Classic Poem

Far through the shadowy sky the ascending flames
Stream'd their fierce torrents, by the gales of night
Now curl'd, now flashing their long lightnings up
That made the stars seem pale; less frequent now
Through the red volumes briefer splendors shot.
And blacker waves roll'd o'er the darken'd heaven.
Dismay'd amid the forts which yet remain'd
The invaders saw, and clamor'd for retreat,
Deeming that aided by invisible powers
The Maid went forth to conquer. Not a sound
Moved on the air but fill'd them with vague dread
Of unseen dangers; if a sudden blast
Arose, through every fibre a deep fear
Crept shivering, and to their expecting minds
Silence itself was dreadful. One there was
Who, learning wisdom in the hour of ill,
Exclaim'd, " I marvel not that the Most High
Hath hid his face from England! Wherefore thus
Quitting the comforts of domestic life,
Came we to desolate this goodly land,
Making the drench'd earth rank with human blood,
Scatter pollution on the winds of Heaven?
Oh! that the sepulchre had closed its jaws
On the proud prelate, that blood-guilty man,
Who, trembling for the church's ill-got wealth,
Bade our Fifth Henry claim the crown of France!
Oh! that the grave had swallow'd him, ere he
Stirr'd up the sleeping claim, and sent him forth
To slaughter! Sure that holy hermit spake
The Almighty's bidding, who in his career
Of conquest met the King, and bade him cease
The work of death, before the wrath divine
Fell heavy on his head. — Full soon it fell,
And sunk him to the grave; — and soon that wrath
On us, alike in guilt, alike shall fall;
For thousands and ten thousands, by the sword
Cut off, and sent before the Eternal Judge,
With all their unrepented crimes upon them,
Cry out for vengeance; for the widow's groan,
Though here she groan unpitied or unheard,
Is heard in Heaven against us; o'er this land
For hills of human slain, unsepulchred,
Steam pestilence, and cloud the blessed sun!
The wrath of God is on us, — God hath raised
This Prophetess, and goes before her path; —
Our brethren, vainly valiant, fall beneath them,
Clogging with gore their weapons, or in the flood
Whelm'd like the Egyptian tyrant's impious host,
Mangled and swollen, their blacken'd carcasses
Float on the tainted current! We remain, —
For yet our rulers will pursue the war, —
We still remain to perish by the sword,
Soon to appear before the throne of God,
Conscious, too late, of folly and of guilt,
Uninjured, unprovoked, who dared to risk
The life His goodness gave us, on the chance
Of war, and in obedience to our chiefs
Durst disobey our God. "
Then terror seized
The troops and late repentance; and they thought
The spirits of the mothers and their babes
Famish'd at Roan sat on the clouds of night,
Circling the forts, to hail with gloomy joy
The hour of vengeance.
Nor the English chiefs
Heard these loud murmurs heedless; counselling
They met despondent. Suffolk, now their chief,
Since Salisbury fell, began.
" It now were vain
Lightly of this our more than mortal foe
To speak contemptuous. She hath vanquish'd us,
Aided by Hell's leagued powers, nor aught avails
Man unassisted 'gainst Infernal powers
To dare the conflict. Were it best remain
Waiting the doubtful aid of Burgundy,
Doubtful and still delay'd? or from this place,
Scene of our shame, retreating as we may,
Yet struggle to preserve the guarded towns
Of the Orleannois? "
He ceased, and with a sigh,
Struggling with pride thaTheaved his gloomy breast,
Talbot replied, " Our council little boots;
For by their numbers now made bold in fear
The soldiers will not fight; they will noTheed
Our vain resolves, heart-wither'd by the spells
Of this accursed sorceress. Soon will come
The expected host from England; even now
Perchance the tall bark scuds across the deep
That bears my son: young Talbot comes, — comes
To find his sire disgraced! But soon mine arm,
By vengeance nerved, and shame of such defeat,
Shall from the crest-fallen courage of yon witch,
Regain its ancient glory. Near the coast
Best is it to retreat, and there expect
The coming succor. "
Thus the warrior spake.
Joy ran through all the troops, as though retreat
Were safety. Silently in order'd ranks
They issue forth, favor'd by the thick clouds
Which mantled o'er the moon. With throbbing hearts
Fearful they speeded on; some in sad thoughts
Of distant England, and now wise too late,
Cursing in bitterness the evil hour
That led them from her shores; some in faint hope
Thinking to see their native land again;
Talbot went musing on his former fame,
Sullen and stern, and feeding on dark thoughts,
And meditating vengeance.
In the walls
Of Orleans, though her habitants with joy
Humbly acknowledged the high aid of Heaven,
Of many a heavy ill and bitter loss
Mindful, such mingled sentiments they felt
As one from shipwreck saved, the first warm glow
Of transport past, who contemplates himself
Preserved alone, a solitary wretch,
Possess'd of life indeed, but reft of all
That makes man love to live. The chieftain shared
The social bowl, glad of the town relieved,
And communing of that miraculous Maid,
Who came the savior of the realm of France,
When, vanquish'd in the frequent field of shame,
Her bravest warriors trembled.
Joan the while,
Fasting and silent to the convent pass'd,
Conrade with her, and Isabel; both mute,
Yet gazing on her oft with anxious eyes,
Looking the consolation that they fear'd
To give a voice to. Now they reach'd the dome
The glaring torches o'er the house of death
Stream'd a sad splendor. Flowers and funeral herbs
Bedeck'd the bier of Theodore, — the rue,
The dark green rosemary, and the violet,
That pluck'd like him wither d in its first bloom.
Dissolved in sorrow, Isabel her grief
Pour'd copiously, and Conrade also wept:
Joan only shed no tears; from her fix'd eye
Intelligence was absent; and she seem'd,
Though listening to the dirge of death, to hear
And comprehend it not, till in the grave, —
In his last home, — now Theodore was laid,
And earth to earth upon the coffin thrown;
Then the Maid started at that mortal sound,
And her lip quiver'd, and on Isabel,
Trembling and faint, she leant, and pale as death.

