Or mingled with the soldier's busy dreams,
Or with vague terrors fill'd his startled sense,
Prompting a secret prayer.

So on she past
To where in loftier shade arose the tent
Of Burgundy: light leaping from her seat
She enter'd.

On the earth the chieftain slept,
His mantle scarft around him; near him hung
His helmet and his shield, and at his side
Within hand-reach his sword. Profound he slept,
Nor heard the coming courser's sounding hoof,
Nor entering footstep. "Burgundy!" she cried,
"What, Burgundy! awake! He started up,
And saw the gleam of arms, and to his sword
Reach'd a quick hand. But what he now beheld
Thrill'd him, for full upon her face the lamp
Cast its deep glare, and in her solemn look
Was an unearthly meaning. Pale she was;
And in her eye a saintly lustre beam'd,
And that most calm and holiest confidence
That guilt knows never.
THE MAID OF ORLEANS!"

Shall these invaders now escape the arm
Of retribution. Even now our troops,
By battle unfatigued, unsatisfied
With conquest, clamor to pursue the foe."

The delegated Damsel thus replied:
"So let them fly, Dunois! But other work
Than that of battle, now must be perform'd.
We move not in pursuit, till we have paid
The rites of burial to our countrymen,
And hymn'd our gratitude to that All-just
Who gave the victory. Thou, meantime, despatch
Tidings to Chinon: let the King set forth,
That crowning him before assembled France,
In Rheims delivered from the enemy,
I may accomplish all."

So said the Maid,
Then to the gate moved on. The assembled troops
Beheld her coming, and they smote their shields,
And with one voice of greeting bless'd her name,
And pray'd her to pursue the flying foe.

"Burgundy, thou seest She waved her hand, and silently they stood,
Attentive while she spake; -"Fellows in arms!
We must not speed to joyful victory,
And leave our gallant comrades where they lie,
For dogs, and wolves, and carrion-birds a prey;
Ere we advance, let us discharge to them
The duty that is due."

As she spake, a voice Exclaim'd, "Die, sorceress!" and a knight rush'd in,

Whose name by her illustrated yet lives,
Franquet of Arras. With uplifted arm
Furious he came; her buckler broke the blow,
And forth she flash'd her sword, and with a stroke
Swift that no eye could ward it, and of strength
No mail might blunt, smote on his neck, his neck
Unfenced, for he in haste aroused had cast
An armet 171 on; resistless there she smote,
And to the earth prone fell the headless trunk
Of Franquet.

Then on Burgundy she fix'd
Her eye severe. "Go, chief, and thank thy God
That he with lighter judgments visits thee
Than fell on Sisera, or by Judith's hand
He wrought upon the Assyrian! Thank thy God,
That when his vengeance smote the invading sons
Of England, equal though thou wert in guilt,
Thee he has spar'd to work by penitence
And better deeds atonement."

Thus she spake,
Then issued forth, and bounding on her steed
Sped o'er the plain. Dark on the upland bank
The hedge-row trees distinct and colorless
Rose on the gray horizon, and the Loire
Form'd in its winding way islands of light
Amid the shadowy vale, when now she reach'd
The walls of Orleans.

From the eastern clouds
The sun came forth, as to the assembled chiefs
The Maiden pass'd. Her bending thitherwards
The Bastard met. "Now perils threaten us,"
He said, "new toils await us; Burgundy,

"Fear not for Burgundy!" the Maid replied, "Him will the Lord direct. Our earliest scouts Shall tell his homeward march. What of the troops Of England?"

"They," the Son of Orleans cried, "By darkness favor'd, fled; yet not by flight

So said the Maid;
And as she spake, the thirst of battles dies
In every breast, such awe and love pervade
The listening troops. They o'er the corse-strewn
plain

Speed to their sad employment: some dig deep
The house of death; some bear the lifeless load;
Others the while search carefully around,
If haply they may find surviving yet
Some wounded wretches. As they labor thus,
They mark far off the iron-blaze of arms;
See distant standards waving on the air,
And hear the clarion's clang. Then spake the Maid
To Conrade, and she bade him haste to espy
The coming army; or to meet their march
With friendly greeting, or if foes they came
With such array of battle as short space
Allow'd the warrior sped across the plain,
And soon beheld the banner'd lilies wave.

