Beneath the arm of Conrade, and expired,

Slain on his master's body.

Nor the fight

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
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
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,
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. 1 ́
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 Of Talbot mark'd her thus across the plain

him in the kingdom, upon the day of coronation, king Henry, the father, served his son at the table as sewer, bringing up the bore's head with trumpets before it, according to the manner; whereupon (according to the old adage,

"Immutant mores homines cum dantur honores ") the young man, conceiving a pride in his heart, beheld the standers-by with a more stately countenance than he had been wont. The archbishop of York who sat by him, marking his behaviour, turned unto him and said, " Be glad, my good son, there is not another prince in the world that hath such a sewer at his table." To this the new king answered as it were disdainfully thus: "Why dost thou marvel at that? my father in doing it thinketh it not more than becometh him, he being borne of princely blood only on the mother's side, serveth me that am a king born, having both a king to my father and a queen to my mother." Thus the young man, of an evil and perverse nature, was puffed up in pride by his father's unseemly doings.

But the king his father hearing his talk was very sorrowful in his mind, and said to the archbishop softly in his ear," It repenteth me, it repenteth me, my lord, that I have thus advanced the boy." For he guessed hereby what a one he would prove afterward, that shewed himself so disobedient and forward already.— Holinshed.

1 Τους δε παλαιοτέρους, ὧν οὐκέτι γούνατ' έλαφρα,
Μη καταλείποντες φεύγετε τους γεραιους.
Αισχρον γας δη τουτο μετα προμάχοισι πέσοντα,
Κείσθαι προσθε νέων ανδρα παλαιοτερον,

Ηδη λευκέν έχοντα καρη, πολιον το γένειον,

Ouper atetrisort' adxspor EN KOVIN. — - Tyrtæus.

In the combat between Francus and Phouere, Ronsard says

"... de la main leurs coutelas trouverent

Bien aiguisez qui de l'arçon pendoyent."

Careering fierce in conquest, and the hope
Of glory rose within him. Her to meet
He spurr'd his horse, by one decisive deed
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?
Rushing to closer combat, and she bared

The lightning of her sword. 3 In vain the youth
Essay'd to pierce those arms which even the power
Of time was weak to injure: she the while
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
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

Drove down the unwounded Frank: he strikes again
And through his all-in-vain imploring hands
Cleaves the poor suppliant. On that dreadful day
The sword of Talbot4, clogg'd with hostile gore,
Made good its vaunt. Amid the heaps his arm
Had slain, the chieftain stood and sway'd around
His furious strokes: nor ceased he from the fight,
Though now discomfited the English troops

On this passage the commentator observes, "l'autheur arme ces deux chevaliers à la mode de nos gendarmes François, la lance en la main, la coutelace ou la mace à l'arçon, et l'espée au costé.

Thus Desmarests says of the troops of Clovis

"A tous pend de l'arçon, à leur mode guerrierre, Et la hache tranchante, et la masse meurtriere." And when Clovis on foot and without a weapon hears the shrieks of a woman, he sees his horse,

"Jette l'œil sur l'arçon, et void luire sa hache." Lope de Vega speaks of the sword being carried in the same manner, when he describes Don Juan de Aguila as— "... desatando del arçon la espada." "Desnudo el rayo de la ardiente espada." Jerusalem Conqui tada. 4 Talbot's sword, says Camden, was found in the river of Dordon, and sold by a peasant to an armourer of Bour

3

deaux, with this inscription,

"Sum Talboti, M. IIII. C. XLIII.

Pro vincere inimicos meos."

But pardon the Latin, for it was not his, but his camping chaplain's. A sword with bad Latin upon it, but good steel within it, says Fuller.

It was not uncommon to bear a motto upon the sword. Lope de Vega describes that of Aguilar as bearing, inlaid in gold, a verse of the Psalms. It was, he says,

"Mas famosa que fue de hombre cenida,
Para ocasiones del honor guardada,
Y en ultima defensa de la vida,
Y desde cuya guarnicion dorada
Hasta la punta la canal brunida
Tenia escrito de David un verso
Nielado de oro en el azero terso.

