Classic Poem

Fair dawn'd the morning, and the early sun
Pour'd on the latticed cot a cheerful gleam,
And up the travellers rose, and on their way
Hasten'd, their dangerous way, through fertile tracts
Laid waste by war. They pass'd the Auxerrois;
The autumnal rains had beaten to the earth
The unreap'd harvest; from the village church
No even-song bell was heard; the shepherd's dog
Prey'd on the scatter'd flock, for there was now
No hand to feed him, and upon the hearth
Where he had slumber'd at his master's feet
Weeds grew and reptiles crawl'd. Or if they found
Sometimes a welcome, those who welcomed them
Were old and helpless creatures, lingering there
Where they were born, and where they wish'd to die,
The place being all that they had left to love.
They pass'd the Yonne, they pass'd the rapid Loire,
Still urging on their way with cautious speed,
Shunning Auxerre, and Bar's embattled wall,
And Romorantin's towers.
So journeying on,
Fast by a spring, which welling at his feet
With many a winding crept along the mead,
A Knight they saw, who there at his repast
Let the west wind play round his ungirt brow.
Approaching near, the Bastard recognized
That faithful friend of Orleans, the brave chief
Du Chastel; and their mutual greeting pass'd;
They on the streamlet's mossy bank reclined
Beside him, and his frugal fare partook,
And drank the running waters.
" Art thou bound
For the Court, Dunois? " exclaim'd the aged Knight;
" I thought thou hadst been far away, shut up
In Orleans, where her valiant sons the siege
Right loyally endure! "
" I left the town, "
Dunois replied, " thinking that my prompt speed
Might seize the enemy's stores, and with fresh force
Reinter. Fastolffe's better fate prevail'd,
And from the field of shame my maddening horse
Bore me, an arrow having pierced his flank.
Worn out and faint with that day's dangerous toil,
My deep wounds bleeding, vainly with weak hand
I check'd the powerless rein. Nor aught avail'd
When heal'd at length, defeated and alone
Again to enter Orleans. In Lorraine
I sought to raise new powers, and now return'd
With strangest and most unexpected aid.
Sent by high Heaven, I seek the Court, and thence
To that beleaguer'd town shall lead such force,
That the proud English in their fields of blood
Shall perish. "
" I too, " Tanneguy reply'd,
In the field of battle once again perchance
May serve my royal Master; in his cause
My youth adventur'd much, nor can my age
Find better close than in the clang of arms
To die for him whom I have lived to serve.
Thou art for the Court. Son of the Chief I loved!
Be wise by my experience. He who seeks
Court-favor, ventures like a boy who leans
Over the brink of some high precipice
To reach the o'erhanging fruit. Thou seest me here
A banish'd man, Dunois! so to appease
Richemont, who, jealous of the royal ear,
With midnight murder leagues, and down the Loire
Sends the black carcass of his strangled foe.
Now confident of strength, at the King's feet
He stabs the King's best friends, and then demands,
As with a conqueror's imperious tone,
The post of honor. Son of that good Duke
Whose death my arm avenged, may all thy days
Be happy; serve thy country in the field,
But in the hour of peace amid thy friends
Dwell thou without ambition. "
So he spake.
But when the Bastard told his wondrous tale,
How interposing Heaven had its high aid
Vouchsafed to France, the old man's eyes flash'd fire,
And rising from the bank, his ready steed
That grazed beside he mounted. " Farewell, friend,
And thou, the Delegate of Heaven! " he cried.
" I go to do my part, and we shall meet
At Orleans. " Saying thus, he spurr'd away.
They journey on their way till Chinon's towers
Rose on the distant view; the royal seat
Of Charles, while Paris with her servile sons,
A headstrong, mutable, ferocious race,
Bow'd to the invader's yoke; City even then
Above all Cities noted for dire deeds!
Yet doom'd to be the scene of blacker guilt,
Opprobry more enduring, crimes that call'd
For heavier vengeance, than in those dark days
When the Burgundian faction fill'd thy streets
With carnage. Twice hast thou since then been made
A horror and a warning to all lands;
When kingly power conspired with papal craft
To plot and perpetrate that massacre,
Which neither change of kalendar, nor lapse
Of time, shall hide from memory, or efface;
And when in more enlighten'd days, — so deem'd,
So vaunted, — the astonish'd nations saw
A people, to their own devices left,
Therefore as by judicial frenzy stricken,
Lawless and godless, fill the whole wide realm
With terror, and with wickedness and woe, —
A more astounding judgment than when Heaven
Shower'd on the cities of the accursed plain
Its fire and sulphur down.
In Paris now
The Invader triumph'd. On an infant's head
Had Bedford placed the crown of Charlemagne,
And factious nobles bow'd the subject knee,
And own'd an English infant for their King,
False to their own liege Lord.
" Beloved of Heaven."
Then said the Son of Orleans to the Maid,
" Lo these the walls of Chinon, this the abode
Of Charles our monarch. Here in revelry
He of his armies vanquish'd, his fair towns
Subdued, hears careless and prolongs the dance.
And little marvel I that to the cares
Of empire still he turns the unwilling ear,
For loss on loss, defeat upon defeat,
His strong holds taken, and his bravest Chiefs
Or slain or captured, and the hopes of youth
All blasted, have subdued the royal mind
Undisciplined in Fortitude's stern school.
So may thy voice arouse his sleeping virtue! "