Their chief was Richemont: he when as he heard
What rites employed the Virgin, straightway bade
His troops assist in burial; they, though grieved
At late arrival, and the expected day
Of conquest past, yet give their willing aid:
They dig the general grave, and thither bear
English or French, alike commingled now,
And heap the mound of death,

Amid the plain
There was a little eminence, of old
Raised o'er some honored chieftain's narrow house.
His praise the song had ceased to celebrate,
And many an unknown age had the long grass
Waved o'er that nameless mound, though barren

now

Beneath the frequent tread of multitudes.
There elevate, the martial Maiden stood,

Her brow unhelm'd, and floating on the wind
Her long, dark locks. The silent troops around
Stood thickly throng'd, as o'er the fertile field
Billows the ripen'd corn. The passing breeze
Bore not a murmur from the numerous host,
Such deep attention held them. She began.

"Glory to those who in their country's cause
Fall in the field of battle! Countrymen,
I stand not here to mourn these gallant men,
Our comrades, nor, with vain and idle phrase
Of sorrow and compassion, to console

In duty to the last, betide what may,
Although no signs be given, no miracles
Vouchsafed, as now, no Prophetess ordain'd,
May yet with hope invincible hold on,
Relying on their courage, and their cause,
And the sure course of righteous Providence."

THE TENTH BOOK.

The friends who loved them. They indeed who fall THUS to the martyrs in their country's cause
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 foreign master. Give to these,
And to their wives and orphan little ones
That on their distant father vainly cry

The Maiden gave their fame; and when she ceased,
Such murmur from the multitude arose,

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,
Guilty alike in act and will, they stand.

But our dead comrades for their country 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 gray hairs: them their dear wives sent

out,

Fix'd their last kisses on their armed hands,172
And bade them in the battle think they fought
For them and for their children. Thus inflamed,
By every milder feeling, they went forth:
They fought, they conquer'd. To this holy ground
The men of Orleans in the days to come
Shall bring their boys, and tell them of the deeds
Their countrymen achieved, and bid them learn
Like them to love their country, and like them,
Should usurpation 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,
Honoring their memories to avenge their fall
Upon the unjust invaders. They may drain
Their kingdom's wealth and lavishly expend
Its blood, insanely thinking to subdue
This wide and populous realm; for easier were it
To move the ancient mountains from their base,
Than on a nation knowing its own strength
To force a foreign yoke. France then is safe.
My glorious mission soon will be fulfill'd,
My work be done. But, oh! remember ye,
And in their generation let your sons
Transmit to theirs the all-concerning truth,
That a great people, wrongfully assail'd,
If faithful to themselves, and resolute

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 shone through.

And now the rites
Of sepulture perform'd, the hymn to Heaven
They chanted. 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 a herald's coming.

"To the Maid,"
Such was his errand, -"and to 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 the pursuit,
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 our dear country. Therefore do thou join
The conquering troops, and prosecute success;
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,
Richemont's cheek redden'd, partly with a sense
Of shame, and partly anger half supprest.
"Say to thy master," eagerly he said,
"I am the foe of those court parasites
Who poison the King's ear. Him who shall serve
Our country in the field, I hold my friend :
Such may Du Chastel prove."

Suffering no rival, brooking no control,
And executing by unrighteous means
The judgments of thine own unlawful will."

"But hear me, Maid of Orleans!" he exclaim'd:
"Should the wolf enter thy defenceless flock,
Were it a crime if thy more mighty force
Destroy'd the fell destroyer? If thy hand
Had slain a ruffian as he burst thy door
Prepared for midnight murder, should'st 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 righteous deed?"

And such ambitious projects, as perforce
Men will impute to thee? had such a man
Stood forth the self-appointed minister
To execute his own decrees of death,
The law on him had rightfully enforced
That sentence, which the Almighty hath enjoin'd
Of life for life. Thou, chief, art by thy rank
And power exempted from the penalty:
What then hast thou exampled, — right and wrong
Confounding thus, and making lawless might
The judge in its own quarrel? Trust me, chief,
That if a people sorely are oppress'd,

The dreadful hour of overthrow will come
Too surely and too soon! He best meanwhile
Performs the sage's and the patriot's part,
Who in the ear of rage and faction breathes

Conrade replied, "Nay, Richemont, it were well The healing words of love."
To slay the ruffian as he burst thy doors;
But if he bear the plunder safely thence,
And thou should'st meet him on the future day,
Vengeance must not be thine: there is the law
To punish; and the law alloweth not,
That the accuser take upon himself
The judge's part; still less doth it allow
That he should execute upon the accused
Untried, unheard, a sentence, which so given
Becomes, whate'er the case, itself a crime."

