Joan of Arc Part 5

VAL. I was, and near her; A proud distinction, for where'er she stood There hottest battle raged: the foe to crush her, Friends to rival her. Sight alone of her Gave spirit to the faint, and kindled courage E'en to its height. Herself in ev'ry part, Like lightning's bolt was seen, sudden as fatal.

ARN. The night was terrible. The heavens appeared To threaten earth with wreck.

VAL. It has no fellow.

Terrific thunders rattled through the sky, And fiery vengeance hissed upon the ground, With human gore and heavy rain deep drenched.

"See! Heaven itself doth fight for us!" she cried.

As struck with terror back our troops recoiled.

The happy augury was hailed with shouts, And victory was ours.

ARN. But yet, methinks, The hand of woman should be free from stain, And most from stain of blood: the lamb for innocence, The kite for prey.

VAL. No blood has stained her hand.

The sword she bears nor forms defence, nor wounds, But guides the fight. Amidst its loudest din And fiercest rage she shows a countenance Most calmly brave, most femininely gentle.

ARN. And he, great Orleans' valiant son, was he--

VAL. Ah! 'twas a curious sight to see how proud He scorned the maid when first she reached the camp.

His great heart swelled against her, and his gibe, Keen as his sword, betrayed contempt.

ARN. And well He might be pardoned, if he deemed the thought Injurious, that a woman should succeed Where he himself had failed.

VAL. Forth armed she went, A graceful female, though in martial garb.

He marked her lack of sword and loosed his own; And with a curled lip and mock humility He turned the heft, and offered it in silence.

"I may not trust to arms," she calmly said.

His searching eye glanced on her countenance, He coloured crimson deep, and the proud sneer Forsook his lip, and, like a lion tamed, He showed him gentlest where he least intended.

ARN. He must beware: the stream turned suddenly May suddenly become a torrent. Love, From hatred sprung, can only be excelled By hatred born from love.

VAL. (_Aside._) Why should the thought Dart agony like this into my heart?

ARN. What next is her intent?

VAL. To pa.s.s to Rheims.

Thither, at dawn, the prince departs to join her, And the army she conducts.

ARN. Heaven speed the journey.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

WARWICK AND ARLINGTON.

WAR. How swift a courier is this winged love!

Why I have made this journey in less time, Impelled by thought of her, than ere before, Though martial glory spurred me on the way, And every proud ambitious hope to boot.

ARL. Our jaded horses prove that truth.

WAR. And yet They sped not swift enough for my fond wishes.

Say, hast thou ever marked the moon's full beams Upon the wave, when broken by the breeze?

Such is the image of my heart: joy's rays Illume its depths and sparkle on its surface; But all within is restless--bright confusion.

ARL. Well may she wake such love, such fond impatience; Not breath of closing flowers, not eve's soft beam--

WAR. With nought that marks decline compare my Alice.

She is the blush of morn first caught by earth, When seraph hands unbar the gates of heaven, And from its courts bright beams of glory stream.

Fresh as the od'rous breath by zephyr scattered, When first from dewy flowers he springs rejoicing; Light as the froth by chafed ocean cast, When young Aurora, laughing at his suit, Refuses to r.e.t.a.r.d her rosy steps; And playful as the changeful hues reflected Upon its quivering breast.

ARL. She comes.--Farewell.

Love bears no eyes but those he lights to view The rapture he creates, and turns offended From the stranger's gaze.

[_Exit._

_Enter COUNTESS._

COUNTESS. My life, my Warwick!

WAR. My own! thus let me clasp thee to my heart.

COUNT. No! let me see thou art indeed my Lord, And read in those dear eyes the joy of mine.

Thou hast been long in coming.

WAR. Sweetest, no.

Impatient, like myself, thou hast, I see, Been measuring the hours by love's slow gla.s.s, And made them sad and heavy.

COUNT. Now thou'rt wrong-- Not sad.

WAR. Not sad when Warwick is away?

COUNT. Have I not hope to share the hours with me?

And who can e'er be sad in such sweet fellowship?

Thy last receding step dries up my tears, For thus she gently whispers to my heart-- "The moment pa.s.sed that bore him from thy view, The next but draws him nearer to thy arms."

WAR. But how deceive the intervening moments?

Art thou not lonesome oft?

COUNT. How may that be?

From thee I never am divided. Thought Personates thyself, and thus I talk with thee, Sit by thy side, frame answers for thyself So full of love, so paint thy face with smiles, Thy eyes with such approval fill, my heart Leaps with delight: then only am I lone When some intruder comes intent to cheer me.

WAR. Why thus thou'lt make me jealous of myself, And envious of the shadow I supply.

COUNT. Then too I sing to thee, or deck myself, And try which ornament doth suit me best: Smile at the smiling image I behold, And bid the vivid blush, which spreads my cheek, Fade not away, that it may tell my Warwick 'Twas thought of him which makes me value beauty, And prize the charms that justifies his choice.