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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:36 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:36 -0700 |
| commit | d9d7110ca773ca31c2be2334efe784a2b4be67f1 (patch) | |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10490-0.txt b/10490-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a61a062 --- /dev/null +++ b/10490-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5315 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10490 *** + +THE + +GOLDEN LEGEND + +BY + +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW + + + + +THE GOLDEN LEGEND + + +PROLOGUE. + + + +THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL. + + +_Night and storm._ LUCIFER, _with the Powers of the +Air, trying to tear down the Cross._ + + _Lucifer._ HASTEN! hasten! +O ye spirits! +From its station drag the ponderous +Cross of iron, that to mock us +Is uplifted high in air! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +For around it +All the Saints and Guardian Angels +Throng in legions to protect it; +They defeat us everywhere! + + _The Bells._ Laudo Deum verum + Plebem voco! + Congrego clerum! + + _Lucifer._ Lower! lower! +Hover downward! +Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and +Clashing, clanging, to the pavement +Hurl them from their windy tower! + + _Voices._ All thy thunders +Here are harmless! +For these bells have been anointed, +And baptized with holy water! +They defy our utmost power. + + _The Bells._ Defunctos ploro! + Pestem fugo! + Festa decoro! + + _Lucifer._ Shake the casements! +Break the painted +Panes that flame with gold and crimson! +Scatter them like leaves of Autumn, +Swept away before the blast! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +The Archangel +Michael flames from every window, +With the sword of fire that drove us +Headlong, out of heaven, aghast! + + _The Bells._ Funera plango! + Fulgora frango! + Sabbata pango! + + _Lucifer._ Aim your lightnings +At the oaken, +Massive, iron-studded portals! +Sack the house of God, and scatter +Wide the ashes of the dead! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +The Apostles +And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, +Stand as wardens at the entrance, +Stand as sentinels o'erhead! + + _The Bells._ Excito lentos! + Dissipo ventos! + Paco cruentos! + + _Lucifer._ Baffled! baffled! +Inefficient, +Craven spirits! leave this labor +Unto Time, the great Destroyer! +Come away, ere night is gone! + + _Voices._ Onward! onward! +With the night-wind, +Over field and farm and forest, +Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, +Blighting all we breathe upon! + + (_They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant._) + + _Choir._ Nocte surgentes + Vig lemus omnes! + + * * * * * + +I. + + +THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE. + + * * * * * + +_A chamber in a tower._ PRINCE HENRY, _sitting alone, +ill and restless._ + + _Prince Henry._ I cannot sleep! my fervid brain +Calls up the vanished Past again, +And throws its misty splendors deep +Into the pallid realms of sleep! +A breath from that far-distant shore +Comes freshening ever more and more, +And wafts o'er intervening seas +Sweet odors from the Hesperides! +A wind, that through the corridor +Just stirs the curtain, and no more, +And, touching the aeolian strings, +Faints with the burden that it brings! +Come back! ye friendships long departed! +That like o'erflowing streamlets started, +And now are dwindled, one by one, +To stony channels in the sun! +Come back! ye friends, whose lives are ended! +Come back, with all that light attended, +Which seemed to darken and decay +When ye arose and went away! +They come, the shapes of joy and woe, +The airy crowds of long-ago, +The dreams and fancies known of yore, +That have been, and shall be no more. +They change the cloisters of the night +Into a garden of delight; +They make the dark and dreary hours +Open and blossom into flowers! +I would not sleep! I love to be +Again in their fair company; +But ere my lips can bid them stay, +They pass and vanish quite away! + +Alas! our memories may retrace +Each circumstance of time and place, +Season and scene come back again, +And outward things unchanged remain; +The rest we cannot reinstate; +Ourselves we cannot re-create, +Nor set our souls to the same key +Of the remembered harmony! + +Rest! rest! O, give me rest and peace! +The thought of life that ne'er shall cease +Has something in it like despair, +A weight I am too weak to bear! +Sweeter to this afflicted breast +The thought of never-ending rest! +Sweeter the undisturbed and deep +Tranquillity of endless sleep! + + +(_A flash of lightning, out of which_ LUCIFER _appears, +in the garb of a travelling Physician._) + + _Lucifer_. All hail Prince Henry! + + _Prince Henry_ (_starting_). Who is it speaks? +Who and what are you? + + _Lucifer_. One who seeks +A moment's audience with the Prince. + + _Prince Henry_. When came you in? + + _Lucifer_. A moment since. +I found your study door unlocked, +And thought you answered when I knocked. + + _Prince Henry_. I did not hear you. + + _Lucifer_. You heard the thunder; +It was loud enough to waken the dead. +And it is not a matter of special wonder +That, when God is walking overhead, +You should not have heard my feeble tread. + + _Prince Henry_. What may your wish or purpose be? + + _Lucifer_. Nothing or everything, as it pleases +Your Highness. You behold in me +Only a traveling Physician; +One of the few who have a mission +To cure incurable diseases, +Or those that are called so. + + _Prince Henry_. Can you bring +The dead to life? + + _Lucifer_. Yes; very nearly. +And, what is a wiser and better thing, +Can keep the living from ever needing +Such an unnatural, strange proceeding, +By showing conclusively and clearly +That death is a stupid blunder merely, +And not a necessity of our lives. +My being here is accidental; +The storm, that against your casement drives, +In the little village below waylaid me. +And there I heard, with a secret delight, +Of your maladies physical and mental, +Which neither astonished nor dismayed me. +And I hastened hither, though late in the night, +To proffer my aid! + + _Prince Henry (ironically)_ For this you came! +Ah, how can I ever hope to requite +This honor from one so erudite? + + _Lucifer_. The honor is mine, or will be when +I have cured your disease. + + _Prince Henry_. But not till then. + + _Lucifer_. What is your illness? + + _Prince Henry_. It has no name. +A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, +As in a kiln, burns in my veins, +Sending up vapors to the head, +My heart has become a dull lagoon, +Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains; +I am accounted as one who is dead, +And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon. + + _Lucifer_ And has Gordonius the Divine, +In his famous Lily of Medicine,-- +I see the book lies open before you,-- +No remedy potent enough to restore you? + + _Prince Henry_. None whatever! + + _Lucifer_ The dead are dead, +And their oracles dumb, when questioned +Of the new diseases that human life +Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. +Consult the dead upon things that were, +But the living only on things that are. +Have you done this, by the appliance +And aid of doctors? + + _Prince Henry_. Ay, whole schools +Of doctors, with their learned rules, +But the case is quite beyond their science. +Even the doctors of Salern +Send me back word they can discern +No cure for a malady like this, +Save one which in its nature is +Impossible, and cannot be! + + _Lucifer_ That sounds oracular! + + _Prince Henry_ Unendurable! + + _Lucifer_ What is their remedy? + + _Prince Henry_ You shall see; +Writ in this scroll is the mystery. + + _Lucifer (reading)._ "Not to be cured, yet not incurable! +The only remedy that remains +Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins, +Who of her own free will shall die, +And give her life as the price of yours!" +That is the strangest of all cures, +And one, I think, you will never try; +The prescription you may well put by, +As something impossible to find +Before the world itself shall end! +And yet who knows? One cannot say +That into some maiden's brain that kind +Of madness will not find its way. +Meanwhile permit me to recommend, +As the matter admits of no delay, +My wonderful Catholicon, +Of very subtile and magical powers! + + _Prince Henry._ Purge with your nostrums and drugs infernal +The spouts and gargoyles of these towers, +Not me! My faith is utterly gone +In every power but the Power Supernal! +Pray tell me, of what school are you? + + _Lucifer._ Both of the Old and of the New! +The school of Hermes Trismegistus, +Who uttered his oracles sublime +Before the Olympiads, in the dew +Of the early dawn and dusk of Time, +The reign of dateless old Hephaestus! +As northward, from its Nubian springs, +The Nile, forever new and old, +Among the living and the dead, +Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled; +So, starting from its fountain-head +Under the lotus-leaves of Isis, +From the dead demigods of eld, +Through long, unbroken lines of kings +Its course the sacred art has held, +Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices. +This art the Arabian Geber taught, +And in alembics, finely wrought, +Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered +The secret that so long had hovered +Upon the misty verge of Truth, +The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, +Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech! +Like him, this wondrous lore I teach! + + _Prince Henry._ What! an adept? + + _Lucifer._ Nor less, nor more! + + _Prince Henry._ I am a reader of such books, +A lover of that mystic lore! +With such a piercing glance it looks +Into great Nature's open eye, +And sees within it trembling lie +The portrait of the Deity! +And yet, alas! with all my pains, +The secret and the mystery +Have baffled and eluded me, +Unseen the grand result remains! + + _Lucifer (showing a flask)._ Behold it here! this little flask +Contains the wonderful quintessence, +The perfect flower and efflorescence, +Of all the knowledge man can ask! +Hold it up thus against the light! + + _Prince Henry._ How limpid, pure, and crystalline, +How quick, and tremulous, and bright +The little wavelets dance and shine, +As were it the Water of Life in sooth! + + _Lucifer._ It is! It assuages every pain, +Cures all disease, and gives again +To age the swift delights of youth. +Inhale its fragrance. + + _Prince Henry._ It is sweet. +A thousand different odors meet +And mingle in its rare perfume, +Such as the winds of summer waft +At open windows through a room! + + _Lucifer._ Will you not taste it? + + _Prince Henry._ Will one draught +Suffice? + + _Lucifer._ If not, you can drink more. + + _Prince Henry._ Into this crystal goblet pour +So much as safely I may drink. + + _Lucifer (pouring)._ Let not the quantity alarm you: +You may drink all; it will not harm you. + + _Prince Henry._ I am as one who on the brink +Of a dark river stands and sees +The waters flow, the landscape dim +Around him waver, wheel, and swim, +And, ere he plunges, stops to think +Into what whirlpools he may sink; +One moment pauses, and no more, +Then madly plunges from the shore! +Headlong into the dark mysteries +Of life and death I boldly leap, +Nor fear the fateful current's sweep, +Nor what in ambush lurks below! +For death is better than disease! + + (_An_ ANGEL _with an aeolian harp hovers in the air_.) + + _Angel._ Woe! woe! eternal woe! +Not only the whispered prayer +Of love, +But the imprecations of hate, +Reverberate +Forever and ever through the air +Above! +This fearful curse +Shakes the great universe! + + _Lucifer (disappearing)._ Drink! drink! +And thy soul shall sink +Down into the dark abyss, +Into the infinite abyss, +From which no plummet nor rope +Ever drew up the silver sand of hope! + + _Prince Henry (drinking)._ It is like a draught of fire! +Through every vein +I feel again +The fever of youth, the soft desire; +A rapture that is almost pain +Throbs in my heart and fills my brain! +O joy! O joy! I feel +The band of steel +That so long and heavily has pressed +Upon my breast +Uplifted, and the malediction +Of my affliction +Is taken from me, and my weary breast +At length finds rest. + + _The Angel._ It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air + has been taken! +It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken! +It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow! +It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow! +With fiendish laughter, +Hereafter, +This false physician +Will mock thee in thy perdition. + + _Prince Henry._ Speak! speak! +Who says that I am ill? +I am not ill! I am not weak! +The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er! +I feel the chill of death no more! +At length, +I stand renewed in all my strength! +Beneath me I can feel +The great earth stagger and reel, +As it the feet of a descending God +Upon its surface trod, +And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel! +This, O brave physician! this +Is thy great Palingenesis! + + (_Drinks again_.) + + _The Angel._ Touch the goblet no more! +It will make thy heart sore +To its very core! +Its perfume is the breath +Of the Angel of Death, +And the light that within it lies +Is the flash of his evil eyes. +Beware! O, beware! +For sickness, sorrow, and care +All are there! + + _Prince Henry (sinking back)._ O thou voice within my breast! +Why entreat me, why upbraid me, +When the steadfast tongues of truth +And the flattering hopes of youth +Have all deceived me and betrayed me? +Give me, give me rest, O, rest! +Golden visions wave and hover, +Golden vapors, waters streaming, +Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming! +I am like a happy lover +Who illumines life with dreaming! +Brave physician! Rare physician! +Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission! + + (_His head falls On his book_.) + + _The Angel (receding)._ Alas! alas! +Like a vapor the golden vision +Shall fade and pass, +And thou wilt find in thy heart again +Only the blight of pain, +And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition! + + * * * * * + +COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE. + + * * * * * + +HUBERT _standing by the gateway._ + + _Hubert._ How sad the grand old castle looks! +O'erhead, the unmolested rooks +Upon the turret's windy top +Sit, talking of the farmer's crop; +Here in the court-yard springs the grass, +So few are now the feet that pass; +The stately peacocks, bolder grown, +Come hopping down the steps of stone, +As if the castle were their own; +And I, the poor old seneschal, +Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. +Alas! the merry guests no more +Crowd through the hospital door; +No eyes with youth and passion shine, +No cheeks glow redder than the wine; +No song, no laugh, no jovial din +Of drinking wassail to the pin; +But all is silent, sad, and drear, +And now the only sounds I hear +Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, +And horses stamping in their stalls! + + (_A horn sounds_.) + +What ho! that merry, sudden blast +Reminds me of the days long past! +And, as of old resounding, grate +The heavy hinges of the gate, +And, clattering loud, with iron clank, +Down goes the sounding bridge of plank, +As if it were in haste to greet +The pressure of a traveler's feet! + + (_Enter_ WALTER _the Minnesinger_.) + + _Walter._ How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely! +No banner flying from the walls, +No pages and no seneschals, +No wardens, and one porter only! +Is it you, Hubert? + + _Hubert._ Ah! Master Walter! + + _Walter._ Alas! how forms and faces alter! +I did not know you. You look older! +Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner, +And you stoop a little in the shoulder! + + _Hubert._ Alack! I am a poor old sinner, +And, like these towers, begin to moulder; +And you have been absent many a year! + + _Walter._ How is the Prince? + + _Hubert._ He is not here; +He has been ill: and now has fled. + +_Walter._ Speak it out frankly: say he's dead! +Is it not so? + + _Hubert._ No; if you please; +A strange, mysterious disease +Fell on him with a sudden blight. +Whole hours together he would stand +Upon the terrace, in a dream, +Resting his head upon his hand, +Best pleased when he was most alone, +Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone, +Looking down into a stream. +In the Round Tower, night after night, +He sat, and bleared his eyes with books; +Until one morning we found him there +Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon +He had fallen from his chair. +We hardly recognized his sweet looks! + + _Walter._ Poor Prince! + + _Hubert._ I think he might have mended; +And he did mend; but very soon +The Priests came flocking in, like rooks, +With all their crosiers and their crooks, +And so at last the matter ended. + + _Walter._ How did it end? + + _Hubert._ Why, in Saint Rochus +They made him stand, and wait his doom; +And, as if he were condemned to the tomb, +Began to mutter their hocus pocus. +First, the Mass for the Dead they chaunted. +Then three times laid upon his head +A shovelful of church-yard clay, +Saying to him, as he stood undaunted, +"This is a sign that thou art dead, +So in thy heart be penitent!" +And forth from the chapel door he went +Into disgrace and banishment, +Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, +And bearing a wallet, and a bell, +Whose sound should be a perpetual knell +To keep all travelers away. + + _Walter._ O, horrible fate! Outcast, rejected, +As one with pestilence infected! + + _Hubert._ Then was the family tomb unsealed, +And broken helmet, sword and shield, +Buried together, in common wreck, +As is the custom, when the last +Of any princely house has passed, +And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, +A herald shouted down the stair +The words of warning and despair,-- +"O Hoheneck! O Hoheneck!" + + _Walter_. Still in my soul that cry goes on,-- +Forever gone! forever gone! +Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, +Like a black shadow, would fall across +The hearts of all, if he should die! +His gracious presence upon earth +Was as a fire upon a hearth; +As pleasant songs, at morning sung, +The words that dropped from his sweet tongue +Strengthened our hearts; or, heard at night, +Made all our slumbers soft and light. +Where is he? + + _Hubert._ In the Odenwald. +Some of his tenants, unappalled +By fear of death, or priestly word,-- +A holy family, that make +Each meal a Supper of the Lord,-- +Have him beneath their watch and ward, +For love of him, and Jesus' sake! +Pray you come in. For why should I +With outdoor hospitality +My prince's friend thus entertain? + + _Walter._ I would a moment here remain. +But you, good Hubert, go before, +Fill me a goblet of May-drink, +As aromatic as the May +From which it steals the breath away, +And which he loved so well of yore; +It is of him that I would think +You shall attend me, when I call, +In the ancestral banquet hall. +Unseen companions, guests of air, +You cannot wait on, will be there; +They taste not food, they drink not wine, +But their soft eyes look into mine, +And their lips speak to me, and all +The vast and shadowy banquet-hall +Is full of looks and words divine! + + (_Leaning over the parapet_.) + +The day is done; and slowly from the scene +The stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, +And puts them back into his golden quiver! +Below me in the valley, deep and green +As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts +We drink its wine, the swift and mantling river +Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions, +Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent, +And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent! +Yes, there it flows, forever, broad and still, +As when the vanguard of the Roman legions +First saw it from the top of yonder hill! +How beautiful it is! Fresh fields of wheat, +Vineyard, and town, and tower with fluttering flag, +The consecrated chapel on the crag, +And the white hamlet gathered round its base, +Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet, +And looking up at his beloved face! +O friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more +Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er! + + + + +II. + +A FARM IN THE ODENWALD + + * * * * * + +_A garden; morning;_ PRINCE HENRY _seated, with a +book_. ELSIE, _at a distance, gathering flowers._ + + _Prince Henry (reading)._ One morning, all alone, +Out of his convent of gray stone, +Into the forest older, darker, grayer, +His lips moving as if in prayer, +His head sunken upon his breast +As in a dream of rest, +Walked the Monk Felix. All about +The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, +Filling the summer air; +And within the woodlands as he trod, +The twilight was like the Truce of God +With worldly woe and care; +Under him lay the golden moss; +And above him the boughs of hemlock-tree +Waved, and made the sign of the cross, +And whispered their Benedicites; +And from the ground +Rose an odor sweet and fragrant +Of the wild flowers and the vagrant +Vines that wandered, +Seeking the sunshine, round and round. +These he heeded not, but pondered +On the volume in his hand, +A volume of Saint Augustine; +Wherein he read of the unseen +Splendors of God's great town +In the unknown land, +And, with his eyes cast down +In humility, he said: +"I believe, O God, +What herein I have read, +But alas! I do not understand!" + +And lo! he heard +The sudden singing of a bird, +A snow-white bird, that from a cloud +Dropped down, +And among the branches brown +Sat singing +So sweet, and clear, and loud, +It seemed a thousand harp strings ringing. +And the Monk Felix closed his book, +And long, long, +With rapturous look, +He listened to the song, +And hardly breathed or stirred, +Until he saw, as in a vision, +The land Elysian, +And in the heavenly city heard +Angelic feet +Fall on the golden flagging of the street. +And he would fain +Have caught the wondrous bird, +But strove in vain; +For it flew away, away, +Far over hill and dell, +And instead of its sweet singing +He heard the convent bell +Suddenly in the silence ringing +For the service of noonday. +And he retraced +His pathway homeward sadly and in haste. + +In the convent there was a change! +He looked for each well known face, +But the faces were new and strange; +New figures sat in the oaken stalls, +New voices chaunted in the choir, +Yet the place was the same place, +The same dusky walls +Of cold, gray stone, +The same cloisters and belfry and spire. + +A stranger and alone +Among that brotherhood +The Monk Felix stood +"Forty years," said a Friar. +"Have I been Prior +Of this convent in the wood, +But for that space +Never have I beheld thy face!" + +The heart of the Monk Felix fell: +And he answered with submissive tone, +"This morning, after the hour of Prime, +I left my cell, +And wandered forth alone, +Listening all the time +To the melodious singing +Of a beautiful white bird, +Until I heard +The bells of the convent ringing +Noon from their noisy towers, +It was as if I dreamed; +For what to me had seemed +Moments only, had been hours!" + +"Years!" said a voice close by. +It was an aged monk who spoke, +From a bench of oak +Fastened against the wall;-- +He was the oldest monk of all. +For a whole century +Had he been there, +Serving God in prayer, +The meekest and humblest of his creatures. +He remembered well the features +Of Felix, and he said, +Speaking distinct and slow: +"One hundred years ago, +When I was a novice in this place, +There was here a monk, full of God's grace, +Who bore the name +Of Felix, and this man must be the same." + +And straightway +They brought forth to the light of day +A volume old and brown, +A huge tome, bound +With brass and wild-boar's hide, +Therein were written down +The names of all who had died +In the convent, since it was edified. +And there they found, +Just as the old monk said, +That on a certain day and date, +One hundred years before, +Had gone forth from the convent gate +The Monk Felix, and never more +Had entered that sacred door. +He had been counted among the dead! +And they knew, at last, +That, such had been the power +Of that celestial and immortal song, +A hundred years had passed, +And had not seemed so long +As a single hour! + + (ELSIE _comes in with flowers._) + + _Elsie._ Here are flowers for you, +But they are not all for you. +Some of them are for the Virgin +And for Saint Cecilia. + + _Prince Henry._ As thou standest there, +Thou seemest to me like the angel +That brought the immortal roses +To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. + + _Elsie._ But these will fade. + + _Prince Henry._ Themselves will fade, +But not their memory, +And memory has the power +To re-create them from the dust. +They remind me, too, +Of martyred Dorothea, +Who from celestial gardens sent +Flowers as her witnesses +To him who scoffed and doubted. + + _Elsie._ Do you know the story +Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter? +That is the prettiest legend of them all. + + _Prince Henry._ Then tell it to me. +But first come hither. +Lay the flowers down beside me. +And put both thy hands in mine. +Now tell me the story. + + _Elsie._ Early in the morning +The Sultan's daughter +Walked in her father's garden, +Gathering the bright flowers, +All full of dew. + + _Prince Henry._ Just as thou hast been doing +This morning, dearest Elsie. + + _Elsie._ And as she gathered them, +She wondered more and more +Who was the Master of the Flowers, +And made them grow +Out of the cold, dark earth. +"In my heart," she said, +"I love him; and for him +Would leave my father's palace, +To labor in his garden." + + _Prince Henry._ Dear, innocent child! +How sweetly thou recallest +The long-forgotten legend, +That in my early childhood +My mother told me! +Upon my brain +It reappears once more, +As a birth-mark on the forehead +When a hand suddenly +Is laid upon it, and removed! + + _Elsie._ And at midnight, +As she lay upon her bed, +She heard a voice +Call to her from the garden, +And, looking forth from her window, +She saw a beautiful youth +Standing among the flowers. +It was the Lord Jesus; +And she went down to him, +And opened the door for him; +And he said to her, "O maiden! +Thou hast thought of me with love, +And for thy sake +Out of my Father's kingdom +Have I come hither: +I am the Master of the Flowers. +My garden is in Paradise, +And if thou wilt go with me, +Thy bridal garland +Shall be of bright red flowers." +And then he took from his finger +A golden ring, +And asked the Sultan's daughter +If she would be his bride. +And when she answered him with love, +His wounds began to bleed, +And she said to him, +"O Love! how red thy heart is, +And thy hands are full of roses," +"For thy sake," answered he, +"For thy sake is my heart so red, +For thee I bring these roses. +I gathered them at the cross +Whereon I died for thee! +Come, for my Father calls. +Thou art my elected bride!" +And the Sultan's daughter +Followed him to his Father's garden. + + _Prince Henry._ Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie? + + _Elsie._ Yes, very gladly. + + _Prince Henry._ Then the Celestial Bridegroom +Will come for thee also. +Upon thy forehead he will place, +Not his crown of thorns, +But a crown of roses. +In thy bridal chamber, +Like Saint Cecilia, +Thou shall hear sweet music, +And breathe the fragrance +Of flowers immortal! +Go now and place these flowers +Before her picture. + + + * * * * * + + +A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. + + * * * * * + +_Twilight._ URSULA _spinning._ GOTTLIEB _asleep in his +chair._ + + _Ursula._ Darker and darker! Hardly a glimmer +Of light comes in at the window-pane; +Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer? +I cannot disentangle this skein, +Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. +Elsie! + + _Gottlieb (starting)_. The stopping of thy wheel +Has wakened me out of a pleasant dream. +I thought I was sitting beside a stream, +And heard the grinding of a mill, +When suddenly the wheels stood still, +And a voice cried "Elsie" in my ear! +It startled me, it seemed so near. + + _Ursula._ I was calling her: I want a light. +I cannot see to spin my flax. +Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear? + + _Elsie (within)._ In a moment! + + _Gottlieb._ Where are Bertha and Max? + + _Ursula._ They are sitting with Elsie at the door. +She is telling them stories of the wood, +And the Wolf, and Little Red Ridinghood. + + _Gottlieb_. And where is the Prince? + + _Ursula_. In his room overhead; +I heard him walking across the floor, +As he always does, with a heavy tread. + +(ELSIE _comes in with a lamp_. MAX _and_ BERTHA _follow her; +and they all sing the Evening Song on the lighting of the lamps_.) + + + EVENING SONG. + + O gladsome light + Of the Father Immortal, + And of the celestial + Sacred and blessed + Jesus, our Saviour! + + Now to the sunset + Again hast thou brought us; + And, seeing the evening + Twilight, we bless thee, + Praise thee, adore thee! + + Father omnipotent! + Son, the Life-giver! + Spirit, the Comforter! + Worthy at all times + Of worship and wonder! + + + _Prince Henry (at the door)_. Amen! + + _Ursula_. Who was it said Amen? + + _Elsie_. It was the Prince: he stood at the door, +And listened a moment, as we chaunted +The evening song. He is gone again. +I have often seen him there before. + + _Ursula_. Poor Prince! + + _Gottlieb_. I thought the house was haunted! +Poor Prince, alas! and yet as mild +And patient as the gentlest child! + + _Max._ I love him because he is so good, +And makes me such fine bows and arrows, +To shoot at the robins and the sparrows, +And the red squirrels in the wood! + + _Bertha._ I love him, too! + + _Gottlieb._ Ah, yes! we all +Love him, from the bottom of our hearts; +He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange, +He gave us the horses and the carts, +And the great oxen in the stall, +The vineyard, and the forest range! +We have nothing to give him but our love! + + _Bertha._ Did he give us the beautiful stork above +On the chimney-top, with its large, round nest? + + _Gottlieb._ No, not the stork; by God in heaven, +As a blessing, the dear, white stork was given; +But the Prince has given us all the rest. +God bless him, and make him well again. + + _Elsie._ Would I could do something for his sake, +Something to cure his sorrow and pain! + + _Gottlieb._ That no one can; neither thou nor I, +Nor any one else. + + _Elsie._ And must he die? + + _Ursula._ Yes; if the dear God does not take +Pity upon him, in his distress, +And work a miracle! + + _Gottlieb._ Or unless +Some maiden, of her own accord, +Offers her life for that of her lord, +And is willing to die in his stead. + + _Elsie._ I will! + + _Ursula._ Prithee, thou foolish child, be still! +Thou shouldst not say what thou dost not mean! + + _Elsie._ I mean it truly! + + _Max._ O father! this morning, +Down by the mill, in the ravine, +Hans killed a wolf, the very same +That in the night to the sheepfold came, +And ate up my lamb, that was left outside. + + _Gottlieb._ I am glad he is dead. It will be a warning +To the wolves in the forest, far and wide. + + _Max._ And I am going to have his hide! + + _Bertha._ I wonder if this is the wolf that ate +Little Red Ridinghood! + + _Ursula._ O, no! +That wolf was killed a long while ago. +Come, children, it is growing late. + + _Max._ Ah, how I wish I were a man, +As stout as Hans is, and as strong! +I would do nothing else, the whole day long, +But just kill wolves. + + _Gottlieb._ Then go to bed, +And grow as fast as a little boy can. +Bertha is half asleep already. +See how she nods her heavy head, +And her sleepy feet are so unsteady +She will hardly be able to creep upstairs. + + _Ursula._ Good-night, my children. Here's the light. +And do not forget to say your prayers +Before you sleep. + + _Gottlieb._ Good-night! + + _Max and Bertha._ Good-night! + + (_They go out with_ ELSIE.) + + _Ursula, (spinning)._ She is a strange and wayward child, +That Elsie of ours. She looks so old, +And thoughts and fancies weird and wild +Seem of late to have taken hold +Of her heart, that was once so docile and mild! + + _Gottlieb._ She is like all girls. + + _Ursula._ Ah no, forsooth! +Unlike all I have ever seen. +For she has visions and strange dreams, +And in all her words and ways, she seems +Much older than she is in truth. +Who would think her but fourteen? +And there has been of late such a change! +My heart is heavy with fear and doubt +That she may not live till the year is out. +She is so strange,--so strange,--so strange! + + _Gottlieb._ I am not troubled with any such fear! +She will live and thrive for many a year. + + * * * * * + +ELSIE'S CHAMBER. + + * * * * * + +_Night._ ELSIE _praying._ + + _Elsie._ My Redeemer and my Lord, +I beseech thee, I entreat thee, +Guide me in each act and word, +That hereafter I may meet thee, +Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning, +With my lamp well trimmed and burning! + +Interceding +With these bleeding +Wounds upon thy hands and side, +For all who have lived and erred +Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, +Scourged, and mocked, and crucified, +And in the grave hast thou been buried! + +If my feeble prayer can reach thee, +O my Saviour, I beseech thee, +Even as thou hast died for me, +More sincerely +Let me follow where thou leadest, +Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, +Die, if dying I may give +Life to one who asks to live, +And more nearly, +Dying thus, resemble thee! + + * * * * * + +THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND URSULA. + + * * * * * + +_Midnight._ ELSIE _standing by their bedside, weeping._ + + _Gottlieb._ The wind is roaring; the rushing rain +Is loud upon roof and window-pane, +As if the Wild Huntsman of Rodenstein, +Boding evil to me and mine, +Were abroad to-night with his ghostly train! +In the brief lulls of the tempest wild, +The dogs howl in the yard; and hark! +Some one is sobbing in the dark, +Here in the chamber! + + _Elsie._ It is I. + + _Ursula._ Elsie! what ails thee, my poor child? + + _Elsie._ I am disturbed and much distressed, +In thinking our dear Prince must die, +I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest. + + _Gottlieb._ What wouldst thou? In the Power Divine +His healing lies, not in our own; +It is in the hand of God alone. + + _Elsie._ Nay, he has put it into mine, +And into my heart! + + _Gottlieb._ Thy words are wild! + + _Ursula._ What dost thou mean? my child! my child! + + _Elsie._ That for our dear Prince Henry's sake +I will myself the offering make, +And give my life to purchase