Book the Tenth

The morning came, and from the Eastern clouds,
Emerging in his glory, the new Sun
Pour'd on the Virgin's cheek his startling rays.
Serene she rose, her anguish mellowed down
Even to that sober sadness that delights
On other days to dwell. Her issuing forth
The Bastard met.
"Hail Maid of Orleans! hail
"Preserver of the French," the Chief exclaim'd.
"The hostile host are fled; yet not by flight
"Shall England's robber sons 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 toils
"Than those of battle, these our hallowed troops
"Await. Look yonder to that carnaged plain!
"Behoves us there to delve the general grave:
"Then, Chieftain, for pursuit, when we have paid
"The rites of burial to our fellow men,
"And hymn'd our gratitude to that All-just
"Who gave the conquest. Thou, meantime, dispatch
"Tidings to Chinon: bid 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 their coming Chief, and smote their shields,
Clamoring their admiration; for they thought
That she would lead them to the instant war.
She waved her hand, and Silence still'd the host.
Then thus the mission'd Maid, "Fellows in arms!
"We must not speed to joyful victory,
"Whilst our unburied comrades, on yon plain,
"Allure the carrion bird. Give we this day
"To our dead friends!"
Nor did she speak in vain;
For as she spake the thirst of battle 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;
One little troop search carefully around,
If haply they might find surviving yet
Some wounded wretches. As they labour 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 speed to view
The coming army; or to meet their march
With friendly greeting, or if foes they came
With such array of battle as short space
Allowed: the Warrior sped across the plain,
And soon beheld the bannered lillies wave.