Then in the priest arose an earnest hope,
That, weary of the world and sick with woe,
The Maid might dwell with them a virgin vow'd.
" Ah, damsel! " slow he spake, and cross'd his breast,
" Ah, damsel! favor'd as thou art of Heaven,
Let not thy soul beneath its sorrow sink
Despondent; Heaven by sorrow disciplines
The froward heart, and chastens whom it loves.
Therefore, companion of thy way of life,
Shall sorrow wean thee from this faithless world,
Where happiness provokes the traveller's chase,
And like the midnight meteor of the marsh
Allures his long and perilous pursuit,
Then leaves him dark and comfortless. O Maid!
Fix thou thine eyes upon thaTheavenly dawn
Beyond the night of life! Thy race is run,
Thou hast deliver'd Orleans: now perfect
Thyself, accomplish all, and be the child
Of God. Amid these sacred haunts the groan
Of woe is never heard; these hallow'd roofs
Reecho only to the pealing quire,
The chanted mass, and virgin's holy hymn,
Celestial sounds! Secluded here, the soul
Receives a foretaste of her joys to come;
This is the abode of piety and peace;
Oh! be their inmate, Maiden! Come to rest,
Die to the world, and live espoused to Heaven! "

Then Conrade answered, " Father! Heaven has call'd
This Maid to active duties. "
" Active! " cried
The astonish'd Monk; " thou dost not know the toils
This holy warfare asks; thou dost not know
How powerful the attacks that Satan makes
By sinful Nature aided! Dost thou think
It is an easy task from the fond breast
To root affection out? to burst the cords
Which grapple to society the heart
Of social man? to rouse the unwilling spirit,
That, rebel to devotion, faintly pours
The cold lip-worship of the wearying prayer?
To fear and tremble at Him, yet to love
A God of Terrors? Maid beloved of Heaven,
Come to this sacred trial! share with us
The day of penance and the night of prayer!
Humble thyself; feel thine own worthlessness,
A reptile worm, before thy birth condemn'd,
To all the horrors of thy Maker's wrath,
The lot of fallen mankind! Oh, hither come!
Humble thyself in ashes. So thy name
Shall live amid the blessed host of saints,
And unborn pilgrims at thy hallowed shrine
Pour forth their pious offerings. "
" Hear me, father! "
Exclaim'd the awaken'd Maid. " Amid these tombs,
Cold as their clayey tenants, know, my heart
Must never grow to stone! Chill thou thyself,
And break thy midnight rest, and tell thy beads,
And labor through thy still repeated prayer;
Fear thou thy God of Terrors; spurn the gifts
He gave, and sepulchre thyself alive!
But far more valued is the vine that bends
Beneath its swelling clusters, than the dark
And joyless ivy, round the cloister's wall
Wreathing its barren arms. For me, I know
That I have faithfully obey'd my call,
Confiding not in mine own strength, but His
Who sent me forth to suffer and to do
His will; and in that faith I shall appear
Before the just tribunal of that God
Whom grateful love has taught me to adore! "

