Her devilry could neither blunt the edge
Of thy good sword, or mine."

Thus communed they, And through the host the gladdening tidings ran, That they should seek the Tournelles. Then their hearts

Gather'd new strength, placing on those strong walls
Dependence; oh vain hope! for neither wall,
Nor moat, nor fort can save, if fear within
Palsy the soldier's arm.

Them issuing forth,

As from the river's banks they pass'd along,
The Maid beheld. "Lo! Conrade!" she exclaim'd,
"The foe advance to meet us.. look! they lower
The bridge and now they rush upon the troops:. .

A gallant onset ! Dost thou mark the man
Who all this day has by our side endured
The hottest conflict? Often I beheld
His feats with wonder, but his prowess now
Makes all his actions in the former fight
Seem as of no account: knowest thou him?
There is not one amid the host of France,
Of fairer promise."

"He," the chief replied, "Wretched and prodigal of life, achieves The exploits of despair; a gallant youth, Widow'd like me of hope, and but for whom

In farther converse, to the perilous fray
Speeding, not unobserved; for Salisbury saw
And call'd on Talbot. Six, the bravest knights
And sworn with them, against the virgin's life
Address'd their course. She by the herald's side
Now urged the war, when on her white-plumed helm
The hostile falchion fell. On high she lifts

That hallowed sword, which in the tomb for her
Age after age, by miracle reserved,

Had lain, which time itself could not corrode,
How then might shield, or breast-plate, or close mail
Retund its edge ? Beneath that edge her foe
Fell; and the knight who to avenge him came,
Smitten by Conrade's battle-axe, was fell'd
Upon his dying friend. With Talbot here
The daring herald urged unequal fight:
For like some oak that in its rooted strength
Defies the storm, the undaunted Earl endured
His quick assault. The herald round him wheels
Rapidly, now on this side, now on that,
With many a feign'd and many a frustrate aim
Flashing his falchion; now, as he perceives
With wary eye the Earl's intended stroke,
Bending, or leaping, lithe of limb, aside,
Then quick and agile in assault again.
Ill-fated man! one deed of glory more

Shall with the short-lived lightning's splendour grace
This thy death-day; for SLAUGHTER even now
Stands o'er thy loom of life, and lifts his sword.

Upon her shield the martial Maid received An English warrior's blow, and in his side, Beneath the arm upraised, in prompt return Pierced him that instant Salisbury sped his sword.

Which glancing from her helm fell on the folds
That arm'd her neck, and making there its way,
Stain'd with her blood its edge.
The herald saw,
And turn'd from Talbot, heedless of himself,
And lifting up his falchion, all his force
Concenter'd. On the breast of Salisbury

It fell, and cleft his mail, and thro' the plate
Beneath it drove, and in his heart's-blood plunged.
Lo! as he struck the mighty Talbot came,
And smote his helmet: slant the weapon fell;
The strings gave way, the helmet dropt, the Earl
Repeated on that head disarm'd his blow;

Too late to interpose the Maiden saw,
And in that miserable moment knew
Her Theodore.

Him Conrade too had seen,
And from a foe whom he had beaten down
Turn'd terrible in vengeance. Front to front
They stood, and each for the death-blow prepared
His angry might. At once their weapons fell,
The Frenchman's battle-axe, and the good sword
Of Talbot. He, stunn'd by the weighty blow,
Sunk senseless, by his followers from the field
Convey'd with timely speed: nor had his blade
Fallen vainly on the Frenchman's crested helm
Tho' weak to wound; for from his eyes the fire
Sparkled, and back recoiling with the blow,
He in the Maiden's arms astounded fell.

But now their troops all captainless confused, Fear seized the English. Not with more dismay When over wild Caffraria's wooded hills Echoes the lion's roar, the timid herd Fly the death-boding sound. The forts they seek, Now reckless which, so from that battle's rage A present refuge. On their flying ranks

The victors press, and mark their course with blood.

But loud the trumpet of retreat resounds, For now the westering sun with many a hue Streak'd the gay clouds.

"Dunois!" the Maiden cried, "Form now around yon stronger pile the siege There for the night encamping." So she said. The chiefs to Orleans for their needful food, And enginery to batter that huge pile, Dismiss'd a troop, and round the Tournelles led The host beleaguering. There they pitch their tents, And plant their engines for the morrow's war, Then to their meal, and o'er the cheerful bowl Recount the tale of danger; soon to rest Betaking them, for now the night drew on.