Their Chief was Richemont: he, when as he heard
What rites employed the Virgin, straightway bade
His troops assist in burial: they, tho' 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
Piled o'er some honored Chieftain's narrow house.
His praise the song had ceas'd to celebrate,
And many an unknown age had the long grass
Waved o'er the nameless mound, tho' barren now
Beneath the frequent tread of multitudes.
There, elevate, the Martial Maiden stood.
Her brow unhelmed, 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! 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 forth,
"Fix'd their last kisses on their armed hands,
"And bade them in the battle think they fought
"For them and for their babes. Thus rous'd 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 shall in after days
"Bring their young boys, and tell them of the deeds
"Our gallant friends atchieved, and bid them learn
"Like them to love their country, and like them no
"Should wild Oppression pour again it's 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
"On England's ruffian hordes; in vain her chiefs
"Madly will drain her wealth and waste her blood
"To conquer this vast realm! for, easier were it
"To hurl the rooted mountain from it's base,
"Than force the yoke of slavery upon men
"Determin'd to be free: yes — let them rage,
"And drain their country's wealth, and waste her blood,
"And 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
"The thunderbolt of vengeance — she shall blast
"The Despots that assail her."
As she ceas'd,
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 suffus'd the eye
The Patriot's joy flash'd thro'.
And now the rites
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.
"To the Maid,
"Exclaim'd the Messenger, M and thee, Dunois,
"Son of the Chief he loved! Du Chastel sends
"Greeting. The aged warrior has not spared
"All active efforts to partake your toil,
"And serve his country; and tho' 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, tho' each to each
"Be hostile, are alike the embattled sons
"Of this our common country. 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,
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. Him who shall serve
"Our country in the field, I hold my friend:
"Such may Du Chastel prove."
So said the Chief,
And pausing as the Herald went his way,
Gaz'd 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
"Prepar'd for midnight murder, would'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, blam'st 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 should'st 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 that man, Justice 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 buz round,
"And fly-blow the King's ear, and make him waste,
"In this most perilous time, his people's wealth,
"And blood: immers'd one while in crimson sloth,
"Heedless tho' ruin threat the realm they rule;
"And now projecting some mad enterprize,
"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 preserved!
"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,
"And he does wrong who hastens it. He best
"Performs the Patriot's and the Good Man'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,
Tho' to that far-off prospect scarcely Hope
Could raise her sickly eye. Oh then what joy
Inspir'd anew their bosoms, when, like clouds
Moving in shadows down the distant hill,
They mark'd their coming succours! in each heart
Doubt rais'd 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,
Mus'd sternly, till at length arous'd to hope
Of vengeance, welcoming his warrior son,
He brake a sullen smile.
"Son of my age!
"Welcome young Talbot to thy first of fields.
"Thy father bids thee welcome, tho' 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 scattered 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 counsel'd: for not yet the sun
Had reach'd Meridian height, when, o'er the plain
Of Pat ay they beheld the troops of France
Speed in pursuit. Collected in himself
Appear'd the might of Talbot. Thro' 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 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
Rous'd such a tumult in the new-come troops,
As fitted them for fear. The aged Chief
Beheld their drooping valor: his stern brow,
Wrinkled with thought, bewray'd his inward doubts:
Still he was firm, tho' all might fly, resolved
That Talbot should retrieve his old renown,
And period Life with Glory. Yet some hope
Inspir'd 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,
"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 Azincour,.
When thousands fell before him.
Onward move
The host of France: and now their venturous Knights
Dismount; their safety, and their country's weal,
Trusting to their own strength. 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, 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.
Her foaming courser, of the guiding hand
Impatient, smote the earth, and toss'd his mane.
And rear'd aloft with many a froward bound,
As tho' the Maiden's skill, and his own strength
Proud to display. The light gale with her plumes
Wantoned. Even such a fair and warlike form
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 breast,
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 oppos'd 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 driv'n,
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.
Then the Maid
Rode thro' 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 rous'd to rage, he tramples o'er,
Or with the lance protended from his front,
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 Desart 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, transfixed
By the random arrow's point, or fierce-thrust lance,
Or sink, all battered 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
Betrayed, for Fear the evil that it dreads
Increases. Even the Chiefs, who many a day
Had met the war and conquered, trembled now,
Appall'd by her, the Maid miraculous.
Thus the blood-nurtured Monarch of the wood,
That o'er the wilds of Afric, in his strength
Resistless ranges, when the mutinous clouds
Burst, and the lightnings thro' 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,
Mowed down the hostile ranks. The Chieftain stood
Like the strong oak, amid the tempest's rage,
That stands unharm'd; and whilst the forest falls
Uprooted round, lifts his high head aloft,
And nods majestic to the warring wind.
Him, present danger but magnanimates:
He fought resolved to snatch the shield of Death
And shelter him from Shame. The very herd
Who fought near Talbot, tho' 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. Nor his high birth
Disgraced the Son of Talbot; by his sire
Emulous he strove, like the young Lionet
When first he bathes his murderous jaws in blood.
They fought intrepid, tho' amid their ranks
Fear and Confusion triumph'd; for such awe
Possess'd the English, as the Etruscans felt,
When self-devoted to the Infernal Gods
The gallant 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 inspir'd the assailants. Xaintrailles there
Spread fear and death; and Orleans' valiant Son
Fought as when Warwick fled before his arm.
"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; thro' 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 thro' his shivering frame,
As the night traveller of the Pyrenees,
Lone and bewildered on his wint'ry way,
When from the mountains round reverberates
The hungry Wolves' deep yell: on every side,
Their fierce eyes gleaming as with meteor fires,
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 thro' the Warrior's greeves
Fix'd a deep wound: nor longer could the foe,
Tortur'd 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 blood-drenched plain of Azincour:
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,
Crown'd with gay garlands, and with Rosemary,
Smoaked on the Christmas board: he went to war
Following the Lord he loved, and saw him fall
Beneath the arm of Conrade, and expir'd,
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,
Tho' with vain valor, as when Ali rear'd
In the midnight war the warrior-withering cry!
The aged Hero rear'd his two-edged sword,
And ever as he smote a foe, exclaim'd,
"God is victorious!" in the battle's clang
Four hundred times from Ali's powerful voice
That sound of Death was heard: but vainly strove
The blameless Chieftain, bv the Assassin's hand
Destin'd to end a life of frustrate hopes.

Young Talbot mark'd the Maid across the plain.
Careering fierce in conquest. Her to meet
He spurr'd his horse, by one decisive deed
Or to retrieve the battle, or to fall
With glory. 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,
At once unsheath'd their falchions, and rush'd on
To closer combat. But in vain the Youth
Essay'd to pierce those arms that even the power
Of Time was weak to injure: she the while
Thro' many a wound beheld her foeman's blood
Ooze fast. "Yet save thee Warrior!" cried the Maid,
"Me canst thou not destroy: be timely wise,
"And live!" He answered not, but lifting high
His weapon, drove with fierce and forceful arm
Full on the Virgin's helm: fire from her eyes
Flash'd with the stroke: one step she back recoil'd,
Then in his breast plunged deep the sword of Death.

