every breeze
The waving branches drop their gather'd rain,
Renewing the remembrance of the storm.