Severe she spake, for sorrow in her heart
Had wrought unwonted sternness. From the dome
They pass'd in silence, when, with hasty steps,
Sent by the chiefs, a messenger they met,
Who, in alarm, the mission'd Virgin sought,
A bearer of ill tidings.
" Holy Maid! "
He said, " they ask thy counsel. Burgundy
Comes in the cause of England, and his troops
Scarce three leagues from the walls, a fearful power,
Rest tented for the night. "
" Say to the chiefs,
At morn I will be with them, " she replied;
" And to this urgency will give meantime
My nightly thoughts. "
So saying, on she went
In thoughtful silence. A brief while she mused,
Brief, but sufficing to excite her soul,
As with a power and impulse not its own,
To some great purpose. " Conrade! " then she said,
" I pray thee meet me at the eastern gate
With a swift steed prepared, — for I musThence. "

Her voice was calm, and Conrade through the gloom
Saw not the flush that witness'd on her cheek
Inward emotion at some thought conceived.
She to her quarters hastily repair'd,
There with a light and unplumed casquetel
She helm'd her head; hung from her neck the shield,
And forth she went. Her Conrade by the gate
Awaited. " May I, Maiden, ask unblamed
Whither this midnight journey? may I share
The peril? " cried the warrior. She rejoin'd,
" This, Conrade, must not be. Alone I go.
That impulse of the soul which comes from God
Sends me. But thou of this remain assured,
If aught that I must enterprise required
Associate firmness, thou shouldst be the man,
Best, — last, — and only friend! "
So up she sprung
And left him. He beheld the warden close
The gate, and listen'd to her courser's tramp,
Till soon upon his ear the far-off sound
Fell faintly, and was lost.
Swift o'er the vale
Sped the good courser; eagerly the Maid
Gave the loose rein; and now her speed attain'd
The dark encampment. Through the sleeping ranks
Onward she past. The trampling of her steed
Or mingled with the soldier's busy dreams,
Or with vague terrors fill'd his startled sense,
Prompting a secret prayer.
So on she past
To where in loftier shade arose the tent
Of Burgundy: light leaping from her seat
She enter'd.
On the earth the chieftain slept,
His mantle scarft around him; near him hung
His helmet and his shield, and at his side
Within hand-reach his sword. Profound he slept,
Nor heard the coming courser's sounding hoof,
Nor entering footstep. " Burgundy! " she cried,
" What, Burgundy! awake! " He started up,
And saw the gleam of arms, and to his sword
Reach'd a quick hand. But whaThe now beheld
Thrill'd him, for full upon her face the lamp
Cast its deep glare, and in her solemn look
Was an unearthly meaning. Pale she was;
And in her eye a saintly lustre beam'd,
And that most calm and holiest confidence
That guilt knows never. " Burgundy, thou seest
The M AID OF O RLEANS ! "
As she spake, a voice
Exclaim'd, " Die, sorceress! " and a knight rush'd in,
Whose name by her illustrated yet lives,
Franquet of Arras. With uplifted arm
Furious he came; her buckler broke the blow,
And forth she flash'd her sword, and with a stroke
Swift that no eye could ward it, and of strength
No mail might blunt, smote on his neck, his neck
Unfenced, for he in haste aroused had cast
An armet on; resistless there she smote,
And to the earth prone fell the headless trunk
Of Franquet.
Then on Burgundy she fix'd
Her eye severe. " Go, chief, and thank thy God
ThaThe with lighter judgments visits thee
Than fell on Sisera, or by Judith's hand
He wrought upon the Assyrian! Thank thy God,
That when his vengeance smote the invading sons
Of England, equal though thou wert in guilt,
Thee he has spar'd to work by penitence
And better deeds atonement. "
Thus she spake,
Then issued forth, and bounding on her steed
Sped o'er the plain. Dark on the upland bank
The hedge-row trees distinct and colorless
Rose on the gray horizon, and the Loire
Form'd in its winding way islands of light
Amid the shadowy vale, when now she reach'd
The walls of Orleans.
From the eastern clouds
The sun came forth, as to the assembled chiefs
The Maiden pass'd. Her bending thitherwards
The Bastard met. " Now perils threaten us, "
He said, " new toils await us; Burgundy, — "

" Fear not for Burgundy! " the Maid replied,
" Him will the Lord direct. Our earliest scouts
Shall tell his homeward march. What of the troops
Of England? "
" They, " the Son of Orleans cried,
" By darkness favor'd, fled; yet not by flight
Shall these invaders now escape the arm
Of retribution. Even now our troops,
By battle unfatigued, unsatisfied
With conquest, clamor to pursue the foe. "