Jerusalem Conquistada.

Fled fast, all panic-struck and spiritless,

And mingling with the routed, Fastolffe fled,
Fastolffe, all fierce and haughty as he was,1
False to his former fame; for he beheld

The Maiden rushing onward, and such fear
Ran through his frame, as thrills the African,
When, grateful solace in the sultry hour,
He rises on the buoyant billow's breast,
And then beholds the inevitable shark
Close on him, open-mouth'd.

But Talbot now
A moment paused, for bending thitherward
He mark'd a warrior, such as well might ask
His utmost force. Of strong and stately port
The onward foeman moved, and bore on high
A battle-axe 2, in many a field of blood
Known by the English chieftain.

Over heaps

Of slaughter'd, he made way, and bade the troops
Retire from the bold earl: then Conrade spake.
"Vain is thy valour, Talbot! look around,
See where thy squadrons fly! but thou shalt lose
No honour, by their cowardice subdued,
Performing well thyself the soldier's part."

"And let them fly!" the indignant Earl exclaim'd, "And let them fly! and bear thou witness, chief! That guiltless of this day's disgrace, I fall. But, Frenchman! Talbot will not tamely fall, Nor unrevenged."

So saying, for the war

He stood prepared: nor now with heedless rage
The champions fought, for either knew full well
His foeman's prowess: now they aim the blow
Insidious, with quick change then drive the steel
Fierce on the side exposed. The unfaithful arms
Yield to the strong-driven edge; the blood streams
down

Their batter'd mail. With swift eye Conrade mark'd
The lifted buckler, and beneath impell'd
His battle-axe; that instant on his helm
The sword of Talbot fell, and with the blow

It broke. "Yet yield thee, Englishman!" exclaim'd
The generous Frank; "vain is this bloody strife:
Me should'st thou conquer, little would my death
Avail thee, weak and wounded!"
"Long enough
Talbot has lived," replied the sullen chief:

In the Paston Letters, published by Mr. Fenn, Fastolffe appears in a very unfavourable light. Henry Windsor writes thus of him, “hit is not unknown that cruelle and vengible he hath byn ever, and for the most part with oute pite and mercy. I can no more, but vade et corripe cum, tor truly he cannot bryng about his matiers in this word (world), for the word is not for him. I suppose it wolnot chaunge yett be likelenes, but i beseche you sir help not to amend hym onely, but every other man yf ye kno any mo mysse disposed."

The order of the garter was taken from Fastolffe for his conduct at Patay. He suffered a more material loss in the money he expended in the service of the state. In 1455, 40831. 158. 7d. were due to him for costs and charges during his services in France, "whereof the said Fastolffe hath had nouther payement nor assignation." So he complains.

The conflict raged, for careless of himself,
And desperate, Talbot fought. Collected still
Was Conrade. Wheresoe'er his foeman aim'd
The well-thrust javelin, there he swung around
His guardian shield: the long and vain assault
Exhausted Talbot now; foredone with toil
He bare his buckler low for weariness,
The buckler now splinter'd with many a stroke 3
Fell piecemeal; from his riven arms the blood
Stream'd fast: and now the Frenchman's battle-axe
Came unresisted on the shieldless mail.
But then he held his hand. "Urge not to death
This fruitless contest!" he exclaim'd:
66 Oh chief!
Are there not those in England who would feel
Keen anguish at thy loss? a wife perchance
Who trembles for thy safety, or a child
Needing a father's care!"

So saying, he address'd him to the fight,
Impatient of existence: from their arms
Fire flash'd, and quick they panted; but not long
Endured the deadly combat. With full force
Down through his shoulder even to the chest,
Conrade impell'd the ponderous battle-axe;
And at that instant underneath his shield
Received the hostile spear. Prone fell the Earl,
Even in his death rejoicing that no foe
Should live to boast his fall.

