JOAN. I cannot pray: bliss hath engrossed my soul, And wrapt each sense in agony of joy.
ARCH. Approach, and pay your just allegiance. [_The nobles involuntarily draw back and make way for Joan, who throws herself at the king's feet._
JOAN. My sovereign liege--my king--accept--these tears.
CHA. Here to my heart I clasp thee, friend, preserver. This chain shall bind thee to thy king, thy country-- [_Takes the chain from his neck and places it on Joan's._ Wear it in token of this hour--
JOAN. My liege! When it shall be restored, 'twill tell that life And I are parted. (_To the Archbishop._) Now complete my mission. Here at thy feet, sword, banner, I depose, And consecrate his own to Him who armed At first my hand.
ARCH. The lofty strains repeat! And with the monarch's name, beloved, now join The holy maiden's. [_Joan sinks on her knee._
CHA. A monarch now confirmed by holy rite, Our earliest duty is to recompense All those who in our cause have been most zealous. Thee above all, (_to Joan,_) to thee our realm we owe. We would thy merit mark as may become Ourself and thee: but pause to name award As to thyself shall be most pleasing. Louvel, 'Tis thine to learn her wish, our joy to grant it.
LOU. Such gracious speech may well embolden thee. Name freely thy desire. Is wealth thy wish?
JOAN. Sell my heart's blood for gold! Hazard each desperate chance, die ev'ry hour, Deprive poor nature of her due, food--rest, Make the vile flesh lord of the daring mind, For sordid heaps of dross! Perish the thought! I am not to be bought e'en by my country-- Toil, hardship, life, all she approved in me, A free gift was bestowed, and must remain-- If she the present scorn, I scorn them too.
LOU. Then, wherefore, peril life? Hope of reward, The state's high honours, riches, rank, and greatness, Justly make spirits bold, and wake brave action.
JOAN. The voice of Heaven first drew me from obscurity, And no reward I seek but its approval. Oh! never, for the hope of gain, could I Have served my country. Claims she not by right, All love, disinterested faith, all service? Not hers the debt to recompense her sons, Though, like fond mother, she delights to grant it; But theirs the debt of gratitude first due To her, which only thus can be discharged. Then mark eternal shame upon his brow, Though brave his deeds, though prodigal of toil, Who honour, glory, high renown, or wealth, Seeks for himself alone, and sheds the blood She justly claims for selfish hope or aim.