Classic and Contemporary Poetry
JOAN OF ARC: BOOK 3, by ROBERT SOUTHEY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Fair dawn'd the morning, and the early sun Last Line: "we ratify thy mission. Go in peace." Subject(s): Duty; Faith; France; Heroism; Joan Of Arc (1412-1431); Missions & Missionaries; Religion; Belief; Creed; Heroes; Heroines; Theology | ||||||||
Dunois and the Maid arrive at Chinon. Dunois announces the mission of Joan. Despondency and incredulity of the King. She discovers and addresses him. Charles convenes the Doctors of Theology. They examine the Maid. 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, thro' fertile tracks The waste of war. They pass'd the Auxerrois; 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 The rank weed flourish'd. Did they sometimes find A welcome, he who welcomed them was one Who lingered in the place where he was born, For that was all that he had left to love. They past the Yonne, they past 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, that welling at his feet With many a winding crept along the mead, A knight they saw, who at his plain repast Let the west wind play round his ungirt brow. Approaching near, the Bastard recognis'd The gallant friend of Orleans, the brave chief Du Chastel; and, the mutual greeting pass'd, They, on the streamlet's mossy bank reclin'd, Paus'd on their way, the frugal fare partook, And drank the running waters. "Art thou bound For the Court, Dunois?" exclaimed the aged knight; "I deem'd thee far away, coop'd in the walls Of Orleans; a hard siege her valiant sons Right loyally endure!" "I left the town," Dunois replied, "thinking that my prompt speed Might seize the hostile stores, and with fresh force Re-enter. Fastoffe's better fate prevail'd, And from the field of shame my maddening horse Bore me, for the barb'd arrow gored his flank. Fatigued and faint with that day's dangerous toil, My deep wounds bleeding, vainly with weak hand Check'd I the powerless rein. Nor aught avail'd When heal'd at length, defeated and alone Again to enter Orleans. In Lorraine I sought to raise new powers, and now, return'd With strangest and most unexpected aid Sent by high Heaven, I seek the Court, and thence To that beleaguered town shall lead such force, That the proud English in their fields of blood Shall perish." "I too," Tanneguy replied, "May haply in the battle once again Serve him my royal Master; in his cause My youth adventur'd much, nor can my age Find better close than in the clang of arms To die for him whom I have liv'd to serve. Thou art for the Court; Son of the Chief I lov'd! Be wise by my experience. He who seeks Court favour, ventures like the boy who leans Over the brink of some high precipice To reach the o'er-hanging fruit. Thou seest me here A banish'd man, Dunois! so to appease The proud and powerful Richemont, who, long time Most sternly jealous of the royal ear, With midnight murder leagues, and down the Loire, Rolls the black carcase of his strangled foe. Now confident of strength, at the king's feet He stabs the king's best friends, and then demands, As with a conqueror's imperious tone, The post of honour. Son of that lov'd chief Whose death my arm avenged, may thy days Be happy; serve thy country in the field, And in the hour of peace, amid thy friends Dwell thou without ambition." So he spake. But when the Bastard told the wondrous tale, How interposing Heaven had its high aid Vouchsafed to France, the old man's eyes flash'd fire, And rising from the bank, the stately steed That grazed beside he mounts. "Farewell, Dunois, Thou, too, the delegate of Heaven, farewell! I go to raise the standard! we shall meet At Orleans." O'er the plain he spurr'd his steed. They journey on their way till Chinon's towers Rose to the distant view; imperial seat Of Charles; for Paris, with her servile sons, A headstrong, mutable, ferocious race, Bow'd to the invader's yoke, since that sad hour When Faction o'er her streets with giant stride Strode terrible, and Murder and Revenge, As by the midnight torches' lurid light They mark'd their mangled victims writhe convuls'd, Listen'd the deep death-groan. Ill-fated scene! Thro' many a dark age drenched with innocent blood, And one day doom'd to know the damning guilt Of Brissot murder'd, and the blameless wife Of Roland! Martyr'd patriots, spirits pure, Wept by the good ye fell! Yet still survives, Sown by your toil, and by your blood manur'd, The imperishable seed; and now its roots Spread, and strike deep, and soon shall it become That Tree beneath whose shade the sons of men Shall pitch their tents in peace. In Paris now Triumphed the Invader. On an infant's head Had Bedford placed the crown of Charlemagne, And factions nobles bow'd the subject knee In homage to their king, their baby lord, Their cradled mighty one! "Belov'd of Heaven," So spake the Son of Orleans as they pass'd, "Lo these the walls