JOAN OF ARC.

THE EIGHTH BOOK.

Now was the noon of night, and all was still,
Save where the sentinel paced on his rounds
Humming a broken song. Along the camp
High flames the frequent fire. The Frenchmen there,
On the bare earth extended, rest their limbs
Fatigued, their spears lay by them, and the shield

Pillow'd the helmed head 1; secure they slept, And busy in their dreams they fought again The fight of yesterday.

But not to Joan,

But not to her, most wretched, came thy aid, Soother of sorrows, Sleep! no more her pulse, Amid the battle's tumult throbbing fast,

Ere yet from Orleans to the war we went,
He pour'd his tale of sorrow on mine ear.
'Lo, Conrade, where she moves! beloved Maid!
Devoted for the realm of France she goes,
Abandoning for this the joys of life,
Yea.. life itself! Yet on my heart her words
Vibrate. If she must perish in the war,

And with fix'd eyes she sat, and in her mind
The spectres of the days departed rose,
A melancholy train! Upon the gale

The raven's croak was heard; she started then,
And passing through the camp with hasty step
She sought the field of blood.

The night was calm;
Nor ever clearer welkin canopied
Chaldea, while the watchful shepherd's eye
Survey'd the host of heaven, and mark'd them rise
Successive, and successively decay,

Lost in the stream of light, as lesser springs
Amid Euphrates' current. The high wall
Cast a deep shadow, and the Maiden's feet
Stumbled o'er carcasses and broken arms;
And sometimes did she hear the heavy groan
Of one yet struggling in the pangs of death.
She reach'd the spot where Theodore was slain
Before fort London's gate; but vainly there
Sought she the youth, on every clay-cold face
Gazing with such a look as though she fear'd
The thing she sought. And much she marvell'd then,
For there the victim of his vengeful arm,
And close beside where he himself had fallen,
Known by the buckler's blazon'd heraldry,
Salisbury lay dead. So as the Virgin stood
Looking around the plain, she mark'd a man
Pass slowly on, as burthen'd. Him to aid
She sped, and soon with unencumber'd speed
O'ertaking, thus bespake him: "Dost thou bear
Some slaughter'd friend? or is it one whose wounds
Leave yet a hope of life? Oh ! if he lives,

I will with earnest prayer petition heaven
To shed its healing on him!"

So she said,

And as she spake stretch'd forth her careful hands
To ease the burthen. "Warrior!" he replied,
"Thanks for thy proffer'd aid: but he hath ceased
To suffer, and my strength may well suffice
To bear him hence for burial. Fare thee well!
The night is far advanced; thou to the camp
Return it fits not darkling thus to stray."

"Conrade!" the Maid exclaim'd, for well she knew His voice: - With that she fell upon his neck And cried, "my Theodore ! ... But wherefore thus Through the dead midnight dost thou bear his corse?"

I will go

Perhaps might have preserved her.
In secret to protect her. If I fall,..
And trust me I have little love of life,..
Do thou in secret bear me from the field,
Lest haply I might meet her wandering eye
A mangled corpse. She must not know my fate.
Do this last act of friendship, and in the stream
Cast me,.. she then may think of Theodore
Without a pang.' Maiden, I vow'd with him
To take our place in battle by thy side,
And make thy safety our peculiar care.

And now I hoped thou hadst not seen him fall."
Saying thus he laid the body on the ground.
With steady eye the wretched Maiden view'd
That life-left tenement: his batter'd arms
Were with the night-dews damp; his brown hair clung
Gore-clotted in the wound, and one loose lock
Play'd o'er his cheek's black paleness. 3
"Gallant

youth!"

She cried, "I would to God the hour were come
When I might meet thee in the bowers of bliss!
No, Theodore! the sport of winds and waves
Thy body shall not float adown the stream!
Bear him with me to Orleans, there to rest
In holy ground, where priests may say their prayers
And hymn the requiem to his parted soul.

So will not Elinor in bitterness

Lament that no dear friend to her dead child
Paid the last office."

