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No more the merry viol's note was heard; No more the aged matron at her door Humm'd cheery to her spinning-wheel, and saw Her children dancing to the roundelay. The chieftains strengthening still the ancient walls, Survey them every where with prying eye; The eager youth, in anxious preparation, Practise the arts of war; silent and stern, With the hurrying restlessness of fear, they urge Their gloomy labors. In the city dwelt An utter silence of all pleasant sounds; But all day long the armorer's beat was heard, And all night long it echoed. "Soon the foe Led to our walls the siege: as on they move The clarions clangor, and the cheerful fife, Accordant to the thundering drum's deep sound, Direct their measured march. Before the ranks Salisbury was seen, Salisbury, so long the scourge Of France; and Talbot towered by his side, Talbot, at whose dread name the froward child Clings mute and trembling to his nurse's breast. Suffolk was there, and Hungerford, and Scales, And Fastolffe, victor in the frequent fight. Dark as the autumnal storm they roll'd along, A countless host! From the high tower I mark'd The dreadful scene; I saw the iron gleam Of javelins sparkling to the noontide sun, Their banners tossing to the troubled gale, And — fearful music — heard upon the wind The modulated step of multitudes.

"There in the midst, shuddering with fear, I saw The dreadful stores of death; tremendous roll'd Over rough roads the harsh wheels; the brazen tubes Flash'd in the sun their fearful splendor far, And, last, the loaded wagons creak'd along.

"Nor were our chieftains, whilst their care procured Human defence, neglectful to implore That heavenly aid, deprived of which the strength Of man is weakness. Bearing through our streets The precious relics of the holy dead, The monks and nuns pour'd many an earnest prayer, Devoutly join'd by all. Saint Aignan's shrine Was throng'd by supplicants, the general voice Call'd on Saint Aignan's name again to save His people, as of yore, before he past Into the fulness of eternal rest; When by the Spirit to the lingering camp Of Ætius borne, he brought the timely aid, And Attila, with all his multitudes, Far off retreated to their field of shame."

And now Dunois — for he had seen the camp Well-order'd — cnter'd. "One night more in peace England shall rest," he cried, "ere yet the storm Burst on her guilty head! then their proud vaunts Forgotten, or remember'd to their shame, Vainly her chiefs shall curse the hour when first They pitch'd their tents round Orleans."

"Of that siege," The Maid of Arc replied, "gladly I hear The detail. Isabel, proceed! for soon Destined to rescue this devoted town, The tale of all the ills she hath endured I listen, sorrowing for the past, and feel Joy and contentment in the merciful task For which I am sent forth." Thus spake the maid. And Isabel pursued. "And now more near The hostile host advancing pitch their tents. Unnumber'd streamers wave, and clamorous shouts, Anticipating conquest, rend the air With universal uproar. From their camp A herald came; his garb emblazon'd o'er With leopards and the lilies of our realm — Foul shame to France! The summons of the foe He brought." The Bastard interrupting cried, "I was with Gaucour and the assembled chiefs, When by his office privileged and proud That herald spake, as certain of success As he had made a league with Victory. 'Nobles of France rebellious! from the chief Of yon victorious host, the mighty Earl Of Salisbury, now there in place of him Your Regent John of Bedford: in his name I come, and in our sovereign Lord the King's, Henry. Ye know full well our master's claim, Incontrovertible to this good realm, By right descent, and solemnly confirm'd By your great monarch and our mighty king Fifth Henry, in the treaty ratified At Troyes, wherein your monarch did disclaim All future right and title to this crown, His own exempted, for his son and heirs Down to the end of time. This sign'd and seal'd At the holy altar, and by nuptial knot Of Henry and your princess, gives the realm, Charles dead and Henry, to his infant son Henry of Windsor. Who then dares oppose My master's title, in the face of God, Of wilful perjury, most atrocious crime, Stands guilty, and of flat rebellion 'gainst The Lord's anointed. He, at Paris crown'd With loud acclaim of duteous multitudes, Thus speaks by me. Deliver up your town To Salisbury, and yield yourselves and arms, So shall your lives be safe: and such his grace, If of your free accord to him you pay Due homage as your sovereign Lord and King, Your rich estates, your houses shall be safe, And you in favor stand, as is the Duke, Philip of Burgundy. But — mark me well! If, obstinately wilful, you persist To scorn his proffer'd mercy, not one stone Upon another of this wretched town Shall then be left; and when the English host Triumphant in the dust have trod the towers Of Orleans, who survive the dreadful war Shall die like traitors by the hangman's hand. Ye men of France, remember Caen and Roan!' "He ceased: nor Gaucour for a moment paused To form reply.               "'Herald! to all thy vaunts Of English sovereignty let this suffice