The mission'd Maid replied, " Do thou, Dunois,
Announce my mission to the royal ear.
I on the river's winding bank the while
Will roam, collecting for the interview
My thoughts, though firm, yet troubled. Who essays
Achievements of great import will perforce
Feel the heart heave; and in my breast I own
Such perturbation. "
On the banks of Vienne
Devious the Damsel turn'd, while through the gate
The Son of Orleans press'd with hasty step
To seek the King. Him from the public view
He found secluded with his blameless Queen,
And his partaker of the unlawful bed,
The lofty-minded Agnes.
" Son of Orleans! "
So as he enter'd cried the haughty fair,
" Thou art well come to witness the disgrace,
The weak, unmanly, base despondency
Of this thy Sovereign Liege. He will retreat
To distant Dauphiny and fly the war!
Go then, unworthy of thy rank! retreat
To distant Dauphiny, and fly the war,
Recreant from battle! I will not partake
A fugitive's fate; when thou hast lost thy crown
Thou losest Agnes. — Do'st not blush, Dunois!
To bleed in combat for a Prince like this,
Fit only, like the Merovingian race
On a May morning deck'd with flowers, to mount
His gay-bedizen'd car, and ride abroad
And make the multitude a holiday.
Go, Charles! and hide thee in a woman s garb,
And these long locks will not disgrace thee then! "

" Nay, Agnes! " Charles replied, " reproach me not!
I have enough of sorrow. Look around,
See this fair country ravaged by the foe,
My strong holds taken, and my bravest friends
Fallen in the field, or captives far away.
Dead is the Douglas; cold thy gallant heart,
Illustrious Buchan! ye from Scotland's hills,
Not mindless of your old ally distress'd,
Came to his succor; in this cause ye fought;
For him ye perish'd. Rash, impetuous Narbonne!
Thy mangled corse waves to the winds of Heaven.
Cold, Graville, is thy sinewy arm in death;
Fallen is Ventadaur; silent in the grave
Rambouillet sleeps. Bretagne's unfaithful chief
Leagues with my foes; and Richemont, or in arms
Defies my weak control, or from my side,
A friend more dreaded than the enemy,
Scares my best servants with the assassin's sword.
Soon must beleaguer'd Orleans fall. — But now
A truce to these sad thoughts! We are not yet
So utterly despoil'd but we can spread
The friendly board, and giving thee, Dunois,
Such welcome as befits thy father's son,
Win from our public cares a day for joy. "