From the earth they lift
Their mournful burthen, and along the plain
Pass with slow footsteps to the city gate.
The obedient centinel, knowing Conrade's voice,
Admits them at that hour, and on they go,
Till in the neighbouring abbey's porch arrived
They rest the lifeless load.

Loud rings the bell;
The awaken'd porter turns the heavy door.
To him the Virgin! "Father, from the slain
On yonder field, a dear-loved friend we bring
Hither for Christian sepulture: chant ye
The requiem to his soul: to-morrow eve
I will return, and in the narrow house
Will see him laid to rest." The father knew
The Prophetess, and humbly bow'd assent.

Yestermorn,

When thinking on my closing hour of life, Though with a mind resolved, some natural fears

Dormir sur un trophee, est un charmant repos,
Et le champ de battaile est le lict d'un heros."

Scudery. Alaric. The night after a battle is certainly more agreeable than

low, but he must be very ingenious to sleep upon a trophy.

Shook my weak frame: but now the happy hour,
When this emancipated soul shall burst
The cumbrous fetters of mortality,

I look for wishfully. Conrade! my friend,
This wounded heart would feel another pang
Shouldst thou forsake me.

Along the weary pilgrimage of life Together will we journey, and beguile

The painful way with hope,..such hope as fix'd

| On heavenly things, brings with it no deceit,
Lays up no food for sorrow, and endures
From disappointment safe."

Thus communing

They reach'd the camp, yet hush'd; there separating, Each in the post allotted, restless waits │The day-break.

Morning came: dim through the shade
The twilight glimmers; soon the brightening clouds
Imbibe the rays, and o'er the landscape spread
The dewy light. The soldiers from the earth
Arise invigorate, and each his food
Receives, impatient to renew the war.
Dunois his javelin to the Tournelles points,
"Soldiers of France! behold your foes are there ! "
As when a band of hunters, round the den

Of some wood-monster, point their spears, elate
In hope of conquest and the future feast,
When on the hospitable board their spoil
Shall smoke, and they, as foaming bowls go round,
Tell to their guests their exploits in the chase;

"Next the bayle was the ditch, foss, graff, or mote: generally where it could be a wet one, and pretty deep. The pas sage over it was by a draw-bridge, covered by an advance work called a barbican. The barbican was sometimes beyond the ditch that covered the draw-bridge, and in towns and large fortresses had frequently a ditch and draw-bridge of its own."- Grose.

1 " The outermost walls enclosing towns or fortresses were commonly perpendicular, or had a very small external talus. They were flanked by semi-circular, polygonal, or square towers, commonly about forty or fifty yards distant from each other. Within were steps to mount the terre-pleine of the walls or rampart, which were always defended by an embattled or crenellated parapet." — Grose.

The fortifications of the middle ages differed in this respect from those of the ancients. When the besiegers had gained the summit of the wall, the descent on the other side was safe and easy. But "the ancients did not generally support their walls on the inside with earth, in the manner of the talus or slope, which made the attacks more dangerous. For though the enemy had gained some footing upon them, he could not assure himself of taking the city. It was necessary to get down, and to make use of some of the ladders by which he had mounted; and that descent exposed the soldier to very great danger."- Rollin.

3" The pavais, or pavache, was a large shield, or rather a portable mantelet, capable of covering a man from head to foot, and probably of sufficient thickness to resist the missive weapons then in use. These were in sieges carried by servants, whose business it was to cover their masters with them, whilst they, with their bows and arrows, shot at the enemy on the ramparts. As this must have been a service of danger, it was that perhaps which made the office of scutifer honour. able. The pavais was rectangular at the bottom, but rounded off above: it was sometimes supported by props." - Grose. Mangonel is a term comprehending all the smaller engines.

Their arrows and their death-fraught enginery
Discharged; meantime the Frenchmen did not cease
With well-directed shafts their loftier foes

To assail behind the guardian pavais fenced, 3
They at the battlements their arrows aim'd,
Showering an iron storm, whilst o'er the bayle,
The bayle now levell'd by victorious France,
The assailants pass'd with all their mangonels; +
Or tortoises, beneath whose roofing safe,
They, filling the deep moat, might for the towers
Make fit foundation; or with petraries,
War-wolves, and beugles, and that murderous sling
The matafund, from whence the ponderous stone
Made but one wound of him whom in its way,
It met; no pious hand might then compose
The crush'd and mangled corpse to be conveyed
To where his fathers slept: a dreadful train 6
Prepared by Salisbury o'er the town besieged
For hurling ruin; but that dreadful train
Must hurl its ruin on the invader's head,
Such retribution righteous heaven decreed.