Then with faint hand
Conrade unlaced his helm, and from his brow
Wiping the cold dews ominous of death,
He laid him on the earth, thence to remove,
While the long lance hung heavy in his side,
Powerless. As thus beside his lifeless foe
He lay, the herald of the English Earl
With faltering step drew near, and when he saw
His master's arms, "Alas! and is it you,
My lord?" he cried. "God pardon you your sins!

bodily strength, and was mounted on a good horse, holding a battle-axe in both hands. Thus he pushed into the thickest part of the battle, and throwing the bridle on his horse's neck, gave such blows on all sides with his battle-axe, that whoever was struck was instantly unhorsed and wounded past recovery. In this way he met Poton de Xaintrailles, who, after the battle was over, declared the wonders he did, and that he got out of his reach as fast as he could. —Vol. v. p. 294.

3 "L'écu des chevaliers était ordinairement un bouclier de forme à peu près triangulaire, large par le haut pour couvrir le corps, et se terminant en pointe par le bas, afin d'ètre moins lourd. On les faisait de bois qu'on recouvrait avec du cuir bouilli, avec des nerfs ou autres matières dures, mais jamais du fer ou d'acier. Seulement il était permis, pour les empêcher d'être coupés trop aisément par ies epées, d'y mettre un cercle d'or, d'argent, ou de fer, qui les entourât."- Le

I have been forty years your officer,

And time it is I should surrender now
The ensigns of my office!" So he said,
And paying thus his rite of sepulture,

Threw o'er the slaughter'd chief his blazon'd coat.1

Then Conrade thus bespake him: "Englishman, Do for a dying soldier one kind act !

Seek for the Maid of Orleans, bid her haste
Hither, and thou shalt gain what recompence
It pleaseth thee to ask."

The herald soon

Meeting the mission'd Virgin, told his tale.
Trembling she hasten'd on, and when she knew
The death-pale face of Conrade, scarce could Joan
Lift up the expiring warrior's heavy hand,
And press it to her heart.

"I sent for thee,
My friend!" with interrupted voice he cried,
That I might comfort this my dying hour
With one good deed. A fair domain is mine,
Let Francis and his Isabel possess

That, mine inheritance." He paused awhile,
Struggling for utterance; then with breathless speed,
And pale as him he mourn'd for, Francis came,
And hung in silence o'er the blameless man,
Even with a brother's sorrow: he pursued,
"This Joan will be thy care. I have at home
An aged mother- Francis, do thou soothe
Her childless age. Nay, weep not for me thus:
Sweet to the wretched is the tomb's repose ! "

So saying, Conrade drew the javelin forth,
And died without a groan.

By this the scouts,
Forerunning the king's march, upon the plain
Of Patay had arrived, of late so gay
With marshall'd thousands in their radiant arms,
And streamers glittering in the noon-tide sun,
And blazon'd shields and gay accoutrements,
The pageantry of war: but now defiled

With mingled dust and blood, and broken arms,
And mangled bodies. Soon the monarch joins
His victor army. Round the royal flag,
Uprear'd in conquest now, the chieftains flock
Proffering their eager service.
To his arms,

Or wisely fearful, or by speedy force
Compell'd, the embattled towns submit and own
Their rightful king. Baugenci strives in vain :
Yenville and Mehun yield; from Sully's wall
Hurl'd is the banner'd lion: on they pass,
Auxerre, and Troyes, and Chalons, ope their gates,
And by the mission'd Maiden's rumour'd deeds
Inspirited, the citizens of Rheims

Feel their own strength; against the English troops

! This fact is mentioned in Andrews's History of England. I have merely versified the original expressions. "The herald of Talbot sought out his body among the slain. *Alas, my lord, and is it you! I pray God pardon you all your misdoings. I have been your officer of arms forty years and more: it is time that I should surrender to you the ensigns of my office. Thus saying, with the tears gushing from his eyes, he threw his coat of arms over the corpse, thus performing one of the ancient rites of sepulture."

With patriot valour, irresistible,

They rise, they conquer, and to their liege lord Present the city keys.

