With clamors ominous of victory.
Thus urging on, one from the adverse host
Advanced to meet them: they his garb of peace
Knew, and they halted as the herald spake
His bidding to the chieftains. "Sirs!" he cried,
"I bear defiance to you from the Earl
William of Suffolk. Here on this fit ground,
He wills to give you battle, power to power.
So please you, on the morrow."
"On the morrow
We will join battle then," replied Dunois,
"And God befriend the right!" Then on the herald
A robe rich-furr'd and embroidered he bestow'd,[1]
A costly guerdon. Through the army spread
The unwelcome tidings of delay; possess'd
With agitating hopes they felt the hours
Pass heavily; but soon the night waned on,
And the loud trumpets' blare from broken sleep
Roused them; a second time the thrilling blast
Bade them be arm'd, and at the third long sound
They ranged them in their ranks.[2] From man to man
With pious haste hurried the confessors
To shrive them,[3] lest with souls all unprepared
They to their death might go. Dunois meantime
Rode through the host, the shield of dignity[4]
Before him borne, and in his hand he held
The white wand of command. The open helm
Disclosed that eye which temper'd the strong lines
Of steady valor, to obedient awe
Winning the will's assent. To some he spake
Of late-earn'd glory ; others, new to war,
He bade bethink them of the feats achieved
When Talbot, recreant to his former fame,
Fled from beleaguer'd Orleans. Was there one
Whom he had known in battle? by the hand
Him did he take, and bid him on that day
Summon his wonted courage, and once more
Support his chief and comrade. Happy he
Who caught his eye, or from the chieftain's lips
Heard his own name! joy more inspiriting
Fills not the Persian's soul, when sure he deems
That Mithra hears propitiously his prayer,
And o'er the scattered cloud of morning pours
A brighter ray responsive.
Then the host
Partook due food, this their last meal belike
Receiving with such thoughtful doubts as make
The soul, impatient of uncertainty,
Rush eager to the event; being thus prepared,
Upon the grass the soldiers laid themselves,
Each in his station, waiting there the sound
Of onset, that in undiminish'd strength
Strong, they might meet the battle;[5] silent some
Pondering the chances of the coming day,
Some whiling with a careless gayety
The fearful pause of action.
Thus the French
In such array and high in confident hope
Await the signal; whilst with other thoughts,
And ominous awe, once more the invading host
Prepare them in the field of fight to meet
The Prophetess. Collected in himself
Appear'd the might of Talbot. Through the ranks
He stalks, reminds them of their former fame,
Their native land, their homes, the friends they loved,
All the rewards oi' this day's victory.
But awe had fill'd the English, and they struck
Faintly their shields; for they who had beheld
The hallowed banner with celestial light
Irradiate, and the mission'd Maiden's deeds,
Felt their hearts sink within them at the thought
Of her near vengeance; and the tale they told
Roused such a tumult in the new-come troops.
As fitted them for fear. The aged Earl
Beheld their drooping valor, and his brow,
Wrinkled with thought, bewray'd his inward doubts:
Still he was firm, though all might fly, resolved
That Talbot should retrieve his old renown,
And end his life with glory. Yet some hope
Inspired the veteran, as, across the plain
Casting his eye, he mark'd the embattled strength
Of thousands; archers of unequalled skill,
Brigans and pikemen, from whose lifted points
A fearful radiance flash'd, and young esquires,
And high-born warriors, bright in blazon'd arms.
Nor few, nor fameless were the English chiefs.
In many a field victorious, he was there,
The garter'd Fastolffe; Hungerford, and Scales,
Men who had seen the hostile squadrons fly
Before the arms of England; Suffolk there,
The haughty chieftain, tower'd; blest had he fallen
Ere yet a courtly minion he was mark'd
By public hatred, and the murderer's guilt!
There too the son of Talbot, young in arms,
Heir of a noble race and mighty name:
At many a tilt and tournament had he
Approved his skill and prowess; confident
In strength, and jealous of his future fame,
His heart beat high for battle. Such array
Of marshall'd numbers fought not on the field
Of Cressy, nor at Poietiers; nor such force
Led Henry to the fight of Agincourt,
When thousands fell before him.
Onward move
The host of France. It was a goodly sight
To see the embattled pomp, as with the step
Of stateliness the barded steeds came on, —
To see the pennons rolling their long waves
Before the gale, and banners broad and bright[6]
Tossing their blazonry, and high-plumed chiefs,
Vidames,[7] and Seneschalls, and Chastellains,
Gay with their buckler's gorgeous heraldry,
And silken surcoats to the mid-day sun
Glittering.[8]
And now the knights of France dismount,
For not to brutal strength they deem'd it right
To trust their fame and their dear country's weal;[9]
Rather to manly courage, and the glow
Of honorable thoughts, such as inspire
Ennobling energy. Unhorsed, unspurr'd,
Their javelins shorten'd to a wieldy length,[10]
They to the foe advanced. The Maid alone,
Conspicuous on a coal-black courser, meets
The war. They moved to battle with such sound
As rushes o'er the vaulted firmament,
Page:Completepoetical1848sout.djvu/63
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BOOK X.
JOAN OF ARC
55