Nor lie the English trembling, for the fort Was ably garrison'd. Glacidas, the chief,

5 "The tortoise was a machine composed of very strong and solid timber work. The height of it to its highest beam, which sustained the roof, was twelve feet. The base was square, and each of its fronts twenty-five feet. It was covered with a kind of quilted mattress made of raw hides, and prepared with different drugs to prevent its being set on fire by combustibles. This heavy machine was supported upon four wheels, or perhaps upon eight. It was called tortoise from its serving as a very strong covering and defence against the enormous weights thrown down on it; those under it being safe in the same manner as a tortoise under his shell. It was used both to fill up the fosse, and for sapping. It may not be improper to add, that it is believed so enormous a weight could not be moved from place to place on wheels, and that it was pushed forward on rollers. Under these wheels or rollers, the way was laid with strong planks to facilitate its motion, and prevent its sinking into the ground, from whence it would have been very difficult to have removed it. The ancients have observed that the roof had a thicker covering, of hides, hurdles, sea-weed, &c. than the sides, as it was exposed to much greater shocks from the weights thrown upon it by the besieged. It had a door in front, which was drawn up by a chain as far as was necessary, and covered the soldiers at work in filling up the fosse with fascines." - Rollin.

This is the tortoise of the ancients, but that of the middle ages differed from it in nothing material.

6 "The besiegers having carried the bayle, brought up their machines, and established themselves in the counterscarp, began under cover of their cats, sows, or tortoises, to drain the ditch, if a wet one, and also to fill it up with hurdles and fascines, and level it for the passage of their moveable towers. Whilst this was doing, the archers, attended by young men carrying shields (pavoises), attempted with their arrows to drive the besieged from the towers and ramparts, being themselves covered by these portable mantlets. The garrison on their part essayed, by the discharge of machines, cross and long bows, to keep the enemy at a distance."- - Grose.

A gallant man, sped on from place to place
Cheering the brave: or if an archer's hand,
Palsied with fear, shot wide his ill-aim'd shaft,
Driving him from the ramparts with reproach
And shame. He bore an arbalist himself,
A weapon for its sure destructiveness
Abominated once; wherefore of yore

The assembled fathers of the Christian church
Pronounced the man accursed whose impious hand
Should use the murderous engine. Such decrees
Befitted them as ministers of peace,

To promulgate, and with a warning voice,
To cry aloud and spare not, "Woe to them
Whose hands are full of blood!"

The lion-hearted Richard, their decree
First broke, and rightly was he doom'd to fall
By that forbidden weapon; since that day
Frequent in fields of battle, and from far

To many a good knight bearing his death wound
From hands unknown. With such an instrument
Arm'd on the ramparts, Glacidas his eye
Cast on the assailing host. A keener glance
Darts not the hawk when from the feather'd tribe
He marks his prey.

A Frenchman for his aim
He chose, who kneeling by the trebuchet,
Charged its long sling with death. 2 Him Glacidas
Secure behind the battlements, beheld,
And strung his now; then bending on one knee,
He in the groove the feather'd quarrel placed, s
And levelling with sure eye, his victim mark'd.
The bow-string twang'd, swift on its way the dart
Whizz'd, and it struck, there where the helmet's clasps
Defend the neck; a weak protection now,

For through the tube which draws the breath of life
Pierced the keen shaft; blood down the unwonted way
Gush'd to the lungs prone fell the dying man
Grasping, convulsed, the earth; a hollow groan
In his throat struggled, and the dews of death
Stood on his livid cheek. The days of youth
He had pass'd peaceful, and had known what joys
Domestic love bestows, the father once
Of two fair children; in the city hemm'd
During the siege, he had beheld their cheeks

The cross-bow was for some time laid aside in obedience to a decree of the second Lateran council, held in 1139. "Artem illam mortiferam et Deo odibilem ballistariorum adversus Christianos et Catholicos exercere de cætero sub anathemate prohibemus." This weapon was again introduced into our armies by Richard I., who, being slain with a quarrel shot from one of them, at the siege of the castle of Chaluz in Normandy, it was considered as a judgement from heaven inflicted upon him for his impiety. Guillaume le Breton, relating the death of this king, puts the following into the mouth of Atropos :

"Hâc volo, non aliá Richardum morte perire,
Ut qui Francigenis ballistæ primitus usum
Tradidit, ipse sui rem primitus experiatur,
Quemque alios docuit in se vim sentiat artis.”—Grose.

