THE CHASTE LOVES OF CHARLES THE SEVENTH AND AGNES SOREL. ORLEANS BESIEGED BY THE ENGLISH.-APPARITION OF SAINT DENIS. ETC.
THE praise of saints my lyre shall not rehearse,
Feeble my voice, and too profane my verse;
Yet shall my Muse to laud our Joan* incline,
Who wrought, 'tis said, such prodigies divine;
Whose virgin hand revived the drooping flower,
And gave to Gallia's lily tenfold power;
Rescued its monarch from the impending fate
So dreaded from victorious England's hate;
Made him give praise at Rheims to God adored,1
While on his temples holy oil was poured:
Although in visage Joan appeared the maid,
Although in stays and petticoat arrayed,
With boldest heroes she sustained her part,
*"Joan" pronounced to rhyme with "loan."
For Joan possessed a Roland's dauntless heart:
For me, much better should I love by night
A lamb-like beauty, to inspire delight;
But soon you'll find thro' every glowing page,
That Joan of Arc could boast the lion's rage;
You'll tremble at those feats she dared essay
How dauntlessly she braved the bloody fray;
But greatest of these rare exploits you'll hear,
Was, that she kept virginity — a year.
O Chapelain! O thou whose violin
Produced of old so harsh, so vile a din;
Whose bow Apollo's malediction had,
Which scraped his history in notes so sad;
Old Chapelain, to honor thy dull Muse,
In me thy genius thou wouldst fain infuse;
But no, I'll none on't, 'tis for me unfit,
Far better suited to Motte Houdart's wit,
Whose brain produced the Iliad Travesty,
Or to some friend, of his academy.
One Easter-tide, good Charles in youthful prime, At Tours renowned, thought fit to spend his time; Where, at a ball, for much he loved to dance,
It so fell out, that for the good of France,
He found a maid who beggared all compare,
Named Agnes Sorel,- Love had framed the fair:"
Let your warm fancy youthful Flora trace,
Of heavenly Venus add the enchanting grace,
The wood nymph's stature and bewitching guise,
With Love's seductive air and brilliant eyes,
Arachne's art, the siren's dulcet strain,
All she possessed; and, in her rosy chain,
The sage and hero each might have been proud,
And monarchs linked, before her beauty bowed;
To see her, love her, feel the kindling fire,
The ardent flame, the soft, the fond desire;
To tremble and regard with dove-like eyes,
To strive to speak and utter naught but sighs,
Her hands, with a caressing hand to hold,
Till panting all the flames her breast enfold.
By turns each other's tender pains impart,
And own the luscious thrill that sways the heart;
To please, in short, the task is of a day,
For kings in love have a peculiar way.
Agnes, well versed in the seductive art,
'Neath veil mysterious strove to play her part,
Veil of thin gauze, through which will always pry
The envious courtier's keen, malignant eye.
To mask this business, and that none might know,
The king made choice of Counsellor Bonneau;7
Sure confidant, well versed in each device,
Who filled a certain post not over nice:
One who at court, where fangled terms they lend,
Is commonly esteemed the prince's friend;
But, in the town, and where vile peasants live,
Pimp is the name such vulgar people give.
Where Loire majestic winds its limpid flood,
A stately castle on the margin stood,
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