Joan of Arc — Book 2

NO more of Usurpation's doom'd defeat,Ere we the deep preluding strain have pour'dTo the Great Father, Only Rightful King,Eternal Father! King Omnipotent!Beneath whose shadowy banners wide unfurl'd5Justice leads forth her tyrant-quelling Hosts,Such Symphony requires best Instrument.Seize then my Soul! from Freedom's trophied DomeThe Harp which hanging high between the shieldsOf Brutus and Leonidas, oft gives10A fitful music to the breezy touchOf patriot Spirits that demand their fame.For what is Freedom, but the unfetter'd use

Of all the Powers which God for use had given?But chiefly this, with holiest habitude15Of constant Faith, him First, him Last to viewThro' meaner powers and secondary thingsEffulgent, as thro' clouds that veil his blaze.For all that meets the bodily sense I deemSymbolical, one mighty alphabet20For infant minds; and we in this low worldPlaced with our backs to bright Reality,That we may learn with young unwounded kenThings from their shadows. Know thyself my Soul!Confirm'd thy strength, thy pinions fledged for flight25Bursting this shell and leaving next thy nestSoon upward soaring shalt thou fix intenseThine eaglet eye on Heaven's eternal Sun!But some there are who deem themselves most free,When they within this gross and visible sphere30Chain down the winged thought, scoffing ascentProud in their meanness: and themselves they cheatWith noisy emptiness of learned phrase,

Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences,Self-working Tools, uncaus'd Effects, and all35Those blind Omniscients, those Almighty Slaves,Untenanting Creation of its God.

But Properties are God: the naked massActs only by its inactivity.Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier think40That as one body is the aggregateOf atoms numberless, each organiz'd;So by a strange and dim similitude,Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds

Form one all-conscious Spirit, who directs45With absolute ubiquity of thoughtAll his component monads, that yet seemWith various province and apt agencyEach to pursue its own self-centering end.Some nurse the infant diamond in the mine;50Some roll the genial juices thro' the oak;Some drive the mutinous clouds to clash in air;And rushing on the storm with whirlwind speedYoke the red lightning to their vollying car.Thus these pursue their never-varying course,55No eddy in their stream. Others more wild,With complex interests weaving human fates,Duteous or proud, alike obedient all,Evolve the process of eternal good.

And what if some rebellious, o'er dark realms60Arrogate power? yet these train up to God,And on the rude eye unconfirm'd for dayFlash meteor lights better than total gloom.As ere from Lieule-Oaive's vapoury head

The Laplander beholds the far-off sun65Dart his slant beam on unobeying snows,While yet the stern and solitary NightBrooks no alternate sway, the Boreal MornWith mimic lustre substitutes its gleamGuiding his course, or by Niemi's lake70Or Balda-Zhiok, or the mossy stoneOf Solfar-Kapper, while the snowy blastDrifts arrowy by, or eddies round his sledgeMaking the poor babe at its mother's backScream in its scanty cradle: he the while75

Wins gentle solace as with upward eyeHe marks the streamy banners of the North,Thinking, himself those happy spirits shall joinWho there in floating robes of rosy lightDance sportively. For Fancy is the power80That first unsensualizes the dark mindGiving it new delights; and bids it swellWith wild activity; and peopling air,By obscure fears of Beings invisibleEmancipates it from the grosser thrall85Of the present impulse, teaching self controul'Till Superstition with unconscious handSeat Reason on her throne. Wherefore not vain,Nor yet without permitted power impressed,I deem those legends terrible, with which90The polar Ancient thrills his uncouth throng:Whether of pitying Spirits that make their moanO'er slaughter'd infants, or that Giant Bird

Vuokho, of whose rushing wings the noiseIs Tempest, when the unutterable Shape95Speeds from the Mother of Death his destin'd wayTo snatch the murderer from his secret cell!Or if the Greenland Wizard in strange trancePierces the untravell'd realms of ocean's bed(Where live the innocent, as far from cares100As from the storms and overwhelming wavesDark-tumbling on the surface of the deep)Over the abysm even to that uttermost caveBy mishap'd Prodigies beleager'd, suchAs Earth ne'er bred, nor Air, nor the upper Sea.105There dwells the fury Form, whose unheard nameWith eager eye, pale cheek, suspended breathUnsleeping Silence guards, worn out with fear

