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With clamors ominous of victory. Thus urging on, one from the adverse host Advanced to meet them: they his garb of peace Knew, and they halted as the herald spake His bidding to the chieftains. "Sirs!" he cried, "I bear defiance to you from the Earl William of Suffolk. Here on this fit ground, He wills to give you battle, power to power. So please you, on the morrow." "On the morrow We will join battle then," replied Dunois, "And God befriend the right!" Then on the herald A robe rich-furr'd and embroidered he bestow'd, A costly guerdon. Through the army spread The unwelcome tidings of delay; possess'd With agitating hopes they felt the hours Pass heavily; but soon the night waned on, And the loud trumpets' blare from broken sleep Roused them; a second time the thrilling blast Bade them be arm'd, and at the third long sound They ranged them in their ranks. From man to man With pious haste hurried the confessors To shrive them, lest with souls all unprepared They to their death might go. Dunois meantime Rode through the host, the shield of dignity Before him borne, and in his hand he held The white wand of command. The open helm Disclosed that eye which temper'd the strong lines Of steady valor, to obedient awe Winning the will's assent. To some he spake Of late-earn'd glory ; others, new to war, He bade bethink them of the feats achieved When Talbot, recreant to his former fame, Fled from beleaguer'd Orleans. Was there one Whom he had known in battle? by the hand Him did he take, and bid him on that day Summon his wonted courage, and once more Support his chief and comrade. Happy he Who caught his eye, or from the chieftain's lips Heard his own name! joy more inspiriting Fills not the Persian's soul, when sure he deems That Mithra hears propitiously his prayer, And o'er the scattered cloud of morning pours A brighter ray responsive. Then the host Partook due food, this their last meal belike Receiving with such thoughtful doubts as make The soul, impatient of uncertainty, Rush eager to the event; being thus prepared, Upon the grass the soldiers laid themselves, Each in his station, waiting there the sound Of onset, that in undiminish'd strength Strong, they might meet the battle; silent some Pondering the chances of the coming day, Some whiling with a careless gayety The fearful pause of action. Thus the French In such array and high in confident hope Await the signal; whilst with other thoughts, And ominous awe, once more the invading host Prepare them in the field of fight to meet The Prophetess. Collected in himself Appear'd the might of Talbot. Through the ranks He stalks, reminds them of their former fame, Their native land, their homes, the friends they loved, All the rewards oi' this day's victory. But awe had fill'd the English, and they struck Faintly their shields; for they who had beheld The hallowed banner with celestial light Irradiate, and the mission'd Maiden's deeds, Felt their hearts sink within them at the thought Of her near vengeance; and the tale they told Roused such a tumult in the new-come troops. As fitted them for fear. The aged Earl Beheld their drooping valor, and his brow, Wrinkled with thought, bewray'd his inward doubts: Still he was firm, though all might fly, resolved That Talbot should retrieve his old renown, And end his life with glory. Yet some hope Inspired the veteran, as, across the plain Casting his eye, he mark'd the embattled strength Of thousands; archers of unequalled skill, Brigans and pikemen, from whose lifted points A fearful radiance flash'd, and young esquires, And high-born warriors, bright in blazon'd arms. Nor few, nor fameless were the English chiefs. In many a field victorious, he was there, The garter'd Fastolffe; Hungerford, and Scales, Men who had seen the hostile squadrons fly Before the arms of England; Suffolk there, The haughty chieftain, tower'd; blest had he fallen Ere yet a courtly minion he was mark'd By public hatred, and the murderer's guilt! There too the son of Talbot, young in arms, Heir of a noble race and mighty name: At many a tilt and tournament had he Approved his skill and prowess; confident In strength, and jealous of his future fame, His heart beat high for battle. Such array Of marshall'd numbers fought not on the field Of Cressy, nor at Poietiers; nor such force Led Henry to the fight of Agincourt, When thousands fell before him. Onward move The host of France. It was a goodly sight To see the embattled pomp, as with the step Of stateliness the barded steeds came on, — To see the pennons rolling their long waves Before the gale, and banners broad and bright Tossing their blazonry, and high-plumed chiefs, Vidames, and Seneschalls, and Chastellains, Gay with their buckler's gorgeous heraldry, And silken surcoats to the mid-day sun Glittering. And now the knights of France dismount, For not to brutal strength they deem'd it right To trust their fame and their dear country's weal; Rather to manly courage, and the glow Of honorable thoughts, such as inspire Ennobling energy. Unhorsed, unspurr'd, Their javelins shorten'd to a wieldy length, They to the foe advanced. The Maid alone, Conspicuous on a coal-black courser, meets The war. They moved to battle with such sound As rushes o'er the vaulted firmament,