Classic Poem

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
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.
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
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,
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,
Ere long in safety gain'd the opposite shore.

" Whence art thou? " cried the warrior; " am on what
Commission'd? "
" Is it not the voice of Conrade?
Francis replied; " and dost thou bring to us
Tidings of succor? 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,
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,
" Scarce a meal more. The assembled chief 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,
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
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.
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;
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
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, "
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,
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,
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,
" 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.
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 whaThe said seem'd good. The men of Orleans,
Long by their foemen bay'd, such transport felt,
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
" 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
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
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.
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.
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
Some peaceful messenger, 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
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,
Invaders of the country, say, thus says
The M AID OF O RLEANS : " 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
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.
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,
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,
To ye the leaders of the English host
I come, no welcome messenger. Thus saith
The M AID OF O RLEANS : " 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
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.
Depart in peace: for ere the morrow dawns,
Victorious upon yonder wall shall wave
Her holy banner." "
Wonder made a pause;
To this a laugh succeeds. " What! " Fastolffe cried,
" A virgin warrior hath your monarch sent
To save devoted Orleans? By the rood,
I thank his grace. If she be young and fair,
No worthless prize, my lords! Go, tell your Maid,
Joyful we waiTher coming. "
There was one
Among the English chiefs who had grown old
In arms, yet had not age unnerved his limbs,
But from the flexile nimbleness of youth
To unyielding stiffness braced them. One who saw
Him seated at the board, might well have deem'd
That Talbot with his whole collected might
Wielded the sword in war, for on his neck
The veins were full, and every muscle bore
The character of strength. He his stern eye
Fix'd on the herald, and before he spake
His silence threaten'd.
" Get thee gone! " exclaim'd
The indignant chief: " away! nor think to scare
With girlish phantasies the English host
That scorns your bravest warriors. Hie thee thence,
And tell this girl she may expect to meet
The mockery of the camp! "
" Nay, scare her not, "
Replied their chief: " go, tell this Maid of Orleans,
That Salisbury longs to meeTher in the fight.
Nor leTher fear that cords or iron chains
Shall gall her tender limbs; for I myself
Will be her prison, and — — "
" Contemptuous man!
No more! " the herald cried, as to his cheek
Rush'd the red anger: " bearing words of peace
And timely warning came I to your camp;
And here have been with insolent ribaldry
Received. Bear witness, chieftains! that the French,
Free from blood-guiltiness, shall meet the war. "