Lest haply escaping on some treacherous blastThe fatal Sound let slip the Elements 110And frenzy Nature. Yet the wizard her,Arm'd with Torngarsuck's power, the Spirit of good,Forces to unchain the foodful progenyOf the Ocean stream. Wild phantasies! yet wise,On the victorious goodness of high God 115Teaching Reliance and medicinal Hope,'Till, from Bethabra northward, heavenly TruthWith gradual steps winning her difficult wayTransfer their rude Faith perfected and pure.

If there be Beings of higher class than Man, 120I deem no nobler province they possessThan by disposal of apt circumstanceTo rear some realm with patient discipline,Aye bidding Pain, dark Error's uncouth child,Blameless Parenticide! his snakey scourge 125Lift fierce against his Mother! Thus they makeOf transient Evil ever-during Good

Themselves probationary, and deniedConfessed to view by preternatural deedTo overwhelm the will, save on some fated day130Headstrong, or with petition'd might from God.

And such perhaps the guardian Power whose kenStill dwelt on France. He from the Invisible WorldBurst on the Maiden's eye, impregning AirWith Voices and strange Shapes, illusions apt,135Shadowy of Truth. And first a landscape roseMore wild and waste and desolate, than whereThe white bear drifting on a field of iceHowls to her sunder'd cubs with piteous rageAnd savage agony. Mid the drear scene140A craggy mass uprear'd its misty brow,Untouch'd by breath of Spring, unwont to knowRed Summer's influence, or the chearful faceOf Autumn; yet its fragments many and hugeAstounded ocean with the dreadful dance 145Of whirlpools numberless, absorbing oft

The blameless fisher at his perilous toil.Upon the topmost height the Maiden sawA meteor-lighted dome: to every blastShook the wide fabric, tottering as to fall,150For ever tottering; round the tempests yell'dTremendous, music hoarse! yet to the earOf him who there had rule, the Dynast stern,Not undelightful. His perturbed flightAnxious and gloomy, speeding hitherwards,155She saw the dark-wing'd Shape: with all it's towersThe palace nods: such was Ambition's voice!Obedient first, fierce servant of fierce Lord,Cowl'd Superstition comes, her loosen'd robesFloat on the breeze and half exposed to view160The rusted dagger. By her side crept onMitred Hypocrisy, with meekest mienAnd step demure, and cross, which to his heartHe prest, and seem'd with heaven-ward eye to pourThe pious prayer; yet never prayer he pour'd165Save when with secret glance he view'd the crowd

Admiring near. Revenge unwilling quitsThe mangled corse; and prodigal of deathNext Slaughter strode; his falchion yet unsheath'dReeks from the wound, loose flow his long black locks,170The wide roll of his eye is terrible,And each limb quivers. Cruelty comes next,With savage smile grasping a widowed dove.And Fury next beating her own swoln breastRush'd at the call: and Envy hideous form175Gnawing her flesh, and tearing from her headThe viper turn'd to bite: and Horror wildWith creeping flesh. Despair his sullen armsFolded; aye muttering dark and half-form'd wordsOf dreadful import. Aged Avarice next180Hugg'd to his heart his bags, and cast around(Unwilling tho' to lose the golden sight,)The fearful look. And fitful JealousyAnxious for misery came: and feverish LustHot from the convent. Palsied Fear fled on,185And ever as he fled his ghastly eye

Reverts. Then stalk'd along the giant formOf proud Oppression, on his crowned browSate Desolation, and his pityless frownDispeopled countries: him behind a train190Loathly and horrible, of nameless fiendsOutnumbering locusts. Last, as fill'd with fearSuspicion ever-watchful clos'd the train:Pale meagre spectre, ribb'd with iron plates,Sleepless, and fearful of the friendly meal,195Worn out with anxious vigilance of life.

