Time was not for long counsel. From the court,
Obedient to Dunois, the French retire
As if at the irruption of their foes
Dishearten'd; they, with shouts and loud uproar,
Haste to their fancied conquest: Joan, the while
Placing a small but gallant garrison,
Bade them secure the gates; then sallying forth,
With such fierce onset charged them in the rear,
That terror smote the English, and they wish'd
Again that they might hide them in their walls
Rashly abandoned, for now wheeling round
Dunois attack'd their flank. All captainless,
Ill-marshall'd, ill-directed, in vain rage
They waste their furious efforts, falling fast
Before the Maid's good falchion and the arm
Of Conrade: loud was heard the mingled sound
Of arms and men; the soil, that, trampled late
By multitudes, sent up its stifling clouds
Of dust, was miry now with human blood.
On the fort's summit Talbot mark'd the fight,
And calling for his arms impatiently,
Eager to issue forth, was scarce withheld;
For now, dishearten'd and discomfited,
The troops took flight.
Upon the bridge there stood
A strong-built tower, commanding o'er the Loire.
The traveller sometimes linger'd on his way,
Marking the playful tenants of the stream,
Seen in its shadow, stem the sea-ward tide;
This had the invaders won in hard assault,
Before the delegate of Heaven came forth
And made them fear who never fear'd till then.
Thither the English troops with hasty steps
Retired, not utterly defeated yet,
But mindful of defence: the garrison
Them thus retreating saw, and open threw
Their guarded gates, and on the Gallic host,
Covering their vanquish'd fellows, pour'd their shafts.
Check'd in pursuit they stop. Then Graville cried,
"Ill, Maiden, hast thou done! those valiant troops
Thy womanish pity has dismiss'd, with us
Conjoin'd, might press upon the vanquish'd foe,
Though aided thus, and plant the lilied flag
Victorious on yon tower."
"Dark-minded man!"
The Maid of Orleans answer'd; "to act well
Brings with itself an ample recompense.
I have not rear'd the Oriflamme of death —[1]
Now God forbid! The banner of the Lord
Is this, and come what will, me it behoves,
Mindful of Him whose minister I am,
To spare the fallen foe: that gracious God
Sends me a messenger of mercy forth,
Sends me to save this ravaged realm of France,
To England friendly as to all the world,
Only to those an enemy, whose lust
Of sway makes them the enemies of man."
She said, and suddenly threw off her helm;
Her bosom heaved, — her cheek grew red, — her eyes
Beam'd with a wilder lustre. "Thou dost deem
That I have illy spared so large a band,
Disabling from pursuit our weaken'd troops; —
God is with us!" she cried — "God is with us!
Our Champion manifest!"
Even as she spake,
The tower, the bridge, and all its multitudes,
Sunk with a mighty crash.[2]
Astonishment
Seized on the French; an universal cry
Of terror burst from them. Crush'd in the fall,
Or by their armor hopelessly weigh'd down,
Or while they plied their unencumber'd arms,
Caught by some sinking wretch, who grasp'd them fast,
Shrieking they sunk, while frequent fragments huge
Fell in the foaming current. From the fort
Talbot beheld, and gnash'd his teeth, and cursed
The more than mortal Virgin; whilst the towers
Of Orleans echoed to the loud uproar,
And all who heard trembled, and cross'd their breasts.
And as they hasten'd to the city walls,
Told fearfully their beads.
'T'was now the hour
When o'er the plain the fading rays of eve
Their sober light effuse; when the lowing herd,
Slow as they move to shelter, draw behind
Their lengthening shadows; and toward his nest,
As heavily he flaps the dewy air,
The hoarse rook breathes his melancholy note.
"Now then, Dunois, for Orleans!" cried the Maid
"And give we to the flames these monuments
Of sorrow and disgrace. The ascending flames
Will to the dwellers of yon rescued town
Rise with a joyful splendor, while the foe
Behold and tremble."
As she spake, they ran
To burn the forts; they shower their wild fire there,
And high amid the gloom the ascending flames
Blaze up;[3] then joyful of their finish'd toil
The host retire. Hush'd is the field of fight
As the calm'd ocean, when its gentle waves
Heave slow and silent, wafting tranquilly
The shatter'd fragments of some midnight wreck.
THE NINTH BOOK.
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.[4] One there was
Who, learning wisdom in the hour of ill,