of Chinon, this the abode Of Charles our monarch. Here in revelry He of his armies vanquish'd, his fair towns Subdued, hears careless, and prolongs the dance. And little marvel I that to the cares Of empire still he turns the unwilling ear; For loss on loss, defeat upon defeat, His strong holds taken, and his bravest chiefs Or dead or captur'd and the hopes of youth All blasted, have subdued the royal mind, Undisciplin'd in Fortitude's stern school. So may thy voice arouse his sleeping virtues!" The mission'd maid replied, "Go thou, Dunois, Announce my mission to the royal ear. I on the river's winding banks the while Would roam, collecting for high enterprise My thoughts, troubled though firm. He who essays Achievements of vast import, will perforce Feel his heart heave; and in my breast I feel Such perturbation." On the banks of Vienne Devious the Damsel turn'd. Through Chinon's gates The Son of Orleans press'd with rapid step, Seeking the king. Him from the public view He found secluded with his blameless queen, And her, partaker of the unlawful bed, The lofty-minded Agnes. "Son of Orleans!" So as he enter'd cried the haughty fair, "Thou art well come to witness the disgrace, The weak, unmanly, mean despondency Of this thy Sovereign Liege. He will retreat To distant Dauphinè and fly the war! Go then, unworthy of thy rank! retreat To distant Dauphinè, and fly the war, Recreant from battle! I will not partake A fugitive's fate; when thou hast lost thy crown Thou hast lost Agnes.Dost not blush, Dunois! To bleed in combat for a Prince like this, Fit only, like the Merovingian race, On a May morning deck'd with flowers, to mount His gay-bedizened car, and ride abroad And make the multitude a holyday. Go, Charlesand hide thee in a woman's garb, And these long locks will not disgrace thee then!" "Nay, Agnes!" Charles replied, "reproach me no I have enough of sorrow. Look around, See this fair country ravaged by the foe, My strong holds taken, and my bravest chiefs Fall'n in the field, or captives far away. Dead is the Douglas; cold thy warrior frame, Illustrious Buchan; ye from Scotland's hills, Not mindless of your old ally distress'd, Rush'd to his succour: in his cause ye fought, For him ye perish'd. Rash, impetuous Narbonne Thy mangled corse waves to the winds of heaven. Cold, Graville, is thy sinewy arm in death; Fall'n is Ventadaur; silent in the grave Rambouillet sleeps: Bretagne's unfaithful chief Leagues with my foes, and Richemont, or in arms Defies my weak control, or from my side, A friend more dreaded than the enemy, Drives my best servants with the assassin sword. Soon must the towers of Orleans fall!But now These sad thoughts boot not. Welcome to our court, Dunois! We yet can give the friendly feast, And from the heavy cares of empire win One hospitable day of merriment." The Chief replied: "So may thy future years Pass from misfortune free, as all these ills Shall vanish like a vision of the night! To thee, to France I come the messenger Of aid from Heaven. The delegated Maid With me, whom Providence all-wise decrees The saviour of the realm;a holy Maid, Bearing strange promise of miraculous things; One whom it were not possible to hear And disbelieve." Astonish'd by his speech Stood Charles. "At one of meaner estimation I should have smil'd, Dunois. Thy well-known worth, The loyalty of all thy noble house, Compel me even to this, a most strange tale, To lend a serious ear. A woman sent From Heaven, the Saviour of this wasted realm, One whom it were not possible to hear And disbelieve! Dunois, ill now beseems Ought wild and hazardous; the throne of France Totters upon destruction. Is my person Known to this woman?" "She has liv'd retir'd," The Bastard answer'd, "ignorant of courts, And little heeding, till the spirit of God Rous'd her to this great work." To him the king: "If, then, she knows me not, abide thou here, And hither, by a speedy messenger, Summon the Maiden. On the throne, meantime, I the while mingling with the menial throng, Some courtier shall be seated. If this Maid Be by the holy spirit of God inspir'd, That holy spirit will gift her with the power To pierce deception. But if, strange of mind, Enthusiast fancy fire her wilder'd brain, Thus proved, she to obscurity again May guiltlessly retire. Our English foes Might well exult to see the sons of France Led by a frenzied female." So he said; And, with a doubtful hope, the son of Orleans Dispatched a speedy messenger, to seek Beside the banks of Vienne, the mission'd Maid. Soon is the court convened; the jewell'd crown Shines on a menial's head. Amid the throng The monarch stands, and anxious for the event, His heart beats high. She comes, the inspired Maid! And as the Bastard led her to the throne, Quick glancing o'er the mimic Majesty, Fix'd full her eye one Charles. "Thou art the King. I come the avenging delegate of Heaven, Wielding the wrathful weapon, from