Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 3
And I must put away all fear of man,
Lest HE in wrath confound me.”
At the first
With pity or with scorn Dunois had heard
The Maid inspired; but now he in his heart 75
Felt that misgiving which precedes belief
In what was disbelieved and scoff’d at late
For folly. “Damsel!” said the Chief, “methinks
It would be wisely done to doubt this call,
Haply of some ill Spirit prompting thee 80
To self destruction.”
“Doubt!” the Maid exclaim’d,
“It were as easy when I gaze around
On all this fair variety of things,
Green fields and tufted woods, and the blue depth
Of heaven, and yonder glorious sun, to doubt 85
Creating wisdom! When in the evening gale
I breathe the mingled odours of the spring,
And hear the wild wood melody, and hear
The populous air vocal with insect life, 89
To doubt GOD’S goodness! There are feelings, Chief,
Which cannot lie; and I have oftentimes
Felt in the midnight silence of my soul
The call of GOD.”
They listen’d to the Maid,
And they almost believed. Then spake Dunois,
“Wilt thou go with me, Maiden, to the King, 95
And there announce thy mission?” thus he said,
For thoughts of politic craftiness arose
Within him, and his faith, yet unconfirm’d,
Determin’d to prompt action. She replied,
“Therefore I sought the Lord of Vaucouleur, 100
That with such credence as prevents delay,
He to the King might send me. Now beseech you
Speed our departure!”
Then Dunois address’d
Sir Robert, “Fare thee well, my friend and host!
It were ill done to linger here when Heaven 105
Vouchsafes such strange assistance. Let what force
Lorraine can raise to Chinon follow us;
And with the tidings of this holy Maid,
Sent by the LORD, fill thou the country; soon
Therewith shall France awake as from the sleep
Of death. Now Maid! depart we at thy will.” 111
“GOD’S blessing go with ye!” exclaim’d old Claude,
“Good Angels guard my girl!” and as he spake
The tears stream’d fast adown his aged cheeks.
“And if I do not live to see thee more, 115
As sure I think I shall not,.. yet sometimes
Remember thine old Uncle. I have loved thee
Even from thy childhood Joan! and I shall lose
The comfort of mine age in losing thee.
But GOD be with thee, Child!”
Nor was the Maid,
Though all subdued of soul, untroubled now 121
In that sad parting;.. but she calm’d herself,
Painfully keeping down her heart, and said,
“Comfort thyself, my Uncle, with the thought
Of what I am, and for what enterprize 125
Chosen from among the people. Oh! be sure
I shall remember thee, in whom I found
A parent’s love, when parents were unkind!
And when the ominous broodings of my soul,
Were scoff’d and made a mock of by all else, 130
Thou for thy love didst hear me and believe.
Shall I forget these things?”... By this Dunois
Had arm’d, the steeds stood ready at the gate.
But then she fell upon the old man’s neck 134
And cried, “Pray for me!.. I shall need thy prayers!
Pray for me, that I fail not in my hour!”
Thereat awhile, as if some aweful thought
Had overpower’d her, on his neck she hung;
Then rising with flush’d cheek and kindling eye,
“Farewell!” quoth she, “and live in hope! Anon
Thou shalt hear tidings to rejoice thy heart, 141
Tidings of joy for all, but most for thee!
Be this thy comfort!” The old man received
Her last embrace, and weeping like a child,
Scarcely through tears could see them on their steeds
Spring up, and go their way.
So on they went,
And now along the mountain’s winding path
Upward they journey’d slow, and now they paused
And gazed where o’er the plain the stately towers
Of Vaucouleur arose, in distance seen, 150
Dark and distinct; below its castled height,
Through fair and fertile pastures, the deep Meuse
Roll’d glittering on. Domremi’s cottages
Gleam’d in the sun hard by, white cottages,
That in the evening traveller’s weary mind 155
Had waken’d thoughts of comfort and of home,
Making him yearn for rest. But on one spot,
One little spot, the Virgin’s eye was fix’d,
Her native Arc; embower’d the hamlet lay
Upon the forest edge, whose ancient woods, 160
With all their infinite varieties,
Now form’d a mass of shade. The distant plain
Rose on the horizon rich with pleasant groves,
And vineyards in the greenest hue of spring, 164
And streams now hidden on their winding way,
Now issuing forth in light.
The Maiden gazed
Till all grew dim upon her dizzy eye.
“Oh what a blessed world were this!” she cried,
“But that the great and honourable men
Have seized the earth, and of the heritage 170
Which God, the Sire of all, to all had given,
Disherited their brethren! Happy those
Who in the after-days shall live when Time
Hath spoken, and the multitude of years 174
Taught wisdom to mankind!... Unhappy France!
