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 176
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, 180
“And God befriend the right!” Then on the herald
A robe rich-furr’d and broider’d he bestow’d,
A. costly guerdon. Through the army spread
The unwelcome tidings of delay; possess’d
With agitating hopes they felt the hours 185
Pass heavily; but soon the night wain’d 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. From man to man
With pious haste hurried the confessors 191
To shrive them, lest with souls all unprepared
They to their death might go. Dunois meantime
Rode through the host, the shield of dignity
Before him borne, and in his hand he held 195
The white wand of command. The open helm
Disclosed that eye which temper’d the strong lines
Of steady valour, to obedient awe
Winning the will’s assent. To some he spake
Of late-earn’d glory; others, new to war, 200
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 205
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 I joy more inspiriting
Fills not the Persian’s soul, when sure he deems 210
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 215
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 220
Strong, they might meet the battle; silent some
Pondering the chances of the coming day,
Some whiling with a careless gaiety
The fearful pause of action.
Thus the French
In such array and high in confident hope 225
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, 231
Their native land, their homes, the friends they loved,
All the rewards of this day’s victory.
But awe had fill’d the English, and they struck
Faintly their shields; for they who had beheld 235
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, 240
As fitted them for fear. The aged Earl
Beheld their drooping valour, 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, 245
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 250
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, 254
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! 260
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, 265
His heart beat high for battle. Such array
Of marshall’d numbers fought not on the field
Of Cressy, nor at Poitiers; 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 271
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 275
Tossing their blazonry, and high-plumed chiefs
Vidames and Seneschalls and Chastellains,
Gay with their bucklers’ gorgeous heraldry,
And silken surcoats to the mid-day sun 279
Glittering.
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;
Rather to manly courage, and the glow
Of honourable thoughts, such as inspire
Ennobling energy. Unhorsed, unspurr’d, 285
Their javelins shorten’d to a wieldy length,
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, 290
When from his seat, on the utmost verge of heaven
That overhangs the void, the Sire of Winds.
Hræsvelger starting, rears his giant bulk,
And from his eagle pinions shakes the storm.
High on her stately steed the martial Maid 295
Rode foremost of the war; her burnish’d arms
Shone like the brook that o’er its pebbled course
Runs glittering gayly to the noon-tide sun.
The foaming courser, of her guiding hand
Impatient, smote the earth, and toss’d his mane,
And rear’d aloft with many a froward bound, 301
Then answered to the rein with such a step,
As, in submission, he were proud to show
His spirit unsubdued. Slow on the air
Waved the white plumes that shadow’d o’er her heim.
Even such, so fair, so terrible in arms, 306
Pelides moved from Scyros, where, conceal’d,
He lay obedient to his mother’s fears
A seemly damsel; thus the youth
appear’d
Terribly graceful, when upon his neck 310
Deidameia hung, and with a look
That spake the tumult of her troubled soul,
Fear, anguish, and upbraiding tenderness,
Gazed on the father of her unborn babe.
An English knight, who eager for renown 315
Late left his peaceful mansion, mark’d the Maid.
Her power miraculous and portentous deeds
He from the troops had heard incredulous,
And scoff’d their easy fears, and vow’d that he,
Proving the magic of this dreaded girl 320
In equal battle, would dissolve the spell,
Powerless opposed to valor. Forth he spurr’d
Before the ranks; she mark’d the coming foe,
And fix’d her lance in rest, and rush’d along.
Midway they met; full on her buckler driven, 325
Shiver’d the English spear: her better force
Drove the brave foeman senseless from his seat
Headlong he fell, nor ever to the sense
Of shame awoke, for crowding multitudes 329
Soon crush’d the helpless warrior.
Then the Maid
Rode through the thickest battle; fast they fell,
Pierced by her forceful spear. Amid the troops
Plunged her strong war-horse, by the noise of arms
Elate and roused to rage, he tramples o’er,
Or with the lance protended from his front, 335
Thrusts down the thronging squadrons. Where she turns
The foe tremble and die. Such ominous fear
Seizes the traveller o’er the trackless sands,
Who marks the dread Simoom across the waste
Sweep its swift pestilence: to earth he falls, 340
Nor dares give utterance to the inward prayer,
Deeming the Genius of the desart breathes
The purple blast of death.
Such was the sound
As when a tempest, mingling air and sea,
Flies o’er the uptorn ocean: dashing high 345
Their foamy heads amid the incumbent clouds,
The madden’d billows with their deafening roar
Drown the loud thunder’s peal. In every form
Of horror, death was there. They fall, transfix’d
By the random arrow’s point, or fierce-thrust lance,
Or sink, all battered by the ponderous mace: 351
Some from their coursers thrown, lie on the earth,
Helpless because of arms, that weak to save,
Lengthened the lingering agonies of death.
But most the English fell, by their own fears 355
Betray’d, for fear the evil that it dreads
Increaseth. Even the chiefs, who many a day
Had met the war and conquer’d, trembled now,
Appall’d before the Maid miraculous.
As the blood-nurtur’d monarch of the wood, 360
That o’er the wilds of Afric in his strength
Resistless ranges, when the mutinous clouds
Burst, and the lightnings through the midnight sky
Dart their red fires, lies fearful in his den,
And howls in terror to the passing storm. 365
But Talbot, fearless where the bravest fear’d
Mow’d down the hostile ranks. The chieftain stood
Like a strong oak, amid the tempest’s rage,
That stands unharm’d, and while the forest falls
Uprooted round, lifts his high head aloft, 370
And nods majestic to the warring wind.