These at the palace meet, there, porter fit,Remorse for ever his sad vigils kept,His heart the viper's feast: worn down his face,If face it were when scarce the shrivell'd skin200Wrap'd o'er the bone, proclaim'd the gnawing pang:Inly he groan'd, or starting wildly, shriek'd,Aye as the fabric tottering from its baseThreaten'd destruction, tho' oft announc'd withheld,Tho' still withheld, expected.

These the Maid205Mark'd as they steer'd their dusky flight along;And lo! she was amidst them.Paved with bonesThe floor breath'd pestilence: the emblazon'd wallsWith ensigns and with blood-stain'd arms were hung,The trophies of Ambition.On his throne210That Form portentous rear'd his giant bulk,More huge than he, who with his hundred armsScatter'd confusion o'er the host of GodsBriareus: or the monster brethren twain,Whose stature swelling every hour gave hopes215Of equalling highest Heaven: nor larger heIllusive, 'gainst whose head the thunderer ThorSped frustrate his full force. A sable helmShades his brown face, where glow'd thro' each dark tintThe fire of anger; in his hand he grasp'd 220

The desolating spear: his broad black browIn thought contracted spake his brooding soul,Sullenly silent."Maid beloved of Heaven!"(To her the tutelary Power exclaimed)"Of Chaos the adventurous progeny225Thou seest; foul missionaries of foul sire,Fierce to regain the losses of that hourWhen Love rose glittering, and his gorgeous wingsOver the abyss flutter'd with such glad noise,As what time after long and pestful Calms230With slimy shapes and miscreated lifePois'ning the vast Pacific, the fresh breezeWakens the merchant sail, uprising. NightAn heavy unimaginable moanSent forth, when she the Protoplast beheld235Stand beauteous on Confusion's charmed wave.Moaning she fled, and entered the ProfoundThat leads with downward windings to the CaveOf darkness palpable, desart of Deaths,

Sunk deep beneath Gehenna's many roots.240There many a dateless age the Beldame lurk'dAnd trembled: till engender'd by fierce Hate,Fierce Hate and gloomy Hope, a Dream aroseShap'd like a black cloud mark'd with streaks of fire.It rous'd the Hell-hag: she the dew-damps wip'd245From off her brow, and thro' the uncouth mazeRetraced her steps; but ere she reach'd the mouthOf that drear labyrinth, shudd'ring she paus'dNor dar'd re-enter the diminish'd Gulph.As thro' the dark vaults of some moulder'd tower250(Which fearful to approach, the evening hindCircles at distance in his homeward way)The winds breathe hollow, deem'd the plaining groanOf prison'd spirits; with such fearful voiceNight murmur'd, and the sound thro' Chaos went.255Leapt at the call her hideous-fronted brood!A dark behest they heard, and rush'd on earth,Since that sad hour in camps and courts adoredRebels from God and Monarchs o'er Mankind!

These are the fiends that o'er thy native land 260Spread Guilt and Horror. Maid belov'd of Heaven!Dar'st thou inspir'd by the holy flame of LoveEncounter such fell shapes, nor fear to meetTheir wrath, their wiles? O Maiden, dar'st thou die?

"Father of Heaven! I will not fear, she said 265My arm is weak, but mighty is thy sword.

She spake and as she spake the trump was heardThat echoed ominous o'er the streets of Rome,When the first Cæsar totter'd o'er the graveBy Freedom delv'd: the Trump, whose chilling blast 270On Marathon and on Platæa's plainScatter'd the Persian. From his obscure hauntShriek'd Fear, the ghastliest of Ambition's throng,Fev'rish yet freezing, eager paced, yet slow;As she that creeps from forth her swampy reeds 275Ague, the biform Hag! when early SpringBeams on the marsh-bred vapours. "Lo! she goes!