whose death, Their stern arts palsied by the arm of God, Far, far from Orleans shall the English wolves Speed their disastrous flight. Monarch of France! Spread the good tidings through thy ravaged realm! The Maid is come, the mission'd Maid, whose hand Shall in the consecrated walls of Rheims Crown thee the anointed king." In wonder mute The courtiers heard. The astonish'd king exclaim'd, "This is indeed the agency of Heaven! Hard, Maiden, were I of belief," he cried, "Did I not now, with full and confirm'd faith, Thee the redeemer of this ravaged realm Believe. Not doubting, therefore, the strange will Of the all-wise Providence, delay I now Instant to marshal the brave sons of France Beneath thy banners; but to satisfy Those who at distance from this most clear proof May hear and disbelieve, or yield at best A cold assent. These fully to confirm, And more to manifest thy holy power, Forthwith with all due speed I shall convene The Doctors of Theology, wise men, And skilful in the mysteries of Heaven. By these thy mission studied and approved, As needs it must, their sanction to all minds Shall bring conviction, and the firm belief Lead on thy favour'd troops to mightiest deeds, Surpassing human credibility." Well pleas'd the Maiden heard. Her the king leads From the disbanding throng, meantime to dwell With Mary. Watchful for her lord's return She sat with Agnes; Agnes, proud of heart, Majestically fair, whose large full eye Or flashing anger, or with scornful scowl, Deform'd her beauteous features. Yet with her, The lawless idol of the monarch's heart, Mary, obedient to her husband's will, Dwelt peaceful, from the proudly-generous mind Of Agnes winning friendship. Soon the Maid Lov'd the mild queen, and sojourning with her, Expects the solemn summons. Through the realm Meantime the king's convoking voice was heard, And from their palaces and monasteries Swarm'd forth the doctors, men acute and deep, Grown grey in study; priests and bishops haste To Chinon: teachers wise and with high names, Seraphic, Subtile, or Irrefragable, By their admiring pupils dignified. The doctors met; from cloister gloom recluse, Or from the haunts luxurious of the abode Episcopal, they met, and sought the place Of judgment. Very ancient was the dome, The floor with many a monumental stone O'erspread, and brass-ensculptur'd effigy Of holy abbots honour'd in their day, Now to the grave gone down. The branching arms Of many a ponderous pillar met aloft, Wreath'd on the roof emboss'd. The windows gleam'd Awful and dim their many-colour'd light, Through the rich robes of eremites and saints, Trees, mountains, castles, ships, sun, moon, and stars Splendid confusion! the pure wave beneath Reflects and trembles in the purpling beam. On the altar burns that mystic lamp whose flame May not be quenched. Circling round the vase They bow the knee, uttering the half-heard prayer; Mysterious power communicating thus To the hallowed water, deem'd a mightier spell O'er the fierce fiends of Satan's fallen crew, Than e'er the hell-hags taught in Thessaly, Or they who, sitting on the rifled grave, Dim seen by the blue tomb-fire's lurid light, Partake the Vampire's banquet. This perform'd, The Maid is summon'd. Round the holy vase Mark'd with the mystic tonsure, and enrob'd In sacred vests, a venerable train, They stand. The delegated Maid obeys Their summons. As she came, a loveliest blush O'er her fair cheek suffus'd, such as became One mindful still of maiden modesty, Though of her own worth conscious. Thro' the aisle The cold wind moaning, as it pass'd along Waved her dark flowing locks. Before the train, In reverend silence waiting their sage will, With half-averted eye she stood composed. So have I seen the simple snow-drop rise Amid the russet leaves that hide the earth In early spring, so seen its gentle bend Of modest loveliness amid the waste Of desolation. By the maiden's side The Son of Orleans stood, prepar'd to vouch That when on Charles the Maiden's eye had fix'd, As led by power miraculous, no fraud, No juggling artifice of secret sign Dissembled inspiration. As he stood Steadily viewing the mysterious rites, Thus to the attentive Maid the Arch-Priest spake Severe. "Woman, if any fiend of hell Lurk in thy bosom, so to prompt the vaunt Of inspiration, and to mock the power Of God and holy church, thus by the virtue Of water hallowed in the name of God That damned spirit adjure I to depart From his possessed prey." Slowly he spake, And sprinkled water on the virgin's face. Indignant at the unworthy charge, the Maid Felt her cheek flush, but soon, the transient glow Fading, she answered meek: "Most holy sires, Ye reverend fathers of the Christian church, Most catholic! before your view I stand A poor, weak woman. Of the grace vouchsafed How far unworthy, conscious: yet though mean, Guiltless of fraud, and chosen by highest Heaven The minister of aid. Strange voices