< Joan of Arc (Southey)
JOAN of ARC.
BOOK THE SIXTH.
ARGUMENT.
Conrade on his way to Orleans releases a French soldier. He enters that city. Council of the leaders. Their determination. Summons of the Maid to the English Generals. They receive it with scorn. The Maid attacks, defeats them, and enters Orleans in triumph at midnight, amid thunder and lightning.
JOAN of ARC
BOOK THE SIXTH.
THE night was calm, and many a moving cloud
Shadowed 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 pitched—and there the centinel,
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 fearful sound 15
As of pursuit—anon—the clash of arms!
That instant rising o'er a broken cloud
The moon beams shone, where two with combined force
Prest on a single foe: he, warding still
Their swords, retreated in the unequal fight, 20
As he would make the city. Conrade shook
His long lance for the war, and strode along.
Full in the breast of one with forceful arm
Plunged he the spear of death; and as, dismayed
By his fellow's fall, the other turn'd to fly, 25
Hurl'd the red weapon reeking from the wound,
And fix'd him to the plain. "Now haste we on,
Frenchman!" he cried. On to the stream they speed,
And plunging stemm'd with sinewy stroke the tide.
Soon on the opposite shore arrived and safe. 30
Shadowed 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 pitched—and there the centinel,
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 fearful sound 15
As of pursuit—anon—the clash of arms!
That instant rising o'er a broken cloud
The moon beams shone, where two with combined force
Prest on a single foe: he, warding still
Their swords, retreated in the unequal fight, 20
As he would make the city. Conrade shook
His long lance for the war, and strode along.
Full in the breast of one with forceful arm
Plunged he the spear of death; and as, dismayed
By his fellow's fall, the other turn'd to fly, 25
Hurl'd the red weapon reeking from the wound,
And fix'd him to the plain. "Now haste we on,
Frenchman!" he cried. On to the stream they speed,
And plunging stemm'd with sinewy stroke the tide.
Soon on the opposite shore arrived and safe. 30
"Whence comest thou?" cried the Chief; "on what high charge
Commission'd?"
Commission'd?"
"Is it not the voice of Conrade?"
Francis exclaim'd; "and dost thou bring to us
Tidings of speedy aid? oh! had it come
A few hours earlier! Isabel is gone!" 35
Francis exclaim'd; "and dost thou bring to us
Tidings of speedy aid? oh! had it come
A few hours earlier! Isabel is gone!" 35
"Nay she is safe," cried Conrade, "her I found
When wilder'd in the forest, and consign'd
To the protection of that holy Maid,
The delegate of Heaven. One evening more
And thou shalt have thine Isabel. Now say, 40
Wherefore alone? A fugitive from Orleans,
Or sent on dangerous service from the town?"
When wilder'd in the forest, and consign'd
To the protection of that holy Maid,
The delegate of Heaven. One evening more
And thou shalt have thine Isabel. Now say, 40
Wherefore alone? A fugitive from Orleans,
Or sent on dangerous service from the town?"
"There is no food in Orleans," he replied,
"Scarce a meal more! the assembled chiefs resolved
If thou shouldst bring no tidings of near aid 45
To cut their way to safety, or by death
Prevent the pang of famine. One they sought
Who venturous in the English camp should spy
Where safest they might rush upon the foe.
The perilous task I chose, then desperate 50
Of happiness."
So saying, they approach'd
The gate. The centinel, soon as he heard
Thitherward footsteps, with uplifted lance
Challenged the darkling travellers. At their voice
He draws the strong bolts back, and painful turns 55
The massy entrance. To the careful chiefs
They pass. At midnight of their extreme state
Counselling they sat, serious and stern. To them
Conrade.
"Assembled Warriors! sent from God
There is a holy Maid by miracles 60
Made manifest. Twelve hundred chosen men
Follow her hallowed standard. These Dunois,
The strength of France, arrays. With the next noon
Ye shall behold their march."
Astonishment
Seized the convened Chiefs, and joy by doubt 65
Little repress'd. "Open the granaries!"
