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Bravely thus he spake, Advising well, and Salisbury replied: "Rightly thou say'st. But, Talbot, could we reach The sorceress in the battle, one sure blow Might give us back, this hour, the mastery So marvellously lost: nor difficult To meet the wench, for from the battlements I have beheld her foremost in attack, Playing right valiantly the soldier's part. In her the enemy have their strength; with her Their strength would fall. And had we her but once Within arm-stroke, witch though she be, methinks 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 I had been seen among mankind no more. Maiden! with me thy comrade in the war, His arm is vow'd to heaven. Lo! where he stands Bearing the battle's brunt!" Nor paused they now In further 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 breastplate, or close mail Rotund 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 splendor grace This thy death-day; for 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 m Concentred. On the breast of Salisbury It fell, and cleft his mail, and through 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, Though 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