To Orleans lo! she goes—the Mission'd Maid!The Victor Hosts wither beneath her arm!And what are Crecy, Poictiers, Azincour280But noisy echoes in the ear of Pride?"Ambition heard and startled on his throne;But strait a smile of savage joy illum'dHis grisly features, like the sheety BurstOf Lightning o'er the awaken'd midnight clouds285Wide-flash'd. For lo! a flaming pile reflectsIts red light fierce and gloomy on the faceOf Superstition and her goblin Son,Loud-laughing Cruelty, who to the stakeA female fix'd, of bold and beauteous mien,290Her snow-white Limbs by iron fetters bruis'd,Her breast expos'd. JOAN saw, she saw and knewHer perfect image. Nature thro' her frameOne pang shot shiv'ring; but, that frail pang soonDismiss'd, "Even so" (the exulting Maiden said)295"The sainted Heralds of Good Tidings fell,And thus they witness'd God! But now the Clouds

Treading, and Storms beneath their feet, they soarHigher, and higher soar, and soaring singLoud Songs of Triumph! O ye Spirits of God,300Hover around my mortal agonies!"She spake: and instantly faint melodyMelts on her ear, soothing, and sad, and slow,Such measures as at calmy midnight heardBy aged Hermit in his holy dream305Foretell and solace death: and now they riseLouder, as when with harp and mingled voiceThe white-rob'd multitude of slaughter'd SaintsAt Heaven's wide-open'd portals gratulantReceive some martyr'd Patriot. The harmony310Entranc'd the maid, 'till each suspended senseBrief slumber seiz'd and confus'd extacy.At length awak'ning slow she gaz'd around;But lo! no more was seen the ice-pil'd mount.

And meteor-lighted dome. An Isle appear'd,315It's high, o'erhanging, rough, broad-breasted cliffsGlass'd on the subject ocean. A vast plainStretch'd opposite, where ever and anonThe Ploughman following sad his meagre teamTurn'd up fresh skulls unstartled, and the bones320Of fierce, hate-breathing Combatants, who thereAll mingled lay beneath the common earth,Death's gloomy reconcilement! O'er the fieldsStepp'd a fair Form repairing all she might,Her temples olive-wreath'd; and where she trod,325Fresh flowrets rose and many a foodful herb.But wan her cheek, her footsteps insecure,And anxious pleasure beam'd in her faint eye,As she had newly left a couch of pain,Pale Convalescent! (Yet some time to rule330With power exclusive o'er the willing world,That blest prophetic Mandate then fulfill'd,Peace be on earth!) An happy while but briefShe seem'd to wander with assiduous feet,

And heal'd the recent harm of chill or blight,335And nurs'd each plant that fair and virtuous grew.But soon a deep precursive sound moan'd hollow:Black rose the clouds, and now, (as in a dream)Their red'ning shapes transform'd to warrior hotss,Cours'd o'er the Sky, and battled in mid air.340The Sea meantime his Billows darkest roll'd,And each stain'd wave dash'd on the shore a corse.Nor did not the large blood-drops fall from HeavenPortentous! while aloft were seen to float,His hideous features blended with the mist,345The long black locks of Slaughter. Peace beheld,And o'er the plain with oft-reverted eyeFled, till a place of Tombs she reach'd, and thereWithin a ruin'd sepulchre obscureFound hiding-place.The delegated Maid 350Gaz'd thro' her tears, then in sad tones exclaim'd,"Thou mild-ey'd Form! wherefore ah! wherefore fled?The name of Justice written on thy brow

Resplendent shone; but all they, who unblam'dDwelt in thy dwellings, call thee Happiness.355Ah! why uninjurd and unprofitedShould multitudes against their brethren rush?Why sow they guilt, still reaping misery!Lenient of care, thy songs, O Peace! are sweet,As after showers the perfum'd gale of Eve,360That plays around the sick man's throbbing temples;And gay thy grassy altar pil'd with fruits.But boasts the shrine of Daemon War one charm?Save that with many an orgie strange and foulDancing around with interwoven arms365The Maniac Suicide and Giant MurderExult in their fierce union! I am sad,And know not why the simple Peasants croudBeneath the Chieftain's standard!" Thus the Maid.To her the tutelary Spirit reply'd,370"When Luxury and Lust's exhausted storesNo more can rouse the appetites of Kings;When the low Flattery of their reptile Lords

