"Not upon us cry out the innocent blood!"
And bade the signal sound. In the English camp
The clarion and the trumpet's blare was heard;
In haste they seize their arms, in haste they form,
Some by bold words seeking to hide their fear 285
Even from themselves, some silently in prayer,

For much their hearts misgave them.

But the rage

Of Suffolk swell'd within him. "Speed your work!"
Exclaim'd the injurious earl; "kindle the pile,
That France may see the fire, and in defeat
Feel aggravated shame!"

290

And now they bound

294

The herald to the stake: he cried aloud,
And fix'd his eye on Suffolk, "Let not him
Who girdeth on his harness boast himself
As he that puts it off! They come; they come !
God and the Maid!"

The host of France approach'd,

And Suffolk eagerly beheld the fire

Brought near the pile; when suddenly a shout Toward Orleans call'd his eye, and thence he saw A man-at-arms upon a barded steed

Come thundering on.

300

As when Chederles comes To aid the Moslem on his deathless horse, Swaying the sword with such resistless arm, Such mightiest force, as he had newly quaff'd The hidden waters of eternal youth,

305

Till with the copious draught of life and strength Inebriate; such, so fierce, so terrible,

Came Conrade through the camp. Aright, aleft,

The affrighted foemen scatter from his spear;
Onward he comes, and now the circling throng 310
Fly from the stake, and now he checks his course,
And cuts the herald's bonds, and bids him live -
To arm, and fight, and conquer.

To Orleans," cried the warrior.

"Haste thee hence

"Tell the chiefs

315

There is confusion in the English camp.

Bid them come forth." On Conrade's steed the youth Leapt up, and hasten'd onward. He the while Turn'd to the war.

Like two conflicting clouds, Pregnant with thunder, moved the hostile hosts. Then man met man, then on the batter'd shield 320 Rung the loud lance, and through the darken'd sky Fast fell the arrowy storm. Amid his foes

The Bastard's arm dealt irresistibly

The strokes of death; and by his side the Maid
Led the fierce fight, the Maid, though all unused
To such rude conflict, now inspired by Heaven, 326
Flashing her flamy falchion through the troops,
That like the thunderbolt, where'er it fell,
Scatter'd the trembling ranks. The Saracen,
Though arm'd from Cashbin or Damascus, wields
A weaker sword; nor might that magic blade 331
Compare with this, which Oriana saw

Flame in the ruffian Ardan's robber hand,

When, sick and cold as death, she turn'd away

Her dizzy eyes, lest they should see the fall

Of her own Amadis. Nor plated shield,

335

Nor the strong hauberk, nor the crested casque, Stay that descending sword. Dreadful she moved,

Like as the Angel of the Lord went forth

And smote his army, when the Assyrian king, 340 Haughty of Hamath and Sepharvaim fallen, Blasphemed the God of Israel.

Yet the fight Hung doubtful, where exampling hardiest deeds, Salisbury struck down the foe, and Fastolffe strove, And in the hottest doings of the war 345 Towered Talbot. He, remembering the past day When from his name the affrighted sons of France Fled trembling, all astonish'd at their force And wontless valour, rages round the field Dreadful in anger; yet in every man Meeting a foe fearless, and in the faith Of Heaven's assistance firm.

Reaches the walls of Orleans.

350

The clang of arms
For the war

Prepared, and confident of victory,

Forth speed the troops. Not when afar exhaled
The hungry raven snuffs the steam of blood

That from some carcass-cover'd field of fame
Taints the pure air, flies he more eagerly
To feed upon the slain, than the Orleanites,
Impatient now for many an ill endured

356

360

In the long siege, to wreak upon their foes
Due vengeance. Then more fearful grew the fray;
The swords that late flash'd to the evening sun
Now quench'd in blood their radiance.

O'er the host

365

Howl'd a deep wind that ominous of storms Roll'd on the lurid clouds. The blacken'd night Frown'd, and the thunder from the troubled sky

Roar'd hollow. Javelins clash'd and bucklers rang;
Shield prest on shield; loud on the helmet jarr'd
The ponderous battle axe; the frequent groan 370
Of death commingling with the storm was heard,
And the shrill shriek of fear. Even such a storm
Before the walls of Chartres quell'd the pride
Of the third Edward, when the heavy hail
Smote down his soldiers, and the conqueror heard
GOD in the tempest, and remembered then
With a remorseful sense of Christian fear

What misery he had caused, and in the name
Of blessed Mary vowed a vow of peace.

Lo! where the holy banner waved aloft, The lambent lightnings play. Irradiate round, As with a blaze of glory, o'er the field

374

380

It stream'd miraculous splendour. Then their hearts Sunk, and the English trembled; with such fear : Possess'd, as when the Canaanites beheld

385

The sun stand still on Gibeon, at the voice
Of that king-conquering warrior, he who smote
The country of the hills, and of the south,
From Baal-gad to Halak, and their chiefs,
Even as the Lord commanded. Swift they fled 390
From that portentous banner, and the sword
Of France; though Talbot with vain valiancy
Yet urged the war, and stemm'd alone the tide
Of battle. Even their leaders felt dismay;
Fastolffe fled first, and Salisbury in the rout 395
Mingled, and all impatient of defeat,

Borne backward Talbot turns. Then echoed loud
The
cry of conquest, deeper grew the storm

And darkness, hovering o'er on raven wing,
Brooded the field of death.

Deem themselves safe the trembling fugitives;
On to the forts they haste. Bewilder'd there
Amid the moats by fear and the thick gloom
Of more than midnight darkness, plunge the troops,
Crush'd by fast following numbers who partake 405
The death they give. As swoln with vernal snows
A mountain torrent hurries on its way,
Till at the brink of some abrupt descent
Arrived, with deafening clamour down it falls
Thus borne along, tumultuously the troops
Driven by the force behind them, plunge amid
The liquid death. Then rose the dreadful cries
More dreadful, and the dash of breaking waters
That to the passing lightning as they broke
Open'd their depth.

Nor of the host so late
Exultant in the pride of long success,

410

415

419

A remnant had escaped, had not their chief,
Slow as he moved unwilling from the field,
What most might profit the defeated ranks
Bethought him. He, when he had gain'd the fort
Named from St. John, there kindled up on high
The guiding fire.

Not unobserved it rose

The watchful guards on Tournelles, and the pile
Of that proud city in remembrance fond

Call'd London, light their beacons.

Soon the fires

Flame on the summit of the circling forts

Which with their moats and crenellated walls,

Included Orleans.

Far across the plain