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The vanquish'd English fly towards the gate, Seeking the inner court, as yet in hope To abide a second siege, and with their friends Find present refuge there. Mistaken men! The vanquish'd have no friends! defeated thus, Press'd by pursuit, in vain with eager voice They call their comrades in the suppliant tones Of pity now, now with the bitter curse Of fruitless anger; they indeed within Fast from the ramparts cast upon the French Beams, stones, and javelins, — but the gate is barr'd, The huge portcullis down! Then terror seized Their hopeless hearts: some, furious in despair, Turn on their foes; fear-palsied some await The coming death; some drop the useless sword, And cry for mercy. Then the Maid of Arc Took pity on the vanquish'd; and she call'd Aloud, and cried unto the host of France, And bade them cease from slaughter. They obey'd The delegated Damsel. Some there were Apart who communed murmuring, and of those Graville address'd her. "Prophetess! our troops Are few in number ; and to well secure These many prisoners such a force demands, As should we spare might shortly make us need The mercy we bestow; not mercy then, Rather to these our soldiers, cruelty. Justice to them, to France, and to our king, And that regard wise nature hath in each Implanted of self-safety, all demand Their deaths." "Foul fall such evil policy!" The indignant Maid exclaim'd. "I tell thee, chief, God is with us! but God shall hide his face From them, short-sighted they, as hard of heart, Who, disregarding all that mitigates, All that ennobles dreadful war, shed blood Like water; who, in the deceitful scales Of worldly wisdom, dare to counterpoise The right with the expedient, and resolve Without compunction, as the beam inclines Held in a faltering or a faithless hand. These men shall live to see their homes again, Some to be welcomed there with tears of joy By those who to the latest hour of life Will in their grateful prayers remember us. And when that hour shall come to us, that comes To all, how gladly should we then exchange Renown, however splendid, for the thought That we have saved one victim from the sword, — If only one, — who begs for us from Heaven That mercy which to others we have shown!" Turning to Conrade, then she said, "Do thou Appoint an escort for the prisoners. Thou need'st not be reminded they are men, Rather by fortune, or by fate, than choice, Brought hither from their homes to work our bale, And for their own not less; but yielded thus Whom we must neither treat as enemies Nor trust as friends, but in safe-keeping hold, Both for their own security and ours."

She said: when Conrade cast his eyes around, And saw from man to man where Francis ran, Bidding them spare the vanquish'd; him he hail'd. "The Maid hath bade me choose a leader forth To guard the prisoners; thou shall be the man; For thou wilt guard them with due diligence, Yet not forgetful of humanity."

Meantime the garrison of that stronghold, Who, lest the French should enter, had exposed Their comrades to the sword, sustain'd the siege In desperate valor. Fast against the walls The battering-ram was driven; the mangonels Plied at the ramparts fast; the catapults Drove there their dreadful darts ; the war-wolves there Hurl'd their huge stones; and, through the kindled sky, The engines shower'd their sheets of liquid fire.

"Feel ye not, comrades, how the ramparts shake?" Exclaim'd a daring Englishman. "Our foes, In woman-like compassion, have dismiss'd A powerful escort, weakening thus themselves, And giving us fair hope, in equal field, Of better fortune. Sorely here annoy'd, And slaughter'd by their engines from afar, We perish. Vainly may the soldier boast Undaunted courage and the arm of strength, If thus pent up, like some wild beast he falls, Mark'd for the hunter's arrows. Let us out And meet them in the battle, man to man, Either to conquer, or at least to die A soldier's death." "Nay, nay — not so," replied One of less hopeful courage. "Though they point Their engines here, our archers not in vain Discharge their quarrels. Let the walls and works Still be defended; it will then be time To meet the.n in the battle man to man, When these shall fail us." Scarcely had he said, When a huge stone, thrown from some petrary Smote him upon the breast, and with dismay Fill'd all around; for as it shattered him, His blood besprinkled them, and they beheld His mangled lungs lie quivering. "Such the fate Of those who trust them to their walls' defence!" Again exclaim'd the soldier: "Thus they fall, Betray'd by their own fears. Courage alone Can save us." Nor to draw them from the fort Now needed eloquence; with one accord They bade him lead the onset. Forth they rush'd Impetuous. With such fury o'er the plain, Swollen by the autumnal tempest. Vega rolls His rapid waters, when the gathered storm, On the black heights of Hatteril bursting, swells The tide of desolation. Then the Maid Spake to the Son of Orleans, "Let our troops Fall back, so shall the English in pursuit Leave this strong fortress, thus an easy prey."