Leagues with my foes, and Richemont or in arms
Defies my weak controul, or from my side,
(A friend more dreaded than the enemy)
Drives my best servants with the assassin sword.
Soon must the towers of Orleans fall. But now ⁠145
These sad thoughts boot not. Welcome to our court,
Dunois! We yet can give the friendly feast,
And from the heavy cares of empire win
One hospitable day of merriment.

The Chief reply'd, "So may thy future years⁠150
Pass from misfortune free, as all these ills
Shall vanish like a vision of the night!
To thee, to France I come the messenger
Of aid from Heaven. The delegated Maid
With me, whom Providence all-wise decrees⁠155
The saviour of the realm. Me, gash'd with wounds,
And in mine own blood senseless on the plain,
This more than mortal with celestial touch,
Woke to new life."