The morn was fair

When Rheims re-echoed to the busy hum
Of multitudes, for high solemnity

Assembled. To the holy fabric moves

The long procession, through the streets bestrewn
With flowers and laurel boughs. The courtier throng
Were there, and they in Orleans, who endured
The siege right bravely; Gaucour, and La Hire,
The gallant Xaintrailles, Boussac, and Chabannes,
Alenson, and the bravest of the brave,
The Bastard Orleans, now in hope elate,
Soon to release from hard captivity
His dear-beloved brother; gallant men,
And worthy of eternal memory,

For they, in the most perilous times of France,
Despair'd not of their country. By the king
The delegated Damsel pass'd along

Clad in her batter'd arms. She bore on high
Her hallow'd banner to the sacred pile,
And fix'd it on the altar, whilst her hand
Pour'd on the monarch's head the mystic oil,2
Wafted of yore by milk-white dove from heaven,
(So legends say) to Clovis when he stood

At Rheims for baptism; dubious since that day,
When Tolbiac plain reek'd with his warrior's blood,
And fierce upon their flight the Almanni prest,
And rear'd the shout of triumph; in that hour
Clovis invoked aloud the Christian God
And conquer'd: waked to wonder thus, the chief
Became love's convert, and Clotilda led
Her husband to the font.

The mission'd Maid
Then placed on Charles's brow the crown of France,
And back retiring, gazed upon the king
One moment, quickly scanning all the past,
Till in a tumult of wild wonderment
She wept aloud. The assembled multitude
In awful stillness witness'd: then at once,
As with a tempest-rushing noise of winds,
Lifted their mingled clamours. Now the Maid
Stood as prepared to speak, and waved her hand,
And instant silence followed.

"King of France!"

She cried," At Chinon, when my gifted eye
Knew thee disguised, what inwardly the spirit
Prompted, I promised, with the sword of God,
To drive from Orleans far the English wolves,
And crown thee in the rescued walls of Rheims.
All is accomplish'd. I have here this day
Fulfill'd my mission, and anointed thee
King over this great nation. Of this charge,
Or well perform'd or carelessly, that God

at the coronation of their kings, fetch it from the church where it is kept, with great solemnity. For it is brought (saith Sleiden in his Commentaries) by the prior sitting on a white ambling palfrey, and attended by his monkes; the archbishop of the town (Rheims) and such bishops as are present, going to the church door to meet it, and leaving for it with the prior some gage, and the king, when it is by the archbishop brought to the altar, bowing himself before it with great reverence."- Peter Heylyn.

Far through the silence of the unbroken plain

The bittern's boom was heard; hoarse, heavy, deep,
It made accordant music to the scene.
Black clouds, driven fast before the stormy wind,
Swept shadowing: through their broken folds the

moon

Struggled at times with transitory ray,

And made the moving darkness visible.

And now arrived beside a fenny lake

She stands, amid whose stagnate waters, hoarse
The long reeds rustled to the gale of night.
A time-worn bark receives the Maid, impell'd
By powers unseen; then did the moon display
Where through the crazy vessel's yawning side
The muddy waters oozed. A Woman guides,
And spreads the sail before the wind, which moan'd
As melancholy mournful to her ear,
As ever by a dungeon'd wretch was heard
Howling at evening round his prison towers.
Wan was the pilot's countenance, her eyes
Hollow, and her sunk cheeks were furrow'd deep,
Channell'd by tears! a few grey locks hung down
Beneath her hood: and through the Maiden's veins
Chill crept the blood, when, as the night-breeze pass'd,
Lifting her tatter'd mantle, coil'd around
She saw a serpent gnawing at her heart.

The plumeless bats with short shrill note flit by, And the night-raven's scream came fitfully, Borne on the hollow blast. Eager the Maid Look'd to the shore, and now upon the bank Leapt, joyful to escape, yet trembling still In recollection.