his. + + _Ursula_ Am I still dreaming, or awake? +Thou speakest carelessly of death, +And yet thou knowest not what it is. + + _Elsie._ 'T is the cessation of our breath. +Silent and motionless we lie; +And no one knoweth more than this. +I saw our little Gertrude die, +She left off breathing, and no more +I smoothed the pillow beneath her head. +She was more beautiful than before. +Like violets faded were her eyes; +By this we knew that she was dead. +Through the open window looked the skies +Into the chamber where she lay, +And the wind was like the sound of wings, +As if angels came to bear her away. +Ah! when I saw and felt these things, +I found it difficult to stay; +I longed to die, as she had died, +And go forth with her, side by side. +The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead, +And Mary, and our Lord, and I +Would follow in humility +The way by them illumined! + + _Ursula._ My child! my child! thou must not die! + + _Elsie_ Why should I live? Do I not know +The life of woman is full of woe? +Toiling on and on and on, +With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, +And silent lips, and in the soul +The secret longings that arise, +Which this world never satisfies! +Some more, some less, but of the whole +Not one quite happy, no, not one! + + _Ursula._ It is the malediction of Eve! + + _Elsie._ In place of it, let me receive +The benediction of Mary, then. + + _Gottlieb._ Ah, woe is me! Ah, woe is me! +Most wretched am I among men! + + _Ursula._ Alas! that I should live to see +Thy death, beloved, and to stand +Above thy grave! Ah, woe the day! + + _Elsie._ Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie +Beneath the flowers of another land, +For at Salerno, far away +Over the mountains, over the sea, +It is appointed me to die! +And it will seem no more to thee +Than if at the village on market-day +I should a little longer stay +Than I am used. + + _Ursula._ Even as thou sayest! +And how my heart beats, when thou stayest! +I cannot rest until my sight +Is satisfied with seeing thee. +What, then, if thou wert dead? + + _Gottlieb_ Ah me! +Of our old eyes thou art the light! +The joy of our old hearts art thou! +And wilt thou die? + + _Ursula._ Not now! not now! + + _Elsie_ Christ died for me, and shall not I +Be willing for my Prince to die? +You both are silent; you cannot speak. +This said I, at our Saviour's feast, +After confession, to the priest, +And even he made no reply. +Does he not warn us all to seek +The happier, better land on high, +Where flowers immortal never wither, +And could he forbid me to go thither? + + _Gottlieb._ In God's own time, my heart's delight! +When he shall call thee, not before! + + _Elsie._ I heard him call. When Christ ascended +Triumphantly, from star to star, +He left the gates of heaven ajar. +I had a vision in the night, +And saw him standing at the door +Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid, +And beckoning to me from afar. +I cannot stay! + + _Gottlieb._ She speaks almost +As if it were the Holy Ghost +Spake through her lips, and in her stead! +What if this were of God? + + _Ursula._ Ah, then +Gainsay it dare we not. + + _Gottlieb._ Amen! +Elsie! the words that thou hast said +Are strange and new for us to hear, +And fill our hearts with doubt and fear. +Whether it be a dark temptation +Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration, +We in our blindness cannot say. +We must think upon it, and pray; +For evil and good in both resembles. +If it be of God, his will be done! +May he guard us from the Evil One! +How hot thy hand is! how it trembles! +Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. + + _Ursula._ Kiss me. Good-night; and do not weep! + + (ELSIE _goes out._) + +Ah, what an awful thing is this! +I almost shuddered at her kiss. +As if a ghost had touched my cheek, +I am so childish and so weak! +As soon as I see the earliest gray +Of morning glimmer in the east, +I will go over to the priest, +And hear what the good man has to say! + + * * * * * + +A VILLAGE CHURCH. + + * * * * * + +_A woman kneeling at the confessional. + + The Parish Priest (from within)_. Go, sin no +more! Thy penance o'er, +A new and better life begin! +God maketh thee forever free +From the dominion of thy sin! +Go, sin no more! He will restore +The peace that filled thy heart before, +And pardon thine iniquity! + +(_The woman goes out. The Priest comes forth, and + walks slowly up and down the church_.) + +O blessed Lord! how much I need +Thy light to guide me on my way! +So many hands, that, without heed, +Still touch thy wounds, and make them bleed! +So many feet, that, day by day, +Still wander from thy fold astray! +Unless thou fill me with thy light, +I cannot lead thy flock aright; +Nor, without thy support, can bear +The burden of so great a care, +But am myself a castaway! + + (_A pause_.) + +The day is drawing to its close; +And what good deeds, since first it rose, +Have I presented, Lord, to thee, +As offerings of my ministry? +What wrong repressed, what right maintained +What struggle passed, what victory gained, +What good attempted and attained? +Feeble, at best, is my endeavor! +I see, but cannot reach, the height +That lies forever in the light, +And yet forever and forever, +When seeming just within my grasp, +I feel my feeble hands unclasp, +And sink discouraged into night! +For thine own purpose, thou hast sent +The strife and the discouragement! + + (_A pause_.) + +Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck? +Why keep me pacing to and fro +Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, +Counting my footsteps as I go, +And marking with each step a tomb? +Why should the world for thee make room, +And wait thy leisure and thy beck? +Thou comest in the hope to hear +Some word of comfort and of cheer. +What can I say? I cannot give +The counsel to do this and live; +But rather, firmly to deny +The tempter, though his power is strong, +And, inaccessible to wrong, +Still like a martyr live and die! + + (_A pause_.) + +The evening air grows dusk and brown; +I must go forth into the town, +To visit beds of pain and death, +Of restless limbs, and quivering breath, +And sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes +That see, through tears, the sun go down, +But never more shall see it rise. +The poor in body and estate, +The sick and the disconsolate. +Must not on man's convenience wait. + +(_Goes out. Enter_ LUCIFER, _as a Priest_. LUCIFER, + _with a genuflexion, mocking_.) + +This is the Black Pater-noster. +God was my foster, +He fostered me +Under the book of the Palm-tree! +St. Michael was my dame. +He was born at Bethlehem, +He was made of flesh and blood. +God send me my right food, +My right food, and shelter too, +That I may to yon kirk go, +To read upon yon sweet book +Which the mighty God of heaven shook. +Open, open, hell's gates! +Shut, shut, heaven's gates! +All the devils in the air +The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer! + + (_Looking round the church_.) + +What a darksome and dismal place! +I wonder that any man has the face +To call such a hole the House of the Lord, +And the Gate of Heaven,--yet such is the word. +Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, +Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould; +Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, +Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs! +The pulpit, from which such ponderous sermons +Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans, +With about as much real edification +As if a great Bible, bound in lead, +Had fallen, and struck them on the head; +And I ought to remember that sensation! +Here stands the holy water stoup! +Holy-water it may be to many, +But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehennae! +It smells like a filthy fast day soup! +Near it stands the box for the poor; +With its iron padlock, safe and sure, +I and the priest of the parish know +Whither all these charities go; +Therefore, to keep up the institution, +I will add my little contribution! + + (_He puts in money._) + +Underneath this mouldering tomb, +With statue of stone, and scutcheon of brass, +Slumbers a great lord of the village. +All his life was riot and pillage, +But at length, to escape the threatened doom +Of the everlasting, penal fire, +He died in the dress of a mendicant friar, +And bartered his wealth for a daily mass. +But all that afterward came to pass, +And whether he finds it dull or pleasant, +Is kept a secret for the present, +At his own particular desire. + +And here, in a corner of the wall, +Shadowy, silent, apart from all, +With its awful portal open wide, +And its latticed windows on either side, +And its step well worn by the bended knees +Of one or two pious centuries, +Stands the village confessional! +Within it, as an honored guest, +I will sit me down awhile and rest! + + (_Seats himself in the confessional_.) + +Here sits the priest, and faint and low, +Like the sighing of an evening breeze, +Comes through these painted lattices +The ceaseless sound of human woe, +Here, while her bosom aches and throbs +With deep and agonizing sobs, +That half are passion, half contrition, +The luckless daughter of perdition +Slowly confesses her secret shame! +The time, the place, the lover's name! +Here the grim murderer, with a groan, +From his bruised conscience rolls the stone, +Thinking that thus he can atone +For ravages of sword and flame! +Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly, +How a priest can sit here so sedately, +Reading, the whole year out and in, +Naught but the catalogue of sin, +And still keep any faith whatever +In human virtue! Never! never! + +I cannot repeat a thousandth part +Of the horrors and crimes and sins and woes +That arise, when with palpitating throes +The graveyard in the human heart +Gives up its dead, at the voice of the priest, +As if he were an archangel, at least. +It makes a peculiar atmosphere, +This odor of earthly passions and crimes, +Such as I like to breathe, at times, +And such as often brings me here +In the hottest and most pestilential season. +To-day, I come for another reason; +To foster and ripen an evil thought +In a heart that is almost to madness wrought, +And to make a murderer out of a prince, +A sleight of hand I learned long since! +He comes In the twilight he will not see +the difference between his priest and me! +In the same net was the mother caught! + + (_Prince Henry entering and kneeling at the confessional._) + +Remorseful, penitent, and lowly, +I come to crave, O Father holy, +Thy benediction on my head. + + _Lucifer_. The benediction shall be said +After confession, not before! +'T is a God speed to the parting guest, +Who stands already at the door, +Sandalled with holiness, and dressed +In garments pure from earthly stain. +Meanwhile, hast thou searched well thy breast? +Does the same madness fill thy brain? +Or have thy passion and unrest +Vanished forever from thy mind? + + _Prince Henry_. By the same madness still made blind, +By the same passion still possessed, +I come again to the house of prayer, +A man afflicted and distressed! +As in a cloudy atmosphere, +Through unseen sluices of the air, +A sudden and impetuous wind +Strikes the great forest white with fear, +And every branch, and bough, and spray +Points all its quivering leaves one way, +And meadows of grass, and fields of grain, +And the clouds above, and the slanting rain, +And smoke from chimneys of the town, +Yield themselves to it, and bow down, +So does this dreadful purpose press +Onward, with irresistible stress, +And all my thoughts and faculties, +Struck level by the strength of this, +From their true inclination turn, +And all stream forward to Salem! + + _Lucifer_. Alas! we are but eddies of dust, +Uplifted by the blast, and whirled +Along the highway of the world +A moment only, then to fall +Back to a common level all, +At the subsiding of the gust! + + _Prince Henry_. O holy Father! pardon in me +The oscillation of a mind +Unsteadfast, and that cannot find +Its centre of rest and harmony! +For evermore before mine eyes +This ghastly phantom flits and flies, +And as a madman through a crowd, +With frantic gestures and wild cries, +It hurries onward, and aloud +Repeats its awful prophecies! +Weakness is wretchedness! To be strong +Is to be happy! I am weak, +And cannot find the good I seek, +Because I feel and fear the wrong! + + _Lucifer_. Be not alarmed! The Church is kind-- +And in her mercy and her meekness +She meets half-way her children's weakness, +Writes their transgressions in the dust! +Though in the Decalogue we find +The mandate written, "Thou shalt not kill!" +Yet there are cases when we must. +In war, for instance, or from scathe +To guard and keep the one true Faith! +We must look at the Decalogue in the light +Of an ancient statute, that was meant +For a mild and general application, +To be understood with the reservation, +That, in certain instances, the Right +Must yield to the Expedient! +Thou art a Prince. If thou shouldst die, +What hearts and hopes would prostrate he! +What noble deeds, what fair renown, +Into the grave with thee go down! +What acts of valor and courtesy +Remain undone, and die with thee! +Thou art the last of all thy race! +With thee a noble name expires, +And vanishes from the earth's face +The glorious memory of thy sires! +She is a peasant. In her veins +Flows common and plebeian blood; +It is such as daily and hourly stains +The dust and the turf of battle plains, +By vassals shed, in a crimson flood, +Without reserve, and without reward, +At the slightest summons of their lord! +But thine is precious, the fore-appointed +Blood of kings, of God's anointed! +Moreover, what has the world in store +For one like her, but tears and toil? +Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, +A peasant's child and a peasant's wife, +And her soul within her sick and sore +With the roughness and barrenness of life! +I marvel not at the heart's recoil +From a fate like this, in one so tender, +Nor at its eagerness to surrender +All the wretchedness, want, and woe +That await it in this world below, +For the unutterable splendor +Of the world of rest beyond the skies. +So the Church sanctions the sacrifice: +Therefore inhale this healing balm, +And breathe this fresh life into thine; +Accept the comfort and the calm +She offers, as a gift divine, +Let her fall down and anoint thy feet +With the ointment costly and most sweet +Of her young blood, and thou shall live. + + _Prince Henry._ And will the righteous Heaven forgive? +No action, whether foul or fair, +Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere +A record, written by fingers ghostly, +As a blessing or a curse, and mostly +In the greater weakness or greater strength +Of the acts which follow it, till at length +The wrongs of ages are redressed, +And the justice of God made manifest! + + _Lucifer_ In ancient records it is stated +That, whenever an evil deed is done, +Another devil is created +To scourge and torment the offending one! +But evil is only good perverted, +And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light, +But an angel fallen and deserted, +Thrust from his Father's house with a curse +Into the black and endless night. + + _Prince Henry._ If justice rules the universe, +From the good actions of good men +Angels of light should be begotten, +And thus the balance restored again. + + _Lucifer._ Yes; if the world were not so rotten, +And so given over to the Devil! + + _Prince Henry._ But this deed, is it good or evil? +Have I thine absolution free +To do it, and without restriction? + + _Lucifer._ Ay; and from whatsoever sin +Lieth around it and within, +From all crimes in which it may involve thee, +I now release thee and absolve thee! + + _Prince Henry._ Give me thy holy benediction. + + _Lucifer._ (_stretching forth his hand and muttering_), + Maledictione perpetua + Maledicat vos + Pater eternus! + +_The Angel_ (_with the aeolian harp_). Take heed! take heed! +Noble art thou in thy birth, +By the good and the great of earth +Hast thou been taught! +Be noble in every thought +And in every deed! +Let not the illusion of thy senses +Betray thee to deadly offences. +Be strong! be good! be pure! +The right only shall endure, +All things else are but false pretences! +I entreat thee, I implore, +Listen no more +To the suggestions of an evil spirit, +That even now is there, +Making the foul seem fair, +And selfishness itself a virtue and a merit! + + + * * * * * + +A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. + + + * * * * * + + _Gottlieb_. It is decided! For many days, +And nights as many, we have had +A nameless terror in our breast, +Making us timid, and afraid +Of God, and his mysterious ways! +We have been sorrowful and sad; +Much have we suffered, much have prayed +That he would lead us as is best, +And show us what his will required. +It is decided; and we give +Our child, O Prince, that you may live! + + _Ursula_. It is of God. He has inspired +This purpose in her; and through pain, +Out of a world of sin and woe, +He takes her to himself again. +The mother's heart resists no longer; +With the Angel of the Lord in vain +It wrestled, for he was the stronger. + + _Gottlieb_. As Abraham offered long ago +His son unto the Lord, and even +The Everlasting Father in heaven +Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, +So do I offer up my daughter! + + (URSULA _hides her face_.) + + _Elsie_. My