The Maid of Orleans. Friedrich von Schiller

         Oh, must I contemplate this day of woe!

         The king must roam in banishment! the son

         Depart, an exile from his father's house,

         And turn his back upon his childhood's home!

         Oh, pleasant, happy land that we forsake,

         Ne'er shall we tread thee joyously again.

         You come alone? You do not bring him back?

         La Hire! What news? What does that look announce?

         Some new calamity?

                   Calamity

         Hath spent itself; sunshine is now returned.

         What is it? I implore you.

                        Summon back

         The delegates from Orleans.

                        Why? What is it?

         Summon them back! Thy fortune is reversed.

         A battle has been fought, and thou hast conquered.

         Conquered! Oh, heavenly music of that word!

         La Hire! A fabulous report deceives thee;

         Conquered! In conquest I believe no more.

         Still greater wonders thou wilt soon believe.

         Here cometh the archbishop. To thine arms

         He leadeth back Dunois.

                      O beauteous flower

         Of victory, which doth the heavenly fruits

         Of peace and reconcilement bear at once!

         Relieve my wonder and perplexity.

         What may this solemn earnestness portend?

         Whence this unlooked-for change of fortune?

         Speak!

         We had assembled sixteen regiments

         Of Lotharingian troops to join your host;

         And Baudricourt, a knight of Vaucouleurs,

         Was our commander. Having gained the heights

         By Vermanton, we wound our downward way

         Into the valley watered by the Yonne.

         There, in the plain before us, lay the foe,

         And when we turned, arms glittered in our rear.

         We saw ourselves surrounded by two hosts,

         And could not hope for conquest or for flight.

         Then sank the bravest heart, and in despair

         We all prepared to lay our weapons down.

         The leaders with each other anxiously

         Sought counsel and found none; when to our eyes

         A spectacle of wonder showed itself.

         For suddenly from forth the thickets' depths

         A maiden, on her head a polished helm,

         Like a war-goddess, issued; terrible

         Yet lovely was her aspect, and her hair

         In dusky ringlets round her shoulders fell.

         A heavenly radiance shone around the height;

         When she upraised her voice and thus addressed us:

         "Why be dismayed, brave Frenchmen? On the foe!