Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, JEANNE D'ARC, by AUGUSTA DAVIES WEBSTER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

JEANNE D'ARC, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: To me - to me! Dunois! La hire! Old daulon
Last Line: Lord of my life, I thank thee for my death.
Alternate Author Name(s): Home, Cecil; Webster, Mrs. Julia Augusta
Subject(s): Joan Of Arc (1412-1431)


TO me--to me! Dunois! La Hire! Old Daulon
Thou at the least shouldst stand by me--Oh haste!
The soul of France is in me, rescue me!--
Turn back the flyers--Cowards, have you learned
These English can be conquered, yet you flee?
To me!--Oh! I am wounded! Oh! this time
We shall not sleep in Paris--
What is this?
Is this not Paris but sieged Compiegne?
Back, to the fort! This once we needs must fly.
In, in! They are closing on us--in!--Oh Christ!
The gate drops down! And I without, alone!
Open, the foe is on me. Help! Oh now
I feel I am a woman and 'mong foes!
Oh save me!--
Oh you blessed saints of Heaven,
Do you come down to me again? You smile
A wondrous holiness, ineffable.
Oh what a brightness stars upon your brows!
It grows--it grows! I see you clearly now,
You who first sent me forth, and all this while
Have nerved me to be forward 'mid these men
Who press to carnage as a lightsome girl
Hastens her steps to where the dancers wait;
You who have warned me, counselled, comforted,
Given me persuasion and the gift to awe
And the strong soldier spirit of command;
My guardians and consolers, who, beyond
All other saints, have taken part for me,
Me and my France--St Catherine, thou pure
Thou holy bride, and brave St Margaret.
You bring me peace, dear saints, and I had need:
Oh help me from myself and these mad dreams.
Oh hear me, I have had most fearful visions:
I thought I fought before the walls of Paris
And did not conquer--Oh the agony
Even to dream of that first shamed defeat!--
And then the dream was shifted: I was thronged
By furious enemies before the gate
Of Compiegne, and taken prisoner!
They were haling me along, and still I strove,
And strove, and strove. And all the while it seemed
As if by an awful prescience I knew
My waiting death, more dreadful than to lie
Shattered and gashed beneath the onward rush
Of the frantic horses spurred into our ranks,
And die amid the roar of English shouts--
Meseemed my living limbs were to be given
To scorch and writhe and shrivel in the fire--
I was to know like torment and like shame
With those who front our God with blasphemies
And loathsome magic--Ah! my head swims round
Still dizzy with the terror of my dream.
But you are come, you gracious messengers,
To chase the troubled visions that the Fiend
Tortures me with. Stay with me for awhile,
And let me feel your mystic influence
Thrill all my being into rapt delight:
Then I shall feel in me a threefold strength,
And go forth eager in the morn, athirst
For the madness of the battle and the flush
Of conquest and the pride of leadership,
Go forth, as I am wont, to victory.
Oh you are dimmer!--Woe! woe! was my dream
But a confused remembering in sleep?
Where you were standing do I see the moonlight
Falling on prison-walls? Oh! I have waked
From the bewilderings of cruel sleep
To dreadful sharp reality. Woe! woe!
The chains are heavy on me! I am lost!
But which is dream then ? For it seemed to me
I woke, as I have often waked at night
From troubled fancies, and I saw those Holy
Who lead me, and my heart leaped with the thought
That I should raise the fortunes of our France
Yet higher in the coming fight. Yes surely
We give battle in the morning, surely they,
Those holy ones, they warned me even now.
They would not mock me. This must be the dream:
These chains, this prison, they must be the dream.
Oh Mother of the Blessed, hear me; come
Down from thy throne ringed round about with angels,
Come from His side, that Holy One, our Christ,
And comfort me with love, and show me truth.
Oh! come, ye virgin saints, and teach me here,
A poor weak girl, lone in my helplessness,
Crying to you for that once strength you gave.
They come--Lady of Heaven, it is thou!
Oh! Mary-Mother, blessed among women,
For thy lifes sorrow's sake deliver me
In this distress: Oh! show me which is truth.
The vision grows. Oh look! they show me all
My true career!--I see it--Yes, my home
In the far village. Those were dreamy days,
And pleasant till the visions made me know
My higher destiny and I grew restless
In the oppressive quiet. Waning--Gone!
Ah well, I would have lost a longer while
