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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
On the third eve
That Host triumphant eyed the foe they spurned;
Ten thousand men fronted the setting sun
Alone—the first—that standard in her hand,
The Maid! Like men in dream they stood: ere long
Divided. Through the lane thus formed she passed,
She and her host unhired. No shout was heard:
Like frozen men they stood. Vainly that hour
Old warriors urged them on. The Maid and hers
Through city-gates self-opening as might seem,
Their summits thronged by starvelings pale and mute
Rode to the minster; kneeling there gave thanks
The in-rushing townsfolk sang aloud ‘Te Deum.’
In Orleans there was feast that night. Next day
Their panic past that leaguering foe fought hard:
Again the battle-cries of Salisbury rose
Of Talbot and of Suffolk. In a week
Again was silence.
Six thousand lay in death beyond the walls:
The remnant made retreat.
That Host triumphant eyed the foe they spurned;
Ten thousand men fronted the setting sun
Alone—the first—that standard in her hand,
The Maid! Like men in dream they stood: ere long
Divided. Through the lane thus formed she passed,
She and her host unhired. No shout was heard:
Like frozen men they stood. Vainly that hour
Old warriors urged them on. The Maid and hers
Through city-gates self-opening as might seem,
Their summits thronged by starvelings pale and mute
Rode to the minster; kneeling there gave thanks
The in-rushing townsfolk sang aloud ‘Te Deum.’
In Orleans there was feast that night. Next day
Their panic past that leaguering foe fought hard:
Again the battle-cries of Salisbury rose
Of Talbot and of Suffolk. In a week
Again was silence.
Six thousand lay in death beyond the walls:
The remnant made retreat.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |