LIONEL. Thy youth, thy beauty, move my soul to pity! Thy look sinks in my heart. I fain would save thee! How may I do so? tell me. Come! oh, come! Renounce this fearful league--throw down these arms! JOHANNA. I am unworthy now to carry them! LIONEL. Then throw them from thee--quick! come, follow me! JOHANNA (with horror). How! follow thee! LIONEL. Thou may'st be saved. Oh, come! I will deliver thee, but linger not. Strange sorrow for thy sake doth seize my heart, Unspeakable desire to rescue thee---- [He seizes her arm. JOHANNA. The Bastard comes! 'Tis they! They seek for me! If they should find thee---- LIONEL. I'll defend thee, maid. JOHANNA. I die if thou shouldst perish by their hands! LIONEL. Am I then dear to thee? JOHANNA. Ye heavenly powers! LIONEL. Shall I again behold thee--hear from thee? JOHANNA. No! never! LIONEL. Thus this sword I seize in pledge That I again behold thee! [He snatches her sword. JOHANNA. Madman, hold! Thou darest? LIONEL. Now I yield to force--again I'll see thee! [He retires. SCENE XI. JOHANNA, DUNOIS, LA HIRE. LA HIRE. It is she! The maiden lives! DUNOIS. Fear not, Johanna! friends are at thy side. LA HIRE. Is not that Lionel who yonder flies? DUNOIS. Let him escape! Maiden, the righteous cause Hath triumphed now. Rheims opens wide its gates; The joyous crowds pour forth to meet their king. LA HIRE. What ails thee, maiden? She grows pale--she sinks! [JOHANNA grows dizzy, and is about to fall. DUNOIS. She's wounded--rend her breastplate--'tis her arm! The wound is not severe. LA HIRE. Her blood doth flow. JOHANNA. Oh, that my life would stream forth with my blood! [She lies senseless in LA HIRE'S arms. ACT IV. A hall adorned as for a festival; the columns are hung with garlands; behind the scene flutes and hautboys. SCENE I. JOHANNA. Hushed is the din of arms, war's storms subside, Glad songs and dance succeed the bloody fray, Through all the streets joy echoes far and wide, Altar and church are decked in rich array, Triumphal arches rise in vernal pride, Wreathes round the columns wind their flowery way, Wide Rheims cannot contain the mighty throng, Which to joyous pageant rolls along. One thought alone doth every heart possess, One rapt'rous feeling o'er each breast preside. And those to-day are linked in happiness Whom bloody hatred did erewhile divide. All who themselves of Gallic race confess The name of Frenchman own with conscious pride, France sees the splendor of her ancient crown, And to her monarch's son bows humbly down.