Gladly in that kind dreaming****Yes, my king,
So did he honour me when I declared him
Among his courtiers****Yes, so Orleans fell--
Oh! my brave glory! yes I beat them back,
These Englishmen that were invincible!****
Yes, so I set the crown upon his head
In sacred Rheims. Oh noble! how the crowd,
Eager to kiss my vesture, touch me, throngs
Around me, me a simple peasant girl
Made first of women and of warriors
In all our France!--Hush, hush, vainglorious heart,
How often have the voices chidden thee
For thy too arrogant delight! Not mine
The honour, but the Lord's who sent me forth.
I a mean herd-wench from the fields--what more?
But made God's instrument, to show Himself
And not the power of man conquers for France,
How dare I boast? Oh! was it for this fault,
This foolish fault of pride, that check was sent?
What needs this vision of it? But too well
I keep the memory of that first shame,
My first defeat. Yes, Paris, I still fire
With angry blushes at thy name****And this--
Oh! but my brain whirls--whirls--what is it? Cloud
And dull confusion. Who is it that stands
Mouthing and gecking at me? Why now, Pierre,
Because, forsooth, thou art our neighbour's son,
Must I be bound to dance with thee at will?
Why flout me with so stale a grudge, my friend?
Is the face changed? It was Dame Madelon's Pierre,
The poor good clumsy youth, whose suits and sulks
Had so passed from my mind, I thought I saw.
And now--I know it, the long fiendish sneer,
The sudden glare! Ah! so the vision grows
Perfect again. A trial call they this?
A pastime rather for their lordly hearts;
They bait the tethered prey before they kill.
Is it Christian, my lord bishop, so to taunt me,
Me innocent and helpless?--Ah! I look
But on a vision: I am here alone;
In prison and condemned! Ah me! the dreams,
They did not mock me. This then is the truth,
The prison and the chains--Christ! and the death!
Stay yet with me ye blessed.
They are gone!
They touched my forehead with their martyr palms;
And the dear Heaven-Mother smiled on them,
And the same smile on me. But they are gone,
And I am left unaided to my fate.
Was it for this that I was chosen out,
From my first infancy--marked out to be
Strange 'mid my kindred and alone in heart,
Never to cherish thoughts of happy love
Such as some women know in happy homes,
Laying their heads upon a husband's breast,
Or singing, as the merry wheel whirrs round,
Sweet cradle songs to lull their babes to sleep?
Was it for this that I forbore to deck
My beauty with the pleasant woman arts
That other maidens use and are not blamed,
Hid me in steel, and for my chaplet wore
A dented helmet on my weary brows?
Ah! I like other women might have lived
A home-sweet life in happy lowly peace,
And France had not been free but I content,
A simple woman only taking thought
For the kind drudgery of household cares.
But I obeyed the visions: I arose,
And France is free--And I ere the next sun
Droops to the west shall be a whitened mass--
Dead ashes on the place where the wild flames
Shot up--Oh horrible!
Oh! God, my God,
Dost thou behold, and shall these men, unjust,
Slay me, thy servant? Oh! and shall my name
Be muttered low hereafter in my France,
A sorceress and one impure?
They say
I commune with the Fiend and he has led
My way so high. Yes, if he could do this,
And I, deserted as I am of God,
Might cease to war with him and buy my life,
And greatness--and revenge!--
Oh God! forgive
I sin. Oh deadliest sin of all my life!
Oh! pardon! pardon! Oh! have I condemned
My soul to everlasting fire by this?
My brain whirls--whirls--Forgive!
Oh see they come,
They touch me with their palms! She smiles again,
The holy Mother! Yes, they beckon me.
Now they are vanished in a cloud of light.
I shall not see them more: but I shall know
They will hold fast my trembling soul in death
And bear me to my home--a better home
Than earth has given me.
The dawn begins.
How fast the hours leap on towards the end!--
Will the pain wring me long? Ah me! that fire!
They might have given me a gentler death.
The sound of footsteps! They are coming now.
No, they pass on--No, now they are at the door.
They are coming to pursue me to the last;
They will mock me once again with promises,
To buy from me the whiteness of my name
And have me blast it by my own last lie.
No matter; now they cannot bait me long.
My God, I thank Thee who hast chosen me
To be Thy messenger to drive them forth:
And, since my death was destined with the mission,
Lord of my life, I thank Thee for my death.






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