"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 famish'd,.. or his dear lov'd wife
"Torn from his bosom.. outcast.. broken hearted..
"Cast on the mercy of mankind?”
The cry of indignation from the host.
Burst forth, and all impatient for the war
Demand the signal. These Dunois arrays
Xaintrailles, tried in war,
Commands the first; Xaintrailles, who oft subdued
By adverse fortune to the captive chain,
Still more tremendous to the enemy,
Lifted his death-fraught lance, as erst from earth
Antæus vaunting in his giant bulk,
When graspt by force Herculean, down he fell
Vanquisht; anon uprose more fierce for war.
Gaucour o'er one presides, the steady friend
To long imprison'd Orleans of his town
Beloved guardian, he the dreadful siege
Firmly abiding, prudent still to plan
Irruption, and with youthful vigour swift
To lead the battle, from his soldiers love
Prompter obedience gain'd, than ever fear
Forced from the heart reluctant.
Alençon leads. He on the fatal field
Verneuil, when Buchan and the Douglas died,
Fell senseless. Guiltless he of that day's loss,
Wore undisgraced awhile the captive chain.
The monarch him mindful of his high rank
Had ransom'd, once again to meet the foe
With better fortune.
Dunois the bastard, mighty in the war.
His prowess knew the foes, and his fair fame
Confess'd, since when before his stripling arm
Fled Warwick; Warwick, he whose fair renown
Greece knew and Antioch and the holy soil
Of Palestine, since there in arms he pass'd
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
Parthenopaus, when the war of beasts
Disdaining, he to murder man rush'd 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.
Saint Loup's strong fort stood first. Here Gladdisdale Commands the fearful troops.
Swept by the hoarse wind o'er the blacken'd plain, Mov'd on the host of France: they from the fort, Thro' secret opening, shower their pointed shafts, Or from the battlements the death-tipt spear
Hurl fierce. Nor from the strong arm only launch'd
The javelin fled, but driven by the strain'd force
Of the balista, in one carcass spent
Stay'd not; thro' arms and men it makes its way,
And leaving death behind, still holds its course
By many a death unclogg'd. With rapid march
Right onward they advanced, and soon the shafts,
Impell'd by that strong stroke beyond the host,
Wasting their force, fell harmless. 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 prepar'd. Alençon here,
And here the Bastard stode, and by the Maid,
That daring man who to the English host
Then insolent of many a conquest gain'd,
Bore her bold bidding. A rude coat of mail
Unhos'd, unhooded, as of lowly line
Arm'd him, tho' here amid the high-born chiefs
Pre-eminent for prowess. On his head
A black plume shadow'd the rude-featur'd helm.
Then was the war of men, when front to front They rear'd the hostile hand, for low the wall Where the bold Frenchman's upward-driven spear Might pierce the foemen.
On his crown-crested helm with ponderous blow
Fell Gladdisdale's huge mace. Back he recoil'd
Astounded; soon recovering, his keen lance
Thrust on the warrior's shield: there fast-infix'd,
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, thro' his plated mail
Pierced, and against the iron fence beneath
Blunted its point. Again he speeds the spear;
At once Dunois on his broad buckler bears
The unharming stroke, and aims with better fate
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