For answer: France will only own as King
Her own legitimate Lord. On Charles's brow,
Transmitted through a long and good descent,
The crown remains. We know no homage due
To English robbers, and disclaim the peace
Inglorious made at Troyes by factious men
Hostile to France. Thy master's proffer'd grace
Meets the contempt it merits. Herald, yes,
Be sure we shall remember Caen and Roan!
Go tell the mighty Earl of Salisbury,
That as like Blanchard, Gaucour dares his power,
Like Blanchard, he can brave his cruelty,
And triumph by enduring. Speak I well,
Ye men of Orleans?'
"Never did I hear
A shout so universal as ensued
Of approbation. The assembled host
As with one voice pour'd forth their loyalty,
And struck their sounding shields; and walls and towers
Echoed the loud uproar. The herald went.
The work of war began."
"A fearful scene,"
Cried Isabel. "The iron storm of death
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
Leaguer'd the walls of Orleans, idly slept
Our friends: for winning down the Loire its way
The frequent vessel with provision fraught,
And men, and all the artillery of death,
Cheer'd us with welcome succor. At the bridge
These safely landed mock'd the foeman's force.
This to prevent, Salisbury, their watchful chief,[1]
A mighty work prepares. Around our walls,
Encircling walls he builds, surrounding thus
The city. Firm'd with massiest buttresses,
At equal distance, sixty forts protect
The English lines. But chief where in the town
The six great avenues meet in the midst,[2]
Six castles there he rear'd impregnable,
With deep-dug moats and bridges drawn aloft,
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,
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,[3] and the embattled tower
That shadows from the bridge the subject Loire;
Though numbering now three thousand daring men,
Frequent and fierce the garrison repell'd
Their far outnumbering foes. From every aid
Included, they in Orleans groan'd beneath
All ills accumulate. The shatter'd roofs
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,[4] startling from his sleep
The affrighted soldier. From the brazen slings
The wild-fire balls hiss'd through the midnight sky;[5]
And often their huge engines cast among us
The dead and loathsome cattle of their camp,
As though our enemies, to their deadly league
Forcing the common air, would make us breathe
Poisonous pollution.[6] Through the streets were seen
The frequent fire, and heaps of dead, in haste
Piled up and streaming to infected Heaven.
For ever the incessant storm of death
Pours down, and crowded in unwholesome vaults[7]
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!
"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,
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;
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.[8]
"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
Chased the gay butterfly from flower to flower!
O days in vain remember'd! how my soul,
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,
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
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[9]
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,
Of captains, and of kings!' Then shall be peace."
"And now lest all should perish," she pursued,
Page:Completepoetical1848sout.djvu/41
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BOOK V.
JOAN OF ARC
33