Xaintrailles exclaim'd. "Give we to all the host
With hand unsparing now the plenteous meal;
To-morrow we are safe. For Heaven all just
Has seen our sufferings and decreed their end. 70
Let the glad tidings echo thro' the town!
God is with us!"
"Rest not in too full faith,"
D'Orval replied, "on this miraculous aid.
Some frenzied female whose wild phantasy,
Shaping vain dreams, infects the credulous 75
With her own madness! That Dunois is there,
Leading in arms twelve hundred chosen men,
Cheers me: yet let not we our little food
Be lavish'd, lest the warrior in the fight
Should haply fail, and Orleans be the prey 80
Of England!"
"Chief! I tell thee," Conrade cried,
"I did myself behold the marble tomb
Burst, to the holy Maid disclosing arms
Held in the grave inviolate for her.
She is the Delegate of the Most High, 85
And shall deliver Orleans!"
Gaucour then,
"Be it as thou hast said. High hope I feel,
For to no vulgar tale would Conrade yield
Belief, or he the Bastard. Our small stores
Must yield us, ere another week elapse, 90
To death or England. Tell thro' all our troops
There is a holy Virgin sent from God;
They in that faith invincible shall war
With more than mortal fury."
Thus the Chief,
And what he said seem'd good. The men of Orleans, 95
Long by their foemen bayed, a victim band,
To war, and woe, and want, such transport felt
As when the Mexicans, with eager eye[1]
Gazing to Huixachtla’s distant top,
On that last night, doubtful if ever morn 100
Again shall cheer them, mark the mystic fire,
That kindled by the fierce Copolcan priest,
Flames on the breast of some brave prisoner,
A dreadful altar. As they see the blaze
Beaming on Iztapalapan’s near towers, 105
Or on Tezcuco’s calmy lake flash’d far,
Songs of thanksgiving and the shout of joy
Wake the loud echo; the glad husband tears
The mantling aloe from the female’s face,
And children, now deliver’d from the dread 110
Of everlasting darkness, look abroad,
Hail the good omen, and expect the sun
Uninjur‘d still to run his flaming race.
"Scarce a meal more! the assembled chiefs resolved
If thou shouldst bring no tidings of near aid 45
To cut their way to safety, or by death
Prevent the pang of famine. One they sought
Who venturous in the English camp should spy
Where safest they might rush upon the foe.
The perilous task I chose, then desperate 50
Of happiness."
So saying, they approach'd
The gate. The centinel, soon as he heard
Thitherward footsteps, with uplifted lance
Challenged the darkling travellers. At their voice
He draws the strong bolts back, and painful turns 55
The massy entrance. To the careful chiefs
They pass. At midnight of their extreme state
Counselling they sat, serious and stern. To them
Conrade.
"Assembled Warriors! sent from God
There is a holy Maid by miracles 60
Made manifest. Twelve hundred chosen men
Follow her hallowed standard. These Dunois,
The strength of France, arrays. With the next noon
Ye shall behold their march."
Astonishment
Seized the convened Chiefs, and joy by doubt 65
Little repress'd. "Open the granaries!"
Xaintrailles exclaim'd. "Give we to all the host
With hand unsparing now the plenteous meal;
To-morrow we are safe. For Heaven all just
Has seen our sufferings and decreed their end. 70
Let the glad tidings echo thro' the town!
God is with us!"
"Rest not in too full faith,"
D'Orval replied, "on this miraculous aid.
Some frenzied female whose wild phantasy,
Shaping vain dreams, infects the credulous 75
With her own madness! That Dunois is there,
Leading in arms twelve hundred chosen men,
Cheers me: yet let not we our little food
Be lavish'd, lest the warrior in the fight
Should haply fail, and Orleans be the prey 80
Of England!"
"Chief! I tell thee," Conrade cried,
"I did myself behold the marble tomb
Burst, to the holy Maid disclosing arms
Held in the grave inviolate for her.
She is the Delegate of the Most High, 85
And shall deliver Orleans!"
