Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 13

  The enemy’s vantage, destined to abide 345

  That rashness dearly. Conrade stood prepared,

  Held forth his buckler, and his battle-axe

  Uplifted. Where the buckler was beneath

  Hounded, the falchion struck, a bootless blow

  To pierce its plated folds; more forcefully 350

  Full on his crested helm the battle-axe

  Descended, driving in both crest and crown;

  From the knight’s eyes at that death-stroke, the blood

  Started; with blood the chambers of the brain

  Were fill’d; his breast-plate with convulsive throes

  Heaved as he fell. Victorious, he the prize 356

  At many a tournament had borne away

  In mimic war; happy, if so content

  With bloodless glory, he had never left

  The mansion of his sires.

  But terrified 360

  The English stood, nor durst adventure now

  Near that death-doing foe. Amid their host

  Was one who well could from the stubborn yew

  Send his sharp shafts; well skill’d in wood-craft he,

  Even as the merry outlaws who their haunts 365

  In Sherwood held, and bade their bugles rouse

  The sleeping stag, ere on the web-woven grass

  The dew-drops sparkled to the rising sun.

  He safe in distance at the warrior aim’d

  The feather’d dart; with force he drew the bow;

  Loud on his bracer struck the sounding string, 371

  And swift and strong the well-fledged arrow flew.

  It pierced the shield, and reach’d, but reach’d in vain,

  The breast-plate: while he fitted to the bow

  A second arrow, Conrade raised his voice, 375

  Shouting for timely succour to secure

  The entrance he had gain’d. Nor was the call

  Unheard, nor unobey’d; responsive shouts

  Announced assistance nigh; the Orleanites

  From St Loup’s captured fort along the wall 380

  Sped to support him; cheering was the sound

  Of their near footsteps to the chief; he drew

  His falchion forth, and down the steps he went ‘

  Then terror seized the English, for their foes

  Press’d thro’ the open portal, and the sword 385

  Of Conrade was among them making way.

  Not to the Trojans when their ships were lost

  More dreadful the Rutilian hero seem’d,

  Then hoping well to right himself in arms;

  Nor with more fury through the streets of Paris

  Rush’d the fierce king of Sarza, Rodomont, 391

  Clad in his dragon mail.

  Like some tall rock,

  Around whose billow-beaten foot the waves

  Spend their vain force, unshaken Conrade stood,

  When drawing courage from despair the foe 395

  Renew’d the contest. Through the throng he hew’d

  His way unhurt amid the arrowy shower,

  Though on his shield and helm the darts fell fast,

  As the sear’d leaves that from the trembling tree

  The autumnal whirlwind shakes. Nor did he pause

  Till to the gate he came, and with strong hand 401

  Seized on the massy bolts. These as he drew,

  Full on his helm a weighty English sword

  Descended; swift he turn’d to wreak his wrath,

  When lo! the assailant gasping on the ground, 405

  Cleft by the Maiden’s falchion: she herself

  To the foe opposing with her herald’s aid,

  For they alone, following the adventurous steps

  Of Conrade, still kept pace as he advanced,

  Shielded him while with eager hand he drew 410

  The bolts: the gate turn’d slow; forth leapt the chief,

  And shiver’d with his battle-axe the chains

  That held on high the bridge: down fell the bridge

  Rebounding; the victorious troops rush’d in;

  And from their walls the Orleanites with shouts

  And tears of joy beheld on Fort St. John 416

  The lilies wave.

  “On to Fort London! on!”

  Cried Conrade’; “Xaintrailles! while the day endures

  Once more advance to certain victory!

  Force ye the lists, and fill the moat, and bring 420

  The battering-ram against their gates and walls.

  Anon I shall be with you.” Thus he said;

  Then to the damsel. “Maid of Arc! awhile

  Let thou and I withdraw, and by short rest

  Renew our strength.” So saying he his helm 425

  Unlaced, and in the Loire’s near flowing stream

  Cool’d his hot face. The Maid her head unhelm’d,

  And stooping to the stream, reflected there

  Saw her white plumage stain’d with human blood!

  Shuddering she saw, but soon her steady soul 430

  Collected: on the banks she laid her down,

  Freely awhile respiring, for her breath

  Still panted from the fight: silent they lay,

  And gratefully the cooling breezes bathed

  Their throbbing temples.

  Eve was drawing on:

  The sun-beams on the gently-waving stream 436

  Danced sparkling. Lost in thought the warrior lay,

  Then as if wakening from a dream he said,

  “Maiden of Arc! at such an hour as this,

  Beneath the o’er-arching forest’s chequer’d shade,

  With that lost woman have I wander’d on, 441

  Talking of years of happiness to come!

  Oh! hours for ever fled! delightful hopes

  Of the unsuspecting heart! I do believe

  If Agnes on a worthier one had fix’d 445

  Her love, that though my heart had nurst till death

  Its sorrows, I had never on her choice

  Cast one upbraiding.. but to stoop to him!

  A harlot!.. an adulteress!”