There, a mouldering pile Stretch'd its wide ruins, o'er the plain below Casting a gloomy shade, save where the moon Shone through its fretted windows: the dark yew, Withering with age, branch'd there its naked roots, And there the melancholy cypress rear'd

Its head; the earth was heaved with many a mound, And here and there a half-demolish'd tomb.

And now, amid the ruin's darkest shade, The Virgin's eye beheld where pale blue flames Rose wavering, now just gleaming from the earth, And now in darkness drown'd. An aged man Sate near, seated on what in long-past days Had been some sculptured monument, now fallen And half-obscured by moss, and gather'd heaps Of wither'd yew-leaves and earth-mouldering bones. His eye was large and rayless, and fix'd full Upon the Maid; the tomb-fires on his face Shed a blue light; his face was of the hue Of death; his limbs were mantled in a shroud.

crossed by a bridge of iron, and from thence came to a mountain in which a great quantity of gold was concealed. When the king had concluded, the servant related what he had beheld, and they both went to examine the mountain, where upon digging they discovered an immense weight of gold.

I stumbled upon this tale in a book entitled SPHINX, Theologico-Philosophica. Authore Johanne Heidfeldio, Ecclesiaste Ebersbachiano. 1621.

The same story is in Matthew of Westminster; it is added that Guntrum applied the treasures thus found to pious uses. For the truth of the theory there is the evidence of a

Then with a deep heart-terrifying voice,
Exclaim'd the spectre, " Welcome to these realms,
These regions of Despair, O thou whose steps
Sorrow hath guided to my sad abodes!
Welcome to my drear empire, to this gloom
Eternal, to this everlasting night,
Where never morning darts the enlivening ray,
Where never shines the sun, but all is dark,
Dark as the bosom of their gloomy King."

So saying, he arose, and drawing on,
Her to the abbey's inner ruin led,
Resisting not his guidance. Through the roof
Once fretted and emblazed, but broken now
In part, elsewhere all open to the sky,
The moon-beams enter'd, chequer'd here, and here
With unimpeded light. The ivy twined

Round the dismantled columns; imaged forms
Of saints and warlike chiefs, moss-canker'd now
And mutilate, lay strewn upon the ground,
With crumbled fragments, crucifixes fallen,
And rusted trophies. Meantime overhead
Roar'd the loud blast, and from the tower the owl
Scream'd as the tempest shook her secret nest.
He, silent, led her on, and often paused,
And pointed, that her eye might contemplate
At leisure the drear scene.

He dragg'd her on
Through a low iron door, down broken stairs ;
Then a cold horror through the Maiden's frame
Crept, for she stood amid a vault, and saw,
By the sepulchral lamp's dim glaring light,
The fragments of the dead.

"Look here! he cried,
"Damsel, look here! survey this house of death;
O soon to tenant it; soon to increase
These trophies of mortality, . . for hence
Is no return. Gaze here; behold this skull,
These eyeless sockets, and these unflesh'd jaws,
That with their ghastly grinning seem to mock
Thy perishable charms; for thus thy cheek
Must moulder. Child of grief! shrinks not thy soul,
Viewing these horrors? trembles not thy heart
At the dread thought that here its life's-blood soon
Shall stagnate, and the finely-fibred frame,
Now warm in life and feeling, mingle soon
With the cold clod? thing horrible to think, . .
Yet in thought only, for reality

Is none of suffering here; here all is peace;
No nerve will throb to anguish in the grave.
Dreadful it is to think of losing life,
But having lost, knowledge of loss is not,
Therefore no ill. Oh, wherefore then delay
To end all ills at once!"

monkish miracle. When Thurcillus was about to follow St. Julian and visit the world of souls, his guide said to him, "Let thy body rest in the bed, for thy spirit only is about to depart with me; and lest the body should appear dead, I will send into it a vital breath."

The body however by a strange sympathy was affected like the spirit; for when the foul and fetid smoke which arose from the tithes withheld on earth had nearly suffocated Thur. cillus, and made him cough twice, those who were near his body said that it coughed twice about the same time.

Matthew Paris.