of shepherd maid! Was I concerned with warlike things, With battles or the strife of kings? In innocence I led my sheep Adown the mountain's silent steep, But thou didst send me into life, Midst princely halls and scenes of strife, To lose my spirit's tender bloom Alas, I did not seek my doom! 

  

       SCENE II.     

       AGNES SOREL, JOHANNA. SOREL (advances joyfully. When she perceives JOHANNA she hastens to her and falls upon her neck; then suddenly recollecting herself; she     relinquishes her hold, and falls down before her). No! no! not so! Before thee in the dust——     JOHANNA (trying to raise her). Arise! Thou dost forget thyself and me. SOREL. Forbid me not! 'tis the excess of joy Which throws me at thy feet—I must pour forth My o'ercharged heart in gratitude to God; I worship the Invisible in thee. Thou art the angel who has led my lord To Rheims, to crown him with the royal crown. What I ne'er dreamed to see is realized! The coronation march will soon set forth; Arrayed in festal pomp the monarch stands; Assembled are the nobles of the realm, The mighty peers to bear the insignia; To the cathedral rolls the billowy crowd; Glad songs resound, the bells unite their peal:    Oh, this excess of joy I cannot bear!        [JOHANNA gently raises her. AGNES SOREL pauses a moment, and surveys the MAIDEN more narrowly. Yet thou remainest ever grave and stern; Thou canst create delight, yet share it not. Thy heart is cold, thou feelest not our joy, Thou hast beheld the glories of the skies; No earthly interest moveth thy pure breast.        [JOHANNA seizes her hand passionately, but soon lets it fall again. Oh, couldst thou own a woman's feeling heart! Put off this armor, war is over now, Confess thy union with the softer sex! My loving heart shrinks timidly from thee,    While thus thou wearest Pallas' brow severe. JOHANNA. What wouldst thou have me do? SOREL. Unarm thyself! Put off this coat of mail! The God of Love Fears to approach a bosom clad in steel. Oh, be a woman, thou wilt feel his power! JOHANNA. What, now unarm myself? Midst battle's roar I'll bare my bosom to the stroke of death! Not now! Would that a sevenfold wall of brass Could hide me from your revels, from myself! SOREL. Thou'rt loved by Count Dunois. His noble heart, Which virtue and renown alone inspire, With pure and holy passion glows for thee. Oh, it is sweet to know oneself beloved By such a hero—sweeter 

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