Dunois replied, " So may thy future years
Pass from misfortune free, as all these ills
Shall vanish like a vision of the night!
I come to thee the joyful messenger
Of aid from Heaven; for Heaven hath delegated
A humble Maiden to deliver France.
That holy Maiden asks an audience now;
And when she promises miraculous things,
I feel it is not possible to hear
And disbelieve. "
Astonish'd by his speech
Stood Charles. " At one of meaner estimation
I should have smiled, Dunois, " the King replied;
" But thy known worth, and the tried loyalty
Of thy father's house, compel me even to this
To lend a serious ear. A woman sent
To rescue us, when all our strength hath fail'd!
A humble Maiden to deliver France!
One whom it were not possible to hear,
And disbelieve! — Dunois, ill now beseems
Aught wild and hazardous. And yet our state
Being what it is, by miracle alone
Deliverance can be hoped for. Is my person
Known to this woman? "
" That it cannot be,
Unless it be by miracle made known, "
Dunois replied; " for she hath never left
Her native hamlet in Lorraine till now. "

" Here then, " rejoin'd the King, " we have a test
Easy, and safe withal. Abide thou here;
And hither by a speedy messenger
Summon the Prophetess. Upon the throne
Let some one take his seat and personate
My presence, while I mingle in the train.
If she indeed be by the Spirit moved,
That Spirit, certes, will direct her eyes
To the true Prince whom she is sent to serve:
But if she prove, as likeliest we must deem,
One by her own imaginations crazed,
Thus failing and convinced, she may return
Unblamed to her obscurity, and we
Be spared the shame of farther loss incurr'd
By credulous faith. Well might the English scoff,
If on a frantic woman we should rest
Our last reliance. " Thus the King resolved,
And with a faith half-faltering at the proof,
Dunois despatch'd a messenger, to seek
Beside the banks of Vienne, the mission'd Maid.

Soon is the court convened: the jewell'd crown
Shines on a courtier's head. Amid the train
The Monarch undistinguish'd takes his place,
Expectant of the event. The Virgin comes,
And as the Bastard led her to the throne,
Quick glancing o'er the mimic Majesty,
With gesture and with look like one inspired,
She fix'd her eye on Charles: " Thou art the King! "
Then in a tone that thrill'd all hearts, pursued;
" I come the appointed Minister of Heaven,
To wield a sword before whose fated edge,
Far, far from Orleans shall the English wolves
Speed their disastrous flight. Monarch of France!
Send thou the tidings over all the realm,
Great tidings of deliverance and of joy;
The Maid is come, the mission'd Maid, whose hand
Shall in the consecrated walls of Rheims
Crown thee, anointed King. "
In wonder mute
The courtiers heard. Astonish'd Charles exclaim'd,
" This is indeed the agency of Heaven!
Hard, Maiden, were I of belief, " he said,
" Did I not now, with full and confirm'd faith,
Receive thee as a Prophetess raised up
For our deliverance. Therefore, not in doubt
Of Providence or thee do I delay
At once to marshal our brave countrymen
Beneath thy banner; but to satisfy
Those who at distance from this most clear proof
Might hear and disbelieve, or yield at best
A cold assent. These fully to confirm,
And more to make thy calling manifest,
Forthwith with all due speed I will convene
The Doctors of Theology, wise men,
And learned in the mysteries of Heaven.
By them thy mission studied and approved,
As needs it must, their sanction to all minds
Will bring conviction, and the sure belief
Lead on thy favor'd troops to mightiest deeds,
Surpassing human possibility. "

Well pleas'd the Maiden heard. Her the King leads
From the disbanding throng, meantime to dwell
With Mary. Watchful for her Lord's return
She sat with Agnes; Agnes proud of heart,
Majestically fair, whose large full eye
Or flashing anger, or with scornful scowl
Too oft deform'd her beauty. Yet with her
The lawless idol of the Monarch's heart,
The Queen, obedient to her husband's will,
Dwelt meekly in accord. With them the Maid
Was left to sojourn; by the gentle Queen
With cordial affability received;
By Agnes courteously, whose outward show
Of graciousness concealed an inward awe,
For while she hoped and trusted through her means
Charles should be reistablish'd in his realm,
She felt rebuked before her.
Through the land
Meantime the King's convoking voice went forth,
And from their palaces and monasteries
The theologians came, men who had grown
In midnight studies gray; Prelates, and Priests,
And Doctors: teachers grave, and with great names,
Seraphic, Subtile, or Irrefragable,
By their admiring scholars dignified.