life is little, +Only a cup of water, +But pure and limpid. +Take it, O my Prince! +Let it refresh you, +Let it restore you. +It is given willingly, +It is given freely; +May God bless the gift! + + _Prince Henry._ And the giver! + + _Gottlieb._ Amen! + + _Prince Henry._ I accept it! + + _Gottlieb._ Where are the children? + + _Ursula._ They are already asleep. + + _Gottlieb._ What if they were dead? + + * * * * * + +IN THE GARDEN. + + * * * * * + + _Elsie._ I have one thing to ask of you. + + _Prince Henry._ What is it? +It is already granted. + + _Elsie._ Promise me, +When we are gone from here, and on our way +Are journeying to Salerno, you will not, +By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade me +And turn me from my purpose, but remember +That as a pilgrim to the Holy City +Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon +Occupied wholly, so would I approach +The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee, +With my petition, putting off from me +All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off my feet. +Promise me this. + + _Prince Henry._ Thy words fall from thy lips +Like roses from the lips of Angelo: and angels +Might stoop to pick them up! + + _Elsie._ Will you not promise? + + _Prince Henry._ If ever we depart upon this journey, +So long to one or both of us, I promise. + + _Elsie._ Shall we not go, then? Have you lifted me +Into the air, only to hurl me back +Wounded upon the ground? and offered me +The waters of eternal life, to bid me +Drink the polluted puddles of this world? + + _Prince Henry._ O Elsie! what a lesson thou dost teach me! +The life which is, and that which is to come, +Suspended hang in such nice equipoise +A breath disturbs the balance; and that scale +In which we throw our hearts preponderates, +And the other, like an empty one, flies up, +And is accounted vanity and air! +To me the thought of death is terrible, +Having such hold on life. To thee it is not +So much even as the lifting of a latch; +Only a step into the open air +Out of a tent already luminous +With light that shines through its transparent walls! +O pure in heart! from thy sweet dust shall grow +Lilies, upon whose petals will be written +"Ave Maria" in characters of gold! + + + + +III. + +A STREET IN STRASBURG. + + * * * * * + +_Night._ PRINCE HENRY _wandering alone, wrapped in a cloak._ + + _Prince Henry._ Still is the night. The sound of feet +Has died away from the empty street, +And like an artisan, bending down +His head on his anvil, the dark town +Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet. +Sleepless and restless, I alone, +In the dusk and damp of these wails of stone, +Wander and weep in my remorse! + + _Crier of the dead (ringing a bell)._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Hark! with what accents loud and hoarse +This warder on the walls of death +Sends forth the challenge of his breath! +I see the dead that sleep in the grave! +They rise up and their garments wave, +Dimly and spectral, as they rise, +With the light of another world in their eyes! + + _Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Why for the dead, who are at rest? +Pray for the living, in whose breast +The struggle between right and wrong +Is raging terrible and strong, +As when good angels war with devils! +This is the Master of the Revels, +Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes +The health of absent friends, and pledges, +Not in bright goblets crowned with roses, +And tinkling as we touch their edges, +But with his dismal, tinkling bell, +That mocks and mimics their funeral knell! + + _Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Wake not, beloved! be thy sleep +Silent as night is, and as deep! +There walks a sentinel at thy gate +Whose heart is heavy and desolate, +And the heavings of whose bosom number +The respirations of thy slumber, +As if some strange, mysterious fate +Had linked two hearts in one, and mine +Went madly wheeling about thine, +Only with wider and wilder sweep! + + _Crier of the dead (at a distance)._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Lo! with what depth of blackness thrown +Against the clouds, far up the skies, +The walls of the cathedral rise, +Like a mysterious grove of stone, +With fitful lights and shadows bleeding, +As from behind, the moon, ascending, +Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown! +The wind is rising; but the boughs +Rise not and fall not with the wind +That through their foliage sobs and soughs; +Only the cloudy rack behind, +Drifting onward, wild and ragged, +Gives to each spire and buttress jagged +A seeming motion undefined. +Below on the square, an armed knight, +Still as a statue and as white, +Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver +Upon the points of his armor bright +As on the ripples of a river. +He lifts the visor from his cheek, +And beckons, and makes as he would speak. + + _Walter the Minnesinger_ Friend! can you tell me where alight +Thuringia's horsemen for the night? +For I have lingered in the rear, +And wander vainly up and down. + + _Prince Henry_ I am a stranger in the town, +As thou art, but the voice I hear +Is not a stranger to mine ear. +Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid! + + _Walter_ Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy name +Is Henry of Hoheneck! + + _Prince Henry_ Ay, the same. + + _Walter_ (_embracing him_). Come closer, closer to my side! +What brings thee hither? What potent charm +Has drawn thee from thy German farm +Into the old Alsatian city? + + _Prince Henry_. A tale of wonder and of pity! +A wretched man, almost by stealth +Dragging my body to Salern, +In the vain hope and search for health, +And destined never to return. +Already thou hast heard the rest +But what brings thee, thus armed and dight +In the equipments of a knight? + + _Walter_. Dost thou not see upon my breast +The cross of the Crusaders shine? +My pathway leads to Palestine. + + _Prince Henry_. Ah, would that way were also mine! +O noble poet! thou whose heart +Is like a nest of singing birds +Rocked on the topmost bough of life, +Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, +And in the clangor of the strife +Mingle the music of thy words? + + _Walter_. My hopes are high, my heart is proud, +And like a trumpet long and loud, +Thither my thoughts all clang and ring! +My life is in my hand, and lo! +I grasp and bend it as a bow, +And shoot forth from its trembling string +An arrow, that shall be, perchance, +Like the arrow of the Israelite king +Shot from the window toward the east, +That of the Lord's deliverance! + + _Prince Henry_. My life, alas! is what thou seest! +O enviable fate! to be +Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee +With lyre and sword, with song and steel; +A hand to smite, a heart to feel! +Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy sword, +Thou givest all unto thy Lord, +While I, so mean and abject grown, +Am thinking of myself alone. + + _Walter_. Be patient: Time will reinstate +Thy health and fortunes. + + _Prince Henry_. 'T is too late! +I cannot strive against my fate! + + _Walter_. Come with me; for my steed is weary; +Our journey has been long and dreary, +And, dreaming of his stall, he dints +With his impatient hoofs the flints. + + _Prince Henry_ (_aside_). I am ashamed, in my disgrace, +To look into that noble face! +To-morrow, Walter, let it be. + + _Walter_. To-morrow, at the dawn of day, +I shall again be on my way +Come with me to the hostelry, +For I have many things to say. +Our journey into Italy +Perchance together we may make; +Wilt thou not do it for my sake? + + _Prince Henry_. A sick man's pace would but impede +Thine eager and impatient speed. +Besides, my pathway leads me round +To Hirsehau, in the forest's bound, +Where I assemble man and steed, +And all things for my journey's need. + + (_They go out_. LUCIFER, _flying over the city_.) + +Sleep, sleep, O city! till the light +Wakes you to sin and crime again, +Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain, +I scatter downward through the night +My maledictions dark and deep. +I have more martyrs in your walls +Than God has; and they cannot sleep; +They are my bondsmen and my thralls; +Their wretched lives are full of pain, +Wild agonies of nerve and brain; +And every heart-beat, every breath, +Is a convulsion worse than death! +Sleep, sleep, O city! though within +The circuit of your walls there lies +No habitation free from sin, +And all its nameless miseries; +The aching heart, the aching head, +Grief for the living and the dead, +And foul corruption of the time, +Disease, distress, and want, and woe, +And crimes, and passions that may grow +Until they ripen into, crime! + + + + +SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL. + + * * * * * + +_Easter Sunday_. FRIAR CUTHBERT _preaching to the +crowd from a pulpit in the open air_. PRINCE +HENRY _and_ ELSIE _crossing the square_. + + _Prince Henry_. This is the day, when from the dead +Our Lord arose; and everywhere, +Out of their darkness and despair, +Triumphant over fears and foes, +The hearts of his disciples rose, +When to the women, standing near, +The Angel in shining vesture said, +"The Lord is risen; he is not here!" +And, mindful that the day is come, +On all the hearths in Christendom +The fires are quenched, to be again +Rekindled from the sun, that high +Is dancing in the cloudless sky. +The churches are all decked with flowers. +The salutations among men +Are but the Angel's words divine, +"Christ is arisen!" and the bells +Catch the glad murmur, as it swells, +And chaunt together in their towers. +All hearts are glad; and free from care +The faces of the people shine. +See what a crowd is in the square, +Gaily and gallantly arrayed! + + _Elsie_. Let us go back; I am afraid! + + _Prince Henry_. Nay, let us mount the church-steps here, +Under the doorway's sacred shadow; +We can see all things, and be freer +From the crowd that madly heaves and presses! + + _Elsie._ What a gay pageant! what bright dresses! +It looks like a flower besprinkled meadow. +What is that yonder on the square? + + _Prince Henry_ A pulpit in the open air, +And a Friar, who is preaching to the crowd +With a voice so deep and clear and loud, +That, if we listen, and give heed, +His lowest words will reach the ear. + + _Friar Cuthbert (gesticulating and cracking a postilion's +whip)_ What ho! good people! do you not hear? +Dashing along at the top of his speed, +Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed, +A courier comes with words of cheer. +Courier! what is the news, I pray? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From court." +Then I do not believe it; you say it in sport. + + (_Cracks his whip again._) + +There comes another, riding this way; +We soon shall know what he has to say. +Courier! what are the tidings to-day? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From town." +Then I do not believe it; away with you, clown. + + (_Cracks his whip more violently._) + +And here comes a third, who is spurring amain; +What news do you bring, with your loose-hanging rein, +Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle with foam? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From Rome." +Ah, now I believe. He is risen, indeed. +Ride on with the news, at the top of your speed! + + (_Great applause among the crowd._) + +To come back to my text! When the news was first spread +That Christ was arisen indeed from the dead, +Very great was the joy of the angels in heaven; +And as great the dispute as to who should carry +The tidings, thereof to the Virgin Mary, +Pierced to the heart with sorrows seven. +Old Father Adam was first to propose, +As being the author of all our woes; +But he was refused, for fear, said they, +He would stop to eat apples on the way! +Abel came next, but petitioned in vain, +Because he might meet with his brother Cain! +Noah, too, was refused, lest his weakness for wine +Should delay him at every tavern sign; +And John the Baptist could not get a vote, +On account of his old fashioned, camel's-hair coat; +And the Penitent Thief, who died on the cross, +Was reminded that all his bones were broken! +Till at last, when each in turn had spoken, +The company being still at a loss, +The Angel, who had rolled away the stone, +Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone, +And filled with glory that gloomy prison, +And said to the Virgin, "The Lord is arisen!" + + (_The Cathedral bells ring_.) + +But hark! the bells are beginning to chime; +And I feel that I am growing hoarse. +I will put an end to my discourse, +And leave the rest for some other time. +For the bells themselves are the best of preachers; +Their brazen lips are learned teachers, +From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, +Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, +Shriller than trumpets under the Law, +Now a sermon and now a prayer. +The clangorous hammer is the tongue, +This way, that way, beaten and swung, +That from mouth of brass, as from Mouth of Gold, +May be taught the Testaments, New and Old. +And above it the great crossbeam of wood +Representeth the Holy Rood, +Upon which, like the bell, our hopes are hung. +And the wheel wherewith it is swayed and rung +Is the mind of man, that round and round +Sways, and maketh the tongue to sound! +And the rope, with its twisted cordage three, +Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity +Of Morals, and Symbols, and History; +And the upward and downward motions show +That we touch upon matters high and low; +And the constant change and transmutation +Of action and of contemplation, +Downward, the Scripture brought from on high, +Upward, exalted again to the sky; +Downward, the literal interpretation, +Upward, the Vision and Mystery! + +And now, my hearers, to make an end, +I have only one word more to say; +In the church, in honor of Easter day, +Will be represented a Miracle Play; +And I hope you will all have the grace to attend. +Christ bring us at last So his felicity! +Pax vobiscum! et Benedicite! + + + + +IN THE CATHEDRAL. + + * * * * * + +CHAUNT. + Kyrie Eleison! + Christe Eleison! + + _Elsie._ I am at home here in my Father's house! +These paintings of the Saints upon the walls +Have all familiar and benignant faces. + + _Prince Henry._ The portraits of the family of God! +Thine own hereafter shall be placed among them. + + _Elsie._ How very grand it is and wonderful! +Never have I beheld a church so splendid! +Such columns, and such arches, and such windows, +So many tombs and statues in the chapels, +And under them so many confessionals. +They must be for the rich. I should not like +To tell my sins in such a church as this. +Who built it? + + _Prince Henry._ A great master of his craft, +Erwin von Steinbach; but not he alone, +For many generations labored with him. +Children that came to see these Saints in stone, +As day by day out of the blocks they rose, +Grew old and died, and still the work went on, +And on, and on, and is not yet completed. +The generation that succeeds our own +Perhaps may finish it. The architect +Built his great heart into these sculptured stones, +And with him toiled his children, and their lives +Were builded, with his own, into the walls, +As offerings unto God. You see that statue +Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled eyes +Upon the Pillar of the Angels yonder. +That is the image of the master, carved +By the fair hand of his own child, Sabina. + + _Elsie._ How beautiful is the column that he looks at! + + _Prince Henry._ That, too, she sculptured. At the base of it +Stand the Evangelists; above their heads +Four Angels blowing upon marble trumpets, +And over them the blessed Christ, surrounded +By his attendant ministers, upholding +The instruments of his passion. + + _Elsie._ O my Lord! +Would I could leave behind me upon earth +Some monument to thy glory, such as this! + + _Prince Henry._ A greater monument than this thou leavest +In thine own life, all purity and love! +See, too, the Rose, above the western portal +Flamboyant with a thousand gorgeous colors, +The perfect flower of Gothic loveliness! + + _Elsie._ And, in the gallery, the long line of statues, +Christ with his twelve Apostles watching us. + +(_A_ BISHOP _in armor, booted and spurred, passes with +his train._) + +_Prince Henry._ But come away; we have not time to look. +The crowd already fills the church, and yonder +Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet, +Clad like The Angel Gabriel, proclaims +The Mystery that will now be represented. + + + + +THE NATIVITY. + + * * * * * + +A MIRACLE PLAY. + + * * * * * + +THE NATIVITY. + +INTROITUS. + + _Præco._ Come, good people, all and each, +Come and listen to our speech! +In your presence here I stand, +With a trumpet in my hand, +To announce the Easter Play, +Which we represent to-day! +First of all we shall rehearse, +In our action and our verse, +The Nativity of our Lord, +As written in the old record +Of the Protevangelion, +So that he who reads may run! + + (_Blows his trumpet._) + + * * * * * + +I. HEAVEN. + + _Mercy_ (_at the feet of God_). Have pity, Lord be not afraid +To save mankind, whom thou hast made, +Nor let the souls that were betrayed + Perish eternally! + + _Justice._ It cannot be, it must not be! +When in the garden placed by thee, +The fruit of the forbidden tree + He ate, and he must die! + + _Mercy._ Have pity, Lord! let penitence +Atone for disobedience, +Nor let the fruit of man's offence + Be endless misery! + + _Justice._ What penitence proportionate +Can e'er be felt for sin so great? +Of the forbidden fruit he ate, + And damned must he be! + + _God._ He shall be saved, if that within +The bounds of earth one free from sin +Be found, who for his kith and kin + Will suffer martyrdom. + + _The Four Virtues._ Lord! we have searched the world around, +From centre to the utmost bound, +But no such mortal can be found; + Despairing, back we come. + + _Wisdom._ No mortal, but a God made man, +Can ever carry out this plan, +Achieving what none other can, + Salvation unto all! + + _God._ Go, then, O my beloved Son; +It can by thee alone be done; +By thee the victory shall be won + O'er Satan and the Fall! + +(_Here the_ ANGEL GABRIEL _shall leave Paradise and +fly toward the earth; the jaws of Hell open below, +and the Devils walk about, making a great noise._) + + * * * * * + + +II. MARY AT THE WELL. + + _Mary._ Along the garden walk, and thence +Through the wicket in the garden fence, + I steal with quiet pace, +My pitcher at the well to fill, +That lies so deep and cool and still + In this sequestered place. +These sycamores keep guard around; +I see no face, I hear no sound, + Save babblings of the spring, +And my companions, who within +The threads of gold and scarlet spin, + And at their labor sing. + + _The Angel Gabriel._ Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace! + +(_Here_ MARY _looketh around her, trembling, and +then saith:_) + + _Mary._ Who is it speaketh in this place, +With such a gentle voice? + + _Gabriel._ The Lord of heaven is with thee now! +Blessed among all women thou, + Who art his holy choice! + + _Mary_ (setting down the pitcher). What can this mean? +No one is near, +And yet, such sacred words I hear, + I almost fear to stay. + + (_Here the_ ANGEL, _appearing to her, shall say:_) + + _Gabriel._ Fear not, O Mary! but believe! +For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive + A child this very day. + +Fear not, O Mary! from the sky +The majesty of the Most High + Shall overshadow thee! + + _Mary._ Behold the handmaid of the Lord! +According to thy holy word, + So be it unto me! + + (_Here the Devils shall again make a great noise, + under the stage._) + + + + +III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLANETS, + _bearing the Star of Bethlehem._ + + _The Angels._ The Angels of the Planets Seven +Across the shining fields of heaven + The natal star we bring! +Dropping our sevenfold virtues down, +As priceless jewels in the crown + Of Christ, our new-born King. + + _Raphael._ I am the Angel of the Sun, +Whose flaming wheels began to run + When God's almighty breath +Said to the darkness and the Night, +Let there be light! and there was light! + I bring the gift of Faith. + + _Gabriel._ I am the Angel of the Moon, +Darkened, to be rekindled soon + Beneath the azure cope! +Nearest to earth, it is my ray +That best illumes the midnight way. + I bring the gift of Hope! + + _Anael._ The Angel of the Star of Love, +The Evening Star, that shines above + The place where lovers be, +Above all happy hearths and homes, +On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, + I give him Charity! + + _Zobiachel._ The Planet Jupiter is mine! +The mightiest star of all that shine, + Except the sun alone! +He is the High Priest of the Dove, +And sends, from his great throne above, + Justice, that shall atone! + + _Michael._ The Planet Mercury, whose place +Is nearest to the sun in space, + Is my allotted sphere! +And with celestial ardor swift +I bear upon my hands the gift + Of heavenly Prudence here! + + _Uriel._ I am the Minister of Mars, +The strongest star among the stars! + My songs of power prelude +The march and battle of man's life, +And for the suffering and the strife, + I give him Fortitude! + + _Anachiel._ The Angel of the uttermost +Of all the shining, heavenly host, + From the far-off expanse +Of the Saturnian, endless space +I bring the last, the crowning grace, + The gift of Temperance! + + (_A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable + in the village below._) + + + + +IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. + + _The stable of the Inn. The_ VIRGIN _and_ CHILD. + _Three Gypsy Kings,_ GASPAR, MELCHIOR, _and_ BELSHAZZAR, + _shall come in._ + + _Gaspar._ Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth! +Though in a manger thou drawest thy breath, +Thou art greater than Life and Death, + Greater than Joy or Woe! +This cross upon the line of life +Portendeth struggle, toil, and strife, +And through a region with dangers rife + In darkness shall thou go! + + _Melchior._ Hail to thee, King of Jerusalem +Though humbly born in Bethlehem, +A sceptre and a diadem + Await thy brow and hand! +The sceptre is a simple reed, +The crown will make thy temples bleed, +And in thy hour of greatest need, + Abashed thy subjects stand! + +_Belshazzar_. Hail to thee, Christ of Christendom! +O'er all the earth thy kingdom come! +From distant Trebizond to Rome + Thy name shall men adore! +Peace and good-will among all men, +The Virgin has returned again, +Returned the old Saturnian reign + And Golden Age once more. + +_The Child Christ_. Jesus, the Son of God, am I, +Born here to suffer and to die +According to the prophecy, + That other men may live! + +_The Virgin_. And now these clothes, that wrapped him, take +And keep them precious, for his sake; +For benediction thus we make, + Naught else have we to give. + + (_She gives them swaddling-clothes and they depart_.) + + + + +V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. + + +_Here shall_ JOSEPH _come in, leading an ass, on which +are seated_ MARY _and the_ CHILD. + +_Mary_. Here will we rest us, under these +Underhanging branches of the trees, +Where robins chant their Litanies, + And canticles of joy. + +_Joseph_. My saddle-girths have given way +With trudging through the heat to-day +To you I think it is but play + To ride and hold the boy. + + _Mary_. Hark! how the robins shout and sing, +As if to hail their infant King! +I will alight at yonder spring + To wash his little coat. + + _Joseph_. And I will hobble well the ass, +Lest, being loose upon the grass, +He should escape; for, by the mass. + He is nimble as a goat. + + (_Here_ MARY _shall alight and go to the spring._) + + _Mary_. O Joseph! I am much afraid, +For men are sleeping in the shade; +I fear that we shall be waylaid, + And robbed and beaten sore! + + (_Here a band of robbers shall be seen sleeping, two of + whom shall rise and come forward_.) + + _Dumachus_. Cock's soul! deliver up your gold! + + _Joseph_. I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold! +Of wealth I have no store. + + _Dumachus_. Give up your money! + + _Titus_. Prithee cease! +Let these good people go in peace! + + _Dumachus_. First let them pay for their release, +And then go on their way. + + _Titus_. These forty groats I give in fee, +If thou wilt only silent be. + + _Mary_. May God be merciful to thee +Upon the Judgment Day! + + _Jesus_. When thirty years shall have gone by, +I at Jerusalem shall die, +By Jewish hands exalted high + On the accursed tree. +Then on my right and my left side, +These thieves shall both be crucified +And Titus thenceforth shall abide + In paradise with me. + + (_Here a great rumor of trumpets and horses, like the + noise of a king with his army, and the robbers shall + take flight._) + + + + +VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS. + + _King Herod._ Potz-tausend! Himmel-sacrament! +Filled am I with great wonderment + At this unwelcome news! +Am I not Herod? Who shall dare +My crown to take, my sceptre bear, + As king among the Jews? + + (_Here he shall stride up and down and flourish his sword._) + +What ho! I fain would drink a can +Of the strong wine of Canaan! + The wine of Helbon bring, +I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, +As red as blood, as hot as fire, + And fit for any king! + + (_He quaffs great goblets of wine._) + +Now at the window will I stand, +While in the street the armed band + The little children slay: +The babe just born in Bethlehem +Will surely slaughtered be with them, + Nor live another day! + + (_Here a voice of lamentation shall be heard in the street._) + + _Rachel._ O wicked king! O cruel speed! +To do this most unrighteous deed! + My children all are slain! + + _Herod._ Ho seneschal! another cup! +With wine of Sorek fill it up! + I would a bumper drain! + + _Rahab._ May maledictions fall and blast +Thyself and lineage, to the last + Of all thy kith and kin! + + _Herod._ Another goblet! quick! and stir +Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh + And calamus therein! + + _Soldiers (in the street)_. Give up thy child into our hands! +It is King Herod who commands + That he should thus be slain! + + _The Nurse Medusa._ O monstrous men! What have ye done! +It is King Herod's only son + That ye have cleft in twain! + + _Herod._ Ah, luckless day! What words of fear +Are these that smite upon my ear + With such a doleful sound! +What torments rack my heart and head! +Would I were dead! would I were dead, + And buried in the ground! + + (_He falls down and writhes as though eaten by worms. + Hell opens, and_ SATAN _and_ ASTAROTH _come forth, + and drag him down._) + + + + +VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOLMATES. + + _Jesus._ The shower is over. Let us play, +And make some sparrows out of clay, + Down by the river's side. + + _Judas._ See, how the stream has overflowed +Its banks, and o'er the meadow road + Is spreading far and wide! + + (_They draw water out of the river by channels, and + form little pools_ JESUS _makes twelve sparrows of + clay, and the other boys do the same._) + + _Jesus._ Look! look! how prettily I make +These little sparrows by the lake + Bend down their necks and drink! +Now will I make them sing and soar +So far, they shall return no more + Into this river's brink. + + _Judas._ That canst thou not! They are but clay, +They cannot sing, nor fly away + Above the meadow lands! + + _Jesus._ Fly, fly! ye sparrows! you are free! +And while you live, remember me, + Who made you with my hands. + + (_Here_ JESUS _shall clap his hands, and the sparrows + shall fly away, chirruping._) + + _Judas._ Thou art a sorcerer, I know; +Oft has my mother told me so, + I will not play with thee! + + (_He strikes_ JESUS _on the right side._) + + _Jesus._ Ah, Judas! thou has smote my side, +And when I shall be crucified, + There shall I pierced be! + + (_Here_ JOSEPH _shall come in, and say:_) + + _Joseph._ Ye wicked boys! why do ye play, +And break the holy Sabbath day? +What, think ye, will your mothers say + To see you in such plight! +In such a sweat and such a heat, +With all that mud-upon your feet! +There's not a beggar in the street + Makes such a sorry sight! + + + + +VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. + +_The_ RABBI BEN ISRAEL, _with a long beard, sitting on + a high stool, with a rod in his hand._ + + _Rabbi._ I am the Rabbi Ben Israel, +Throughout this village known full well, +And, as my scholars all will tell, + Learned in things divine; +The Kabala and Talmud hoar +Than all the prophets prize I more, +For water is all Bible lore, + But Mishna is strong wine. + +My fame extends from West to East, +And always, at the Purim feast, +I am as drunk as any beast + That wallows in his sty; +The wine it so elateth me, +That I no difference can see +Between "Accursed Haman be!" + And "Blessed be Mordecai!" + +Come hither, Judas Iscariot. +Say, if thy lesson thou hast got +From the Rabbinical Book or not. + Why howl the dogs at night? + + _Judas._ In the Rabbinical Book, it saith +The dogs howl, when with icy breath +Great Sammaël, the Angel of Death, + Takes through the town his flight! + + _Rabbi._ Well, boy! now say, if thou art wise, +When the Angel of Death, who is full of eyes, +Comes where a sick man dying lies, + What doth he to the wight? + + _Judas._ He stands beside him, dark and tall, +Holding a sword, from which doth fall +Into his mouth a drop of gall, + And so he turneth white. + + _Rabbi._ And now, my Judas, say to me +What the great Voices Four may be, +That quite across the world do flee, + And are not heard by men? + + _Judas._ The Voice of the Sun in heaven's dome, +The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome, +The Voice of a Soul that goeth home, + And the Angel of the Rain! + + _Rabbi._ Well have ye answered every one +Now little Jesus, the carpenter's son, +Let us see how thy task is done. + Canst thou thy letters say? + + _Jesus._ Aleph. + + _Rabbi._ What next? Do not stop yet! +Go on with all the alphabet. +Come, Aleph, Beth; dost thou forget? + Cock's soul! thou'dst rather play! + + _Jesus._ What Aleph means I fain would know, +Before I any farther go! + + _Rabbi._ O, by Saint Peter! wouldst thou so? +Come hither, boy, to me. +And surely as the letter Jod +Once cried aloud, and spake to God, +So surely shalt thou feel this rod, + And punished shalt thou be! + + (_Here_ RABBI BEN ISRAEL _shall lift up his rod to strike_ + JESUS, _and his right arm shall be paralyzed._) + + + + +IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS. + +JESUS _sitting among his playmates, crowned with +flowers as their King._ + + _Boys._ We spread our garments on the ground' +With fragrant flowers thy head is crowned, +While like a guard we stand around, + And hail thee as our King! +Thou art the new King of the Jews! +Nor let the passers-by refuse +To bring that homage which men use + To majesty to bring. + + (_Here a traveller shall go by, and the boys shall lay + hold of his garments and say:_) + + _Boys._ Come hither! and all reverence pay +Unto our monarch, crowned to-day! +Then go rejoicing on your way, + In all prosperity! + + _Traveller._ Hail to the King of Bethlehem, +Who weareth in his diadem +The yellow crocus for the gem + Of his authority! + + (_He passes by; and others come in, bearing on a litter + a sick child._) + + _Boys._ Set down the litter and draw near! +The King of Bethlehem is here! +What ails the child, who seems to fear + That we shall do him harm? + + _The Bearers._ He climbed up to the robin's nest, +And out there darted, from his rest, +A serpent with a crimson crest, + And stung him in the arm. + + _Jesus._ Bring him to me, and let me feel +The wounded place; my touch can heal +The sting of serpents, and can steal + The poison from the bite! + + (_He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry._) + +Cease to lament! I can foresee +That thou hereafter known shalt be, +Among the men who follow me, + As Simon the Canaanite! + + * * * * * + + + EPILOGUE. + +In the after part of the day +Will be represented another play, +Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord, +Beginning directly after Nones! +At the close of which we shall accord, +By way of benison and reward, +The sight of a holy Martyr's bones! + + + + +IV. THE ROAD HIRSCHAU. + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE, _with their attendants, on +horseback._ + + _Elsie._ Onward and onward the highway runs + to the distant city, impatiently bearing +Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of + hate, of doing and daring! + + _Prince Henry._ This life of ours is a wild aeolian + harp of many a joyous strain, +But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, + as of souls in pain. + + _Elsie._ Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart + that aches and bleeds with the stigma +Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can + comprehend its dark enigma. + + _Prince Henry._ Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure + with little care of what may betide; +Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon + that rides by an angel's side? + + _Elsie._ All the hedges are white with dust, and + the great dog under the creaking wain +Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the + horses toil and strain + + _Prince Henry._ Now they stop at the wayside inn, + and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter, +While out of the dripping trough the horses distend + their leathern sides with water. + + _Elsie._ All through life there are wayside inns, + where man may refresh his soul with love; +Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed + by springs from above. + + _Prince Henry._ Yonder, where rises the cross of + stone, our journey along the highway ends, +And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the + broad green valley descends. + + _Elsie._ I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten + road with its dust and heat; +The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer + under our horses' feet. + + (_They turn down a green lane._) + + _Elsie._ Sweet is the air with the budding haws, + and the valley stretching for miles below +Is white with blossoming cheery trees, as if just covered + with lightest snow. + + _Prince Henry._ Over our heads a white cascade is + gleaming against the distant hill; +We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like + a banner when winds are still. + + _Elsie._ Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and + cool the sound of the brook by our side! +What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it + over a land so wide? + +_Prince Henry._ It is the home of the Counts of + Calva; well have I known these scenes of old, +Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the + brooklet, the wood, and the wold. + + _Elsie._ Hark! from the little village below us the + bells of the church are ringing for rain! +Priests and peasants in long procession come forth + and kneel on the arid plain. + + _Prince Henry._ They have not long to wait, for I + see in the south uprising a little cloud, +That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky + above us as with a shroud. + + (_They pass on._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE +BLACK FOREST. + + * * * * * + +_The Convent cellar._ FRIAR CLAUS _comes in with a +light and a basket of empty flagons._ + + _Friar Claus._ I always enter this sacred place +With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace, +Pausing long enough on each stair +To breathe an ejaculatory prayer, +And a benediction on the vines +That produce these various sorts of wines! + +For my part, I am well content +That we have got through with the tedious Lent! +Fasting is all very well for those +Who have to contend with invisible foes; +But I am quite sure it does not agree +With a quiet, peaceable man like me, +Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind +That are always distressed in body and mind! +And at times it really does me good +To come down among this brotherhood, +Dwelling forever under ground, +Silent, contemplative, round and sound; +Each one old, and brown with mould, +But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth, +With the latent power and love of truth, +And with virtues fervent and manifold. + +I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, +When buds are swelling on every side, +And the sap begins to move in the vine. +Then in all the cellars, far and wide, +The oldest, as well as the newest, wine +Begins to stir itself, and ferment, +With a kind of revolt and discontent +At being so long in darkness pent, +And fain would burst from its sombre tun +To bask on the hillside in the sun; +As in the bosom of us poor friars, +The tumult of half-subdued desires +For the world that we have left behind +Disturbs at times all peace of mind! +And now that we have lived through Lent, +My duty it is, as often before, +To open awhile the prison-door, +And give these restless spirits vent. + +Now here is a cask that stands alone, +And has stood a hundred years or more, +Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, +Trailing and sweeping along the floor, +Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, +Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave, +Till his beard has grown through the table of stone! +It is of the quick and not of the dead! +In its veins the blood is hot and red, +And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak +That time may have tamed, but has not broke; +It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine, +Is one of the three best kinds of wine, +And costs some hundred florins the ohm; +But that I do not consider dear, +When I remember that every year +Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome. +And whenever a goblet thereof I drain, +The old rhyme keeps running in my brain: + + At Bacharach on the Rhine, + At Hochheim on the Main, + And at Würzburg on the Stein, + Grow the three best kinds of wine! + +They are all good wines, and better far +Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr +In particular, Würzburg well may boast +Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost, +Which of all wines I like the most. +This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking, +Who seems to be much of my way of thinking. + + (_Fills a flagon._) + +Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings! +What a delicious fragrance springs +From the deep flagon, while it fills, +As of hyacinths and daffodils! +Between this cask and the Abbot's lips +Many have been the sips and slips; +Many have been the draughts of wine, +On their way to his, that have stopped at mine; +And many a time my soul has hankered +For a deep draught out of his silver tankard, +When it should have been busy with other affairs, +Less with its longings and more with its prayers. +But now there is no such awkward condition, +No danger of death and eternal perdition; +So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all, +Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul! + + (_He drinks._) + +O cordial delicious! O soother of pain! +It flashes like sunshine into my brain! +A benison rest on the Bishop who sends +Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends! + +And now a flagon for such as may ask +A draught from the noble Bacharach cask, +And I will be gone, though I know full well +The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell. +Behold where he stands, all sound and good, +Brown and old in his oaken hood; +Silent he seems externally +As any Carthusian monk may be; +But within, what a spirit of deep unrest! +What a seething and simmering in his breast! +As if the heaving of his great heart +Would burst his belt of oak apart! +Let me unloose this button of wood, +And quiet a little his turbulent mood. + + (_Sets it running._) + +See! how its currents gleam and shine, +As if they had caught the purple hues +Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, +Descending and mingling with the dews; +Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood +Of the innocent boy, who, some years back, +Was taken and crucified by the Jews, +In that ancient town of Bacharach; +Perdition upon those infidel Jews, +In that ancient town of Bacharach! +The beautiful town, that gives us wine +With the fragrant odor of Muscadine! +I should deem it wrong to let this pass +Without first touching my lips to the glass, +For here in the midst of the current I stand, +Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river +Taking toll upon either hand, +And much more grateful to the giver. + + (_He drinks._) + +Here, now, is a very inferior kind, +Such as in any town you may find, +Such as one might imagine would suit +The rascal who drank wine out of a boot, +And, after all, it was not a crime, +For he won thereby Dorf Hüffelsheim. +A jolly old toper! who at a pull +Could drink a postilion's jack boot full, +And ask with a laugh, when that was done, +If the fellow had left the other one! +This wine is as good as we can afford +To the friars, who sit at the lower board, +And cannot distinguish bad from good, +And are far better off than if they could, +Being rather the rude disciples of beer +Than of anything more refined and dear! + + (_Fills the other flagon and departs._) + + * * * * * + + +THE SCRIPTORIUM. + +FRIAR PACIFICUS _transcribing and illuminating._ + + _Friar Pacificus_ It is growing dark! Yet one line more, +And then my work for today is o'er. +I come again to the name of the Lord! +Ere I that awful name record, +That is spoken so lightly among men, +Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen; +Pure from blemish and blot must it be +When it writes that word of mystery! + +Thus have I labored on and on, +Nearly through the Gospel of John. +Can it be that from the lips +Of this same gentle Evangelist, +That Christ himself perhaps has kissed, +Came the dread Apocalypse! +It has a very awful look, +As it stands there at the end of the book, +Like the sun in an eclipse. +Ah me! when I think of that vision divine, +Think of writing it, line by line, +I stand in awe of the terrible curse, +Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse! +God forgive me! if ever I +Take aught from the book of that Prophecy, +Lest my part too should be taken away +From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day. + +This is well written, though I say it! +I should not be afraid to display it, +In open day, on the selfsame shelf +With the writings of St Thecla herself, +Or of Theodosius, who of old +Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold! +That goodly folio standing yonder, +Without a single blot or blunder, +Would not bear away the palm from mine, +If we should compare them line for line. + +There, now, is an initial letter! +King René himself never made a better! +Finished down to the leaf and the snail, +Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail! +And now, as I turn the volume over, +And see what lies between cover and cover, +What treasures of art these pages hold, +All ablaze with crimson and gold, +God forgive me! I seem to feel +A certain satisfaction steal +Into my heart, and into my brain, +As if my talent had not lain +Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. +Yes, I might almost say to the Lord, +Here is a copy of thy Word, +Written out with much toil and pain; +Take it, O Lord, and let it be +As something I have done for thee! + + (_He looks from the window._) + +How sweet the air is! How fair the scene! +I wish I had as lovely a green +To paint my landscapes and my leaves! +How the swallows twitter under the eaves! +There, now, there is one in her nest; +I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast, +And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook, +In the margin of my Gospel book. + + (_He makes a sketch._) + +I can see no more. Through the valley yonder +A shower is passing; I hear the thunder +Mutter its curses in the air, +The Devil's own and only prayer! +The dusty road is brown with rain, +And speeding on with might and main, +Hitherward rides a gallant train. +They do not parley, they cannot wait, +But hurry in at the convent gate. +What a fair lady! and beside her +What a handsome, graceful, noble rider! +Now she gives him her hand to alight; +They will beg a shelter for the night. +I will go down to the corridor, +And try to see that face once more; +It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint, +Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. + + (_Goes out._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CLOISTERS. + + + * * * * * + +_The_ ABBOT ERNESTUS _pacing to and fro._ + + _Abbot._ Slowly, slowly up the wall +Steals the sunshine, steals the shade; +Evening damps begin to fall, +Evening shadows are displayed. +Round me, o'er me, everywhere, +All the sky is grand with clouds, +And athwart the evening air +Wheel the swallows home in crowds. +Shafts of sunshine from the west +Paint the dusky windows red; +Darker shadows, deeper rest, +Underneath and overhead. +Darker, darker, and more wan, +In my breast the shadows fall; +Upward steals the life of man, +As the sunshine from the wall. +From the wall into the sky, +From the roof along the spire; +Ah, the souls of those that die +Are but sunbeams lifted higher. + + (_Enter_ PRINCE HENRY.) + + _Prince Henry._ Christ is arisen! + + _Abbot._ Amen! he is arisen! +His peace be with you! + + _Prince Henry._ Here it reigns forever! +The peace of God, that passeth understanding, +Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors, +Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent? + + _Abbot._ I am. + + _Prince Henry._ And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, +Who crave your hospitality to-night. + + _Abbot._ You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. +You do us honor; and we shall requite it, +I fear, but poorly, entertaining you +With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine, +The remnants of our Easter holidays. + + _Prince Henry._ How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau? +Are all things well with them? + + _Abbot._ All things are well. + + _Prince Henry._ A noble convent! I have known it long +By the report of travellers. I now see +Their commendations lag behind the truth. +You lie here in the valley of the Nagold +As in a nest: and the still river, gliding +Along its bed, is like an admonition +How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample, +And your revenues large. God's benediction +Rests on your convent. + + _Abbot._ By our charities +We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, +When he departed, left us in his will, +As our best legacy on earth, the poor! +These we have always with us; had we not, +Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones. + + _Prince Henry._ If I remember right, the Counts of Calva +Founded your convent. + + _Abbot._ Even as you say. + + _Prince Henry._ And, if I err not, it is very old. + + _Abbot._ Within these cloisters lie already buried +Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags +On which we stand, the Abbot William lies, +Of blessed memory. + + _Prince Henry._ And whose tomb is that, +Which bears the brass escutcheon? + + _Abbot._ A benefactor's. +Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood +Godfather to our bells. + + _Prince Henry._ Your monks are learned +And holy men, I trust. + + _Abbot._ There are among them +Learned and holy men. Yet in this age +We need another Hildebrand, to shake +And purify us like a mighty wind. +The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder +God does not lose his patience with it wholly, +And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times, +Within these walls, where all should be at peace, +I have my trials. Time has laid his hand +Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, +But as a harper lays his open palm +Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. +Ashes are on my head, and on my lips +Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness +And weariness of life, that makes me ready +To say to the dead Abbots under us, +"Make room for me!" Only I see the dusk +Of evening twilight coming, and have not +Completed half my task; and so at times +The thought of my shortcomings in this life +Falls like a shadow on the life to come. + + _Prince Henry._ We must all die, and not the old alone; +The young have no exemption from that doom. + + _Abbot._ Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must! +That is the difference. + + _Prince Henry._ I have heard much laud +Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium +Is famous among all, your manuscripts +Praised for their beauty and their excellence. + + _Abbot._ That is indeed our boast. If you desire it, +You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile +Shall the Refectorarius bestow +Your horses and attendants for the night. + + (_They go in. The Vesper-bell rings._) + + * * * * * + +THE CHAPEL. + + * * * * * + +_Vespers; after which the monks retire, a chorister +leading an old monk who is blind_. + + _Prince Henry._ They are all gone, save one who lingers, +Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. +As if his heart could find no rest, +At times he beats his heaving breast +With clenched and convulsive fingers, +Then lifts them trembling in the air. +A chorister, with golden hair, +Guides hitherward his heavy pace. +Can it be so? Or does my sight +Deceive me in the uncertain light? +Ah no! I recognize that face, +Though Time has touched it in his flight, +And changed the auburn hair to white. +It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, +The deadliest foe of all our race, +And hateful unto me and mine! + + _The Blind Monk_. Who is it that doth stand so near +His whispered words I almost hear? + + _Prince Henry_. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, +And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine! +I know you, and I see the scar, +The brand upon your forehead, shine +And redden like a baleful star! + + _The Blind Monk_. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck +Of what I was. O Hoheneck! +The passionate will, the pride, the wrath +That bore me headlong on my path, +Stumbled and staggered into fear, +And failed me in my mad career, +As a tired steed some evil-doer, +Alone upon a desolate moor, +Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, +And hearing loud and close behind +The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer. +Then suddenly, from the dark there came +A voice that called me by my name, +And said to me, "Kneel down and pray!" +And so my terror passed away, +Passed utterly away forever. +Contrition, penitence, remorse, +Came on me, with o'erwhelming force; +A hope, a longing, an endeavor, +By days of penance and nights of prayer, +To frustrate and defeat despair! +Calm, deep, and still is now my heart. +With tranquil waters overflowed; +A lake whose unseen fountains start, +Where once the hot volcano glowed. +And you, O Prince of Hoheneck! +Have known me in that earlier time, +A man of violence and crime, +Whose passions brooked no curb nor check. +Behold me now, in gentler mood, +One of this holy brotherhood. +Give me your hand; here let me kneel; +Make your reproaches sharp as steel; +Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek; +No violence can harm the meek, +There is no wound Christ cannot heal! +Yes; lift your princely hand, and take +Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek, +Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake! + + _Prince Henry._ Arise, Count Hugo! let there be +No farther strife nor enmity +Between us twain; we both have erred! +Too rash in act, too wroth in word, +From the beginning have we stood +In fierce, defiant attitude, +Each thoughtless of the other's right, +And each reliant on his might. +But now our souls are more subdued; +The hand of God, and not in vain, +Has touched us with the fire of pain. +Let us kneel down, and side by side +Pray, till our souls are purified, +And pardon will not be denied! + + (_They kneel._) + + * * * * * + +THE REFECTORY. + + * * * * * + +_Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. LUCIFER disguised +as a Friar._ + +_Friar Paul (sings)._ Ave! color vini clari, + Dulcis potus, non aman, + Tua nos inebriari + Digneris potentia! