Page:Completepoetical1848sout.djvu/44

---

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 wait her 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,^[1] 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.^[2]
                      "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 meet her in the fight.
Nor let her 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.^[3] 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. Throuhh 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 fall.
Long-suffering is the Lord, and slow to wrath,
But heavy 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,^[4]
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!^[5] 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^[6]
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

1. ???
2. ???
3. ???
4. ???
5. ???
6. ???