Maid of Orleans | Page 5

still in beauty bloom! Farewell ye grottos, and ye crystal springs! Sweet echo, vocal spirit of the vale. Who sang'st responsive to my simple strain, Johanna goes, and ne'er returns again.
Ye scenes where all my tranquil joys I knew, Forever now I leave you far behind! Poor foldless lambs, no shepherd now have you! O'er the wide heath stray henceforth unconfined! For I to danger's field, of crimson hue, Am summoned hence another flock to find. Such is to me the spirit's high behest; No earthly, vain ambition fires my breast.
For who in glory did on Horeb's height Descend to Moses in the bush of flame, And bade him go and stand in Pharaoh's sight-- Who once to Israel's pious shepherd came, And sent him forth, his champion in the fight,-- Who aye hath loved the lowly shepherd train,-- He, from these leafy boughs, thus spake to me, "Go forth! Thou shalt on earth my witness be.
"Thou in rude armor must thy limbs invest, A plate of steel upon thy bosom wear; Vain earthly love may never stir thy breast, Nor passion's sinful glow be kindled there. Ne'er with the bride-wreath shall thy locks be dressed, Nor on thy bosom bloom an infant fair; But war's triumphant glory shall be thine; Thy martial fame all women's shall outshine.
"For when in fight the stoutest hearts despair, When direful ruin threatens France, forlorn, Then thou aloft my oriflamme shalt bear, And swiftly as the reaper mows the corn, Thou shalt lay low the haughty conqueror; His fortune's wheel thou rapidly shalt turn, To Gaul's heroic sons deliverance bring, Relieve beleaguered Rheims, and crown thy king!"
The heavenly spirit promised me a sign; He sends the helmet, it hath come from him. Its iron filleth me with strength divine, I feel the courage of the cherubim; As with the rushing of a mighty wind It drives me forth to join the battles din; The clanging trumpets sound, the chargers rear, And the loud war-cry thunders in mine ear.
[She goes out.

ACT I.
SCENE I.
The royal residence at Chinon. DUNOIS and DUCHATEL.
DUNOIS. No longer I'll endure it. I renounce This recreant monarch who forsakes himself. My valiant heart doth bleed, and I could rain Hot tear-drops from mine eyes, that robber-swords Partition thus the royal realm of France; That cities, ancient as the monarchy, Deliver to the foe the rusty keys, While here in idle and inglorious ease We lose the precious season of redemption. Tidings of Orleans' peril reach mine ear, Hither I sped from distant Normandy, Thinking, arrayed in panoply of war, To find the monarch with his marshalled hosts; And find him--here! begirt with troubadours, And juggling knaves, engaged in solving riddles, And planning festivals in Sorel's honor, As brooded o'er the land profoundest peace! The Constable hath gone; he will not brook Longer the spectacle of shame. I, too, Depart, and leave him to his evil fate.
DUCHATEL. Here comes the king.

SCENE II.
KING CHARLES. The same.
CHARLES. The Constable hath sent us back his sword And doth renounce our service. Now, by heaven! He thus hath rid us of a churlish man, Who insolently sought to lord it o'er us.
DUNOIS. A man is precious in such perilous times; I would not deal thus lightly with his loss.
CHARLES. Thou speakest thus from love of opposition; While he was here thou never wert his friend.
DUNOIS. He was a tiresome, proud, vexatious fool, Who never could resolve. For once, however, He hath resolved. Betimes he goeth hence, Where honor can no longer be achieved.
CHARLES. Thou'rt in a pleasant humor; undisturbed I'll leave thee to enjoy it. Hark, Duchatel! Ambassadors are here from old King Rene, Of tuneful songs the master, far renowned. Let them as honored guests be entertained, And unto each present a chain of gold. [To the Bastard. Why smilest thou, Dunois?
DUNOIS. That from thy mouth Thou shakest golden chains.
DUCHATEL. Alas! my king! No gold existeth in thy treasury.
CHARLES. Then gold must be procured. It must not be That bards unhonored from our court depart. 'Tis they who make our barren sceptre bloom, 'Tis they who wreath around our fruitless crown Life's joyous branch of never-fading green. Reigning, they justly rank themselves as kings, Of gentle wishes they erect their throne, Their harmless realm existeth not in space; Hence should the bard accompany the king, Life's higher sphere the heritage of both!
DUCHATEL. My royal liege! I sought to spare thine ear So long as aid and counsel could be found; Now dire necessity doth loose my tongue. Naught hast thou now in presents to bestow, Thou hast not wherewithal to live to-morrow! The spring-tide of thy fortune is run out, And lowest ebb is in thy treasury! The soldiers, disappointed of their pay, With sullen murmurs, threaten to retire. My counsel faileth, not with royal splendor