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Not so much noise, my worthy freres, +You'll disturb the Abbot at his prayers. + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ O! quam placens in colore! + O! quam fragrans in odore! + O! quam sapidum in ore! + Dulce linguse vinculum! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I should think your tongue had +broken its chain! + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ Felix venter quern intrabis! + Felix guttur quod rigabis! + Felix os quod tu lavabis! + Et beata labia! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Peace! I say, peace! +Will you never cease! +You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again! + + _Friar John._ No danger! to-night he will let us alone, +As I happen to know he has guests of his own. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Who are they? + + _Friar John._ A German Prince and his train, +Who arrived here just before the rain. +There is with him a damsel fair to see, +As slender and graceful as a reed! +When she alighted from her steed, +It seemed like a blossom blown from a tree. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ None of your pale-faced girls for me! + + + (_Kisses the girl at his side_.) + + _Friar John._ Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg! +do not drink any farther, I beg! + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ In the days of gold, + The days of old, + Cross of wood + And bishop of gold! + + _Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)._ What an infernal racket and din! +No need not blush so, that's no sin. +You look very holy in this disguise, +Though there's something wicked in your eyes! + + _Friar Paul (continues.)_ Now we have changed + That law so good, + To cross of gold + And bishop of wood! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I like your sweet face under a hood. +Sister! how came you into this way? + + _Girl._ It was you, Friar Cuthbert, who led me astray. +Have you forgotten that day in June, +When the church was so cool in the afternoon, +And I came in to confess my sins? +That is where my ruin begins. + + _Friar John._ What is the name of yonder friar, +With an eye that glows like a coal of fire, +And such a black mass of tangled hair? + + _Friar Paul._ He who is sitting there, +With a rollicking, +Devil may care, +Free and easy look and air, +As if he were used to such feasting and frollicking? + + _Friar John._ The same. + + _Friar Paul._ He's a stranger. You had better ask his name, +And where he is going, and whence he came. + + _Friar John._ Hallo! Sir Friar! + + _Friar Paul._ You must raise your voice a little higher, +He does not seem to hear what you say. +Now, try again! He is looking this way. + + _Friar John._ Hallo! Sir Friar, +We wish to inquire +Whence you came, and where you are going, +And anything else that is worth the knowing. +So be so good as to open your head. + + _Lucifer._ I am a Frenchman born and bred, +Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. +My home +Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, +Of which, very like, you never have heard. + + _Monks._ Never a word! + + _Lucifer._ You must know, then, it is in the diocese +Called the Diocese of Vannes, +In the province of Brittany. +From the gray rocks of Morbihan +It overlooks the angry sea; +The very seashore where, +In his great despair, +Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, +Filling the night with woe, +And wailing aloud to the merciless seas +The name of his sweet Heloise! +Whilst overhead +The convent windows gleamed as red +As the fiery eyes of the monks within, +Who with jovial din +Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin! +Ha! that is a convent! that is an abbey! +Over the doors, +None of your death-heads carved in wood, +None of your Saints looking pious and good, +None of your Patriarchs old and shabby! +But the heads and tusks of boars, +And the cells +Hung all round with the fells +of the fallow-deer, +And then what cheer! +What jolly, fat friars, +Sitting round the great, roaring fires, +Roaring louder than they, +With their strong wines, +And their concubines, +And never a bell, +With its swagger and swell, +Calling you up with a start of affright +In the dead of night, +To send you grumbling down dark stairs, +To mumble your prayers, +But the cheery crow +Of cocks in the yard below, +After daybreak, an hour or so, +And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds, +These are the sounds +That, instead of bells, salute the ear. +And then all day +Up and away +Through the forest, hunting the deer! +Ah, my friends! I'm afraid that here +You are a little too pious, a little too tame, +And the more is the shame, +It is the greatest folly +Not to be jolly; +That's what I think! +Come, drink, drink, +Drink, and die game! + + _Monks,_ And your Abbot What's-his-name? + + _Lucifer._ Abelard! + + _Monks._ Did he drink hard? + + _Lucifer._ O, no! Not he! +He was a dry old fellow, +Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow. +There he stood, +Lowering at us in sullen mood, +As if he had come into Brittany +Just to reform our brotherhood! + + (_A roar of laughter_.) + +But you see +It never would do! +For some of us knew a thing or two, +In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys! +For instance, the great ado +With old Fulbert's niece, +The young and lovely Heloise! + + _Friar John._ Stop there, if you please, +Till we drink to the fair Heloise. + + _All (drinking and shouting)._ Heloise! Heloise! + + (_The Chapel-bell tolls_.) + + _Lucifer (starting)._ What is that bell for? Are you such asses +As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses? + +_Friar Cuthbert._ It is only a poor, unfortunate brother, +Who is gifted with most miraculous powers +Of getting up at all sorts of hours, +And, by way of penance and Christian meekness, +Of creeping silently out of his cell +To take a pull at that hideous bell; +So that all the monks who are lying awake +May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake, +And adapted to his peculiar weakness! + + _Friar John._ From frailty and fall-- + + _All._ Good Lord, deliver us all! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ And before the bell for matins sounds, +He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds, +Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, +Merely to say it is time to arise. +But enough of that. Go on, if you please, +With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys. + + _Lucifer._ Well, it finally came to pass +That, half in fun and half in malice, +One Sunday at Mass +We put some poison into the chalice. +But, either by accident or design, +Peter Abelard kept away +From the chapel that day, +And a poor, young friar, who in his stead +Drank the sacramental wine, +Fell on the steps of the altar, dead! +But look! do you see at the window there +That face, with a look of grief and despair, +That ghastly face, as of one in pain? + + _Monks._ Who? where? + + _Lucifer._ As I spoke, it vanished away again. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ It is that nefarious +Siebald the Refectorarius. +That fellow is always playing the scout, +Creeping and peeping and prowling about; +And then he regales +The Abbot with Scandalous tales. + + _Lucifer_. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers +Telling scandalous tales of the others? +Out upon him, the lazy loon! +I would put a stop to that pretty soon, +In a way he should rue it. + + _Monks_. How shall we do it? + + _Lucifer_. Do you, brother Paul, +Creep under the window, close to the wall, +And open it suddenly when I call. +Then seize the villain by the hair, +And hold him there, +And punish him soundly, once for all. + + _Friar Cuthbert_. As St. Dustan of old, +We are told, +Once caught the Devil by the nose! + + _Lucifer_. Ha! ha! that story is very clever, +But has no foundation whatsoever. +Quick! for I see his face again +Glaring in at the window pane; +Now! now! and do not spare your blows. + + (FRIAR PAUL _opens the window suddenly, and seizes_ + SIEBALD. _They beat him._) + + _Friar Siebald_. Help! help! are you going to slay me? + + _Friar Paul_. That will teach you again to betray me! + + _Friar Siebald_. Mercy! mercy! + + _Friar Paul_ (_shouting and beating_). Rumpas bellorum lorum, + Vim confer amorum + Morum verorum, rorun. + Tu plena polorum! + + _Lucifer_. Who stands in the doorway yonder, +Stretching out his trembling hand, +Just as Abelard used to stand, +The flash of his keen, black eyes +Forerunning the thunder? + + _The Monks (in confusion)_. The Abbot! the +Abbot! + + _Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)_. Put on your disguise! + + _Friar Francis_. Hide the great flagon +From the eyes of the dragon! + + _Friar Cuthbert_. Pull the brown hood over your face, +Lest you bring me into disgrace! + + _Abbot_. What means this revel and carouse? +Is this a tavern and drinking-house? +Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils, +To pollute this convent with your revels? +Were Peter Damian still upon earth, +To be shocked by such ungodly mirth, +He would write your names, with pen of gall, +In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all! +Away, you drunkards! to your cells, +And pray till you hear the matin-bells; +You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul! +And as a penance mark each prayer +With the scourge upon your shoulders bare; +Nothing atones for such a sin +But the blood that follows the discipline. +And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me +Alone into the sacristy; +You, who should be a guide to your brothers, +And are ten times worse than all the others, +For you I've a draught that has long been brewing +You shall do a penance worth the doing! +Away to your prayers, then, one and all! +I wonder the very, convent wall +Does not crumble and crush you in its fall! + + * * * * * + + +THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY. + + * * * * * + +_The_ ABBESS IRMINGARD _sitting with_ ELSIE _in the +moonlight._ + + _Irmingard_ The night is silent, the wind is still, +The moon is looking from yonder hill +Down upon convent, and grove, and garden; +The clouds have passed away from her face, +Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace, +Only the tender and quiet grace +Of one, whose heart had been healed with pardon! + +And such am I. My soul within +Was dark with passion and soiled with sin. +But now its wounds are healed again; +Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain; +For across that desolate land of woe, +O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go, +A wind from heaven began to blow; +And all my being trembled and shook, +As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field, +And I was healed, as the sick are healed, +When fanned by the leaves of the Holy Book! + +As thou sittest in the moonlight there, +Its glory flooding thy golden hair, +And the only darkness that which lies +In the haunted chambers of thine eyes, +I feel my soul drawn unto thee, +Strangely, and strongly, and more and more, +As to one I have known and loved before; +For every soul is akin to me +That dwells in the land of mystery! +I am the Lady Irmingard, +Born of a noble race and name! +Many a wandering Suabian bard, +Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard, +Has found through me the way to fame. +Brief and bright were those days, and the night +Which followed was full of a lurid light. +Love, that of every woman's heart +Will have the whole, and not a part, +That is to her, in Nature's plan, +More than ambition is to man, +Her light, her life, her very breath, +With no alternative but death, +Found me a maiden soft and young, +Just from the convent's cloistered school, +And seated on my lowly stool, +Attentive while the minstrels sung. + +Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, +Fairest, noblest, best of all, +Was Walter of the Vogelweid, +And, whatsoever may betide, +Still I think of him with pride! +His song was of the summer-time +The very birds sang in his rhyme; +The sunshine, the delicious air, +The fragrance of the flowers, were there, +And I grew restless as I heard, +Restless and buoyant as a bird, +Down soft, aërial currents sailing, +O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom, +And through the momentary gloom +Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, +Yielding and borne I knew not where, +But feeling resistance unavailing. + +And thus, unnoticed and apart, +And more by accident than choice. +I listened to that single voice +Until the chambers of my heart +Were filled with it by night and day, +One night,--it was a night in May,-- +Within the garden, unawares, +Under the blossoms in the gloom, +I heard it utter my own name +With protestations and wild prayers; +And it rang through me, and became +Like the archangel's trump of doom, +Which the soul hears, and must obey; +And mine arose as from a tomb. +My former life now seemed to me +Such as hereafter death may be, +When in the great Eternity +We shall awake and find it day. + +It was a dream, and would not stay; +A dream, that in a single night +Faded and vanished out of sight. +My father's anger followed fast +This passion, as a freshening blast +Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage +It may increase, but not assuage. +And he exclaimed: "No wandering bard +Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard! +For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck +By messenger and letter sues." + +Gently, but firmly, I replied: +"Henry of Hoheneck I discard! +Never the hand of Irmingard +Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride!" +This said I, Walter, for thy sake: +This said I, for I could not choose. +After a pause, my father spake +In that cold and deliberate tone +Which turns the hearer into stone, +And seems itself the act to be +That follows with such dread certainty; +"This, or the cloister and the veil!" +No other words than these he said, +But they were like a funeral wail; +My life was ended, my heart was dead. + +That night from the castle-gate went down, +With silent, slow, and stealthy pace, +Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds, +Taking the narrow path that leads +Into the forest dense and brown, +In the leafy darkness of the place, +One could not distinguish form nor face, +Only a bulk without a shape, +A darker shadow in the shade; +One scarce could say it moved or stayed, +Thus it was we made our escape! +A foaming brook, with many a bound, +Followed us like a playful hound; +Then leaped before us, and in the hollow +Paused, and waited for us to follow, +And seemed impatient, and afraid +That our tardy flight should be betrayed +By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made, +And when we reached the plain below, +He paused a moment and drew rein +To look back at the castle again; +And we saw the windows all aglow +With lights, that were passing to and fro; +Our hearts with terror ceased to beat; +The brook crept silent to our feet; +We knew what most we feared to know. +Then suddenly horns began to blow; +And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp, +And our horses snorted in the damp +Night-air of the meadows green and wide, +And in a moment, side by side, +So close, they must have seemed but one, +The shadows across the moonlight run, +And another came, and swept behind, +Like the shadow of clouds before the wind! + +How I remember that breathless flight +Across the moors, in the summer night! +How under our feet the long, white road +Backward like a river flowed, +Sweeping with it fences and hedges, +Whilst farther away, and overhead, +Paler than I, with fear and dread, +The moon fled with us, as we fled +Along the forest's jagged edges! + +All this I can remember well; +But of what afterward befell +I nothing farther can recall +Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall; +The rest is a blank and darkness all. +When I awoke out of this swoon, +The sun was shining, not the moon, +Making a cross upon the wall +With the bars of my windows narrow and tall; +And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray, +From early childhood, day by day, +Each morning, as in bed I lay! +I was lying again in my own room! +And I thanked God, in my fever and pain, +That those shadows on the midnight plain +Were gone, and could not come again! +I struggled no longer with my doom! +This happened many years ago. +I left my father's home to come +Like Catherine to her martyrdom, +For blindly I esteemed it so. +And when I heard the convent door +Behind me close, to ope no more, +I felt it smite me like a blow, +Through all my limbs a shudder ran, +And on my bruised spirit fell +The dampness of my narrow cell +As night-air on a wounded man, +Giving intolerable pain. + +But now a better life began, +I felt the agony decrease +By slow degrees, then wholly cease, +Ending in perfect rest and peace! +It was not apathy, nor dulness, +That weighed and pressed upon my brain, +But the same passion I had given +To earth before, now turned to heaven +With all its overflowing fulness. + +Alas! the world is full of peril! +The path that runs through