Cried Isabel. “The iron storm of death 388
Clash’d in the sky; the mighty engines hurl’d
Huge stones which shook the ground where’er they fell.
Then was there heard at once the clang of arms,
The thundering cannons, and the soldier’s shout,
The female’s shriek, the affrighted infant’s cry,
The groan of death,.. discord of dreadful sounds
That jarr’d the soul.
Nor while the encircling foe
Leager’d the walls of Orleans, idly slept 396
Our friends: for winning down the Loire its way
The frequent vessel with provision fraught,
And men, and all the artillery of death, 399
Cheer’d us with welcome succour. At the bridge
These safely landed mock’d the foeman’s force.’
This to prevent, Salisbury, their watchful chief,
A mighty work prepares. Around our walls,
Encircling walls he builds, surrounding thus
The city. Firm’d with massiest buttresses, 405
At equal distance, sixty forts protect
The English lines. But chief where in the town
The six great avenues meet in the midst,
Six castles there he rear’d impregnable,
With deep-dug moats and bridges drawn aloft, 410
Where over the strong gate suspended hung
The dread portcullis. Thence the gunner’s eye
From his safe shelter could with ease survey
Intended sally, or approaching aid,
And point destruction.
It were long to tell 415
And tedious, how in many a bold assault
The men of Orleans sallied on their foes;
How after difficult fight the enemy
Possess’d the Tournelles, and the embattled tower
That shadows from the bridge the subject Loire; 420
Though numbering now three thousand daring men,
Frequent and fierce the garrison repell’d
Their far out-numbering foes. From every aid
Included, they in Orleans groan’d beneath
All ills accumulate. The shatter’d roofs 425
Allow’d the dews of night free passage there;
And ever and anon the ponderous stone,
Ruining where’er it fell, with hideous crash
Came like an earthquake, startling from his sleep
The affrighted soldier. From the brazen slings 430
The wild-fire balls hiss’d through the midnight sky;
And often their huge engines cast among us
The dead and loathsome cattle of their camp,
As though our enemies, to their deadly league 434
Forcing the common air, would make us breathe
Poisonous pollution. Through the streets were seen,
The frequent fire, and heaps of dead, in haste
Piled up and steaming to infected Heaven.
For ever the incessant storm of death 439
Pours down, and crowded in unwholesome vaults
The wretched females hide, not idle there,
Wasting the hours in tears, but all employ’d,
Or to provide the hungry soldier’s meal,
Or tear their garments to bind up his wounds:
A sad equality of wretchedness! 445
“Now came the worst of ills, for Famine came:
The provident hand deals out its scanty dole,
Yielding so little a supply to life
As but protracted death. The loathliest food
Hunted with eager eye and dainty deem’d, 450
The dog is slain, that at his master’s feet
Howling with hunger lay; with jealous fear,
Hating a rival’s look, the husband hides
His miserable meal; the famish’d babe
Clings closely to his dying mother’s breast; 455
And.. horrible to tell!.. where, thrown aside,
There lay unburied in the open streets
Huge heaps of carcasses, the soldier stands
Eager to mark the carrion crow for food. 459
“O peaceful scenes of childhood! pleasant fields!
Haunts of mine infancy, where I have stray’d
Tracing the brook along its winding way,
Or pluck’d the primrose, or with giddy speed
Chaced the gay butterfly from flower to flower!
O days in vain remember’d! how my soul, 465
Sick with calamity, and the sore ills
Of hunger, dwelt on you and on my home!
Thinking of you amid the waste of war,
I could in bitterness have cursed the great
Who made me what I was, a helpless one, 470
Orphan’d, and wanting bread!”
“And be they curst!”
Conrade exclaim’d, his dark eye flashing rage;
“And be they curst! O groves and woodland shades,
How blest indeed were you, if the iron rod 474
Should one day from Oppression’s hand be wrench’d
By everlasting Justice! Come that hour,
When in the Sun the Angel of the Lord
Shall stand and cry to all the fowls of Heaven,
‘Gather ye to the supper of your God,
That ye may eat the flesh of mighty men, 480
Of captains, and of kings! Then shall be peace.”
“And now, lest all should perish,” she pursued,
The women and the infirm must from the town
Go forth and seek their fate.
I will not now
Recall the moment, when on my poor Francis 485
With a long look I hung. At dead of night,
Made mute by fear, we mount the secret bark,
And glide adown the stream with silent oars:
Thus thrown upon the mercy of mankind,
I wandered reckless where, till wearied out, 490
And cold at heart, I laid me down to die;
So by this warrior found. Him I had known
And loved, for all loved Conrade who had known him;
Nor did I feel so pressing the hard hand
Of want in Orleans, ere he parted thence 495
On perilous envoy. For of his small fare” —
“Of this enough,” said Conrade; “Holy Maid!
