For loss on loss, defeat upon defeat,
His strong holds taken, and his bravest chiefs
Or dead or captur'd, and the hopes of youth
All blasted, have subdued the royal mind,
Undisciplin'd in Fortitude's stern school.
So may thy voice arouse his sleeping virtues!"
The mission'd maid replied, "Go thou, Dunois,
Announce my mission to the royal ear.
I on the river's winding banks the while
Would roam, collecting for high enterprise
My thoughts, troubled though firm. He who essays
Achievements of vast import, will perforce
Feel his heart heave; and in my breast I feel
Such perturbation."
On the banks of Vienne
Devious the Damsel turn'd. Through Chinon's gates
The Son of Orleans press'd with rapid step,
Seeking the king. Him from the public view
He found secluded with his blameless queen,
And her, partaker of the unlawful bed,
The lofty-minded Agnes.
So as he enter'd cried the haughty fair,
"Thou art well come to witness the disgrace,
The weak, unmanly, mean despondency
Of this thy Sovereign Liege. He will retreat
To distant Dauphine and fly the war!
Go then, unworthy of thy rank! retreat
To distant Dauphine, and fly the war,
Recreant from battle! I will not partake
A fugitive's fate; when thou hast lost thy crown
Thou hast lost Agnes.-Dost not blush, Dunois!
To bleed in combat for a Prince like this,
Fit only, like the Merovingian race,
On a May23 morning deck'd with flowers, to mount
His gay-bedizened car, and ride abroad
And make the multitude a holyday.
Go, Charles and hide thee in a woman's garb,
And these long locks will not disgrace thee then!"
"Nay, Agnes!" Charles replied, "reproach me not, I have enough of sorrow. Look around, See this fair country ravaged by the foe,
My strong holds taken, and my bravest chiefs
Fall'n in the field, or captives far away.
Dead is the Douglas; cold thy warrior frame,
Illustrious Buchan; ye from Scotland's hills,
Not mindless of your old ally distress'd,
Rush'd to his succour: in his cause ye fought,
For him ye perish'd. Rash, impetuous Narbonne
Thy mangled corse waves to the winds of heaven.
Cold, Graville, is thy sinewy arm in death;
Fall'n is Ventadaur; silent in the grave
Rambouillet sleeps: Bretagne's unfaithful chief
Leagues with my foes, and Richemont, or in arms
Defies my weak control, or from my side,
A friend more dreaded than the enemy,
Drives my best servants with the assassin sword.
Soon must the towers of Orleans fall!-But now
These sad thoughts boot not. Welcome to our court,
Dunois! We yet can give the friendly feast,
And from the heavy cares of empire win
One hospitable day of merriment."
The Chief replied: "So may thy future years
Pass from misfortune free, as all these ills
Shall vanish like a vision of the night!
To thee, to France I come the messenger
Of aid from Heaven. The delegated Maid
With me, whom Providence all-wise decrees
The saviour of the realm;-a holy Maid,
Bearing strange promise of miraculous things;
One whom it were not possible to hear
And disbelieve."
Astonish'd by his speech
Stood Charles. "At one of meaner estimation
I should have smil'd, Dunois. Thy well-known worth, The loyalty of all thy noble house,
Compel me even to this, a most strange tale,
To lend a serious ear. A woman sent
From Heaven, the Saviour of this wasted realm,
One whom it were not possible to hear
And disbelieve! Dunois, ill now beseems
Ought wild and hazardous; the throne of France
Totters upon destruction. Is my person
The Bastard answer'd, "ignorant of courts,
And little heeding, till the spirit of God
Rous'd her to this great work."
To him the king: "If, then, she knows me not, abide thou here, And hither, by a speedy messenger,
Summon the Maiden. On the throne, meantime,
I the while mingling with the menial throng,
Some courtier shall be seated. If this Maid
Be by the holy spirit of God inspir'd,
That holy spirit will gift her with the power
To pierce deception. But if, strange of mind,
Enthusiast fancy fire her wilder'd brain,
Thus proved, she to obscurity again
May guiltlessly retire. Our English foes
Might well exult to see the sons of France
Led by a frenzied female." So he said;
And, with a doubtful hope, the son of Orleans
Dispatched a speedy messenger, to seek
Beside the banks of Vienne, the mission'd Maid.