Falls flat and heavy on the accustomed ear;When Eunuchs sing, and Fools buffoon'ry make,375And Dancers writhe their harlot limbs in vain:Then War and all its dread vicissitudesPleasingly agitate their stagnant hearts,Its hopes, its fears, its victories, its defeats,Insipid Royalty's keen Condiment.380Therefore, uninjur'd and unprofited(Victims at once and executioners)The congregated Husbandmen lay wasteThe Vineyard and the Harvest: as alongThe Bothnic Coast or southward of the Line385Though hush'd the Winds, and cloudless the high Noon,Yet if Leviathan, weary of ease,In sports unwieldy toss his island bulk,Ocean behind him billows, and, before,A storm of Waves breaks foamy on the strand.390And hence for times and seasons bloody and darkShort Peace shall skin the wounds of causeless War,And War, his strained sinews knit anew,

Still violate th' unfinished Works of Peace.But yonder look—for more demands thy view."395

He said; and straightway from the opposite IsleA Vapor rose, pierc'd by the Maiden's eye.Guiding its course Oppression sate within,With terror pale and rage, yet laugh'd at timesMusing on Vengeance: trembled in his hand 400A Sceptre fiercely-grasp'd. O'er ocean westwardThe Vapor sail'd, as when a Cloud exhal'dFrom Ægypt's fields, that steam hot Pestilence,Travels the sky for many a trackless league,'Till o'er some death-doom'd Land distant in vain 405It broods incumbent. Forthwith from the PlainFacing the Isle, a brighter Cloud aroseAnd steer'd its course which way the Vapor went.Envy sate guiding—Envy, hag abhorr'd!Like Justice mask'd, and doom'd to aid the fight 410Victorious 'gainst Oppression. Hush'd awhileThe Maiden paus'd, musing what this might mean;

But long time pass'd not, ere that brighter CloudReturned more bright: along the Plain it swept;And soon from forth its bursting sides emerg'd415A dazzling Form, broad-bosom'd, bold of Eye,And wild her hair save where by Laurels bound.Not more majestic stood the healing GodWhen from his Bow the arrow sped, that slewHuge Python. Shriek'd Ambition's ghastly throng,420And with them those, the locust Fiends that crawl'dAnd glitter'd in Corruption's slimy track.Great was their wrath, for short they knew their reign.And such Commotion made they and UproarAs when the mad Tornado bellows thro'425The guilty Islands of the western main,What time departing for their native shores,Eboe, or Koromantyn's plain of Palms,The infuriate Spirits of the Murder'd make

Fierce merriment, and vengeance ask of Heaven.430Warm'd with new Influence the unwholsome PlainSent up its foulest fogs to meet the Morn:The Sun, that rose on Freedom, rose in blood!

"Maiden beloved, and Delegate of Heaven!(To her the tutelary Spirit said)435

Soon shall the Morning struggle into Day,The stormy Morning into cloudless Noon.Much hast thou seen, nor all can'st understand—But this be thy best Omen, Save thy Country!"Thus saying, from the answering Maid he pass'd,440And with him disappear'd the goodly Vision.

"Glory to thee, Father of Earth and Heaven!All-conscious Presence of the Universe!Nature's vast ever-acting Energy!In will, in deed, Impulse of All to all;445Whether thy Law with unrefracted RayBeam on the Prophet's purged Eye, or ifDiseasing Realms the Enthusiast wild of thoughtScatter new frenzies on the infected Throng,Thou Both inspiring, and predooming Both,450Fit Instruments and best of perfect End.Glory to thee, Father of Earth and Heaven!"

