He brow unhelm'd, and floating on the wind
Her long, dark locks. The silent troops around
Stood thickly throng'd, as o'er the fertile field
Billows the ripen'd corn. The passing breeze
Bore not a murmur from the numerous host,
Such deep attention held them. She began.
"Glory to those who in their country's cause
Fall in the field of battle! Countrymen,
I stand not here to mourn these gallant men,
Our comrades, nor, with vain and idle phrase
Of sorrow and compassion, to console
The friends who loved them. They indeed who fall
Beneath oppression's banner, merit well
Our pity; may the God of Peace and Love
Be merciful to those blood-guilty men
Who came to desolate the realm of France,
To make us bow the knee, and crouch like slaves
Before a foreign master. Give to these,
And to their wives and orphan little ones
That on their distant father vainly cry
For bread, give these your pity! — Wretched men,
Forced or inveigled from their homes, or driven
By need and hunger to the trade of blood;
Or, if with free and willing mind they came,
Most wretched, — for before the eternal throne,
Guilty alike in act and will, they stand.
But our dead comrades for their country fought;
No arts they needed, nor the specious bribes
Of promise, to allure them to this fight,
This holy warfare! them their parents sent,
And as they raised their streaming eyes to Heaven,
Bade them go forth, and from the ruffian's sword
Save their gray hairs: them their dear wives sent out,
Fix'd their last kisses on their armed hands,[1]
And bade them in the battle think they fought
For them and for their children. Thus inflamed,
By every milder feeling, they went forth:
They fought, they conquer'd. To this holy ground
The men of Orleans in the days to come
Shall bring their boys, and tell them of the deeds
Their countrymen achieved, and bid them learn
Like them to love their country, and like them,
Should usurpation pour again its tide
Of desolation, to step forth and stem,
Fearless, the furious torrent. Men of France,
Mourn not for these our comrades! boldly they
Fought the good fight, and that Eternal One,
Who bade the Angels harbinger his Word
With 'Peace on earth,' rewards them. We survive,
Honoring their memories to avenge their fall
Upon the unjust invaders. They may drain
Their kingdom's wealth and lavishly expend
Its blood, insanely thinking to subdue
This wide and populous realm; for easier were it
To move the ancient mountains from their base,
Than on a nation knowing its own strength
To force a foreign yoke. France then is safe.
My glorious mission soon will be fulfill'd,
My work be done. But, oh! remember ye,
And in their generation let your sons
Transmit to theirs the all-concerning truth,
That a great people, wrongfully assail'd,
If faithful to themselves, and resolute
In duty to the last, betide what may, —
Although no signs be given, no miracles
Vouchsafed, as now, no Prophetess ordain'd,
May yet with hope invincible hold on,
Relying on their courage, and their cause,
And the sure course of righteous Providence."
THE TENTH BOOK.
Thus to the martyrs in their country's cause
The Maiden gave their fame; and when she ceased,
Such murmur from the multitude arose,
As when at twilight hour the summer breeze
Moves o'er the elmy vale. There was not one
Who mourn'd with feeble sorrow for his friend,
Slain in tlie fight of freedom; or if chance
Remembrance with a tear suffused the eye,
The patriot's joy shone through.
And now the rites
Of sepulture perform'd, the hymn to Heaven
They chanted. To the town the Maid return'd,
Dunois with her, and Richemont, and the man
Conrade, whose converse most the Virgin loved.
They of pursuit and of the future war
Sat communing; when loud the trumpet's voice
Proclaim'd a herald's coming.
"To the Maid," —
Such was his errand, — "and to thee, Dunois,
Son of the chief he loved, Du Chastel sends
Greeting. The aged warrior hath not spared
All active efforts to partake your toil,
And serve his country; and though late arrived,
He share not in the fame your arms acquire,
His heart is glad that he is late arrived,
And France preserved thus early. He were here
To join your host, and follow the pursuit,
But Richemont is his foe. To that high Lord
Thus says my master: We, though each to each
Be hostile, are alike the embattled sons
Of our dear country. Therefore do thou join
The conquering troops, and prosecute success;
I will the while assault what guarded towns
Bedford yet holds in Orleannois: one day,
Perhaps the Constable of France may learn
He wrong'd Du Chastel."
As the herald spake,
Richemont's cheek redden'd, partly with a sense
Of shame, and partly anger half supprest.
"Say to thy master," eagerly he said,
" I am the foe of those court parasites
Who poison the King's ear. Him who shall serve
Our country in the field, I hold my friend:
Such may Du Chastel prove."
So said the chief
And pausing as the herald went his way,
Turn'd to the Virgin: "If I guess aright,
It is not from a friendly tongue's report,
That thou hast heard of me."
Dissembling not
The unwelcome truth, "Yes, chieflain!" she replied,
"Report bespeaks thee haughty, violent,
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