They met convened at Chinon, to the place
Of judgment, in St. Katharine's fane assign'd.
The floor with many a monumental stone
Was spread, and brass-ensculptured effigies
Of holy abbots honor'd in their day,
Now to the grave gone down. The branching arms
Of many a ponderous pillar met aloft,
Wreath'd on the roof emboss'd: Through storied panes
Of high arch'd windows came the tinctured light;
Pure water in a font beneath reflects
The many-color'd rays; around that font
The fathers stand, and there with rites ordain'd
And signs symbolic strew the hallowing salt,
Wherewith the limpid water, consecrate,
So taught the Church, became a spell approved
Against the fiends of Satan's fallen crew;
A licit spell of mightier potency
Than e'er the hell-hags taught in Thessaly;
Or they who sitting on the rifled grave,
By the blue tomb-fire's lurid light dim seen,
Share with the Gouls their banquet.
This perform'd,
The Maid is summon'd. Round the sacred font,
Mark'd with the mystic tonsure and enrobed
In sacred vests, a venerable train,
They stand. The delegated Maid obeys
Their summons. As she came, a blush suffused
Her pallid cheek, such as might well beseem
One mindful still of maiden modesty,
Though to her mission true. Before the train
In reverent silence waiting their sage will,
With half-averted eye she stood composed.
So have I seen a single snow-drop rise
Amid the russet leaves that hide the earth
In early spring, so seen it gently bend
In modest loveliness alone amid
The waste of winter.
By the Maiden's side
The Son of Orleans stood, prepared to vouch
That when on Charles the Maiden's eye had fix'd,
As led by power miraculous, no fraud,
Nor juggling artifice of secret sign
Dissembled inspiration. As he stood
Steadily viewing the mysterious rites,
Thus to the attentive Maid the President
Severely spake.
" If any fiend of Hell
Lurk in thy bosom, so to prompt the vaunt
Of inspiration, and to mock the power
Of God and holy Church, thus by the virtue
Of water hallowed in the name of God
Adjure I that foul spirit to depart
From his deluded prey. "
Slowly he spake,
And sprinkled water on the virgin's face.
Indignant at the unworthy charge, the Maid
Felt her cheek flush; but soon, the transient glow
Fading, she answer'd meek.
" Most holy Sires,
Ye reverend Fathers of the Christian church,
Most catholic! I stand before you here
A poor weak woman; of the grace vouchsafed,
How far unworthy, conscious; yet though mean,
Innocent of fraud, and call'd by Heaven to be
Its minister of aid. Strange voices heard,
The dark and shadowing visions of the night,
And feelings which I may not dare to doubt,
These portents make me certain of the God
Within me; He who to these eyes reveal'd
My royal Master, mingled with the crowd
And never seen till then. Such evidence
Given to my mission thus, and thus confirm'd
By public attestation, more to say,
Methinks, would little boot, — and less become
A silly Maid. "
" Thou speakest, " said the Priest,
" Of dark and shadowing visions of the night.
Canst thou remember, Maid, what vision first
Seem'd more than fancy's shaping? From such tale,
Minutely told with accurate circumstance,
Some judgment might be form'd. "
The Maid replied
" Amid the mountain valleys I had driven
My father's flock. The eve was drawing on,
When by a sudden storm surprised, I sought
A chapel's neighboring shelter; ruin'd now,
But I remember when its vesper bell
Was heard among the hills, a pleasant sound,
That made me pause upon my homeward road,
Awakening in me comfortable thoughts
Of holiness. The unsparing soldiery
Had sack'd the hamlet near, and none was left
Duly at sacred seasons to attend
St. Agnes' chapel. In the desolate pile
I drove my flock, with no irreverent thoughts,
Nor mindless that the place on which I trod
Was holy ground. It was a fearful night!
Devoutly to the virgin Saint I pray'd,
Then heap'd the wither'd leaves which autumn winds
Had drifted in, and laid me down upon them,
And sure I think I slept. But so it was
That, in the dead of night, Saint Agnes stood
Before mine eyes, such and so beautiful
As when, amid the house of wickedness,
The Power whom with such fervent love she served
Veil'd her with glory. And I saw her point
To the moss-grown altar, and the crucifix
Half hid by weeds and grass; — and then I thought
I could have wither'd armies with a look,
For from the present Saint such divine power
I felt infused — 'Twas but a dream perhaps.
And yet methought that when a louder peal
Burst o'er the roof, and all was left again
Utterly dark, the bodily sense was clear
And accurate in every circumstance
Of time and place. "
Attentive to her words
Thus the Priest answer'd:
" Brethren, ye have heard
The woman's tale. Behoves us now to ask
Whether of holy Church a duteous child
Before our court appears, so not unlike