" And who art thou? " cried Suffolk, and his eye
Grew fierce and wrath-inflamed: " What fool art thou,
Who at this woman's bidding comest to brave
The host of England? Thou shalt have thy meed! "
Then turning to the sentinel he cried,
" Prepare a stake! and let the men of Orleans,
And let this woman who believes her name
May privilege her herald, see the fire
Consume him. Plant a stake! for by my God
He shall be kalendared of this new faith
First martyr. "
As he spake, a sudden flush
Came o'er the herald's cheek, and his heart beat
With quicker action; but the sudden flush,
Nature's instinctive impulse, faded soon
To such a steady hue as spake the soul
Roused up with all its powers, and unsubdued,
And strengthen'd for endurance. Through the camp,
Soon as the tidings spread, a shout arose,
A hideous shout, more savage than the howl
Of midnight wolves, around him as they throng'd,
To gaze upon their victim. He pass'd on;
And as they led him to the appointed place
Look'd round, as though forgetful of himself,
And cried aloud, " Oh! woe it is to think
So many men shall never see the sun
Go down! Ye English mothers, mourn ye now
Daughters of England, weep! for, hard of heart
Still your mad leaders urge this impious war;
And for their folly and their wickedness,
Your sons, your husbands, by the sword must fair
Long-suffering is the Lord, and slow to wrath,
BuTheavy are his judgments! "
He who spake
Was young and comely; had his cheek been pale
With dread, and had his eye look'd fearfully,
Sure he had won compassion; but the blood
Gave now a livelier meaning to his cheek,
As with a prophet's look and prophet's voice
He raised his ominous warning: they who heard,
Wonder'd, and they who rear'd the stake perform'd
With half-unwilling hands their slacken'd toil,
And doubted what might follow.
Not unseen
Rear'd they the stake, and piled around the wood
In sight of Orleans and the Maiden's host,
Had Suffolk's arrogant fierceness bade the work
Of death be done. The Maiden's host beheld;
At once in eager wrath they raised the loud
And general clamor, " Lead us to the foe! "
" Not upon us, O God ! " the Maid exclaim'd,
" Not upon us cry out the innocent blood! "
And bade the signal sound. In the English camp
The clarion and the trumpet's blare was heard;
In haste they seize their arms, in haste they form
Some by bold words seeking to hide their fear
Even from themselves, some silently in prayer,
For much their hearts misgave them.
But the rage
Of Suffolk swell'd within him. " Speed your work! "
Exclaim'd the injurious earl; " kindle the pile,
That France may see the fire, and in defeat
Feel aggravated shame! "
And now they bound
The herald to the stake: he cried aloud,
And fix'd his eye on Suffolk, " Let not him.
Who girdeth on his harness boast himself
As he that puts it off! They come; they come
God and the Maid! "
The host of France approach'd,
And Suffolk eagerly beheld the fire
Brought near the pile; when suddenly a shout
Toward Orleans call'd his eye, and thence he saw
A man-at-arms upon a barded steed
Come thundering on.
As when Chederles comes
To aid the Moslem on his deathless horse,
Swaying the sword with such resistless arm,
Such mightiest force, as he had newly quaff'd
The hidden waters of eternal youth,
Till with the copious draught of life and strength
Inebriate; such, so fierce, so terrible,
Came Conrade through the camp. Aright, aleft,
The affrighted foemen scatter from his spear;
Onward he comes, and now the circling throng
Fly from the stake, and now he checks his course,
And cuts the herald's bonds, and bids him live
To arm, and fight, and conquer.
" Haste thee hence
To Orleans, " cried the warrior. " Tell the chiefs
There is confusion in the English camp.
Bid them come forth. " On Conrade's steed the youth
Leapt up, and hasten'd onward. He the while
Turn'd to the war.
Like two conflicting clouds,
Pregnant with thunder, moved the hostile hosts.
Then man met man, then on the batter'd shield
Rung the loud lance, and through the darken'd sky
Fast fell the arrowy storm. Amid his foes
The Bastard's arm dealt irresistibly
The strokes of death; and by his side the Maid
Led the fierce fight, the Maid, though all unused
To such rude conflict, now inspired by Heaven,
Flashing her flamy falchion, through the troops,
That like the thunderbolt, where'er it fell,
Scatter'd the trembling ranks. The Saracen,
Though arm'd from Cashbin or Damascus, wields
A weaker sword; nor might that magic blade
Compare with this, which Oriana saw
Flame in the ruffian Ardan's robber hand,
When, sick and cold as death, she turn'd away
Her dizzy eyes, lest they should see the fall
Of her own Amadis. Nor plated shield,
Nor the strong hauberk, nor the crested casque,
Stay that descending sword. Dreadful she moved
Like as the Angel of the Lord went forth
And smote his army, when the Assyrian king,
Haughty of Hamath and Sepharvaim fallen,
Blasphemed the God of Israel.
Yet the fight
Hung doubtful, where exampling hardiest deeds,
Salisbury struck down the foe, and Fastolffe strove,
And in the hottest doings of the war
Towered Talbot. He, remembering the past day
When from his name the affrighted sons of France
Fled trembling, all astonish'd at their force
And wontless valor, rages round the field
Dreadful in anger; yet in every man
Meeting a foe fearless, and in the faith
Of Heaven's assistance firm.
The clang of arms
Reaches the walls of Orleans. For the war
Prepared, and confident of victory,
Forth speed the troops. Not when afar exhaled
The hungry raven snuffs the steam of blood
That from some carcass-cover'd field of fame
Taints the pure air, flies he more eagerly
To feed upon the slain, than the Orleanites,
Impatient now for many an ill endured
In the long siege, to wreak upon their foes
Due vengeance. Then more fearful grew the fray;
The swords that late flash'd to the evening sun
Now quench'd in blood their radiance.
O'er the host
Howl'd a deep wind that ominous of storms
Roll'd on the lurid clouds. The blacken'd night
Frown'd, and the thunder from the troubled sky
Roar'd hollow. Javelins clash'd and bucklers rang;
Shield prest on shield; loud on the helmet jarr'd
The ponderous battle-axe; the frequent groan
Of death commingling with the storm was heard,
And the shrill shriek of fear. Even such a storm
Before the walls of Chartres quell'd the pride
Of the third Edward, when the heavy hail
Smote down his soldiers, and the conqueror heard
God in the tempest, and remembered then
With a remorseful sense of Christian fear
What misery he had caused, and in the name
Of blessed Mary vowed a vow of peace.

