Ban and Arriere Ban: A Rally of Fugitive Rhymes

Dark Lily without blame,

Not upon us the shame,

Whose sires were to the Auld Alliance true,

They, by the MaidenÕs side,

Victorious fought and died,

One stood by thee that fiery torment through,

Till the White Dove from thy pure lips had passed,

And thou wert with thine own St. Catherine at the last.

Once only didst thou see

In artistÕs imagery,

Thine own face painted, and that precious thing

Was in an ArcherÕs hand

From the leal Northern land.

Alas, what price would not thy people bring

To win that portrait of the ruinous

Gulf of devouring years that hide the Maid from us!

Born of a lowly line,

Noteless as once was thine,

One of that name I would were kin to me,

Who, in the Scottish Guard

Won this for his reward,

To fight for France, and memory of thee:

Not upon us, dark Lily without blame,

Not on the North may fall the shadow of that shame.

On France and England both

The shame of broken troth,

Of coward hate and treason black must be;

If England slew thee, France

Sent not one word, one lance,

One coin to rescue or to ransom thee.

And still thy Church unto the Maid denies

The halo and the palms, the Beatific prize.

But yet thy people calls

Within the rescued walls

Of Orleans; and makes its prayer to thee;

What though the Church have chidden

These orisons forbidden,

Yet art thou with this earthÕs immortal Three,

With him in Athens that of hemlock died,

And with thy Master dear whom the world crucified.