Him falling Talbot saw. On the next foe,
With rage and anguish wild, the Warrior turn'd;
His ill-directed weapon to the earth
Drove down the unwounded Frank: he lifts the sword
And thro' his all-in-vain imploring hands
Cleaves the poor suppliant. On that dreadful day
The sword of Talbot, clogg'd with hostile gore,
Made good its vaunt. Amid the heaps his arm
Had slain, the Chieftain stood and sway'd around
His furious strokes: nor ceas'd he from the fight,
Tho' now discomfited the English troops
Fled fast, all panic-struck and spiritless;
And mingling with the routed, Fastolffe fled
False to his former fame; for he beheld,
The Maiden rushing onward, and such fear
Ran thro' 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 paus'd, 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, 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 valor Talbot! look around,
"See where thy squadrons fly! but thou shalt lose
"No glory, by their cowardice subdued,
"Performing well thyself the soldier's part."

"And let them fly!" the indignant Earl exclaim'd,
"And let them fly! but bear thou witness, Chief!
"That guiltless of this day's disgrace, I fall.
"But Frenchman! Talbot will not tamely fall,
"Or unrevenged."
So saying, for the war
He stood prepar'd: nor now with heedless rage
The Champions fought, for either knew full well
His foemen's prowess: now they aim the blow
Insidious, with quick change then drive the steel
Fierce on the side expos'd. 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.
Now more fierce
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: now pierced with many a stroke,
The Earl's emblazon'd buckler to the earth
Fell sever'd: from his riven arms the blood
Stream'd fast; and now the Frenchman's battle-axe
Drove unresisted thro the shieldless mail.
Backward the Frank recoil'd. "Urge not to death
"This fruitless contest," cried he; "live, 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!"
Then Talbot's heart
Smote him. "Warrior! he cried, "if thou dost think
"That life is worth preserving, hie thee hence,
"And save thyself: I loath this useless talk."

So saying, he address'd him to the fight,
Impatient of existence; from their arms
Flash'd fire, and quick they panted; but not long
Endured the deadly combat. With full force
Down thro' 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.
He laid him on the earth, thence to remove,
While the long lance hung heavy in his side,
Powerless. As thus beside his lifeless foe
He lay, the Herald of the English Earl
With faltering step drew near, and when he saw
His master's arms, "Alas! and is it you,
"My Lord?" he cried. "God pardon you your sins!
"I have been forty years your officer,
"And time it is I should surrender now
"The ensigns of my office!" So he said.
And paying thus his rite of sepulture,
Threw o'er the slaughter'd chief his blazon'd coat.

Then Conrade thus bespake him: "Englishman,
"Do for a dying soldier one kind act.!
"Seek for the Maid of Orleans, bid her haste
"Hither, and thou shalt gain what recompence
"It pleases thee to ask."
The herald soon,
Meeting the missioned Virgin, told his tale.
Trembling she hasten'd on, and when she knew
The death-pale face of Conrade, scarce could JOAN
Lift up the expiring warrior's heavy hand,
And press it to her heart.
"I sent for thee,
"My friend!" with interrupted voice he cried,
"That I might comfort this my dying hour
"With one good deed. A fair domain is mine;
"Let Francis and his Isabel possess
"That, mine inheritance." He paus'd awhile,
Struggling for utterance; then with breathless speed,
And pale as him he mourn'd for, Francis came,
And hung in silence o'er the blameless man,
Even with a brother's sorrow: he pursued,
"This JOAN will be thy care. I have at home
"An aged mother — Francis, do thou soothe
"Her childless age. Nay, weep not for me thus:
"Sweet to the wretched is the Tomb's repose!"