Return, adven'trous Song! to where Dunois

With eager ear heard from the Maid her taleOf early youth and Mission from on high.455And now beneath the Horizon west'ring slowHad sunk the orb of Day: a milder LightSoften'd the scene, fading thro' every hue'Till twilight's deep'ning mists o'ershadow'd all.The trav'llers wend, beguiling the long way460With converse, 'till the dewy Damps of NightRose round. Far off a glimm'ring taper's rayGleam'd thro' the embowered gloom: to that they turn.An aged man came forth; his scant grey locksWaved on the night breeze. Time had written deep465On his shrunk face the characters of age.Them louting low with rustic courtesyHe welcom'd in, on the white-ember'd hearthThen heapt fresh fuel, and with friendly careSpread out the homely board: fatigued they eat470The country cakes and quaff the nut-brown bowl.

"Strangers, your fare is homely," said their Host,

But such as we poor men earn with hard toil:In faith ye are welcome to it. I do loveA soldier, my old heart seems young again.475Poor and decrepit as I am, my armOnce grasp'd the sword full firmly, and my limbsWere strong as thine, Sir Warrior! God be with theeAnd send thee better fortune than old Bertram!I would that I were young again to meet480These haughty English in the field of fight.Such as I was when on the fatal plainOf Azincour I met them.""Wert thou thenA sharer in that dreadful day's defeat?"Exclaim'd the Bastard, "didst thou know the chief485Of Orleans?""Know him! the old veteran cried,I saw him ere the bloody fight beganRiding from rank to rank, his beaver up,The long lance quivering in his mighty grasp.Full was his eye and fierce, yet beaming still490

On all his countrymen chearful and mildWinning all hearts. Looking at thee Sir KnightMethinks I see him now, such was his eyeSo mild in peace, such was his manly brow.Beshrew me but I weep at the remembrance."495

"Full was his eye," exclaim'd the Bastard SonOf Orleans, "yet it beam'd benevolence.I never yet saw love so dignified!There lived not one his vassal but adoredThe good the gallant Chief. Amid his halls500High blazed the hospitable hearth, the pilgrimOf other countries seeing his high towersRejoiced, for he had often heard of Orleans:He lives, my brother! bound in the hard chainHe lives most wretched."The big tear roll'd down 505The Warriors cheeks, "but he shall live, Dunois,"Exclaim'd the Mission'd Maid, "but he shall live

To hear good tidings; hear of Liberty,Of his own liberty by his brother's armAtchiev'd in hard fought battle. He shall live510Happy. The memory of his prison'd yearsShall heighten all his joys, and his grey hairsGo to the grave in peace.""I would fain liveTo see that day," replied their aged hoft,How would my heart leap once more to behold515The gallant generous chieftain! I fought by himWhen all the hopes of victory were lost,And down his batter'd arms the blood stream'd fastFrom many a wound. Like wolves they hemm'd us inFierce in unhoped for conquest: all around520Our dead and dying countrymen lay heap'd.Yet still he strove, I wondered at his valour!Was not a man that on that fatal day

Fought bravelier.""Fatal was that day to France,"Exclaim'd the Bastard, "there Alencon died525Valiant in vain; and he the haughty chiefD'Albert, who rashly arrogant of strengthImpetuous rush'd to ruin. Brabant fell,Vaudemont and Marie, and Bar, and Faquenberg,Her noblest warriors, daring in despair530Fought the fierce foe—ranks fell on ranks before them;The prisoners of that shameful day out-summ'dTheir victors!""There are those," old Bertram cried,"Who for his deeds will honor Henry's name.That honor that a conqueror may deserve535He merits, for right valiantly he foughtOn that disastrous day; but when the field

Was won, and those who had escaped the carnageHad yielded up their arms, it was most foulOn his defenceless prisoners to glut540The blunted sword of conquest. Girt aroundI to their mercy had surrendered me,When lo! I heard the dreadful groan of death—Not as amid the fray, when man met manAnd in fair combat gave the mortal blow;545Here the poor captives, weaponless and boundSaw their stern victors draw again the sword,And groan'd and strove in vain to free their handsAnd bade them think upon their plighted faithAnd pray'd for mercy in the name of God550In vain: Their King had bade them massacre,And in their helpless prisoners' naked breastsThey drove the sword. Then I expected deathAnd at that moment death was terrible;

