Or mingled with the soldier's busy dreams,
Or with vague terrors fill'd his startled sense,
Prompting a secret prayer.
So on she past
To where in loftier shade arose the tent
Of Burgundy: light leaping from her seat
She enter'd.
On the earth the chieftain slept,
His mantle scarft around him; near him hung
His helmet and his shield, and at his side
Within hand-reach his sword. Profound he slept,
Nor heard the coming courser's sounding hoof,
Nor entering footstep. "Burgundy!" she cried,
"What, Burgundy! awake!" He started up,
And saw the gleam of arms, and to his sword
Reach'd a quick hand. But what he now beheld
Thrill'd him, for full upon her face the lamp
Cast its deep glare, and in her solemn look
Was an unearthly meaning. Pale she was;
And in her eye a saintly lustre beam'd,
And that most calm and holiest confidence
That guilt knows never. "Burgundy, thou seest
The Maid of Orleans!"
As she spake, a voice
Exclaim'd, "Die, sorceress!" and a knight rush'd in,
Whose name by her illustrated yet lives,
Franquet of Arras. With uplifted arm
Furious he came; her buckler broke the blow,
And forth she flash'd her sword, and with a stroke
Swift that no eye could ward it, and of strength
No mail might blunt, smote on his neck, his neck
Unfenced, for he in haste aroused had cast
An armet[1] on; resistless there she smote,
And to the earth prone fell the headless trunk
Of Franquet.
Then on Burgundy she fix'd
Her eye severe. "Go, chief, and thank thy God
That he with lighter judgments visits thee
Than fell on Sisera, or by Judith's hand
He wrought upon the Assyrian! Thank thy God,
That when his vengeance smote the invading sons
Of England, equal though thou wert in guilt,
Thee he has spar'd to work by penitence
And better deeds atonement."
Thus she spake,
Then issued forth, and bounding on her steed
Sped o'er the plain. Dark on the upland bank
The hedge-row trees distinct and colorless
Rose on the gray horizon, and the Loire
Form'd in its winding way islands of light
Amid the shadowy vale, when now she reach'd
The walls of Orleans.
From the eastern clouds
The sun came forth, as to the assembled chiefs
The Maiden pass'd. Her bending thitherwards
The Bastard met. "Now perils threaten us,"
He said, "new toils await us; Burgundy, — "
"Fear not for Burgundy!" the Maid replied,
"Him will the Lord direct. Our earliest scouts
Shall tell his homeward march. What of the troops
Of England?"
"They," the Son of Orleans cried,
"By darkness favor'd, fled; yet not by flight
Shall these invaders now escape the arm
Of retribution. Even now our troops,
By battle unfatigued, unsatisfied
With conquest, clamor to pursue the foe."
The delegated Damsel thus replied:
"So let them fly, Dunois! But other work
Than that of battle, now must be perform'd.
We move not in pursuit, till we have paid
The rites of burial to our countrymen,
And hymn'd our gratitude to that All-just
Who gave the victory. Thou, meantime, despatch
Tidings to Chinon: let the King set forth,
That crowning him before assembled France,
In Rheims delivered from the enemy,
I may accomplish all."
So said the Maid,
Then to the gate moved on. The assembled troops
Beheld her coming, and they smote their shields,
And with one voice of greeting bless'd her name,
And pray'd her to pursue the flying foe.
She waved her hand, and silently they stood,
Attentive while she spake; — "Fellows in arms!
We must not speed to joyful victory,
And leave our gallant comrades where they lie,
For dogs, and wolves, and carrion-birds a prey;
Ere we advance, let us discharge to them
The duty that is due."
So said the Maid;
And as she spake, the thirst of battles dies
In every breast, such awe and love pervade
The listening troops. They o'er the corse-strewn plain
Speed to their sad employment: some dig deep
The house of death; some bear the lifeless load;
Others the while search carefully around,
If haply they may find surviving yet
Some wounded wretches. As they labor thus,
They mark far off the iron-blaze of arms;
See distant standards waving on the air,
And hear the clarion's clang. Then spake the Maid
To Conrade, and she bade him haste to espy
The coming army; or to meet their march
With friendly greeting, or if foes they came
With such array of battle as short space
Allow'd: the warrior sped across the plain,
And soon beheld the banner'd lilies wave.
Their chief was Richemont: he when as he heard
What rites employed the Virgin, straightway bade
His troops assist in burial; they, though grieved
At late arrival, and the expected day
Of conquest past, yet give their willing aid:
They dig the general grave, and thither bear
English or French, alike commingled now,
And heap the mound of death.
Amid the plain
There was a little eminence, of old
Raised o'er some honored chieftain's narrow house.
His praise the song had ceased to celebrate,
And many an unknown age had the long grass
Waved o'er that nameless mound, though barren now
Beneath the frequent tread of multitudes
There elevate, the martial Maiden stood,
- ↑ ???