heard, The dark and shadowing visions of the night, And feelings that I may not dare to doubt These portents make me conscious of the God Within me; he who gifted my purged eye To know the monarch 'mid the menial throng, Unseen before. Thus much it boots to say. The life of simple virgin ill deserves To call your minds from studies wise and deep, Not to be fathom'd by the weaker sense Of man profane." "Thou speakest," said the Priest, "Of dark and shadowing visions of the night. Canst thou remember, Maid! what vision first Seem'd more than Fancy's shaping? from such tale, Minutely told with accurate circumstance, Best judgment might be formed." The Maid replied: "Amid the mountain valleys I had driven My father's flock. The eve was drawing on, When, by the sudden storm surprised, I sought A chapel's neighbouring shelter; ruined now; But I remember when its vesper bell Was heard among the hills, a pleasant sound, That made me pause upon my homeward road, Awaking in me comfortable thoughts Of holiness. The unsparing soldiery Had sack'd the hamlet near, and none was left Duly at sacred seasons to attend St. Agnes' chapel. In the desolate pile I drove my flock, with no irreverent thoughts, Nor mindless that the place on which I trod Was holy ground. It was a fearful night! Devoutly to the virgin saint I pray'd, Then heap'd the wither'd leaves that the autumn wind Had drifted in, and laid me down upon them, And sure I think I slept. But so it was That, in the dead of night, Saint Agnes stood Before mine eyes, such and so beautiful As when, amid the house of wickedness, The power whom with such fervent love she served Veiled her with glory. And she seem'd to point To the moss-grown altar, and the crucifix Half hid by the long grass;and then I thought I could have withered armies with a look, For from the present saint such divine power I felt infused'twas but a dream, perhaps. And yet methought that when a louder peal Burst o'er the roof, and all was left again Utterly dark, each bodily sense was clear And sensible to every circumstance Of time and place." Attentive to her words Thus the Priest answered: "Brethren, ye have heard The woman's tale. Beseems us now to ask Whether of holy church a duteous child Before our court appears, so not unlike Heaven might vouchsafe its gracious miracle; Or silly heretic, whose erring thoughts, Monstrous and vain, perchance might stray beyond All reason, and conceit strange dreams and signs Impossible. Say, woman, from thy youth Hast thou, as rightly mother church demands, Confess'd to the holy priest each secret sin, That by the grace vouchsafed to him from Heaven, He might absolve thee?" "Father," she replied, "The forms of worship in mine earlier years Waked my young mind to artificial awe, And made me fear my God. Warm with the glow Of health and exercise, whene'er I pass'd The threshold of the house of prayer, I felt A cold damp chill me; I beheld the flame That with a pale and feeble glimmering Dimmed the noonlight; I heard the solemn mass, And with strange feelings and mysterious dread Telling my beads, gave to the mystic prayers Devoutest meaning. Often when I saw The pictured flames writhe round a penanced soul, Have I retired, and knelt before the cross And wept for grace, and trembled and believed A God of Terrors. But in riper years, When as my soul grew strong in solitude, I saw the eternal energy pervade The boundless range of nature, with the sun Pour life and radiance from his flamy path, And on the lowliest flowret of the field The kindly dew-drops shed. And then I felt That He who form'd this goodly frame of things Must needs be good, and with a Father's name I call'd on Him, and from my burthen'd heart Pour'd out the yearnings of unmingled love. Methinks it is not strange, then, that I fled The house of prayer, and made the lonely grove My temple, at the foot of some old oak Watching the little tribes that had their world Within its mossy bark; or laid me down Beside the rivulet, whose murmuring Was silence to my soul, and mark'd the swarm Whose light-edged shadows on the bedded sand Mirror'd their mazy sports; the insect hum, The flow of waters, and the song of birds Making most holy music to mine ear: Oh! was it strange, if for such scenes as these, Such deep devoutness, such intense delight Of quiet adoration, I forsook The house of worship? strange, that when I felt That God had made my spirit quick to feel And love whate'er was beautiful and good, And from ought evil and deform'd to shrink Even as with instinct;father! was it strange That in my heart I had no thought of sin And did not need forgiveness?" As she spake, The doctors stood astonish'd, and some while They listen'd still in wonder. But at length A priest replied: "Woman, thou seemst to scorn The ordinances of the holy church, And, if I rightly understand thy words, Thou sayest that solitude and nature taught Thy feelings of