For the heat of flight was over; of my home555I thought, and of my wife and little onesIn bitterness of heart. The gallant man,Whose by the chance of war I had become,Had pity, and he loos'd my hands and said,Frenchman! I would have killed thee in the battle560But my arm shrinks at murder—get thee hence.""It was the will of heaven that I should liveChildless and old to think upon the pastAnd wish that I had perish'd!"The old manWept as he spake. "Ye may perhaps have heard565Of the hard siege so long by Rouen endur'd.I dwelt there strangers, I had then a wifeAnd I had children tenderly beloved,Who I did hope should cheer me in old ageAnd close mine eyes. The tale of Misery570May-hap were tedious, or I could relateMuch of that dreadful siege."The Maid replied

Anxious of that devoted town to learn.Thus then the veteran—"From that field of shameTo France so fatal, Azincour, escap'd;575I speeded homewards and abode in peace.Henry as wise as brave had back to EnglandLed his victorious army; well awareThat France was mighty, that her warrior sons,Impatient of a foreign victor's sway,580Might rise impetuous, and with multitudesTread down the invaders. Wisely he return'd,For the proud Barons in their private broilsWasted the strength of France. I dwelt at homePeaceful though lowly, with my little store585Content. I lov'd around the cheerful hearthTo tell of all the perils I had known:

My children they would sit and listen eager,And bless the all-good Father who preserv'd me.

"Ah me—when war the masters of mankind,590Woe to the poor man! If he sow the field,He shall not reap the harvest: if he seeHis blooming children rise around, his heartAches at the thought that they are multipliedTo the sword! Again from England the fierce foe 595Rush'd on our ravag'd coasts. In battle bold,Savage in conquest, their victorious KingSwept like the desolating tempest round.Dambiere's submits—on Caen's subjected wallsProudly in conquest wav'd the English flag.600Bulwark of Normandy, Rouen still remain'd;Nor unresisted round our massy wallsFix'd they their camp. I need not tell Sir KnightHow oft and boldly on th' invading hostWe burst with fierce assault impetuous forth;605For many were the warrior Sons of Rouen.

O'er all that gallant Citizen was fam'dFor virtuous hardihood praeminentBlanchard. He, gathering his compatriots round,With his own courage kindling every breast,610Had bade them vow before Almighty GodNever to yield them to the usurping foeWhile yet their arms could lift the spear; while yetLife was to think of every pledge that manMost values. To the God of Hosts we vow'd;615And we had baffled the besieging power,But our cold-hearted Foeman drew aroundHis strong entrenchments. From the watch-tower's topIn vain with fearful hearts along the SeineWe strain'd the eye, and every distant wave620That in the sun-beam glitter'd, fondly thought

The white sail of supply. Ah me! no moreRose on our aching sight the food-fraught bark;For guarded was the Seine, and our stern foeHad made a league with Famine. How my heart 625Sunk in me when at night I carried homeThe scanty pittance of to-morrow's meal!You know not, strangers! what it is to seeThe asking eye of hunger!"Still we stroveExpecting aid, till sickening Expectation630Felt never hope, and yet most keen the pangOf disappointment. Tho' with christian zealUrsino would have pour'd the balm of peace

Into our wounds, ambitious ear best pleas'dWith the War's clamor and the groan of Death,635Was deaf to prayer. Day after day fled on;We heard no voice of comfort; never aidArriv'd. And now the loathliest food was sought,And now the wretched ones lay in our streetsCrying for food, and dying as they cry'd—640Oh God it was a dreadful sight to see!Yet still we struggled nobly. Blanchard stillSpoke of the savage fury of the foe,Of captives massacred at Azincour,Of ravaged Caen, and of her gallant sons645In cold blood murder'd. Then his scanty food