Heaven might vouchsafe its gracious miracle;
Or misbelieving heretic, whose thoughts,
Erring and vain, easily might stray beyond
All reason, and conceit strange dreams and signs
Impossible. Say, woman, from thy youth
Hast thou, as rightly mother Church demands,
Confess'd at stated times thy secret sins,
And, from the priestly power conferr'd by Heaven,
Sought absolution? "
" Father, " she replied,
" The forms of worship in mine earlier years
Waked my young mind to artificial awe,
And made me fear my God . Warm with the glow
Of health and exercise, whene'er I pass'd
The threshold of the house of prayer, I felt
A cold damp chill me; I beheld the tapers
That with a pale and feeble glimmering
Dimm'd the noon-light; I heard the solemn mass,
And with strange feelings and mysterious dread
Telling my beads, gave to the mystic prayers
Devoutest meaning. Often when I saw
The pictured flames writhe round a penanced soul,
I knelt in fear before the Crucifix,
And wept and pray'd, and trembled, and adored
A God of Terrors. But in riper years,
When as my soul grew strong in solitude,
I saw the eternal energy pervade
The boundless range of nature, with the sun
Pour life and radiance from his flamy path,
And on the lowliest floweret of the field
The kindly dew-drops shed. And then I felt
That H E who form'd this goodly frame of things
Must needs be good, and with a F ATHER 's name
I call'd on H IM , and from my burden'd heart
Pour'd out the yearnings of unmingled love.
Methinks it is not strange then, that I fled
The house of prayer, and made the lonely grove
My temple, at the foot of some old oak
Watching the little tribes that had their world
Within its mossy bark; or laid me down
Beside the rivulet whose murmuring
Was silence to my soul, and mark'd the swarm
Whose light-edged shadows on the bedded sand
Mirror'd their mazy sports, — the insect hum,
The flow of waters, and the song of birds
Making a holy music to mine ear:
Oh! was it strange, if for such scenes as these,
Such deep devoutness, such intense delight
Of quiet adoration, I forsook
The house of worship? strange that when I felt
How God had made my spirit quick to feel
And love whate'er was beautiful and good,
And from aught evil and deform'd to shrink
Even as with instinct; — father! was it strange
That in my heart I had no thought of sin,
And did not need forgiveness? "
As she spake
The Doctors stood astonish'd, and some while
They listen'd still in wonder. But at length
A Monk replied,
" Woman, thou seem'st to scorn
The ordinances of our holy Church;
And, if I rightly understand thy words,
Nature, thou say'st, taught thee in solitude
Thy feelings of religion, and that now
Masses and absolution and the use
Of the holy wafer, are to thee unknown.
But how could Nature teach thee true religion,
Deprived of these? Nature doth lead to sin,
But 'tis the Priest alone can teach remorse,
Can bid St. Peter ope the gates of Heaven,
And from the penal fires of purgatory
Set the soul free. Could Nature teach thee this?
Or tell thee that St. Peter holds the keys,
And that his successor's unbounded power
Extends o'er either world? Although thy life
Of sin were free, if of this holy truth
Ignorant, thy soul in liquid flames must rue
Its error. "
Thus he spake; applauding looks
Went round. Nor dubious to reply the Maid
Was silent.
" Fathers of the holy Church,
If on these points abstruse a simple maid
Like me should err, impute not you the crime
To self-will'd reason, vaunting its own strength
Above eternal wisdom. True it is
That for long time I have not heard the sound
Of mass high-chanted, nor with trembling lips
Partook the holy wafer: yet the birds
Who to the matin ray prelusive pour'd
Their joyous song, methought did warble forth
Sweeter thanksgiving to Religion's ear
In their wild melody of happiness,
Than ever rung along the high-arch'd roofs
Of man: — yet never from the bending vine
Pluck'd I its ripen'd clusters thanklessly,
Or of that God unmindful, who bestow'd
The bloodless banquet. Ye have told me, Sirs,
That Nature only teaches man to sin!
If it be sin to seek the wounded lamb,
To bind its wounds, and bathe them with my tears,
This is what Nature taught! No, Fathers, no!
It is not Nature that doth lead to sin:
Nature is all benevolence, all love,
All beauty! In the greenwood's quiet shade
There is no vice that to the indignant cheek
Bids the red current rush; no misery there;
No wretched mother, who with pallid face
And famine-fallen hangs o'er her hungry babes,
With such a look, so wan, so woe-begone,
As shall one day, with damning eloquence,
Against the oppressor plead! — Nature teach sin!
Oh blasphemy against the Holy One,
Who made us in the image of Himself,
Who made us all for happiness and love,
Infinite happiness, infinite love,
Partakers of his own eternity. "