religion, and that now Masses and absolutions and the use Of mystic wafer, are to thee unknown. How, then, could Nature teach thee true religion, Deprived of these? Nature can teach to sin, But 'tis the priest alone can teach remorse, Can bid St. Peter ope the gates of heaven, And from the penal fires of purgatory Absolve the soul. Could Nature teach thee this? Or tell thee that St. Peter holds the keys, And that his successor's unbounded power Extends o'er either world? Although thy life Of sin were free, if of this holy truth Ignorant, thy soul in liquid flames must rue Transgression." Thus he spake; the applauding look Went round. Nor dubious to reply the Maid Was silent. "Fathers of the holy church, If on these points abstruse a simple maid Like me, should err, impute not you the crime To self-will'd reason, vaunting its own strength Above the eternal wisdom. True it is That for long time I have not heard the sound Of mass high-chanted, nor with trembling lips Partook the mystic wafer: yet the bird That to the matin ray prelusive pour'd His joyous song, methought did warble forth Sweeter thanksgiving to religion's ear In his wild melody of happiness, Than ever rung along the high-arched roofs Of man. Yet never from the bending vine Pluck'd I its ripen'd clusters thanklessly, Of that good God unmindful, who bestow'd The bloodless banquet. Ye have told me, sirs, That Nature only teaches man to sin! If it be sin to seek the wounded lamb, To bind its wounds, and bathe them with my tears, This is what Nature taught! No, fathers! no, It is not Nature that can teach to sin: Nature is all benevolence, all love, All beauty! In the greenwood's simple shade There is no vice that to the indignant cheek Bids the red current rush; no misery there; No wretched mother, that with pallid face And famine-fall'n, hangs o'er her hungry babes With such a look, so wan, so wo-begone, As shall one day, with damning eloquence, Against the mighty plead! Nature teach sin! Oh blasphemy against the Holy One, Who made us in the image of Himself, Who made us all for happiness and love Infinite happiness, infinite love, Partakers of his own eternity." Solemn and slow the reverend priest replied: "Much, woman, do I doubt that all-wise Heaven Would thus vouchsafe its gracious miracles On one fore-doom'd to misery; for so doom'd Is that deluded one, who, of the mass Unheeding, and the church's saving power, Deems Nature sinless. Therefore, mark me well, Brethren, I would propose this woman try The holy ordeal. Let her, bound and stript, Lest haply in her clothes should be conceal'd Some holy relic so profaned, be cast In the deep pond; there if she float, no doubt Some fiend upholds, but if she instant sink, Sure sign is that that Providence displays Her free from witchcraft. This done, let her walk Blinded and bare o'er ploughshares heated red, And o'er these past, her naked arm plunge deep In scalding water. If from these she pass Unhurt, to holy father of the church, Most blessed Pope, we then refer the cause For judgment: and this chief, the Son of Orleans, Who comes to vouch the royal person known By her miraculous power, shall pass with her The sacred trial." "Grace of God!" exclaim'd The astonish'd Bastard; "plunge me in the pool, O'er red-hot ploughshares make me dance, to please Your dotard fancies! Fathers of the church, Where is your gravity? What! elder-like, This fairer than Susannah would you eye? Ye call for ordeals; and I too demand The noblest ordeal, on the English host In victory to prove the mission sent From favouring Heaven. To the Pope refer For judgment! Know ye not that France even now Stands tottering on destruction!" Starting wild, With a strange look, the mission'd Maid exclaim'd, "The sword of God is here! the grave shall speak To manifest me!" Even as she spake, A pale blue flame rose from the trophied tomb Beside her. A deep silence through the dome Dwelt awful: sudden from that house of death The clash of arms was heard, as though within The shrouded warrior shook his mailed limbs. "Hear ye!" the damsel cried; "these are the arms That shall flash terror o'er the hostile host These, in the presence of our lord the king, And the assembled people, I shall take From this the sepulchre, where many an age Incorruptible they have lain conceal'd, Destined for me, the delegate of Heaven." Recovering from amaze, the priest replied: "Thou art indeed the delegate of Heaven! What thou hast said surely thou shalt perform! We ratify thy mission. Go in peace." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MYSTIC BOUNCE by TERRANCE HAYES MATHEMATICS CONSIDERED AS A VICE by ANTHONY HECHT UNHOLY SONNET 11 by MARK JARMAN SHINE, PERISHING REPUBLIC by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE COMING OF THE PLAGUE by WELDON KEES A LITHUANIAN ELEGY by ROBERT KELLY BISHOP BRUNO by ROBERT SOUTHEY |
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