Sharing with the most wretched, he would bid usBear with our miseries cheerly."Thus distress'dLest all should perish thus, our chieftains doom'dThe helpless ones—dreadful alternative,650To seek their fates. I never shall forgetThe horrors of that hour! Oh God forbidThat my worst foe should ever feel such pangs.Then as our widow wives clung round our necks,And the deep sob of anguish interrupted655The prayer of parting—even the pious priestAs he implor'd his God to strengthen us,And told us we should meet again in Heaven,He groan'd and curs'd in bitterness of heartThat merciless man—The wretched crowd pass'd on: 660My wife—my children—thro' the gates they pass'd—Then the gates clos'd Would I were in my graveThat I might lose remembrance."What is man

That he can hear the groan of wretchednessAnd feel no fleshly pang! Why did the All-Good665Create these warrior scourges of mankind,These who delight in slaughter? I did thinkThere was not on this earth a heart so hardCould hear a famish'd woman cry For bread,And know no pity. As the outcast train 670Drew near, the English Monarch bade his troopsForce back the miserable multitude.They drove them to the walls—it was the depthOf Winter—we had no relief to grant.The aged ones groan'd to our foe in vain,675The mother pleaded for her dying childAnd they felt no remorse!"The Mission'd MaidStarts from her seat—"The old and the infirm

The mother and her babes—and yet no lightningBlasted this man!""Aye Lady," Bertram cried, 680"And when we sent the herald to imploreHis mercy on the helpless, he relax'dHis stern face into savage merriment,Scoffing their agonies. On the high wallI stood and mark'd the miserable outcasts,685And every moment thought that Henry's heart,Hard as it was, must feel. All night I stood—Their deep groans sounded on the midnight gale.

Fainter they grew, for the cold wintry windBlew bleak; fainter they grew, and at the last690All was still, save that ever and anonSome mother shriek'd o'er her expiring childThe shriek of frenzying anguish."From that hourOn all the busy turmoil of the worldI gaz'd with strange indifference; bearing want695With the sick patience of a mind worn out.Nor when the Traitor yielded up our townOught heeded I as through our ruin'd streets,Thro' putrid heaps of famish'd carcassesPass'd the long pomp of triumph. One keen pang700I felt, when by that bloody King's commandThe gallant Blanchard died. Calmly he died,And as he bow'd beneath the axe, thank'd GodThat he had done his duty.

"I survive,A solitary friendless wretched one,705Knowing no joy save in the faith I feelThat I shall soon be gather'd to my sires,And soon repose there where the wicked ceaseFrom troubling, and the weary are at rest.

"And happy, cried the delegated Maid,710And happy they who in that holy faithBow meekly to the rod! a little whileShall they endure the proud man's contumely,The hard wrongs of the great. A little whileTho' shelterless they feel the wintry wind,715The wind shall whistle o'er their turf-grown grave,And all beneath be peace. But woe to those,Woe to the Mighty Ones who send abroadTheir train'd assassins, and who give to FuryThe flaming firebrand; these indeed shall live720The heroes of the wand'ring minstrel's song,But they have their reward: the innocent blood

Steams up to Heaven against them.—God shall hearThe widow's groan."So spake she and arose,And they betook them to their homely rest.725

Ω σκοτου πυλας, Θανατε, προλειπωνΕς γενος σπευδοις υποζευχθεν Ατᾳ.Ου ξενισθησῃ γενυων σπαραγμοιςΟυδ' ολολυγμω,

Αλλα και κυκλοισι χοροιτυποισιΚ'ασματων χαρα· φοβερος μεν εσσι,Αλλ' ομως Ελευθεριᾳ συνοικεῖς,Στυγνε Τυραννε!

Δασκιοις επει πτερυγεσσι σησιΑ! θαλασσιον καθορωντες οιδμαΑιθεροπλαγτοις υπο ποσσ' ανεισιΠατριδ' επ' αιαν.

Ενθα μαν Εραςαι ΕρῳμενησινΑμφι πηγησιν κιτρινων υπ' αλσων,Οσσ' υπο βροτοις επαθον βροτοι, ταΔεινα λεγοντι.