Page:Completepoetical1848sout.djvu/46



Then wild with joy speeds on to taste the wave So long bewail'd. Swift as the affrighted herd Scud o'er the plain, when rattling thunder-cracks Upon the bolted lightning follow close, The English hasten to their sheltering forts, Even there of safety doubtful, still appall'd And trembling, as the pilgrim who by night On his way wilder'd, to the wolf's deep howl Hears the wood echo, when from close pursuit Escaped, the topmost branch of some tall tree He grasps close clinging, still of the wild beast Fearful, his teeth jar, and the cold sweat stands Upon his clammy limbs. Nor now the Maid Greedy of vengeance presses the pursuit. She bids the trumpet of retreat resound; A welcome note to the affrighted foe Blew that loud blast, whereat obediently The French, though eager on the invaders' heads To wreak their wrath, stay the victorious sword.

Loud is the cry of conquest as they turn To Orleans. There what few to guard the town Unwilling had remain'd, haste forth to meet The triumph. Many a blazing torch they held, Which raised aloft amid the midnight storm Flash'd far a festive light. The Maid advanced; Deep through the sky the hollow thunders roll'd;$111$ Innocuous lightnings round the hallowed banner Wreath'd their red radiance. Through the city gate Then, as the laden convoy pass'd, was heard The shout of exultation; and such joy The men of Orleans at that welcome sight Possess'd, as when from Bactria late subdued, The mighty Macedonian led his troops Amid the Sogdian desert, where no stream Wastes on the wild its fertilizing waves, Fearful alike to pause, or to proceed; Scorch'd by the sun, that o'er their morning march Steam'd his hot vapors, heart-subdued and faint; Such joy as then they felt, when from the heights Burst the soul-gladdening sound, for thence was seen The evening sun silvering the fertile vale, Where Oxus roll'd below. Clamors of joy Echo along the streets of Orleans, wont Long time to hear the infant's feeble cry, The mother's frantic shriek, or the dread sound, When from the cannon burst its stores of death. Far flames the fire of joy on ruin'd piles And high heap'd carcasses, whence scared away From his abhorred meal, on clattering wing Rose the night-raven slow. In the English forts Sad was the scene. There all the livelong night Steal in the straggling fugitives; as when Past is the storm, and o'er the azure sky Serenely shines the sun, with every breeze The waving branches drop their gather'd rain, Renewing the remembrance of the storm.

were the English forts,$112$ by daily toil Of thousands rear'd on high, when to insure His meditated conquest Salisbury Resolved from Orleans to shut out all means Of human succor. Round the city stretch'd Their line continuous, massy as the wall Erst by the fearful Roman on the bounds Of Caledonia raised, when soul-enslaved The race degenerate fear'd the car-borne chiefs Who moved from Morven down. Broad battlements Crested the bulwark, and safe standing place For archer or for man-at-arms was there. The frequent buttress at just distance rose Declining from its base, and sixty forts Seem'd in their strength to render all secure. But loftier and massier than the rest, As though of some large castle each the keep, Stood six square fortresses with turrets flank'd, Piles of unequall'd strength, though now deem'd weak 'Gainst puissance more than mortal. Safely thence The skilful bowman, entering with his eye$113$ The city, might, himself the while unseen, Through the long opening aim his winged deaths. Loire's waves diverted fill'd the deep-dug moat Circling the whole; a bulwark vast it was As that which round their camp and stranded ships The Achaians raised, a common sepulchre Of thousands slaughter'd, and the doom'd death-place Of many a chief, when Priam's virtuous son Assail'd them, then in hope, with favoring Jove

But cowering now amid their sheltering forts Trembled the invading host. Their leader's care In anxious vigilance prepares to ward The assault expected. Rightly he ared The Maid's intent, but vainly did he seek To kindle in their breasts the wonted flame Of valor, for, by prodigies unmann'd, They wait the morn. The soldiers' pride was gone; The blood was on their swords, their bucklers lay Defiled and unrepair'd,$114$ they sharpen'd not Their blunted spears, the affrighted archer's hand Relax'd not his bent bow. To them, confused With fears of unknown danger, the long night Was dreadful, but more dreadful dawn'd the day.

The morning came; the martial Maid arose; Lovely in arms she moved. Around the gate, Eager again for conquest, throng the troops. High tower'd the Son of Orleans, in his strength Poising the ponderous spear. His batter'd shield, Witnessing the fierce fray of yesternight, Hung on his sinewy arm. "Maiden of Arc," So as he spake approaching, cried the chief, "Well hast thou proved thy mission, as by words And miracles attested when dismay'd The grave theologists dismiss'd their doubts,