Fiercer than evening wolves thy bitter foes
Rush o’er the land, and desolate, and kill;
Long has the widow’s and the orphan’s groan
Accused Heaven’s justice; — but the hour is come!
GOD hath inclined his ear, hath heard the voice
Of mourning, and his anger is gone forth.” 181
Then said the Son of Orleans, “Holy Maid!
Fain would I know, if blameless I may seek
Such knowledge, how the heavenly call was heard
First in thy waken’d soul; nor deem in me 185
Aught idly curious, if of thy past life
I ask the story. In the hour of age,
If haply I survive to see this realm
Deliver’d, precious then will be the thought
That I have known the delegated Maid, 190
And heard from her the wondrous ways of Heaven.”
“A simple tale,” the mission’d Maid replied;
“Yet may it well employ the journeying hour,
And pleasant is the memory of the past. 194
“See’st thou, Sir Chief, where yonder forest skirts
The Meuse, that in its winding mazes shows,
As on the farther bank, the distant towers
Of Vaucouleur? there in the hamlet Arc
My father’s dwelling stands; a lowly hut,
Yet nought of needful comfort did it lack, 200
For in Lorraine there lived no kinder Lord
Than old Sir Robert, and my father Jaques
In flocks and herds was rich; a toiling man,
Intent on worldly gains, one in whose heart
Affection had no root. I never knew 205
A parent’s love; for harsh my mother was,
And deem’d the care which infancy demands
Irksome, and ill-repaid. Severe they were,
And would have made me fear them; but my soul
Possess’d the germ of inborn fortitude, 210
And stubbornly I bore unkind rebuke
And angry chastisement. Yet was the voice
That spake in tones of tenderness most sweet
To my young heart; how have I felt it leap
With transport, when my Uncle Claude approach’d!
For he would take me on his knee, and tell 216
Such wondrous tales as childhood loves to hear,
Listening with eager eyes and open lips
Devoutly in attention. Good old man!
Oh if I ever pour’d a prayer to Heaven 220
Unhallow’d by the grateful thought of him,
Methinks the righteous winds would scatter it!
He was a parent to me, and his home
Was mine, when in advancing years I found
No peace, no comfort in my father’s house. 225
With him I pass’d the pleasant evening hours,
By day I drove my father’s flock afield,
And this was happiness.
“Amid these wilds
Often to summer pasture have I driven 229
The flock; and well I know these woodland wilds,
And every bosom’d vale, and valley stream
Is dear to memory. I have laid me down
Beside yon valley stream, that up the ascent
Scarce sends the sound of waters now, and watch’d
The beck roll glittering to the noon-tide sun, 235
And listened to its ceaseless murmuring,
Till all was hush’d and tranquil in my soul,
Fill’d with a strange and undefined delight
That pass’d across the mind like summer clouds
Over the vale at eve; their fleeting hues 240
The traveller cannot trace with memory’s eye,
Yet he remembers well how fair they were,
How beautiful.
“In solitude and peace
Here I grew up, amid the loveliest scenes
Of unpolluted nature. Sweet it was, 245
As the white mists of morning roll’d away,
To see the upland’s wooded heights appear
Dark in the early dawn, and mark the slope
With gorse-flowers glowing, as the sun illumed
Their golden glory with his deepening light; 250
Pleasant at noon beside the vocal brook
To lay me down, and watch the floating clouds,
And shape to fancy’s wild similitudes
Their ever-varying forms; and oh how sweet!
To drive my flock at evening to the fold, 255
And hasten to our little hut, and hear
The voice of kindness bid me welcome home.
“Amid the village playmates of my youth
Was one whom riper years approved a friend.
A gentle maid was my poor Madelon; 260
I loved her as a sister, and long time
Her undivided tenderness possess’d,
Until a better and a holier tie
Gave her one nearer friend; and then my heart
Partook her happiness, for never lived 265
A happier pair than Arnaud and his wife.
“Lorraine was call’d to arms, and with her youth
Went Arnaud to the war. The morn was fair,
Bright shone the sun, the birds sung cheerfully,
And all the fields seem’d joyous in the spring; 270
But to Domremi wretched was that day,
For there was lamentation, and the voice
Of anguish, and the deeper agony
That spake not. Never can my heart forget 274
The feelings that shot through me, when the horn
Gave its last call, and through the castle-gate
The banner moved, and from the clinging arms
Which hung on them, as for a last embrace,
Sons, brethren, husbands, went.
“More frequent now
Sought I the converse of poor Madelon, 280
For now she needed friendship’s soothing voice.