  In his eye

  Fierce anger flash’d; anon of what she was 450

  Ere the contagious vices of the court

  Polluted her, he thought. “Oh, happy age!”

  He cried, “when all the family of man

  Freely enjoy’d their goodly heritage,

  And only bow’d the knee in prayer to God! 455

  Calm flow’d the unruffled stream of years along,

  Till o’er the peaceful rustic’s head the hair

  Grew grey in full of time. Then he would sit

  Beneath the coetaneous oak, while round,

  Sons, grandsons and their offspring join’d to form

  The blameless merriment; and learnt of him 461

  What time to yoke the oxen to the plow,

  What hollow moanings of the western wind

  Foretell the storm, and in what lurid clouds

  The embryo lightning lies. Well pleased, he taught,

  A heart-smile glowing on his aged cheek, 466

  Mild as the summer sun’s decaying light.

  Thus quietly the stream of life flow’d on,

  Till in the shoreless ocean lost at length.

  Around the bed of death his numerous race 470

  Listen’d, in no unprofitable grief,

  His last advice, and caught his latest sigh;

  And when he died, as he had fallen asleep,

  In his own ground, and underneath the tree

  Which, planted at his birth, with him had grown,

  And flourish’d in its strength when he decay’d, 476

  They delved the narrow house: where oft at eve

  Their children’s children gathered round to hear

  The example of his life and death impress’d.

  Maiden! and such the evening of my days 480

  Fondly I hoped; and would that I had liv
ed

  In those old times, or till some better age

  Slumber’d unborn; for this is a hard race,

  An evil generation; nor by day

  Nor in the night have respite from their cares 485

  And wretchedness. But I shall be at rest

  Soon, in that better world of peace and love

  Where evil is not: in that better world,

  Joan! we shall meet, and he too will be there

  Thy Theodore.”

  Soothed by his words, the Maid

  Had listen’d sadly, till at that loved name 491

  She wept. “Nay, Maid!” he cried, “I did not think

  To wake a tear;... yet pleasant is thy grief!

  Thou know’st not what it is, around thy heart

  To have a false one wreathe in viper folds. 495

  But to the battle! in the clang of arms,

  We win forgetfulness.”

  Then from the bank

  He sprung, and helm’d his head. The Maid arose

  Bidding awhile adieu to gentle thoughts.

  On to the fort they speed, whose name recall’d 500

  England’s proud capital to the English host,

  Now half subdued, anticipating death,

  And vainly wishing they from her white cliffs

  Had never spread the sail.. Cold terror creeps

  Through every nerve: already they look round 505

  With haggard eyes, as seeking where to fly,

  Though Talbot there presided, with their chief,

  The dauntless Salisbury.

  “Soldiers tried in arms t

  Thus, hoping to revive with gallant speech

  Their courage, Salisbury spake; “Brave countrymen,

  Victorious in so many a hard-fought fight, 511

  What... shrink ye now dismay’d? Oh call to mind

  The plains of Agincourt, where vanquish’d France

  Fled with her thousands from your fathers’ arms?

  Have ye forgotten how our English swords, 515

  On that illustrious day before Verneuil,

  Cut down the flower of all their chivalry?

  Then was that noble heart of Douglas pierced,

  Bold Buchan bit the earth, and Narbonne died,

  And this Alençon, boaster as he is, 520

  Cried mercy to his conqueror. Shall I speak

  Of our victorious banner on the walls

  Of Yenville and Baugenci triumphing:

  And of that later hour of victory 524

  When Clermont and the Bastard plied their spurs?

  Shame! shame! that beaten boy is here in arms,

  And ye will fly before the fugitives,..

  Fly from a woman! from a frantic girl!

  Who with her empty mummeries tries to blast

  Your courage; or if miracles she bring, 530

  Aid of the Devil! Who is there among you

  False to his country,.. to his former fame,

  To your old leader who so many a time

  Hath led ye on to glory?”

  From the host 534

  There came a heartless shout; then Talbot’s cheek

  Grew red with indignation. “Earl!” said he,

  Addressing Salisbury: “there is no hope

  From these White-liver’d dastards, and this fort

  Will fall an easy conquest. We must out

  And gain the Tournelles, better fortified, 540

  Fit to endure a siege: that hope in view,

  Cow’d as they are, the men from very fear

  May gather what will do for this poor turn

  The work of courage.”

  Bravely thus he spake,

  Advising well, and Salisbury replied; 545

  “Rightly thou say’st. But, Talbot, could we reach

  The sorceress in the battle, one sure blow

  Might give us back, this hour, the mastery

  So marvellously lost: nor difficult

  To meet the wench, for from the battlements 550

  I have beheld her foremost in attack,

  Playing right valiantly the soldier’s part.

  In her the enemy have their strength, with her

  Their strength would fall. And had we her but once

  Within arm-stroke, witch though she be, methinks

  Her devilry could neither blunt the edge 556

  Of thy good sword, or mine.”