2 From the trebuchet they discharged many stones at once by a sling. It acted by means of a great weight fastened to the short arm of a lever, which being let fall, raised the end of the long arm with a great velocity. A man is represented kneeling to load one of these in an ivory carving, supposed to be of the age of Edward II. Grose.

Deep in his liver; blood and mingled gall
Flow'd from the wound, and writhing with keen pangs,
Headlong he fell. He for the wintry hour

Knew many a merry ballad and quaint tale,

A man in his small circle well beloved.
None better knew with prudent hand to guide
The vine's young tendrils, or at vintage time
To press the full-swoln clusters; he, heart-glad,
Taught his young boys the little all he knew,
Enough for happiness. The English host
Laid waste his fertile fields: he, to the war,
By want compell'd, adventured, in his gore
Now weltering.

Nor the Gallic host remit
Their eager efforts; some, the watery fence,
Beneath the tortoise roof'd, with engines apt
Drain painful 4; part, laden with wood, throw there
Their buoyant burthens, labouring so to gain
Firm footing: some the mangonels supply,
Or charging with huge stones the murderous sling,"
Or petrary, or in the espringal

Fix the brass-winged arrows 6: hoarse around
The uproar and the din of multitudes
Arose. Along the ramparts Gargrave went,
Cheering the English troops; a bow he bore:
The quiver rattled as he moved along.
He knew aright to aim his feather'd shafts,
Well-skill'd to pierce the mottled roebuck's side,
O'ertaken in his speed. Him passing on,

A ponderous stone from some huge martinet, 7

3 Quarrels, or carreaux, were so called from their heads, which were square pyramids of iron.

4 The tortoises, &c. and moveable towers having reached the walls, the besiegers under them either began to mine, or batter them with the ram. They also established batteries of balistas and mangonels on the counterscarp. These were opposed by those of the enemy.

5 The matafunda.

6 The espringal threw large darts called muchette, sometimes winged with brass instead of feathers. Procopius says that because feathers could not be put to the large darts discharged from the balista, the ancients used pieces of wood six inches thick, which had the same effect.

7" Le lendemain vindrent deux maistres engingneurs au duc de Normandie, qui dirent que, si on leur vouloit livrer boys et ouvriers, ilz feroient quatre eschauffaulx et haulx que on meneroit aux murs du chastel, et seroient si haulz q'iz surmonteroient les murs. Le duc commanda q'lz le feissent, et fist prendre tous les charpentiers du pays, et payer largement. Si furent faitz ces quatre eschauffaulx en quatre grosses nefz, mais on y mist longuement et cousterent grans deniers. Si y fist on les gens entrer q'a ceulx du chastel devoient

Struck on his breast-plate falling, the huge weight
Shattered the bone, and to his mangled lungs
Drove in the fragments. On the gentle brow
Of a fair hill, wood-circled, stood his home,
A stately mansion, far and wide from whence
The sight ranged unimpeded, and survey'd
Streams, hills, and forests, fair variety!
The traveller knew its hospitable towers,
For open were the gates, and blazed for all
The friendly fire. By glory lured, the youth
Went forth; and he had bathed his falchion's edge
In many a Frenchman's blood; now crush'd beneath
The ponderous fragment's force, his lifeless limbs
Lie quivering.

