The mother and her babes!.. and yet no lightning Blasted this man!"

66

260

Aye, Lady," Bertram cried, "And when we sent the herald to implore His mercy on the helpless, his stern face Assum'd a sterner smile of callous scorn, And he replied in mockery. On the wall I stood and watch'd 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.

"From that hour

On all the busy turmoil of the world

266

271

I look'd with strange indifference; bearing want
With the sick patience of a mind worn out.
Nor when the traitor yielded up our town
Aught heeded I as through our ruin'd streets, 275
Through putrid heaps of famish'd carcases,
The pomp of triumph pass'd. One pang alone
I felt, when by that cruel King's command
The gallant Blanchard died: calmly he died,
And as he bow'd beneath the axe, thank'd God 280
That he had done his duty.

"I survive, A solitary, friendless, wretched one, Knowing no joy save in the certain hope

All who were useless in the work of war,

Should forth and take their fortune. Age, that makes The joys and sorrows of the distant years

Like a half-remember'd dream, yet on my heart
Leaves deep impress'd the horrors of that hour. 230
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, 235
He groan'd and curs'd in bitterness of heart
That merciless King. The wretched crowd pass'd on;
My wife..my children..through the gates they pass'd,
Then the gates closed.. Would I were in my grave
That I might lose remembrance!

"What is man

That he can hear the groan of wretchedness

241

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 245

Could hear a famish'd woman ask for food,

And feel no pity. As the outcast train
Drew near, relentless Henry bade his troops
Drive back the miserable multitude.

251

They drove them to the walls;... it was the depth
Of winter,... we had no relief to grant.
The aged ones groan'd to our foe in vain,
The mother pleaded for her dying child,
And they felt no remorse!"

The mission'd Maid

Rose from her seat,.. "The old and the infirm, 255

The mother and her babes!.. and yet no lightning

Blasted this man!"

66

260

'Aye, Lady," Bertram cried, "And when we sent the herald to implore His mercy on the helpless, his stern face Assum'd a sterner smile of callous scorn, And he replied in mockery. On the wall I stood and watch'd 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.

"From that hour

On all the busy turmoil of the world

I look'd with strange indifference; bearing want
With the sick patience of a mind worn out.

266

271

Nor when the traitor yielded up our town
Aught heeded I as through our ruin'd streets, 275
Through putrid heaps of famish'd carcases,
The pomp of triumph pass'd. One pang alone
I felt, when by that cruel King's command
The gallant Blanchard died: calmly he died,
And as he bow'd beneath the axe, thank'd God 280
That he had done his duty.

“ I survive, A solitary, friendless, wretched one, Knowing no joy save in the certain hope

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

286

295

Shall they endure the proud man's contumely, 290
The injustice of the great: a little while
Though shelterless they feel the wintry wind,
The wind shall whistle o'er their turf-grown grave,
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
The widow's groan."

"I saw him," Bertram cried, Henry of Agincourt, this mighty King,

302

306

Go to his grave. The long procession pass'd
Slowly from town to town, and when I heard
The deep-toned dirge, and saw the banners wave
A pompous shade, and the tall torches cast
In the mid-day sun a dim and gloomy light,
I thought what he had been on earth who now
Was gone to his account, and blest my God
I was not such as he!"

So spake the old man, 310 And then his guests betook them to repose.

JOAN OF ARC.

THE THIRD BOOK.

10

FAIR dawn'd the morning, and the early sun
Pour'd on the latticed cot a cheerful gleam,
And up the travellers rose, and on their way
Hasten'd, their dangerous way, through fertile tracks
Laid waste by war. They pass'd the Auxerrois; 5
The autumnal rains had beaten to the earth
The unreap'd harvest; from the village church
No even-song bell was heard; the shepherd's dog
Prey'd on the scatter'd flock, for there was now
No hand to feed him, and upon the hearth
Where he had slumber'd at his master's feet
Weeds grew and reptiles crawl'd. 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 wish'd to die,
The place being all that they had left to love. 16
They pass'd the Yonne, they pass'd 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,

Eve