Solemn and slow the reverend Priest replied,
" Much, woman, do I doubt that all-wise Heaven
Would thus vouchsafe its gracious miracles
On one foredoom'd to misery; for so doom'd
Is that deluded one, who, of the mass
Unheeding, and the Church's saving power,
Deems Nature sinless. Therefore, mark me well!
Brethren, I would propose this woman try
The holy ordeal. Let her, bound and search'd,
Lest haply in her clothes should be conceal'd
Some holy relic so profaned, be cast
In some deep pond; there if she float, no doubt
The fiend upholds; but if at once she sink,
It is a sign that Providence displays
Her free from witchcraft. This done, let her walk
Blindfold and bare o'er ploughshares heated red,
And o'er these past, her naked arm immerse
In scalding water. If from these she come
Unhurt, to holy father of the church,
Most blessed Pope, we then refer the cause
For judgment: and this Chief, the Son of Orleans,
Who comes to vouch the royal person known
By her miraculous power, shall pass with her
The sacred trial. "
" Grace of God! " exclaim'd,
The astonish'd Bastard; " plunge me in the pool,
O'er red-hot ploughshares make me skip to please
Your dotard fancies! Fathers of the church,
Where is your gravity? what! elder-like
Would ye this fairer than Susannah eye?
Ye call for ordeals; and I too demand
The noblest ordeal, on the English host
By victory to approve her mission sent
From favoring Heaven. To the Pope refer
For judgment! Know ye not that France even now
Stands tottering on destruction! "
Starting then
With a wild look, the mission'd Maid exclaim'd,
" The sword of God is here! the grave shall speak
To manifest me! "
Even as she spake,
A pale blue flame rose from the trophied tomb
Beside her; and within that house of death
A sound of arms was heard, as if below
A warrior, buried in his armor, stirr'd.

" Hear ye! " the Damsel cried; " these are the arms
Which shall flash terror o'er the hostile host.
These, in the presence of our Lord the King,
And of the assembled people, I will take
Here from the sepulchre, where many an age,
They, incorruptible, have lain conceal'd,
For me reserved, the Delegate of Heaven. "

Recovering from amaze, the Priest replied:
" Thou art indeed the Delegate of Heaven!
What thou hast said surely thou shalt perform.
We ratify thy mission. Go in peace. "