All the long summer did she live in hope
Of tidings from the war; and as at eve
She with her mother by the cottage door
Sat in the sunshine, if a traveller 285
Appear’d at distance coming o’er the brow,
Her eye was on him, and it might be seen
By the flush’d cheek what thoughts were in her heart,
And by the deadly paleness which ensued,
How her heart died within her. So the days 290
And weeks and months pass’d on; and when the leaves
Fell in the autumn, a most painful hope
That reason own’d not, that with expectation
Did never cheer her as she rose at morn,
Still linger’d in her heart, and still at night 295
Made disappointment dreadful. Winter came,
But Arnaud never from the war return’d,
He far away had perish’d; and when late
The tidings of his certain death arrived,
Sore with long anguish underneath that blow 300
She sunk. Then would she sit and think all day
Upon the past, and talk of happiness
That never could return, as though she found
Best solace in the thoughts which minister’d
To sorrow: and she loved to see the sun 305
Go down, because another day was gone,
And then she might retire to solitude
And wakeful recollections, or perchance
To sleep more wearying far than wakefulness,
Dreams of his safety and return, and starts 310
Of agony; so neither night nor day
Could she find rest, but pined and pined away.
“DEATH! to the happy thou art terrible;
But how the wretched love to think of thee
Oh thou true comforter, the friend of all 315
Who have no friend beside! By the sick bed
Of Madelon I sat, when sure she felt
The hour of her deliverance drawing near;
I saw her eye kindle with heavenly hope,
I had her latest look of earthly love, 320
I felt her hand’s last pressure.... Son of Orleans!
I would not wish to live to know that hour,
When I could think upon a dear friend dead,
And weep not: but they are not bitter tears,...
Not painful now; for Christ hath risen, first fruits
Of them that slept; and we shall meet again, 326
Meet, not again to part: the Grave hath lost
It’s victory.
“I remember as her bier
Went to the grave, a lark sprung up aloft,
And soar’d amid the sunshine, carolling 330
So full of joy, that to the mourner’s ear
More mournfully than dirge or passing bell,
The joyous carol came, and made us feel
That of the multitude of beings, none
But man was wretched.
“Then my soul awoke,
For it had slumber’d long in happiness, 336
And never feeling misery, never thought
What others suffer. I, as best I might,
Solaced the keen regret of Elinor; 339
And much my cares avail’d, and much her son’s,
On whom, the only comfort of her age,
She center’d now her love. A younger birth,
Aged nearly as myself was Theodore,
An ardent youth, who with the kindest care
Had sooth’d his sister’s sorrow. We had knelt 345
By her death-bed together, and no bond
In closer union knits two human hearts
Than fellowship in grief.
“It chanced as once
Beside the fire of Elinor I sat, 349
; The night was comfortless, the loud blast howl’d,
And as we drew around the social hearth,
We heard the rain beat hard. Driven by the storm
A warrior mark’d our distant taper’s light;
We heapt the fire, and spread the friendly board.
‘’Tis a rude night;’ the stranger cried: ‘safe housed
Pleasant it is to hear the pelting rain. 356
I too could be content to dwell in peace.
Resting my head upon the lap of love,
But that my country calls. When the winds roar,
Remember sometimes what a soldier suffers, 360
And think on Conrade.’
“Theodore replied,
‘Success go with thee! Something we have known
Of war, and tasted its calamity;
And I am well content to dwell in peace,
Albeit inglorious, thanking the good God 365
Who made me to be happy.’
“Did that God’
Cried Conrade, ‘form thy heart for happiness,
When Desolation royally careers
Over thy wretched country? Did that God
Form thee for Peace when Slaughter is abroad, 370
When her brooks run with blood, and Rape, and Murder,
Stalk through her flaming towns? Live thou in peace,
Young man! my heart is human: I must feel
For what my brethren suffer,’ While he spake
Such mingled passions character’d his face 375
Of fierce and terrible benevolence,
That I did tremble as I listen’d to him.
And in my heart tumultuous thoughts arose
Of high achievements, indistinct, and wild,
And vast,.. yet such they were as made me pant
As though by some divinity possess’d. 381
‘But is there not some duty due to those
We love?’ said Theodore; ‘Is there an employ
More righteous than to cheer declining age,
And thus with filial tenderness repay 385
Parental care?
“Hard is it,’ Conrade cried,
Ay, hard indeed, to part from those we love;
And I have suffer’d that severest pang.
I have left an aged mother; I have left
One upon whom my heart has fasten’d all 390
Its dearest, best affections. Should I live
Till France shall see the blessed hour of peace,
I shall return; my heart will be content,
My duties then will have been well discharged,
And I may then be happy. There are those 395
Who deem such thoughts the fancies of a mind