Friedrich Schiller - The Maid of Orleans (Act 2 Scene 7) lyrics

JOHANNA, MONTGOMERY. JOHANNA Prepare to die! A British mother bore thee! MONTGOMERY (falls at her feet) Fall back, terrific one! Forbear to strike An unprotected foe! My sword and shield I've flung aside, and supplicating fall Defenceless at thy feet. A ransom take! Extinguish not the precious light of life! With fair possessions crowned, my father dwells In Wales' fair land, where among verdant meads The winding Severn rolls his silver tide, And fifty villages confess his sway. With heavy gold he will redeem his son, When he shall hear I'm in the camp of France. JHANNA Deluded mortal! to destruction doomed! Thou'rt fallen in the maiden's hand, from which Redemption or deliverance there is none. Had adverse fortune given thee a prey To the fierce tiger or the crocodile— Hadst robbed the lion mother of her brood— Compa**ion thou might'st hope to find and pity; But to encounter me is certain d**h. For my dread compact with the spirit realm— The stern inviolable—bindeth me, To slay each living thing whom battle's God, Full charged with doom, delivers to my sword. MONTGOMERY Thy speech is fearful, but thy look is mild; Not dreadful art thou to contemplate near; My heart is drawn towards thy lovely form. Oh! by the mildness of thy gentle s**, Attend my prayer. Compa**ionate my youth. JOHANNA Name me not woman! Speak not of my s**! Like to the bodiless spirits, who know naught Of earth's humanities, I own no s**; Beneath this vest of steel there beats no heart. MONTGOMERY Oh! by love's sacred, all-pervading power, To whom all hearts yield homage, I conjure thee. At home I left behind a gentle bride, Beauteous as thou, and rich in blooming grace: Weeping she waiteth her betrothed's return. Oh! if thyself dost ever hope to love, If in thy love thou hopest to be happy, Then ruthless sever not two gentle hearts, Together linked in love's most holy bond! JOHANNA Thou dost appeal to earthly, unknown gods, To whom I yield no homage. Of love's bond, By which thou dost conjure me, I know naught Nor ever will I know his empty service. Defend thy life, for d**h doth summon thee. MONTGOMERY Take pity on my sorrowing parents, whom I left at home. Doubtless thou, too, hast left Parents, who feel disquietude for thee. JOHANNA Unhappy man! thou dost remember me How many mothers of this land your arms Have rendered childless and disconsolate; How many gentle children fatherless; How many fair young brides dejected widows! Let England's mothers now be taught despair, And learn to weep the bitter tear oft shed By the bereaved and sorrowing wives of France. MONTGOMERY 'Tis hard in foreign lands to die unwept. JOHANNA Who called you over to this foreign land, To waste the blooming culture of our fields, To chase the peasant from his household hearth, And in our cities' peaceful sanctuary To hurl the direful thunderbolt of war? In the delusion of your hearts ye thought To plunge in servitude the freeborn French, And to attach their fair and goodly realm, Like a small boat, to your proud English bark! Ye fools! The royal arms of France are hung Fast by the throne of God; and ye as soon From the bright wain of heaven might snatch a star As rend a single village from this realm, Which shall remain inviolate forever! The day of vengeance is at length arrived; Not living shall ye measure back the sea, The sacred sea—the boundary set by God Betwixt our hostile nations—and the which Ye ventured impiously to overpa**. MONTGOMERY (lets go her hands) Oh, I must die! I feel the grasp of d**h! JOHANNA Die, friend! Why tremble at the approach of d**h? Of mortals the irrevocable doom? Look upon me! I'm born a shepherd maid; This hand, accustomed to the peaceful crook, Is all unused to wield the sword of d**h. Yet, snatched away from childhood's peaceful haunts, From the fond love of father and of sisters, Urged by no idle dream of earthly glory, But heaven-appointed to achieve your ruin, Like a destroying angel I must roam, Spreading dire havoc around me, and at length Myself must fall a sacrifice to d**h! Never again shall I behold my home! Still, many of your people I must slay, Still, many widows make, but I at length Myself shall perish, and fulfil my doom. Now thine fulfil. Arise! resume thy sword, And let us fight for the sweet prize of life. MONTGOMERY (stands up) Now, if thou art a mortal like myself, Can weapons wound thee, it may be a**igned To this good arm to end my country's woe, Thee sending, sorceress, to the depths of hell. In God's most gracious hands I leave my fate. Accursed one! to thine a**istance call The fiends of hell! Now combat for thy life! [He seizes his sword and shield, and rushes upon her; martial music is heard in the distance. After a short conflict MONTGOMERY falls.]