Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 11

  Wonder made a pause;

  To this a laugh succeeds. “What!” Fastolffe cried,

  “A virgin warrior hath your monarch sent 201

  To save devoted Orleans? By the rood,

  I thank his grace. If she be young and fair,

  No worthless prize, my lords! Go, tell your Maid,

  Joyful we wait her coming.”

  There was one

  Among the English chiefs who had grown old 206

  In arms, yet had not age unnerved his limbs,

  But from the flexile nimbleness of youth

  To unyielding stiffness braced them. One who saw

  Him seated at the board, might well have deem’d

  That Talbot with his whole collected might 211

  Wielded the sword in war, for on his neck

  The veins were full, and every muscle bore

  The character of strength. He his stern eye

  Fix’d on the herald, and before he spake 215

  His silence threaten’d.

  “Get thee gone!” exclaim’d

  The indignant chief: “away! nor think to scare

  With girlish phantasies the English host

  That scorns your bravest warriors. Hie thee thence,

  And tell this girl she may expect to meet 220

  The mockery of the camp!”

  “Nay, scare her not,”

  Replied their chief: “go, tell this Maid of Orleans,

  That Salisbury longs to meet her in the fight.

  Nor let her fear that cords or iron chains

  Shall gall her tender limbs; for I myself 225

  Will be her prison, and.”

  “Contemptuous man!

  No more!” the Herald cried, as to his cheek

  Hush’d the red anger: “bearing words of peace

  And timely warning came I to your camp;

  And here have been with insolent ribaldry 230

  Received. Bear witness, chieftains I that the French,

  Free from blood-guiltiness, shall meet the war.”

  “And who art thou?” cried Suffolk, and his eye

  Grew fierce and wrath-inflamed: “What fool art thou,

  Who at this woman’s bidding comest to brave 235

  The host of England? Thou shalt have thy meed!”

  Then turning to the sentinel he cried,

  “Prepare a stake! and let the men of Orleans,

  And let this woman who believes her name

  May privilege her herald, see the fire 240

  Consume him. Plant a stake! for by my God

  He shall be kalendered of this new faith

  First martyr.”

  As he spake, a sudden flush

  Came o’er the herald’s cheek, and his heart beat

  With quicker action; but the sudden flush, 245

  Nature’s instinctive impulse, faded soon

  To such a steady hue as spake the soul

  Roused up with all its powers, and unsubdued,

  And strengthen’d for endurance. Through the camp,

  Soon as the tidings spread, a shout arose, 250

  A hideous shout, more savage than the howl

  Of midnight wolves, around him as they throng’d,

  To gaze upon their victim. He pass’d on;

  And as they led him to the appointed place

  Look’d round, as though forgetful of himself, 255

  And cried aloud, “Oh! woe it is to think

  So many men shall never see the sun

  Go down! Ye English mothers mourn ye now!

  Daughters of England weep! for hard of heart

  Still your mad leaders urge this impious war; 260

  And for their folly and their wickedness,

  Your sons, your husbands, by the sword must fall.

  Long-suffering is the Lord, and slow to wrath,

  But heavy are his judgements!”

  He who spake 264

  Was young and comely; had his cheek been pale

  With dread, and had his eye look’d fearfully,

  Sure he had won compassion; but the blood

  Gave now a livelier meaning to his cheek, 268

  As with a prophet’s look and prophet’s voice

  He raised his ominous warning: they who heard

  Wonder’d, and they who rear’d the stake perform’d

  With half-unwilling hands their slacken’d toil,

  And doubted what might follow.

  Not unseen

  Rear’d they the stake, and piled around the wood;

  In sight of Orleans and the Maiden’s host, 275

  Had Suffolk’s arrogant fierceness bade the work

  Of death be done. The Maiden’s host beheld;

  At once in eager wrath they raised the loud

  And general clamour, “Lead us to the foe!”

  “Not upon us, O GOD!” the Maid exclaim’d, 280

  “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 290

  Feel aggravated shame!”

  And now they bound

  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 294

  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 300

  Come thundering on.

  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.

  “Haste thee hence

  To Orleans,” cried the warrior. “Tell the chiefs

  There is confusion in the English camp. 315

  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 3
31

  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 335

  Of her own Amadis. Nor plated shield,

  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 350

  Meeting a foe fearless, and in the faith

  Of Heaven’s assistance firm.

  The clang of arms

  Reaches the walls of Orleans. For the war

  Prepared, and confident of victory,

  Forth speed the troops. Not when afar exhaled

  The hungry raven snuffs the steam of blood 356

  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 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

  Howl’d a deep wind that ominous of storms 365

  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 374

  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, 380

  The lambent lightnings play. Irradiate round,

  As with a blaze of glory, o’er the field

  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.

  Nor in the camp 400

  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 410

  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 415

  Exultant in the pride of long success,

  A remnant had escaped, had not their chief,

  Slow as he moved unwilling from the field,

  What most might profit the defeated ranks 419

  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

  They cast a lurid splendor; to the troops

  Grateful, as to the way-worn traveller, 430

  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 desert billows round,

  Pauses, and shudders at his perils past, 436

  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 rattling thunder-cracks

  Upon the bolted lightning follow close,

  The English hasten to their sheltering forts,

  Even there of safety doubtful, still appall’d 441

  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 close pursuit

  Escaped, the topmost branch of some tall tree 445

  He grasps close clinging, still of the wild beast

  Fearful, his teeth jar, and the cold sweat stands

  Upon his clammy limbs.

  Nor now the Maid

  Greedy of vengeance presses the pursuit.

  She bids the trumpet of retreat resound; 450

  A welcome note to the affrighted foe

  Blew that loud blast, whereat obediently

  The French, though eager on the invaders’ heads

  To wreak their wrath, stay the victorious sword.

  Loud is the cry of conquest as they turn 455

  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 459

  Flash’d far a festive light The Maid advanced;

  Deep through the sky the hollow thunders roll’d;

  Innocuous lightnings round the hallowed banner

  Wreath’d their red radiance.

  Through the city gate

  Then as the laden convoy pass’d was heard

  The shout of exultation; and such joy 465

  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 desert, where no stream

  Wastes on the wild its fertilizing waves. 470

  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 fertile vale,, 476

  Where Oxus roll’d below.

  Clamours of joy

  Echo along the streets of Orleans, wont

  Long time to hear the infant’s feeble cry, 479

  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 carcasses, whence scared away

  From his abhorred meal, on clattering wing 484

  Rose the night-raven slow.

  In the English forts

  Sad was the scene. There all the livelong night

  Steal in the straggling fugitives; 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, 490

  Renewing the remembrance of the storm.

  JOAN OF ARC. THE SEVENTH BOOK.

  STRONG were the English forts, by daily toil

  Of thousands rear’d on high, when to ensure

  His meditated conquest Salisbury

  Resolved from Orleans to shut out all means

  Of human succour. Round the city stretch’d 5

  Their line continuous, massy as the wall

  Erst by the fearful Roman on the bounds

  Of Caledonia raised, when soul-enslaved

  The race degenerate fear’d the car-borne chiefs

  Who moved from Morven down.

  Broad battlements

  Crested the bulwark, and safe standing place 11

  For archer or for man-at-arms was there.

  The frequent buttress at just distance rose

  Declining from its base, and sixty forts

  Seem’d in their strength to render all secure. 15

  But loftier and massier than the rest,

  As though of some large castle each the keep,

  Stood six square fortresses with turrets flank’d,

  Piles of unequall’d strength, though now deem’d weak