Lo! towards the levelled moat,
A moving tower the men of Orleans wheel1
Four stages elevate. Above was hung,
Equalling the walls, a bridge; in the lower stage
A battering-ram: within a chosen troop

Of archers, through the opening, shot their shafts. 2
In the loftiest part was Conrade, so prepared

To mount the rampart; for, no hunter he,
He loved to see the dappled foresters

Browze fearless on their lair, with friendly eye,
And happy in beholding happiness,

Not meditating death: the bowman's art
Therefore he little knew, nor was he wont
To aim the arrow at the distant foe,
But uprear in close conflict, front to front,
His battle-axe, and break the shield and helm,
First in the war of men. There too the Maid
Awaits, impatient on the wall to wield

Her falchion. Onward moves the heavy tower,

The following extract from the History of Edward III. by Joshua Barnes contains a full account of these moving towers.

"Now the earl of Darby had layn before Reule more than nine weeks, in which time he had made two vast belfroys or bastilles of massy timber, with three stages or floors; each of the belfroys running on four huge wheels, bound about with thick hoops of iron; and the sides and other parts that any ways respected the town were covered with raw hides, thick laid, to defend the engines from fire and shot. In every one of these stages were placed an hundred archers, and between the two bastilles, there were two hundred men with pick-axes and mattocks. From these six stages six hundred archers shot so fiercely all together, that no man could appear at his defence without a sufficient punishment: so that the belfroys being brought upon wheels by the strength of men over a part of the ditch, which was purposely made plain and level by the faggots and earth and stones cast upon them, the two hundred pioneers plyed their work so well under the protection of these engines, that they made a considerable breach through the walls of the town."

2 "The archers and cross-bowmen from the upper stories in the moveable towers essayed to drive away the garrison from the parapets, and on a proper opportunity to let fall a

Slow o'er the moat and steady, though the foe Shower'd there their javelins, aim'd their engines there,

And from the arbalist the fire-tipt dart

Shot burning through the sky. 3 In vain it flamed,

For well with many a reeking hide secured,
Pass'd on the dreadful pile, and now it reach'd
The wall. Below, with forceful impulse driven,
The iron-headed engine swings its stroke,
Then back recoils; while they within who guide,
In backward step collecting all their strength,
Anon the massy beam with stronger arm
Drive full and fierce. So rolls the swelling sea
Its curly billows to the unmoved foot

Of some huge promontory, whose broad base
Breaks the rough wave; the shiver'd surge rolls back,
Till, by the coming billow borne, it bursts
Again, and foams with ceaseless violence:
The wanderer, on the sunny clift outstretch'd,
Harks to the roaring surges, as they rock
His weary senses to forgetfulness.

But nearer danger threats the invaders now,

For on the ramparts, lower'd from above
The bridge reclines. 4 An universal shout
Rose from the hostile hosts. The exultant French
Break out in loud rejoicing, whilst the foe
Raise a responsive cry, and call aloud

For speedy succour there, with deafening shout
Cheering their comrades. Not with louder din
The mountain-torrent flings precipitate
Its bulk of waters, though amid the fall
Shatter'd, and dashing silvery from the rock.

bridge, by that means to enter the town. In the bottom story was often a large ram."- Grose.

3" Against the moveable tower there were many modes of defence. The chief was to break up the ground over which it was to pass, or by undermining it to overthrow it. Attempts were likewise made to set it on fire, to prevent which it was covered with raw hides, or coated over with alum.” – Grose.

4 These bridges are described by Rollin in the account of the moving towers which he gives from Vegetius: "The moving towers are made of an assemblage of beams and strong planks, not unlike a house. To secure them against the fires thrown by the besieged, they are covered with raw hides, or with pieces of cloth made of hair. Their height is in proportion to their base. They are sometimes thirty feet square, and sometimes forty or fifty. They are higher than the walls or even towers of the city. They are supported upon several wheels according to mechanic principles, by the means of which the machine is easily made to move, how great soever it may be. The town is in great danger if this tower can approach the walls: for it has stairs from one story to another, and includes different methods of attack. At bottom it has a ram to batter the wall, and on the middle story a draw-bridge, made of two beams with rails of basketwork, which lets down easily upon the wall of a city, when within the reach of it. The besiegers pass upon this bridge, to make themselves masters of the wall. Upon the higher stories are soldiers armed with partisans and missive wea pons, who keep a perpetual discharge upon the works. When affairs are in this posture, a place seldom held out long. For what can they hope who have nothing to confide in but the height of their ramparts, when they see others suddenly appear which command them?"

The towers or belfreys of modern times rarely exceeded three or four stages or stories.