  Thus communed they,

  And through the host the gladdening tidings ran,

  That they should seek the Tournelles. Then their

  hearts

  Gather’d new strength, placing on those strong walls

  Dependence; oh vain hope! for neither wall, 561

  Nor moat, nor fort can save, if fear within

  Palsy the soldier’s arm.

  Them issuing forth,

  As from the river’s banks they pass’d along, 564

  The Maid beheld. “Lo! Conrade!” she exclaim’d,

  “The foe advance to meet us.. look I they lower

  The bridge I and now they rush upon the troops:..

  A gallant onset! Dost thou mark the man

  Who all this day has by our side endured

  The hottest conflict? Often I beheld 570

  His feats with wonder, but his prowess now

  Makes all his actions in the former fight

  Seem as of no account: knowest thou him?

  There is not one amid the host of France,

  Of fairer promise.”

  “He,” the chief replied, 575

  “Wretched and prodigal of life, achieves

  The exploits of despair; a gallant youth,

  Widow’d like me of hope, and but for whom

  I had been seen among mankind no more.

  Maiden! with me thy comrade in the war, 580

  His arm is vow’d to heaven. Lo I where he stands

  Bearing the battle’s brunt!”

  Nor paused they now

  In farther converse, to the perilous fray

  Speeding, not unobserved; for Salisbury saw

  And call’d on Talbot. Six, the bravest knights

  And sworn with them, against the virgin’s life 586

  Address’d their course. She by the herald’s side

  Now urged the war, when on her white-plumed helm

  The hostile falchion fell. On high she lifts

  That hallowed sword, which in the tomb for her

  Age after age, by miracle reserved, 591

  Had lain, which time itself could not corrode,

  How then might shield, or breast-plate, or close mail

  Retund its edge? Beneath that edge her foe

  Fell; and the knight who to avenge him came, 595

  Smitten by Conrade’s battle-axe, was fell’d

  Upon his dying friend. With Talbot here

  The daring herald urged unequal fight;

  For like some oak that in its rooted strength

  Defies the storm, the undaunted Earl endured 600

  His quick assault. The herald round him wheels

  Rapidly, now on this side, now on that,

  With many a feign’d and many a frustrate aim

  Flashing his falchion; now, as he perceives

  With wary eye the Earl’s intended stroke, 605

  Bending, or leaping, lithe of limb, aside,

  Then quick and agile in assault again.

  Ill-fated man! one deed of glory more

  Shall with the short-lived lightning’s splendor grace

  This thy death-day; for SLAUGHTER even now

  Stands o’er thy loom of life, and lifts his sword. 611

  Upon her shield the martial Maid received

  An English warrior’s blow, and in his side,

  Beneath the arm upraised, in prompt return

  Pierced him: that instant Salisbury sped his sword,

  Which glancing from her helm fell on the folds 616

  That arm’d her neck, and making there its way,


  Stain’d with her blood its edge. The herald saw,

  And turn’d from Talbot, heedless of himself,

  And lifting up his falchion, all his force 620

  Concenter’d. On the breast of Salisbury

  It fell, and cleft his mail, and thro’ the plate

  Beneath it drove, and in his heart’s-blood plunged.

  Lo! as he struck the mighty Talbot came,

  And smote his helmet: slant the weapon fell; 625

  The strings gave way, the helmet dropt, the Earl

  Repeated on that head disarm’d his blow:

  Too late to interpose the Maiden saw,

  And in that miserable moment knew,

  Her Theodore.

  Him Conrade too had seen, 630

  And from a foe whom he had beaten down

  Turn’d terrible in vengeance. Front to front

  They stood, and each for the death-blow prepared

  His angry might. At once their weapons fell,

  The Frenchman’s battle-axe, and the good sword

  Of Talbot. He, stunn’d by the weighty blow, 636

  Sunk senseless, by his followers from the field

  Convey’d with timely speed: nor had his blade

  Fallen vainly on the Frenchman’s crested helm,

  Tho’ weak to wound; for from his eyes the fire

  Sparkled, and back recoiling with the blow, 641

  He in the Maiden’s arms astounded fell.

  But now their troops all captainless confused,

  Fear seized the English. Not with more dismay

  When over wild Caffraria’s wooded hills 645

  Echoes the lion’s roar, the timid herd

  Fly the death-boding sound. The forts they seek,

  Now reckless which, so from that battle’s rage

  A present refuge. On their flying ranks

  The victors press, and mark their course with blood.

  But loud the trumpet of retreat resounds, 651

  For now the westering sun with many a hue

  Streak’d the gay clouds.

  “Dunois!” the Maiden cried,

  “Form now around yon stronger pile the siege,

  There for the night encamping.” So she said. 655

  The chiefs to Orleans for their needful food,

  And enginery to batter that huge pile,

  Dismiss’d a troop, and round the Tournelles led

  The host beleaguering. There they pitch their tents,

  And plant their engines for the morrow’s war, 660

  Then to their meal, and o’er the cheerful bowl

  Recount the tale of danger; soon to rest