He fought, resolved to snatch the shield of death
And shelter him from shame. The very herd
Who fought near Talbot, though the Virgin’s name
Made their cheeks pale and drove the curdling blood
Back to their hearts, caught from his daring deeds
New force, and went like eaglets to the prey 377
Beneath their mother’s wing: to him they look’d,
Their tower of strength, and follow’d where his sword
Made through the foe a way. Nor did the son 380
Of Talbot shame his lineage; by his sire
Emulous he strove, like the young lionet
When first he bathes his murderous jaws in blood.
They fought intrepid, though amid their ranks
Fear and confusion triumph’d; for such dread 385
Possess’d the English, as the Etruscans felt,
When self-devoted to the infernal gods
The aweful Decius stood before the troops,
Robed in the victim garb of sacrifice, 389
And spake aloud, and call’d the shadowy powers
To give to Rome the conquest, and receive
Their willing prey; then rush’d amid the foe,
And died upon the hecatombs he slew.
But hope inspired the assailants. Xaintrailles there
Spread fear and death, and Orleans’ valiant son 395
Fought as when Warwick fled before his arm.
O’er all pre-eminent for hardiest deeds
Was Conrade. Where he drove his battle-axe,
Weak was the buckler or the helm’s defence,
Hauberk, or plated mail, through all it pierced, 400
Resistless as the fork’d flash of heaven.
The death-doom’d foe, who mark’d the coming chief,
Felt such a chill run through his shivering frame,
As the night-traveller of the Pyrenees,
Lone and bewilder’d on his wintery way, 405
When from the mountains round reverberates
The hungry wolves’ deep yell: on every side,
Their fierce eyes gleaming as with meteor fires,
The famish’d pack come round; the affrighted mule
Snorts loud with terror, on his shuddering limbs 410
The big sweat starts, convulsive pant his sides,
Then on he gallops, wild in desperate speed.
Him dealing death an English knight beheld,
And spurr’d his steed to crush him: Conrade leap’d
Lightly aside, and through the warrior’s grieves 415
Fix’d a deep wound: nor longer could the foe,
Disabled thus, command his mettled horse,
Or his rude plunge endure; headlong he fell,
And perish’d. In his castle-hall was hung
On high his father’s shield, with many a dint 420
Graced on the glorious field of Agincourt.
His deeds the son had heard; and when a boy,
Listening delighted to the old man’s tale,
His little hand would lift the weighty spear
In warlike pastime: he had left behind 425
An infant offspring, and had fondly deem’d
He too in age the exploits of his youth
Should tell, and in the stripling’s bosom rouse
The fire of glory.
Conrade the next foe
Smote where the heaving membrane separates 430
The chambers of the trunk. The dying man,
In his lord’s castle dwelt, for many a year,
A well-beloved servant; he could sing
Carols for Shrove-tide, or for Candlemas,
Songs for the wassel and when the boar’s head, 435
Crown’d with gay garlands and with rosemary,
Smoked on the Christmas board: he went to war
Following the lord he loved, and saw him fall
Beneath the arm of Conrade, and expired,
Slain on his master’s body.
Nor the fight 440
Was doubtful long. Fierce on the invading host
Press the French troops impetuous, as of old,
When pouring o’er his legion slaves on Greece,
The eastern despot bridged the Hellespont,
The rushing sea against the mighty pile 445
Roll’d its full weight of waters; far away
The fearful Satrap mark’d on Asia’s coasts
The floating fragments, and with ominous fear
Trembled for the great king.
Still Talbot strove,
His foot firm planted, his uplifted shield 450
Fencing that breast which never yet had known
The throb of fear. But when the warrior’s eye,
Glancing around the fight, beheld the French
Pressing to conquest, and his heartless troops
Striking with feebler force in backward step, 455
Then o’er his cheek he felt the indignant flush
Of shame, and loud he lifted up his voice,
And cried, “Fly, cravens! leave your aged chief
Here in the front to perish! his old limbs
Are not like yours so supple in the flight. 460
Go tell your countrymen how ye escaped
When Talbot fell!”
In vain the warrior spake,
In the uproar of the fight his voice was lost;
And they, the nearest, who had heard, beheld
The Prophetess approach, and every thought
Was overwhelm’d in terror. But the son 466
Of Talbot mark’d her thus across the plain
Careering fierce in conquest, and the hope
Of glory rose within him. Her to meet
He spurr’d his horse, by one decisive deed 470
Or to retrieve the battle, or to fall
With honour. Each beneath the others’ blow
Bow’d down; their lances shiver’d with the shock:
To earth their coursers fell: at once they rose,
He from the saddle bow his falchion caught 475
Rushing to closer combat, and she bared
The lightning of her sword. In vain the youth
Essay’d to pierce those arms which even the power
Of time was weak to injure: she the while 479
Through many a wound beheld her foeman’s blood
Ooze fast. “Yet save thyself!” the Maiden cried.
“Me thou canst not destroy: be timely wise,
And live!” He answer’d not, but lifting high
His weapon, smote with fierce and forceful arm
Full on the Virgin’s helm: fire from her eyes 485
Flash’d with the stroke: one step she back recoil’d,
Then in his breast plunged deep the sword of death.
Talbot beheld his fall; on the next foe,
With rage and anguish wild, the warrior turn’d;
His ill-directed weapon to the earth 490
Drove down the unwounded Frank: he strikes again
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 18