Pride, revenge, and youthful daring,
And their cause and country's name,
Drive them on with sweep unsparing—
Nought for life, and all for fame!
Still above the surge of battle
Breathes the trump its fatal gale,
And the hollow tambours rattle
Chorus to the deadly gale.
Still is Joan the first in glory,
Still she sways the maddening fight,
Filling all the crowded story
With an unimagined might.
Squadrons furious close around her,
Still her blade is waving free;
Sword nor lance avails to wound her,
Terror of a host is she.
Heavenly guardian, maiden wonder!
Long shall France resound the day,
When thou camest clad in thunder,
Blasting thy tremendous way.
Yet, who closer marked the face
That over-ruled the battle-place,
Much had marvelled to discern
Looks concentered, calm, and stern.
For no flush of hot ambition
Stained her soul's unearthly mission.
Raging hate, and stubborn pride,
Warlike cunning, life-long tried,
Low before that presence died.
For within her saintless heart
Nought of these had found
God had willed the land to free;
Handmaiden of God was she.
Never so smooth a brow before,
Battle's darkening ensign wore;
And 'twas still the gentle eye
Went when evening veiled the sky,
In the whispering shade to see
Angels haunt the lonely tree.
Loud o'er Orleans' rampart swells
Music from her steeple bells,
Loud to France the triumph tells;
And the vehement trumpets blending,
With the shouts to heaven ascending,
Hail the maid whom seraphs bless,
Consecrated Championess!
Sound from heart to heart that tingles,
Echoing on without a pause;
While her name like sunshine mingles
With each breath a nation draws.
All the land, with joy on fire,
Blazes round the festal march,
Till they meet the priestly choir
Under Rheims' cathedral arch.
Ancient towers, and cloisters hoary,
Gleam and thrill above the king;
Beauteous rite, and blazoned story,
On his crown their lustre fling,
With an old resurgent glory,
Laws and freedom hallowing.
Therefore, baron, count, and peer,
Priest and dame no more in fear,
All assemble, wondering here;
And a sea of common men,
Feasting all with greedy ken,
Now behold, with pomp appear,
Smiling, not without a tear,
Joan, the dearest sight to see,
First of all the chivalry,
Bearing low her bannered spear.
Dizzy with their full delight,
All disperse ere comes the night.
Charles and all his train are met,
Revelling in royal hall!
Shield and pennon o'er them set,
Many a doubtful fight recall;
And the thronged and clanging town,
For the rescued land's renown,
Keeps a sudden carnival.
Ask ye, where the while is Joan?
She within the minster lone,
To the silent altar steals,
And before it trembling kneels;
And amid the shadows dim,
Faithfully she prays to Him
Who his light in dark reveals.
Now again her home she sees,
Domremy with all its trees,
Where the ancient beech is growing,
And the haunted fount is flowing,
And the Meuse with equal sound
Breathes its quiet all around.
Won again by weeping prayer,
Lo! her loved protectors there,
Catherine mild, and Margaret fair.
Over them a light is streaming,
On their gracious foreheads beaming,
Flowing from an orb unseen,
To which heaven is but a screen;
All our human sight above,
Not beyond our human love;
And from thence she hears a voice
That can make the dead rejoice;
"Give not way to pride or fear, For the end of all is near!"
End with many tears implored!
'Tis the sound of home restored!
And as mounts the angel show,
Gliding with them she would go,
But, again to stoop below,
And, returned to green Lorraine,
Be a shepherd child again.
Now the crown of Charles is won,
Now the work of God is done,
Angel wings, away! away!
Lift her home by close of day,
And upon her mother's breast
Give her weary spirit rest.
Then, with vernal thickets nigh,
And the waters glistening by,
In smooth valleys let her keep
Undescried her quiet sheep.
This the promise to the maid
By the heavenly voice convey'd:
O! how differing far the doom!
O! how close the bloody tomb!
Thus men hear, but not discern,
What heaven wills that they should learn;
And the time and deed alone
Make the eternal meaning known.
Wail, ye fields and woods of France
Rivers, dim your sunny glance!
All of strong, and fair, and old
That the eyes of men behold,
Mountain gray, and hermit dell,
Sun and stars unquenchable,
Founts whose kisses woo the lea,
Endless, many-flooded sea,
All that witnesses a power
To o'erawe the importunate hour,
Human works devoutly wrought
To unfold enduring thought,
Shrines that seem the reverend birth
Of an elder, holier earth,
Mourn above your altar dear,
Quaking with no godless fear!
And, thou deepest heart of man,
Home of love ere sin began,
Faith prophetic, mercy mild,
Patriot passion undefiled,
Mourn with righteous grief the day
When was hushed your choral lay!
When the skiey guardian band
Of the liberated land,
Radiant kings were seen to wane,
And were eyeless clouds again;
When the foe, who far recoil'd,
By a maiden's presence foil'd,
Rushed again in grim despair
From his burning blood-stained lair,
And made prey of her whose word
Was so oft a living sword.
Woeful end, and conflict long!
Stress of agonizing wrong!
In the black and stifling cell,
Watched by many a sentinel,
Not a saint is with her now
Beaming light from locks and brow;
No melodious angel calls
Through the huge unshaken walls;
But the brutal sworder jeers,
Making merry at her tears,
And the priests her faith assail
Till it fears, but cannot fail.
So the hopeful cheer she wore
Like a robe of state before-
Branch and leaf, and summer flower,
Perish from her hour by hour.
But the firm sustaining root
Dies not with the trembling shoot.
17
So survives her soul-but O!
Fierce the closing gust of wo,
When beneath the eyes of day
Thousands gather round her way—
And a host in steel array,
When the captive, wan and lowly,
Walks beside her gaoler slowly,
Till before the expectant pile
Weak she stands, with saddest smile;
And her steady tones reply
To the cowled tormentor's lie-
"God commanded me to go,
And I went, as well you know,
To destroy my country's foe!"
While she clasps the saving rood
Fiercer swells the murderers' mood,
Till, through rising smoke and flame
Comes no sound but Jesu's name-
Jesu-Jesu-oft renewed,
Oft by stifling pain subdued.
Soon that cry is heard no more,
And the people, mute before,
Groan to heaven, for all is o'er.
Word untrue! That all can ne'er
Have its close and destiny here.
All that can be o'er on earth
Is the shifting cloudland's birth;
Dream and shadow, mist and error,
Joy unblest, and nightmare terror-
Passions blent in ghostly play,
Twinklings of life's gusty day-
Glittering sights that vaguely roll,
Catch the eye, but mock the soul-
Griefs and hopes ill understood.
Tyrants of man's weaker mood,
Folly's loved, portentous brood-
These, and all the aims they cherish,
In their native tomb may perish.
Phantoms shapeless, huge, and wild,
That beset the graybeard child-
Loud usurpers, fierce and mean,
Ruling an unstable scene;
Blinding hate, corroding lust,
Lies that cheat our wiser trust,
These may cleave to formless dust;
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