Soon is the court convened; the jewell'd crown
Shines on a menial's head. Amid the throng
The monarch stands, and anxious for the event,
His heart beats high. She comes, the inspired Maid!
And as the Bastard led her to the throne,
Quick glancing o'er the mimic Majesty,
Fix'd full her eye on Charles.
"Thou art the King. I come the avenging delegate of Heaven, Wielding the wrathful weapon, from whose death, Their stern arts palsied by the arm of God, Far, far from Orleans shall the English wolves Speed their disastrous flight. Monarch of France! Spread the good tidings through thy ravaged realm! The Maid is come, the mission'd Maid, whose hand Shall in the consecrated walls of Rheims Crown thee the anointed king."
The courtiers heard. The astonish'd king exclaim'd, "This is indeed the agency of Heaven!
Hard, Maiden, were I of belief," he cried,
"Did I not now, with full and confirm'd faith,
Thee the redeemer of this ravaged realm
Believe. Not doubting, therefore, the strange will
Of the all-wise Providence, delay I now
Instant to marshal the brave sons of France
Beneath thy banners; but to satisfy
Those who at distance from this most clear proof
May hear and disbelieve, or yield at best
A cold assent. These fully to confirm,
And more to manifest thy holy power,
Forthwith with all due speed I shall convene
The Doctors of Theology, wise men,
And skilful in the mysteries of Heaven.
By these thy mission studied and approved,
As needs it must, their sanction to all minds
Shall bring conviction, and the firm belief
Lead on thy favour'd troops to mightiest deeds,
Surpassing human credibility."
Well pleas'd the Maiden heard. Her the king leads
From the disbanding throng, meantime to dwell
With Mary. Watchful for her lord's return
She sat with Agnes; Agnes, proud of heart,
Majestically fair, whose large full eye
Or flashing anger, or with scornful scowl,
Deform'd her beauteous features. Yet with her,
The lawless idol of the monarch's heart,
Mary, obedient to her husband's will,
Dwelt peaceful, from the proudly-generous mind
Of Agnes winning friendship. Soon the Maid
Lov'd the mild queen, and sojourning with her,
Expects the solemn summons.
Through the realm
Meantime the king's convoking voice was heard,
And from their palaces and monasteries
Swarm'd forth the doctors, men acute and deep,
Grown grey in study; priests and bishops haste
To Chinon; teachers wise and with high names,
Seraphic, Subtile, or Irrefragable,
By their admiring pupils dignified.
The doctors met; from cloister gloom recluse,
Or from the haunts luxurious of the abode
Episcopal, they met, and sought the place
Of judgment. Very ancient was the dome,
The floor with many a monumental stone
O'erspread, and brass-ensculptur'd effigy
Of holy abbots honour'd in their day,
Now to the grave gone down. The branching arms
Of many a ponderous pillar met aloft,
Wreath'd on the roof emboss'd. The windows gleam'd
Awful and dim their many-colour'd light,
Through the rich robes of eremites and saints,
Trees, mountains, castles, ships, sun, moon, and stars-
Splendid confusion! the pure wave beneath
Reflects and trembles in the purpling beam.
On the altar burns that mystic lamp whose flame
May not be quenched.
Circling round the vase
They bow the knee, uttering the half-heard
Mysterious power communicating thus
To the hallowed water, deem'd a mightier spell
O'er the fierce fiends of Satan's fallen crew,
Than e'er the hell-hags taught in Thessaly,
Or they who, sitting on the rifled grave,
Dim seen by the blue tomb-fire's lurid light,
Partake the Vampire's banquet.
This perform'd,
The Maid is summon'd. Round the holy vase
Mark'd with the mystic tonsure, and enrob'd
In sacred vests, a venerable train,
They stand. The delegated Maid obeys
Their summons. As she came, a loveliest blush
O'er her fair cheek suffus'd, such as became
One mindful still of maiden modesty,
Though of her own worth conscious.
The cold wind moaning, as it pass'd along
Waved her dark flowing locks. Before the train,
In reverend silence waiting their sage will,
With half-averted eye she stood composed.
So have I seen the simple snow-drop rise
Amid the russet leaves that hide the earth
In early spring, so seen its gentle bend
Of modest loveliness amid the waste
Of desolation.
The Son of Orleans stood, prepar'd to vouch
That when on Charles the Maiden's eye had fix'd,
As led by power miraculous, no fraud,
No juggling artifice of secret sign
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