Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey
Page 16
Sunk with a mighty crash.
Astonishment
Seized on the French; an universal cry 640
Of terror burst from them. Crush’d in the fall,
Or by their armour 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 646
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, 651
Told fearfully their beads.
’Twas 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 655
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 660
Of sorrow and disgrace. The ascending flames
Will to the dwellers of yon rescued town
Rise with a joyful splendour, while the foe
Behold and tremble.”
As she spake, they ran 664
To burn the forts; they shower their wild fire there,
And high amid the gloom the ascending flames
Blaze up; 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 670
The shatter’d fragments of some midnight wreck.
JOAN OF ARC. 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 splendours shot, 5
And blacker waves roll’d o’er the darken’d heaven.
Dismay’d amid the forts which yet remain’d
The invaders saw, and clamour’d for retreat,
Deeming that aided by invisible powers
The Maid went forth to conquer. Not a sound 10
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. One there was 15
Who, learning wisdom in the hour of ill,
Exclaim’d, “I marvel not that the Most High
Hath hid his face from England! Wherefore thus
Quitting the comforts of domestic life,
Came we to desolate this goodly land. 20
Making the drench’d earth rank with human blood,
Scatter pollution on the winds of Heaven?
Oh! that the sepulchre had closed its jaws
On the proud prelate, that blood-guilty man,
Who, trembling for the church’s ill-got wealth, 25
Bade our Fifth Henry claim the crown of France!
Oh! that the grave had swallow’d him, ere he
Stirr’d up the sleeping claim, and sent him forth
To slaughter! Sure that holy hermit spake
The Almighty’s bidding, who in his career 30
Of conquest met the King, and bade him cease
The work of death, before the wrath divine
Fell heavy on his head... Full soon it fell
And sunk him to the grave;.. and soon that wrath
On us, alike in guilt, alike shall fall; 35
For thousands and ten thousands, by the sword
Cut off, and sent before the Eternal Judge,
With all their unrepented crimes upon them,
Cry out for vengeance; for the widow’s groan,
Though here she groan unpitied or unheard, 40
Is heard in heaven against us; o’er this land
For hills of human slain, unsepulchred,
Steam pestilence, and cloud the blessed sun!;
The wrath of God is on us,.. God hath raised
This Prophetess, and goes before her path;.. 45
Our brethren, vainly valiant, fall beneath them,
Clogging with gore their weapons, or in the flood
Whelm’d like the Egyptian tyrant’s impious host,
Mangled and swoln, their blacken’d carcasses
Float on the tainted current! We remain, 50
For yet our rulers will pursue the war,
We still remain to perish by the sword,
Soon to appear before the throne of God,
Conscious, too late, of folly and of guilt,
Uninjured, unprovoked, who dared to risk 55
The life His goodness gave us, on the chance
Of war, and in obedience to our chiefs
Durst disobey our God.”
Then terror seized
The troops and late repentance; and they thought
The spirits of the mothers and their babes 60
Famish’d at Roan sat on the clouds of night,
Circling the forts, to hail with gloomy joy
The hour of vengeance.
Nor the English chiefs
Heard these loud murmurs heedless; counselling
They met despondent Suffolk, now their chief, 65
Since Salisbury fell, began.
“It now were vain
Lightly of this our more than mortal foe
To speak contemptuous. She hath vanquish’d us,
Aided by Hell’s leagued powers, nor aught avails
Man unassisted ‘gainst Infernal powers 70
To dare the conflict. Were it best remain
Waiting the doubtful aid of Burgundy,
Doubtful and still delay’d? or from this place,
Scene of our shame, retreating as we may,
Yet struggle to preserve the guarded towns 75
Of the Orleannois?”