So saying Conrade drew the javelin forth,
And died without a groan.
By this the Scouts,
Forerunning the King's march, upon the plain
Of Pat ay had arrived, of late so gay
With marshall'd thousands in their radiant arms,
And streamer glittering in the noon-tide sun,
And blazon'd shields, and gay accoutrements,
The pageantry of murder: now defiled
With mingled dust and blood, and broken arms,
And mangled bodies. Soon the Monarch joins
His victor army. Round the royal flag,
Uprear'd in conquest now, the Chieftains flock
Proffering their eager service. To his arms,
Or wisely fearful, or by speedy force
Compell'd, the embattled towns submit and own
Their rightful King. Baugenci strives in vain:
jenville and Mehun yield; from Sully's wall
Hurl'd is the banner'd Lion: on they pass.
Auxerre, and Troyes, and Chalons, ope their gates,
And bv the Mission'd Maiden's rumour'd deeds
Inspirited, the Citizens of Rheims
Feel their own strength; against the English troops
With patriot valor, irresistible,
They rise, they conquer, and to their liege Lord
Present the city keys.
The morn was fair
"When Rheims re-echoed to the busy hum
Of multitudes, for high solemnity
Assembled. To the holy fabric moves
The long procession, thro' the streets bestrewn
With flowers and laurel boughs. The Courtier throng
Were there, and they in Orleans, who endur'd
The siege right bravely: D'Orval, and La Hire,
The gallant Xaintrailles, Boussac, and Chabannes,
"Fayette, name that Freedom still shall love;
Alencon, and the bravest of the brave,
The Bastard Orleans, now in hope elate,
Soon to release from hard captivity
A dear-beloved brother. He was there,
Regnier of Sicily, the Sire of her,
That, great unfortunate, whose various woes
St. Alban's knew, and Hexham's fatal field,
And the dark forest, where the Robber met
The midnight Wanderer and her child, and vow'd,
"the Majesty of Fortitude,
His sword to serve them. By the Monarch's side
The Delegated Damsel pass'd along
Clad in her batter'd arms. She bore on high
Her hallowed banner to the sacred pile,
And fix'd it on the altar, whilst her hand
Pour'd on the Monarch's head the mystic oil,
Wafted of yore by milk-white Dove from Heaven,
"legends say) to Clovis, when he stood
At Rheims for baptism; dubious since that day,
When Tolbiac plain reek'd with his warrior's blood,
And fierce upon their flight the Alemanni prest,
And rear'd the shout of triumph; in that hour
Clovis invok'd aloud the Christian God,
And conquer'd: wak'd to wonder thus, the Chief
Became Love's convert, and Clotilda led
Her husband to the font.
The Mission'd Maid
Then placed on Charles's brow the Crown of France,
And back retiring, gazed upon the King
One moment, quickly scanning all the past,
Till in a tumult of wild wonderment
She wept aloud. The assembled multitude
In awful stillness witness'd: then at once,
As with a tempest-rushing noise of winds,
Lifted their mingled clamors. Now the Maid
Stood as prepar'd to speak, and waved her hand,
And instant silence followed.
"King of France!"
She cried — "At Chinon, when my gifted eye
"Knew thee disguis'd, what inwardly the Spirit
"Prompted, I spake — arm'd with the sword of God
"To drive from Orleans far the English Wolves,
"And crown thee in the rescued walls of Rheims.
"All is accomplished. I have here this day
"Fulfill'd my mission, and anointed thee
"Chief Servant of the People. Of this charge,
"Or well perform'd or wickedly, High Heaven
"Shall take account. If that thine heart be good,
"I know no limit to the happiness
"Thou mayest create. I do beseech thee King!"
"Maid exclaim'd, and fell upon the ground
"And clasp'd his knees) "I do beseech thee King!
"By all the millions that depend on thee,
"For weal or woe — consider what thou art,
"And know thy duty! if thou dost oppress
"Thy people, if to aggrandize thyself
"Thou tear'st them from their homes, and send'st them forth
"To slaughter, prodigal of misery!
"If when the Widow and the Orphan groan
"In want and wretchedness, thou turnest thee

"To hear the music of the flatterer's tongue;
"If when thou hear'st of thousands massacred,
"Thou sayest, "I am a King! and fit it is
"That these should perish for me." If thy realm
"Should, thro' the counsels of thy government,
"Be filled with woe, and in thy streets be heard
"The voice of mourning and the feeble cry
"Of asking Hunger; if at such a time
"Thou dost behold thy plenty-covered board,
"And shroud thee in thy robes of Royalty,
"And say that all is well — Oh gracious God!
"Be merciful to such a monstrous man,
"When the Spirits of the murdered innocent
"Cry at thy throne for justice!
"King of France!
"Protect the lowly, feed the hungry ones,
"And be the Orphan's father! thus shalt thou
"Become the Representative of Heaven,
"And Gratitude and Love establish thus
"Thy reign. Believe me, King! that hireling guards,
"Tho' flesh'd in slaughter, would be weak to save
"A tyrant on the blood-cemented Throne
"That totters underneath him."
Thus the Maid
Redeem'd her country. Ever may the All-Just
Give to the arms of Freedom such success.