Leaves deep impressed the horrors of that hour.
Then as our widow-wives clung round our necks,
And the deep sob of anguish interrupted
The prayer of parting, even the pious priest,
As he implored his God to strengthen us,
And told us we should meet again in heaven,
He groaned, and cursed in bitterness of heart 36
That merciless king. The wretched crowd passed
My wife, my children, through the gates they passed;
Then the gates closed. Would I were in my grave, That I might lose remembrance!
That he can hear the groan of wretchedness,
And feel no fleshly pang? Why did the All-Good
Create these warrior-scourges of mankind, -
These who delight in slaughter? I did think
There was not on this earth a heart so hard
Could hear a famished woman ask for food,
And feel no pity. As the outcast train
Drew near, relentless Henry bade his troops
Drive back the miserable multitude.3
37
They drove them to the walls: it was the depth
Of winter: we had no relief to grant.
The aged ones groaned to our foe in vain,
The mother pleaded for her dying child,
And they felt no remorse."
Rose from her seat: "The old and the infirm,
The mother and her babes! and yet no lightning
"Ay, lady!" Bertram cried;
"And, when we sent the herald to implore
His mercy
38 on the helpless, his stern face
Assumed a sterner smile of callous scorn,
And he replied in mockery. On the wall
I stood, and watched the miserable outcasts,
And every moment thought that Henry's heart,
Hard as it was, would melt. All night I stood:
Their deep groans came upon the midnight gale;
Fainter they grew, for the cold wintry wind
Blew bleak; fainter they grew, and at the last
All was still, save that ever and anon
Some mother raised o'er her expiring child
A cry of frenzying anguish.39
"From that hour, On all the busy turmoil of the world
I looked with strange indifference, bearing want
With the sick patience of a mind worn out;
Nor, when the traitor yielded up our town,40
Aught heeded I as through our ruined streets,
Through putrid heaps of famished carcasses,
The pomp of triumph passed. One pang alone
I felt, when by that cruel king's command
The gallant Blanchard died: 41 calmly he died,
And, as he bowed beneath the axe, thanked God
That he had done his duty.
A solitary, friendless, wretched one,
Knowing no joy save in the certain hope
That I shall soon be gathered to my sires,
And soon repose, there where the wicked cease
From troubling, and the weary are at rest.”
"And happy," cried the delegated Maid, "And happy they who in that holy faith Bow meekly to the rod. A little while Shall they endure the proud man's contumely, The injustice of the great; a little while, Though shelterless they feel the wintry wind, The wind shall whistle o'er their turf-grown
And all be peace below. But woe to those,
Woe to the mighty ones, who send abroad
Their ministers of death, and give to Fury
The flaming firebrand! These indeed shall live,
The heroes of the wandering minstrel's song;
But they have their reward: the innocent blood
Steams up to Heaven against them. God shall
hear
"I saw him," Bertram cried, Henry of Agincourt, this mighty king, Go to his grave. The long procession passed Slowly from town to town; and when I heard The deep-toned dirge, and saw the banners wave A pompous shade,48 and the tall torches cast In the mid-day sun a dim and gloomy light,44 I thought what he had been on earth who now
Was gone to his account, and blessed my God
So spake the old man,
And then his guests betook them to repose.
FAIR dawned the morning, and the early sun
Poured on the latticed cot a cheerful gleam;
And up the travellers rose, and on their way
Hastened, their dangerous way,45 through fertile
Laid waste by war. They passed the Auxerrois :
The autumnal rains had beaten to the earth 46
The unreaped harvest; from the village church
No even-song bell was heard; the shepherd's dog
Preyed on the scattered flock, for there was now
No hand to feed him, and upon the hearth,
Where he had slumbered at his master's feet,
Weeds grew and reptiles crawled. Or, if they
found
Sometimes a welcome, those who welcomed them
Were old and helpless creatures, lingering there
Where they were born, and where they wished to
die,
The place being all that they had left to love. They passed the Yonne, they passed the rapid Loire, Still urging on their way with cautious speed,
Shunning Auxerre, and Bar's embattled wall,
And Romorantin's towers.
So journeying on,
Fast by a spring, which welling at his feet
With many a winding crept along the mead,
A knight they saw, who there at his repast
Let the west wind play round his ungirt brow.
Approaching near, the Bastard recognized
That faithful friend of Orleans, the brave chief
Du Chastel; and, their mutual greeting passed,
They on the streamlet's mossy bank reclined
Beside him, and his frugal fare partook,
And drank the running waters.
For the court, Dunois?" exclaimed the aged knight.
"I thought thou hadst been far away, shut up
In Orleans, where her valiant sons the siege
Right loyally endure.”
Dunois replied, "thinking that my prompt speed
Might seize the enemy's stores, and with fresh force
Re-enter. Falstolffe's better fate prevailed ;
And from the field of shame my maddening horse
Bore me, an arrow having pierced his flank.
Worn out and faint with that day's dangerous toil,
My deep wounds bleeding, vainly with weak hand
I checked the powerless rein. Nor aught availed
When healed at length, defeated and alone
Again to enter Orleans. In Lorraine
I sought to raise new powers, and now returned
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