One duty yet awaits me to perform.
Orleans her envoy sent me, to demand
Aid from her idle sovereign. Willingly 500
Did I achieve the hazardous enterprize,
For rumour had already made me fear
The ill that hath fallen on me. It remains,
Ere I do banish me from human kind,
That I re-enter Orleans, and announce 505
Thy march. ‘T is night, and hark! how dead a silence!
Fit hour to tread so perilous a path!”
So saying, Conrade from the tent went forth.
JOAN OF ARC. THE SIXTH BOOK.
THE night was calm, and many a moving cloud
Shadow’d the moon. Along the forest glade
With swift foot Conrade past, and now had reach’d
The plain, where whilome by the pleasant Loire,
Cheer’d with the song, the rustics had beheld 5
The day go down upon their merriment:
No song of peace now echoed on its banks.
There tents were pitch’d, and there the sentinel,
Slow pacing on his sullen rounds, beheld
The frequent corse roll down the tainted stream. 10
Conrade with wider sweep pursued his way,
Shunning the camp, now hush’d in sleep and still.
And now no sound was heard save of the Loire,
Murmuring along. The noise of coming feet
Alarm’d him; nearer drew the rapid steps 15
As of pursuit; anon.. the clash of arms!
That instant breaking through a rifted
cloud
The moonlight show’d, where two with force combined
Prest on a single foe, who, warding still
Their swords, retreated in unequal fight, 20
As he would make the city. Hastening
With timely help to save him, Conrade sped.
One with an unexpected stroke he slew;
The other fled: “Now let us speed our best,
Frenchman!” he cried. On to the Loire they ran,
And making way with practised arms across, 26
Ere long in safety gain’d the opposite shore.
“Whence art thou?” cried the warrior; “and on
what
Commission’d!”
“Is it not the voice of Conrade?”
Francis replied; “and dost thou bring to us 30
Tidings of succour? oh! that it had come
A few hours earlier! Isabel is gone!”
“Nay she is safe,” cried Conrade; “her I found
Bewilder’d in the forest, and consign’d her
To the protection of the holy Maid, 35
Whom Heaven hath sent to rescue us. Now say
Wherefore alone? A fugitive from Orleans,
Or sent on dangerous service from the town!”
“There is no food in Orleans,” he replied, 39
“Scarce a meal more. The assembled chiefs resolve,
If thou shouldst bring no tidings of near aid,
To cut their way to safety, or by death
Prevent the pang of famine. One they sought
Who venturing to the English lines should spy
Where best to venture on this desperate chance; 45
And I believing all I loved was lost
Offer’d myself.”
So saying, they approach’d
The gate. The sentinel, soon as he heard
Thitherward footsteps, with uplifted lance 49
Challenged the darkling travellers. At their voice
He drew the strong bolts back, and cautiously
Open’d the wicket. To the careful chiefs
Who sate in midnight council, they were led,
And Conrade thus address’d them:
“Sirs, the Lord,
In this our utmost need, hath sent us aid. 55
A holy Maid hath been raised up by Heaven;
Her mission is by miracles confirm’d,
And hither with twelve hundred chosen men,
Led by Dunois, she comes. I am myself
A witness to the truth of what I tell; 60
And by to-morrow’s noon, before these walls
Her banner will be seen.”
Thereat the chiefs
Were fill’d with wonder and with joy, by doubt
Little repress’d. “Open the granaries!”
Xaintrailles exclaim’d; “give we to all the host 65
“With hand unsparing now a plenteous meal;
To-morrow we are safe! for Heaven all-just
Hath seen our sufferings and decreed their end.
Let the glad tidings echo through the town!
God is with us!”
“Be not too confident,” 70
Graville replied, “in this miraculous aid.
Some frantic woman this who gives belief
To idle dreams, and with her madness then
Infects the simple! That Dunois is there,
Leading in arms twelve hundred chosen men, 75
Affords a better hope; yet lavish not
Our stores, lest in the enterprise he fail,
And Orleans then be fain to bear the yoke
Of England!”
“Chief! I tell thee,” Conrade cried,
“I did myself behold the sepulchre, 80
Fulfilling what she spake, give up those arms
Which surely for no common end the grave
Through many an age hath held inviolate.
She is the Prophetess of the Most High,
And will deliver Orleans!”
Gaucour then, 85
“Be it as thou hast said. For I must think,
That surely to no vulgar tale these chiefs
Would yield a light belief; and our poor stores
Must speedily, ye know, be clean consumed. 89
Spread then the joyful tidings through the troops
That God hath to deliver the oppress’d,
As in old time, raised up a Prophetess,
And the belief itself will make them fight
With irresistible courage.”