"Thou hast said wisely," 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 sensual sloth,
Heedless though ruin threat the realm they rule;
And now projecting some mad enterprise,
Sending their troops to sure defeat and shame.
These are the men who make the King suspect
His wisest, faithfulest, best counsellors;
And for themselves and their dependents, 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, "It seemeth then, O Chief,
That reasoning to thine own conviction thus,
Thou standest self-acquitted of all wrong,
Self-justified, yea, self-approved. I ask not
Whether this public zeal hath look'd askaunt
To private ends; men easily deceive
Others, and oft more easily themselves.
But what if one reasoning as thou hast done
Had in like course proceeded to the act,
One of the people, one of low degree,
In whom the strong desire of public good
Had grown to be his one sole sleepless thought,
A passion, and a madness; raised as high
Above all sordid motives as thyself;
Beneath such impulses of rivalry

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,
Rise on them in defeat, while they retire,
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 a sickly eye. Oh then what joy
Inspired anew their bosoms, when, like clouds
Moving in shadows down the distant hill,
They saw their coming succors! In each heart
Doubt raised a busy tumult; soon they knew
The English 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 gallant son,
He brake a sullen smile.173

"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 honor, and thy name
Alone had scatter'd armies; yet, my son,

I bid thee welcome! here we rest our flight,
And face again the foe."

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 clamors ominous of victory.

Thus urging on, one from the adverse host
Advanced to meet them: they his garb of peace
Knew, and they halted 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 ground,
He wills to give you battle, power to power,
So please you, on the morrow.'

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 hallowed banner with celestial light
Irradiate, and the mission'd Maiden's deeds,
Felt their hearts sink within them at the thought
| Of her near vengeance; and the tale they told
Roused such a tumult in the new-come troops,

"On the morrow
We will join battle then," replied Dunois,
"And God befriend the right!" Then on the As fitted them for fear. The aged Earl

herald

A robe rich-furr'd and embroider'd he bestow'd,174
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 waned 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 long sound
They ranged them in their ranks.175 From man to

man

With pious haste hurried the confessors

To shrive them,176 lest with souls all unprepared
They to their death might go. Dunois meantime
Rode through the host, the shield of dignity 177
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 valor, 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 eye, 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 scattered 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 gayety
The fearful pause of action.

Thus the French
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 Prophetess. Collected in himself

Beheld their drooping valor, and his 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 end his 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 unequalled 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 guilt!
There too the son of Talbot, young in arms,
Heir of a noble race and mighty name :
At many a tilt and tournament had he
Approved his skill and prowess; 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 Cressy, nor at Poictiers; nor such force
Led Henry to the fight of Agincourt,
When thousands fell before him.

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; 182
Rather to manly courage, and the glow
Of honorable thoughts, such as inspire
Ennobling energy. Unhorsed, unspurr'd,
Their javelins shorten'd to a wieldy length,183
They to the foe advanced. The Maid alone,
Conspicuous on a coal-black courser, meets
The war. They moved to battle with such sound

Appear'd the might of Talbot. Through the ranks As rushes o'er the vaulted firmament,

When from his seat, on the utmost verge of heaven | By the random arrow's point, or fierce-thrust lance,

That overhangs the void, the Sire of Winds,

184

Hræsvelger starting, 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 gayly 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 answered to the rein with such a step,
As, in submission, he were proud to show
His spirit unsubdued. Slow on the air

Or sink, all battered by the ponderous mace:
Some from their coursers thrown, lie on the earth,
Helpless because of arms, that weak to save,
Lengthened the lingering agonies of death.
But most the English fell, by their own fears
Betray'd, for fear the evil that it dreads
Increaseth. 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-nurtur'd monarch of the wood,
That o'er the wilds of Afric in his strength
Resistless ranges, when the mutinous clouds
Burst, and the lightnings through the midnight sky
Dart their red fires, lies fearful in his den,

Waved the white plumes that shadow'd o'er her And howls in terror to the passing storm.

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 damsel; 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 portentous deeds
He from the troops had heard incredulous,
And scoffed 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 valor. 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 crowding multitudes
Soon crush'd the helpless warrior.

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 a 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

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,187 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 awful 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 preeminent 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 fork'd 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 Pyrenees,
Lone and bewilder'd on his wintry way,
When from the mountains round reverberates
The hungry wolves' deep yell: on every side,
Their fierce eyes gleaming as with meteor fires,