Lo! where the holy banner waved aloft,
The lambent lightnings play. Irradiate round,
As with a blaze of glory, o'er the field
It stream'd miraculous splendor. Then their hearts
Sunk, and the English trembled; with such fear
Possess'd, as when the Canaanites beheld
The sun stand still on Gibeon, at the voice
Of that king-conquering warrior, he who smote
The country of the hills, and of the south,
From Baal-gad to Halak, and their chiefs,
Even as the Lord commanded. Swift they fled
From that portentous banner, and the sword
Of France; though Talbot with vain valiancy
Yet urged the war, and stemm'd alone the tide
Of battle. Even their leaders felt dismay;
Fastolffe fled first, and Salisbury in the rout
Mingled, and all impatient of defeat,
Borne backward Talbot turns. Then echoed loud
The cry of conquest, deeper grew the storm,
And darkness, hovering o'er on raven wing,
Brooded the field of death.
Nor in the camp
Deem themselves safe the trembling fugitives;
On to the forts they haste. Bewilder'd there
Amid the moats by fear and the thick gloom
Of more than midnight darkness, plunge the troops,
Crush'd by fast-following numbers, who partake
The death they give. As swol'n with vernal snows
A mountain torrent hurries on its way,
Till at the brink of some abrupt descent
Arrived, with deafening clamor down it falls,
Thus borne along, tumultuously the troops
Driven by the force behind them, plunge amid
The liquid death. Then rose the dreadful cries
More dreadful, and the dash of breaking waters
That to the passing lightning as they broke
Open'd their depth.
Nor of the host so late
Exultant in the pride of long success,
A remnant had escaped, had not their chief,
Slow as he moved unwilling from the field,
What most might profit the defeated ranks
Bethought him. He, when he had gain'd the fort
Named from St. John, there kindled up on high
The guiding fire. Not unobserved it rose;
The watchful guards on Tournelles, and the pile
Of that proud city in remembrance fond
Call'd London, light their beacons. Soon the fires
Flame on the summit of the circling forts,
Which, with their moats and crenellated walls,
Included Orleans. Far across the plain
They cast a lurid splendor; to the troops
Grateful, as to the way-worn traveller,
Wandering with parch'd feet o'er Arabian sands,
The far-seen cistern; he for many a league
Travelling the trackless desolate, where heaved
With tempest swell the desert billows round,
Pauses, and shudders at his perils past,
Then wild with joy speeds on to taste the wave
So long bewail'd.
Swift as the affrighted herd
Scud o'er the plain, when rattling thunder-cracks
Upon the bolted lightning follow close,
The English hasten to their sheltering forts,
Even there of safety doubtful, still appall'd
And trembling, as the pilgrim who by night
On his way wilder'd, to the wolf's deep howl
Hears the wood echo, when from close pursuit
Escaped, the topmost branch of some tall tree
He grasps close clinging, still of the wild beast
Fearful, his teeth jar, and the cold sweat stands
Upon his clammy limbs.
Nor now the Maid
Greedy of vengeance presses the pursuit.
She bids the trumpet of retreat resound;
A welcome note to the affrighted foe
Blew that loud blast, whereat obediently
The French, though eager on the invaders' heads
To wreak their wrath, stay the victorious sword.

Loud is the cry of conquest as they turn
To Orleans. There what few to guard the town
Unwilling had remain'd, haste forth to meet
The triumph. Many a blazing torch they held,
Which raised aloft amid the midnight storm
Flash'd far a festive light. The Maid advanced;
Deep through the sky the hollow thunders roll'd;
Innocuous lightnings round the hallowed banner
Wreath'd their red radiance.
Through the city gate
Then, as the laden convoy pass'd, was heard
The shout of exultation; and such joy
The men of Orleans at that welcome sight
Possess'd, as when from Bactria late subdued,
The mighty Macedonian led his troops
Amid the Sogdian desert, where no stream
Wastes on the wild its fertilizing waves,
Fearful alike to pause, or to proceed;
Scorch'd by the sun, that o'er their morning march
Steam'd his hot vapors, heart-subdued and faint;
Such joy as then they felt, when from the heights
Burst the soul-gladdening sound, for thence was seen
The evening sun silvering the fertile vale,
Where Oxus roll'd below.
Clamors of joy
Echo along the streets of Orleans, wont
Long time to hear the infant's feeble cry,
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 scared away
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
Steal in the straggling fugitives; as when
Past is the storm, and o'er the azure sky
Serenely shines the sun, with every breeze
The waving branches drop their gather'd rain,
Renewing the remembrance of the storm.