He ceased, and with a sigh,
Struggling with pride that heaved his gloomy breast,
Talbot replied, “Our council little boots;
For by their numbers now made bold in fear
The soldiers will not fight, they will not heed 80
Our vain resolves, heart-wither’d by the spells
Of this accursed sorceress. Soon will come
The expected host from England; even now
Perchance the tall bark scuds across the deep
That bears my son: young Talbot comes,.. he comes
To find his sire disgraced! But soon mine arm, 86
By vengeance nerved, and shame of such defeat,
Shall from the crest-fall’n courage of yon witch,
Regain its ancient glory. Near the coast
Best is it to retreat, and there expect 90
The coming succour.”
Thus the warrior spake.
Joy ran through all the troops, as though retreat
Were safety. Silently in order’d ranks
They issue forth, favour’d by the thick clouds
Which mantled o’er the moon. With throbbing hearts
Fearful they speeded on; some in sad thoughts 96
Of distant England, and now wise too late,
Cursing in bitterness the evil hour
That led them from her shores; some in faint hope
Thinking to see their native land again; 100
Talbot went musing on his former fame,
Sullen and stem, and feeding on dar
k thoughts,
And meditating vengeance.
In the walls
Of Orleans, though her habitants with joy
Humbly acknowledged the high aid of Heaven, 105
Of many a heavy ill and bitter loss
Mindful, such mingled sentiments they felt
As one from shipwreck saved, the first warm glow
Of transport past, who contemplates himself
Preserved alone, a solitary wretch, 110
Possess’d of life indeed, but reft of all
That makes man love to live. The chieftains shared
The social bowl, glad of the town relieved,
And communing of that miraculous Maid,
Who came the saviour of the realm of France, 115
When vanquish’d in the frequent field of shame
Her bravest warriors trembled.
Joan the while
Fasting and silent to the convent pass’d,
Conrade with her, and Isabel; both mute,
Yet gazing on her oft with anxious eyes, 120
Looking the consolation that they fear’d
To give a voice to. Now they reach’d the dome:
The glaring torches o’er the house of death
Stream’d a sad splendour. Flowers and funeral herbs
Bedeck’d the bier of Theodore,.. the rue, 125
The dark green rosemary, and the violet,
That pluck’d like him wither’d in its first bloom.
Dissolved- in sorrow, Isabel her grief
Pour’d copiously, and Conrade also wept:
Joan only shed no tears, from her fix’d eye 130
Intelligence was absent, and she seem’d,
Though listening to the dirge of death, to hear
And comprehend it not, till in the grave,..
In his last home,.. now Theodore was laid,
And earth to earth upon the coffin thrown; 135
Then the Maid started at that mortal sound,
And her lip quiver’d, and on Isabel,
Trembling and faint, she leant, and pale as death.
Then in the priest arose an earnest hope,
That weary of the world and sick with woe, 140
The Maid might dwell with them a virgin vow’d.
“Ah, damsel!” slow he spake, and cross’d his breast,
“Ah, damsel! favour’d as thou art of heaven,
Let not thy soul beneath its sorrow sink
Despondent; Heaven by sorrow disciplines 145
The froward heart, and chastens whom it loves.
Therefore, companion of thy way of life,
Shall sorrow wean thee from this faithless world,
Where happiness provokes the traveller’s chase,
And like the midnight meteor of the marsh 150
Allures his long and perilous pursuit,
Then leaves him dark and comfortless. O Maid!
Fix thou thine eyes upon that heavenly dawn
Beyond the night of life! Thy race is run,
Thou hast deliver’d Orleans: now perfect 155
Thyself, accomplish all, and be the child
Of God. Amid these sacred haunts the groan
Of woe is never heard; these hallow’d roofs
Re-echo only to the pealing quire,
The chaunted mass, and virgin’s holy hymn, 160
Celestial sounds! Secluded hère, the soul
Receives a foretaste of her joys to come;
This is the abode of piety and peace;
Oh! be their inmate, Maiden! Come to rest, 164
Die to the world, and live espoused to Heaven!”
Then Conrade answered, “Father! heaven has call’d
This Maid to active duties.”