Gaucour then,
"Be it as thou hast said. High hope I feel,
For to no vulgar tale would Conrade yield
Belief, or he the Bastard. Our small stores
Must yield us, ere another week elapse, 90
To death or England. Tell thro' all our troops
There is a holy Virgin sent from God;
They in that faith invincible shall war
With more than mortal fury."
Thus the Chief,
And what he said seem'd good. The men of Orleans, 95
Long by their foemen bayed, a victim band,
To war, and woe, and want, such transport felt
As when the Mexicans, with eager eye[1]
Gazing to Huixachtla’s distant top,
On that last night, doubtful if ever morn 100
Again shall cheer them, mark the mystic fire,
That kindled by the fierce Copolcan priest,
Flames on the breast of some brave prisoner,
A dreadful altar. As they see the blaze
Beaming on Iztapalapan’s near towers, 105
Or on Tezcuco’s calmy lake flash’d far,
Songs of thanksgiving and the shout of joy
Wake the loud echo; the glad husband tears
The mantling aloe from the female’s face,
And children, now deliver’d from the dread 110
Of everlasting darkness, look abroad,
Hail the good omen, and expect the sun
Uninjur‘d still to run his flaming race.
Thus whilst in that besieged town the night
Wain’d sleepless, silent slept the hallowed host. 115
And now the morning came. From his hard couch,
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 120
His noon-tide radiance, when afar they hear
The hum of men, and mark 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 125
Their brethren had endured beleager'd there
For many a month; such ardor for the fight
Burnt in each bosom, as young Ali felt
When to the assembled tribe Mohammed spake,
Asking for one his Vizier. Fierce in faith, 130
Forth from the race of Hashem stept the youth,
"Prophet of God! lo—I will be the man!"
Nor did not Ali merit that high post,
Victorious upon Beder's fertile vale,
And on mount Ohud, and before the walls 135
Of Chaibar, then when cleaving to the chest
His giant foe, he grasp'd the massy gate,
Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/211 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/212 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/213 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/214 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/215 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/216 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/217 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/218 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/219 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/220 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/221 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/222 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/223 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/224 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/225 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 scar'd away 415
From his abhorred meal, on clattering wing
Rose the night-raven slow.
In the English forts,
Sad was the scene. There all the livelong night
Steals in the stragling fugitive; as when,
Past is the storm, and o'er the azure sky 420
Serenely shines the sun; with every breeze
The waving branches drop their gather'd rain,
Renewing the remembrance of the storm.
Wain’d sleepless, silent slept the hallowed host. 115
And now the morning came. From his hard couch,
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 120
His noon-tide radiance, when afar they hear
The hum of men, and mark 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 125
Their brethren had endured beleager'd there
For many a month; such ardor for the fight
Burnt in each bosom, as young Ali felt
When to the assembled tribe Mohammed spake,
Asking for one his Vizier. Fierce in faith, 130
Forth from the race of Hashem stept the youth,
"Prophet of God! lo—I will be the man!"
Nor did not Ali merit that high post,
Victorious upon Beder's fertile vale,
And on mount Ohud, and before the walls 135
Of Chaibar, then when cleaving to the chest
His giant foe, he grasp'd the massy gate,
Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/211 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/212 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/213 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/214 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/215 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/216 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/217 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/218 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/219 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/220 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/221 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/222 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/223 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/224 Page:Joan of Arc - Southey (1796).djvu/225 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 scar'd away 415
From his abhorred meal, on clattering wing
Rose the night-raven slow.
In the English forts,
Sad was the scene. There all the livelong night
Steals in the stragling fugitive; as when,
Past is the storm, and o'er the azure sky 420
Serenely shines the sun; with every breeze
The waving branches drop their gather'd rain,
Renewing the remembrance of the storm.
- ↑ Line 98. "It was the belief of the Mexicans, that at the conclusion of one of their centuries the sun and earth would be destroyed. On the last night of every century they extinguished all their fires, covered the faces of the women and children, and expected the end of the world. The kindling of the sacred fire on the mountain of Huixachtla was believed an omen of their safety.
See the History of Mexico, by the Abbe Clavigero.
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