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So in the field of battle now confirm'd. You well-fenced forts protect the fugitives, And seem as in their strength they mock'd our force. Yet must they fall."                    "And fall they shall!" replied The Maid of Orleans. "Ere the sun he set The lily on that shattered wall shall wave Triumphant. — Men of France! ye have fought well On yon blood-reeking plain. Your humbled foes Lurk trembling now behind their massy walls. Wolves that have ravaged the neglected flock! The Shepherd — the Great Shepherd is arisen! Ye fly! yet shall not ye by flight escape His vengeance. Men of Orleans! it were vain By words to waken wrath within your breasts. Look round! Your holy buildings and your homes — Ruins that choke the way! your populous town — One open sepulchre! who is there here That does not mourn a friend, a brother slain, A parent famished, — or his dear, loved wife Torn from his bosom — outcast — broken-hearted — Cast on the mercy of mankind?"                                  She ceased; A cry of indignation from the host Burst forth, and all impatient for the war Demand the signal. These Dunois arrays In four battalions. Xaintrailles, tried in war, Commands the first; Xaintrailles, who oftentimes Defeated, oft a prisoner, and as oft Released for ransom, both with friend and foe Growing repute of active hardihood, And martial skill obtained; so erst from earth Antæus vaunting in his giant bulk, When graspt by force Herculean, down he fell vanquished, anon uprose more fierce for war.

Gaucour the second battle led, true friend And faithful servant of the imprison'd Duke; In counsel provident, in action prompt, Collected always, always self-controll'd, He from the soldiers' confidence and love Prompter obedience gain'd, than ever fear Forced from the heart reluctant. The third band Alençon leads. On Verneuil's fatal field The day when Buchan and the Douglas died, Wounded and senseless with the loss of blood, He fell, and there being found, was borne away A prisoner, in the ills of that defeat Participant, partaking not the shame: But for his rank and high desert, the King Had ransom'd him, doom'd now to meet the foe With better fortune. O'er the last presides The bastard son of Orleans, great in arms. His prowess knew the foes, and his fair fame Acknowledged, since before his stripling arm Fled Warwick; Warwick, he whose wide renown Greece knew, and Antioch, and the holy soil Of Palestine, since there in arms he went On gallant pilgrimage; yet by Dunois Baffled, and yielding him the conqueror's praise. And by his side the martial Maiden pass'd, Lovely in arms, as that Arcadian boy Parthenopæus, when the war of beasts Disdaining, lie to cope wilii men went forth, Bearing the bow and those Dictæan shafts Diana gave, when she the youth's fair form Saw, soften'd, and forgave the mother's fault.

Loup's was the nearest fort. Here Gladdisdale Commands the English, who as the enemy Moved to the assault, from bow and arbalist Their shafts and quarrels showered. Nor did they use Hand-weapons only and hand-engines here, Nor by the arm alone, or bow-string sped The missile flew, but driven by the strain'd force Of the balista, in one body spent Stay'd not; through arms and men it made its way, And leaving death behind, still held its course By many a death unclogg'd. With rapid march Onward the assailants came; and now they reach'd Where by the bayle's embattled wall in arms The knights of England stood. There Poynings shook His lance, and Gladdisdale his heavy mace, For the death-blow prepared. Alençon here, And here the Bastard came, and by the Maid, That daring man who to the English host, Then insolent of many a conquest gain'd, Had borne her bidding. A rude coat of mail, Unhosed, unhooded, as of lowly line, He wore, though here, amid the high-born chiefs Preeminent for prowess. On his head A black plume shadow'd the rude-featured helm. Then was the war of men, when front to front They rear'd the hostile hand, for low the wall Where an assailant's upward-driven spear Might reach his enemy. As Alençon moved, On his crown-crested helm with ponderous blow Fell Gladdisdale's huge mace. Back he recoil'd Astounded; soon recovering, his sharp lance Thrust on the warrior's shield: there fast infixed, Nor could Alençon the deep-driven spear Recover, nor the foeman from his grasp Wrench the contended weapon. Fierce again He lifts the mace, that on the ashen hilt Fell full; it shiver'd, and the Frenchman held A pointless truncheon. Where the Bastard fought, The spear of Poynings, through his plated mail Pierced, and against the iron fence beneath Blunted its point. Again he thrust the spear; At once Dunois on his broad buckler met The unharming stroke, and aim'd with better hap His javelin. Through his sword-arm did it pierce Maugre the mail: hot from the streaming wound He pluck'd the weapon forth, and in his breast Clean through the hauberk drove. But there the war Raged fiercest where the martial Maiden moved A minister of wrath; for thither throng'd The bravest champions of the adverse host. And on her either side two warriors stood Protecting her, and aiming at her foes Watchful their weapons, of themselves the while