“Active!” cried
The astonish’d Monk; “thou dost not know the toils
This holy warfare asks; thou dost not know,
How powerful the attacks that Satan makes 170
By sinful Nature aided! Dost thou think
It is an easy task from the fond breast
To root affection out? to burst the cords
Which grapple to society the heart
Of social man? to rouse the unwilling spirit, 175
That, rebel to devotion, faintly pours
The cold lip-worship of the wearying prayer?
To fear and tremble at Him, yet to love ‘
A God of Terrors? Maid beloved of Heaven,
Come to this sacred trial! share with us 180
The day of penance and the night of prayer!
Humble thyself; feel thine own worthlessness,
A reptile worm, before thy birth condemn’d
To all the horrors of thy Maker’s wrath,
The lot of fallen mankind! Oh, hither come! 185
Humble thyself in ashes. So thy name
Shall live amid the blessed host of saints,
And unborn pilgrims at thy hallowed shrine
Pour forth their pious offerings.”
“Hear me, father!”
Exclaim’d the awaken’d Maid. “Amid these tombs,:
Cold as their clayey tenants, know, my heart 191
Must never grow to stone! Chill thou thyself,
And break thy midnight rest, and tell thy beads,
And labour through thy still repeated prayer;
Fear thou thy God of Terrors; spurn the gifts 195
He gave, and sepulchre thyself alive!
But far more valued is the vine that bends
Beneath its swelling clusters, than the dark
And joyless ivy, round the cloister’s wall
Wreathing its barren arms. For me I know 200
That I have faithfully obey’d my call,
Confiding not in mine own strength, but His
Who sent me forth to suffer and to do
His will; and in that faith I shall appear
Before the just tribunal of that God 205
Whom grateful love has taught me to adore!”
Severe she spake, for sorrow in her heart
Had wrought unwonted sternness. From the dome
They pass’d in silence, when with hasty steps,
Sent by the chiefs, a messenger they met, 210
Who, in alarm, the mission’d Virgin sought,
A bearer of ill tidings.
“Holy Maid!”
He said, “they ask thy counsel. Burgundy
Comes in the cause of England, and his troops 214
Scarce three leagues from the walls, a fearful power,
Rest tented for the night.”
“Say to the chiefs,
At morn I will be with them,” she replied;
“And to this urgency will give meantime
My nightly thoughts.”
So saying on she went
In thoughtful silence. A brief while she mused, 220
Brief, but sufficing to excite her soul,
As with a power and impulse not its own,
To some great purpose. “Conrade!” then she said,
“I pray thee meet me at the eastern gate 224
With a swift steed prepared,.. for I must hence.”
Her voice was calm, and Conrade through the gloom
Saw not the flush that witness’d on her cheek
Inward emotion at some thought conceived.
She to her quarters hastily repair’d.
There with a light and unplumed casquetel 230
She helm’d her head; hung from her neck the shield,
And forth she went Her Conrade by the gate
Awaited. “May I, Maiden, ask unblamed
Whither this midnight journey? may I share
The peril?” cried the warrior. She rejoin’d, 235
“This, Conrade, must not be. Alone I go.
That impulse of the soul which comes from God
Sends me. But thou of this remain assured,
If aught that I must enterprize required
Associate firmness, thou s
houldst be the man, 240
Best,.. last,.. and only friend!”
So up she sprung
And left him. He beheld the warden close
The gate, and listen’d to her courser’s tramp,
Till soon upon his ear the far-off sound 244
Fell faintly, and was lost
Swift o’er the vale
Sped the good courser; eagerly the Maid
Gave the loose rein, and now her speed attain’d
The dark encampment -Through the sleeping ranks
Onward she past The trampling of her steed
Or mingled with the soldier’s busy dreams, 250
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, 255
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, 259
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 265
Was an unearthly meaning. Pale she was;
And in her eye a saintly lustre beam’d,
And that most calm and holiest confidence 268
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, 274
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 on; resistless there she smote,
And to the earth prone fell the headless trunk 280
Of Franquet.
Then on Burgundy she fix’d
Her eye severe. “Go, chief, and thank thy God