Thus the chief,
And what he said seem’d good. The men of Orleans,
Long by their foemen bay’d, such transport felt, 96
As when the Mexicans, with eager eye
Gazing to Huixachtla’s distant top,
On that last night, doubtful if ever morn
Again shall cheer them, mark the mystic fire 100
Flame on the breast of some brave prisoner,
A dreadful altar. As they see the blaze
Beaming on Iztapalapan’s near towers,
Or on Tezcuco’s calmy lake flash’d far,
Songs of thanksgiving and the shout of joy 105
Wake the loud echo; the glad husband tears
The mantling aloe from his consort’s face,
And children, now deliver’d from the dread
Of everlasting darkness, look abroad,
Hail the good omen, and expect the sun 110
Uninjur’d still to run his flaming race.
While thus in Orleans hope had banished sleep,
The Maiden’s host perform’d their evening prayer,
And in the forest took their rest secure.
And now the morning came. At earliest dawn 115
Lightly upstarting and bedight in arms,
The Bastard moved along, with provident eye
Marshalling the troops. All high in hope they march;
And now the sun shot from the southern sky
His noontide radiance, when afar they hear 120
The hum of men, and see the distant towers
Of Orleans, and the bulwarks of the foe,
And many a streamer wantoning in air.
These as they saw and thought of all the ills
Their brethren had endured, closely pent there 125
For many a month, such ardor for the fight
Burnt in each bosom, as young Ali felt
Then when Mohammed of the assembled tribe
Ask’d who would be his Vizir. Fierce in faith,
Forth from the race Of Hashem stept the youth, 130
“Prophet of God! lo.. I will be the man!”
And well did Ali merit that high post,
Victorious upon Beder’s fertile vale,
And on mount Ohud, and before the walls
Of Chaibar, when down-cleaving to the chest 135
His giant foe, he grasp’d the massy gate,
Shook with strong arm and tore it from the fort,
And lifted it in air, portentous shield!
“Behold the towers of Orleans,” cried Dunois.
“Lo! this the vale where on the banks of Loire,
Of yore, at close of day the rustic band 141
Danced to the roundelay. In younger years
As oft I glided down the silver stream,
Frequent upon the lifted oar I paused,
Listening the sound of far-off merriment. 145
There wave the hostile banners! martial Maid,
Give thou the signal!.. let us fall upon
These merciless invaders, who have sack’d
Village and town, and made the hamlet haunts
Silent, or hearing but the widow’s groan. 150
Give but the signal, Maiden!”
Her dark eye
Fix’d sadly on the foe, the holy Maid
Answer’d him; “Ere the avenging sword be drawn,
And slaughter be let loose, befits us send 154
Some peaceful mess
enger, who shall make known
The will of Heaven: so timely warn’d, our foes
Haply may yet repent, and quit in peace
Besieged Orleans, for I fain would spare
The bloody price of victory.”
So she said;
And as she spake, a soldier from the ranks 160
Came forward. “I will be thy messenger,
O Prophetess! and to the English camp
Will bear thy bidding.”
“Go,” the Virgin cried;
“Say to the Lord of Salisbury, and the chiefs
Of England, Suffolk, Fastolffe, Talbot, Scales, 165
Invaders of the country, say, thus says
The Maid OF Orleans: ‘With your troops retire
In peace. Of every captured town the keys
Restore to Charles; so bloodless you may seek
Your native island; for the God of Hosts 170
Thus hath decreed. To Charles the rightful heir,
By long descent and by the willing choice
Of duteous subjects, hath the Lord assign’d
The kingdom. In His name the Virgin comes
Arm’d with the sword, yet not of mercy void. 175
Depart in peace: for ere the morrow dawns,
Victorious upon yonder wall shall wave
Her holy banner.’” To the English camp
Fearless the herald went.
At mid-day meal,
With all the dissonance of boisterous mirth, 180
The British chiefs caroused and quaff’d the bowl,
When by the sentinel conducted there
The Maiden’s herald came.
“Chiefs,” he began,
“Salisbury, and ye the representatives
Of the English King, usurper of this realm, 185
To ye the leaders of the English host
I come, no welcome messenger. Thus saith
The Maid OF Orleans: ‘With your troops retire
In peace. Of every captured town the keys
Restore to Charles; so bloodless you may seek 190
Your native island; for the God of Hosts
Thus hath decreed. To Charles the rightful heir,
By long descent and by the willing choice
Of duteous subjects, hath the Lord assign’d
The kingdom. In His name the Virgin comes, 195
Arm’d with the sword, yet not of mercy void.
Depart in peace: for ere the morrow dawns,
Victorious upon yonder wall shall wave
Her holy banner.’”
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 10