The delegated Damsel thus replied:
" So let them fly, Dunois! But other work
Than that of battle, now must be perform'd.
We move not in pursuit, till we have paid
The rites of burial to our countrymen,
And hymn'd our gratitude to that All-just
Who gave the victory. Thou, meantime, despatch
Tidings to Chinon: let the King set forth,
That crowning him before assembled France,
In Rheims delivered from the enemy,
I may accomplish all. "
So said the Maid,
Then to the gate moved on. The assembled troops
Beheld her coming, and they smote their shields,
And with one voice of greeting bless'd her name,
And pray'd her to pursue the flying foe.
She waved her hand, and silently they stood,
Attentive while she spake; — " Fellows in arms!
We must not speed to joyful victory,
And leave our gallant comrades where they lie,
For dogs, and wolves, and carrion-birds a prey;
Ere we advance, let us discharge to them
The duty that is due. "
So said the Maid;
And as she spake, the thirst of battles dies
In every breast, such awe and love pervade
The listening troops. They o'er the corse-strewn plain
Speed to their sad employment: some dig deep
The house of death; some bear the lifeless load;
Others the while search carefully around,
If haply they may find surviving yet
Some wounded wretches. As they labor thus,
They mark far off the iron-blaze of arms;
See distant standards waving on the air,
And hear the clarion's clang. Then spake the Maid
To Conrade, and she bade him haste to espy
The coming army; or to meet their march
With friendly greeting, or if foes they came
With such array of battle as short space
Allow'd: the warrior sped across the plain,
And soon beheld the banner'd lilies wave.

Their chief was Richemont: he when as he heard
What rites employed the Virgin, straightway bade
His troops assist in burial; they, though grieved
At late arrival, and the expected day
Of conquest past, yet give their willing aid:
They dig the general grave, and thither bear
English or French, alike commingled now,
And heap the mound of death.
Amid the plain
There was a little eminence, of old
Raised o'er some honored chieftain's narrow house.
His praise the song had ceased to celebrate,
And many an unknown age had the long grass
Waved o'er that nameless mound, though barren now
Beneath the frequent tread of multitudes
There elevate, the martial Maiden stood,
Her brow unhelm'd, and floating on the wind
Her long, dark locks. The silent troops around
Stood thickly throng'd, as o'er the fertile field
Billows the ripen'd corn. The passing breeze
Bore not a murmur from the numerous host,
Such deep attention held them. She began.

" Glory to those who in their country's cause
Fall in the field of battle! Countrymen,
I stand noThere to mourn these gallant men,
Our comrades, nor, with vain and idle phrase
Of sorrow and compassion, to console
The friends who loved them. They indeed who fall
Beneath oppression's banner, merit well
Our pity; may the God of Peace and Love
Be merciful to those blood-guilty men
Who came to desolate the realm of France,
To make us bow the knee, and crouch like slaves
Before a foreign master. Give to these,
And to their wives and orphan little ones
That on their distant father vainly cry
For bread, give these your pity! — Wretched men,
Forced or inveigled from their homes, or driven
By need and hunger to the trade of blood;
Or, if with free and willing mind they came,
Most wretched, — for before the eternal throne,
Guilty alike in act and will, they stand.
But our dead comrades for their country fought;
No arts they needed, nor the specious bribes
Of promise, to allure them to this fight,
This holy warfare! them their parents sent,
And as they raised their streaming eyes to Heaven,
Bade them go forth, and from the ruffian's sword
Save their gray hairs: them their dear wives sent out,
Fix'd their last kisses on their armed hands,
And bade them in the battle think they fought
For them and for their children. Thus inflamed,
By every milder feeling, they went forth:
They fought, they conquer'd. To this holy ground
The men of Orleans in the days to come
Shall bring their boys, and tell them of the deeds
Their countrymen achieved, and bid them learn
Like them to love their country, and like them,
Should usurpation pour again its tide
Of desolation, to step forth and stem,
Fearless, the furious torrent. Men of France,
Mourn not for these our comrades! boldly they
Fought the good fight, and that Eternal One,
Who bade the Angels harbinger his Word
With " Peace on earth," rewards them. We survive,
Honoring their memories to avenge their fall
Upon the unjust invaders. They may drain
Their kingdom's wealth and lavishly expend
Its blood, insanely thinking to subdue
This wide and populous realm; for easier were it
To move the ancient mountains from their base,
Than on a nation knowing its own strength
To force a foreign yoke. France then is safe.
My glorious mission soon will be fulfill'd,
My work be done. But, oh! remember ye,
And in their generation let your sons
Transmit to theirs the all-concerning truth,
That a great people, wrongfully assail'd,
If faithful to themselves, and resolute
In duty to the last, betide what may, —
Although no signs be given, no miracles
Vouchsafed, as now, no Prophetess ordain'd,
May yet with hope invincible hold on,
Relying on their courage, and their cause,
And the sure course of righteous Providence. "