the fairest meads, +On the sunniest side of the valley, leads +Into a region bleak and sterile! +Alike in the high-born and the lowly, +The will is feeble, and passion strong. +We cannot sever right from wrong; +Some falsehood mingles with all truth; +Nor is it strange the heart of youth +Should waver and comprehend but slowly +The things that are holy and unholy! + +But in this sacred and calm retreat, +We are all well and safely shielded +From winds that blow, and waves that beat, +From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat, +To which the strongest hearts have yielded. +Here we stand as the Virgins Seven, +For our celestial bridegroom yearning; +Our hearts are lamps forever burning, +With a steady and unwavering flame, +Pointing upward, forever the same, +Steadily upward toward the Heaven! + +The moon is hidden behind a cloud; +A sudden darkness fills the room, +And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, +Shine like jewels in a shroud. +On the leaves is a sound of falling rain; +A bird, awakened in its nest, +Gives a faint twitter of unrest, +Then smoothes its plumes and sleeps again. + +No other sounds than these I hear; +The hour of midnight must be near. +Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue +Of riding many a dusty league; +Sink, then, gently to thy slumber; +Me so many cares encumber, +So many ghosts, and forms of fright, +Have started from their graves to-night, +They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: +I will go down to the chapel and pray. + + * * * * * + +V. + +A COVERED BRIDGE AT LUCERNE. + + + * * * * * + + + _Prince Henry_. God's blessing on the architects who build +The bridges o'er swift rivers and abysses +Before impassable to human feet, +No less than on the builders of cathedrals, +Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across +The dark and terrible abyss of Death. +Well has the name of Pontifex been given +Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder +And architect of the invisible bridge +That leads from earth to heaven. + + _Elsie_ How dark it grows! +What are these paintings on the walls around us? + + _Prince Henry_ The Dance Macaber! + + _Elsie_ What? + + _Prince Henry_ The Dance of Death! +All that go to and fro must look upon it, +Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath, +Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river +Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, +With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright, +Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it. + + _Elsie._ O, yes! I see it now! + + _Prince Henry_ The grim musician +Leads all men through the mazes of that dance, +To different sounds in different measures moving; +Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum, +To tempt or terrify. + + _Elsie_ What is this picture? + + _Prince Henry_ It is a young man singing to a nun, +Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling +Turns round to look at him, and Death, meanwhile, +Is putting out the candles on the altar! + + _Elsie_ Ah, what a pity 't is that she should listen +to such songs, when in her orisons +She might have heard in heaven the angels singing! + + _Prince Henry_ Here he has stolen a jester's cap and bells, +And dances with the Queen. + + _Elsie_ A foolish jest! + + _Prince Henry_ And here the heart of the new-wedded wife, +Coming from church with her beloved lord, +He startles with the rattle of his drum. + + _Elsie_ Ah, that is sad! And yet perhaps 't is best +That she should die, with all the sunshine on her, +And all the benedictions of the morning, +Before this affluence of golden light +Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray, +Then into darkness! + + _Prince Henry_ Under it is written, +"Nothing but death shall separate thee and me!" + + _Elsie._ And what is this, that follows close upon it? + + _Prince Henry_ Death, playing on a ducimer. Behind him, +A poor old woman, with a rosary, +Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet +Were swifter to o'ertake him. Underneath, +The inscription reads, "Better is Death than Life." + + _Elsie._ Better is Death than Life! Ah yes! to thousands +Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings +That song of consolation, till the air +Rings with it, and they cannot choose but follow +Whither he leads. And not the old alone, +But the young also hear it, and are still. + + _Prince Henry_ Yes, in their sadder moments. 'T is the sound +Of their own hearts they hear, half full of tears, +Which are like crystal cups, half filled with water. +Responding to the pressure of a finger +With music sweet and low and melancholy. +Let us go forward, and no longer stay +In this great picture-gallery of Death! +I hate it! ay, the very thought of it! + + _Elsie._ Why is it hateful to you? + + _Prince Henry._ For the reason +That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely, +And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful. + + _Elsie._ The grave is but a covered bridge, +leading from light to light, through a brief darkness! + + _Prince Henry (emerging from the bridge)._ I breathe again more + freely! Ah, how pleasant +To come once more into the light of day, +Out of that shadow of death! To hear again +The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground, +And not upon those hollow planks, resounding +With a sepulchral echo, like the clods +On coffins in a churchyard! Yonder lies +The Lake of the Four Forest-Towns, apparelled +In light, and lingering, like a village maiden, +Hid in the bosom of her native mountains, +Then pouring all her life into another's, +Changing her name and being! Overhead, +Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air, +Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. + + (_They pass on_.) + + * * * * * + + +THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE. + + * * * * * + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _crossing, with attendants._ + + _Guide._ This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge. +With a single arch, from ridge to ridge, +It leaps across the terrible chasm +Yawning beneath us, black and deep, +As if, in some convulsive spasm, +the summits of the hills had cracked, +and made a road for the cataract, +That raves and rages down the steep! + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ Never any bridge but this +Could stand across the wild abyss; +All the rest, of wood or stone, +By the Devil's hand were overthrown. +He toppled crags from the precipice, +And whatsoe'er was built by day +In the night was swept away; +None could stand but this alone. + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ I showed you in the valley a boulder +Marked with the imprint of his shoulder; +As he was bearing it up this way, +A peasant, passing, cried, "Herr Jé!" +And the Devil dropped it in his fright, +And vanished suddenly out of sight! + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, +For pilgrims on their way to Rome, +Built this at last, with a single arch, +Under which, on its endless march, +Runs the river, white with foam, +Like a thread through the eye of a needle. +And the Devil promised to let it stand, +Under compact and condition +That the first living thing which crossed +Should be surrendered into his hand, +And be beyond redemption lost. + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! perdition! + + _Guide._ At length, the bridge being all completed, +The Abbot, standing at its head, +Threw across it a loaf of bread, +Which a hungry dog sprang after, +And the rocks reechoed with peals of laughter +To see the Devil thus defeated! + + (_They pass on_) + + _Lucifer_ (_under the bridge_) Ha! ha! defeated! +For journeys and for crimes like this +To let the bridge stand o'er the abyss! + + * * * * * + + +THE ST. GOTHARD PASS. + + + * * * * * + + _Prince Henry._ This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers +Leap down to different seas, and as they roll +Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence +Becomes a benefaction to the towns +They visit, wandering silently among them, +Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. + + _Elsie._ How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses +Grow on these rocks. + + _Prince Henry._ Yet are they not forgotten; +Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them. + + _Elsie._ See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft +So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away +Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me +The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels! + + _Prince Henry._ Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels +Bear thee across these chasms and precipices, +Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone! + + _Elsie._ Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, +Upon angelic shoulders! Even now +I Seem uplifted by them, light as air! +What sound is that? + + _Prince Henry_. The tumbling avalanches! + + _Elsie_ How awful, yet how beautiful! + + _Prince Henry_. These are +The voices of the mountains! Thus they ope +Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other, +In the primeval language, lost to man. + + _Elsie_. What land is this that spreads itself beneath us? + + _Prince Henry_ Italy! Italy! + + _Elsie_ Land of the Madonna! +How beautiful it is! It seems a garden +Of Paradise! + + _Prince Henry_. Nay, of Gethsemane +To thee and me, of passion and of prayer! +Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago +I wandered as a youth among its bowers, +And never from my heart has faded quite +Its memory, that, like a summer sunset, +Encircles with a ring of purple light +All the horizon of my youth. + + _Guide_. O friends! +The days are short, the way before us long; +We must not linger, if we think to reach +The inn at Belinzona before vespers! + + (_They pass on_.) + + * * * * * + +AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS. + + * * * * * + +_A halt under the trees at noon_. + + _Prince Henry_ Here let us pause a moment in the trembling +Shadow and sunshine of the roadside trees, +And, our tired horses in a group assembling, +Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze +Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants; +They lag behind us with a slower pace; +We will await them under the green pendants +Of the great willows in this shady place. +Ho, Barbarossa! how thy mottled haunches +Sweat with this canter over hill and glade! +Stand still, and let these overhanging branches +Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade! + + _Elsie._ What a delightful landscape spreads before us, +Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and there! +And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o'er us, +Blossoms of grapevines scent the sunny air. + + _Prince Henry._ Hark! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents holy +Fill the warm noon with music sad and sweet! + + _Elsie._ It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly +On their long journey, with uncovered feet. + + _Pilgrims (chaunting the Hymn of St. Hildebert)_ + Me receptet Sion illa, + Sion David, urbs tranquilla, + Cujus faber auctor lucis, + Cujus portae lignum crucis, + Cujus claves lingua Petri, + Cujus cives semper laeti, + Cujus muri lapis vivus, + Cujus custos Rex festivus! + + _Lucifer (as a Friar in the procession)._ Here am I, too, in the + pious band, +In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed! +The soles of my feet are as hard and tanned +As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand, +The Holy Satan, who made the wives +Of the bishops lead such shameful lives. +All day long I beat my breast, +And chaunt with a most particular zest +The Latin hymns, which I understand +Quite as well, I think, as the rest. +And at night such lodging in barns and sheds, +Such a hurly-burly in country inns, +Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads, +Such a helter-skelter of prayers and sins! +Of all the contrivances of the time +For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime, +There is none so pleasing to me and mine +As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine! + + _Prince Henry._ If from the outward man we judge the inner, +And cleanliness is godliness, I fear +A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sinner, +Must be that Carmelite now passing near. + + _Lucifer._ There is my German Prince again, +Thus far on his journey to Salern, +And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain +Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain; +But it's a long road that has no turn! +Let them quietly hold their way, +I have also a part in the play. +But first I must act to my heart's content +This mummery and this merriment, +And drive this motley flock of sheep +Into the fold, where drink and sleep +The jolly old friars of Benevent. +Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh +To see these beggars hobble along, +Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, +Chanting their wonderful piff and paff, +And, to make up for not understanding the song, +Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong! +Were it not for my magic garters and staff, +And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, +And the mischief I make in the idle throng, +I should not continue the business long. + + _Pilgrims (chaunting)._ In hâc uibe, lux solennis, + Ver aeternum, pax perennis, + In hâc odor implens caelos, + In hâc semper festum melos! + + _Prince Henry._ Do you observe that monk among the train, +Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass, +As a cathedral spout pours out the rain, +And this way turns his rubicund, round face? + + _Elsie._ It is the same who, on the Strasburg square, +Preached to the people in the open air. + + _Prince Henry._ And he has crossed o'er mountain, field, and fell, +On that good steed, that seems to bear him well, +The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray, +His own stout legs! He, too, was in the play, +Both as King Herod and Ben Israel. +Good morrow, Friar! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Good morrow, noble Sir! + + _Prince Henry._ I speak in German, for, unless I err, +You are a German. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I cannot gainsay you. +But by what instinct, or what secret sign, +Meeting me here, do you straightway divine +That northward of the Alps my country lies? + + _Prince Henry._ Your accent, like St, Peter's, would betray you, +Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes, +Moreover, we have seen your face before, +And heard you preach at the Cathedral door +On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg square +We were among the crowd that gathered there, +And saw you play the Rabbi with great skill, +As if, by leaning o'er so many years +To walk with little children, your own will +Had caught a childish attitude from theirs, +A kind of stooping in its form and gait, +And could no longer stand erect and straight. +Whence come you now? + + _Friar Cuthbert._ From the old monastery +Of Hirschau, in the forest; being sent +Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent, +To see the image of the Virgin Mary, +That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks, +And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks, +To touch the hearts of the impenitent. + + _Prince Henry._ O, had I faith, as in the days gone by, +That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery! + + _Lucifer (at a distance)._ Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Farewell, Prince! +I cannot stay to argue and convince. + + _Prince Henry._ This is indeed the blessed Mary's land, +Virgin and Mother of our dear Redeemer! +All hearts are touched and softened at her name; +Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand, +The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant, +The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer, +Pay homage to her as one ever present! +And even as children, who have much offended +A too indulgent father, in great shame, +Penitent, and yet not daring unattended +To go into his presence, at the gate +Speak with their sister, and confiding wait +Till she goes in before and intercedes; +So men, repenting of their evil deeds, +And yet not venturing rashly to draw near +With their requests an angry father's ear, +Offer to her their prayers and their confession, +And she for them in heaven makes intercession. +And if our Faith had given us nothing more +Than this example of all womanhood, +So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, +So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, +This were enough to prove it higher and truer +Than all the creeds the world had known before. + +_Pilgrims (chaunting afar off)_. Urbs ccelestis, urbs beata, + Supra petram collocata, + Urbs in portu satis tuto + De longinquo te saluto, + Te saluto, te suspiro, + Te affecto, te requiro! + + * * * * * + + +THE INN AT GENOA. + + + * * * * * + +_A terrace overlooking the sea. Night._ + + _Prince Henry._ It is the sea, it is the sea, +In all its vague immensity, +Fading and darkening in the distance! +Silent, majestical, and slow, +The white ships haunt it to and fro, +With all their ghostly sails unfurled, +As phantoms from another world +Haunt the dim confines of existence! +But ah! how few can comprehend +Their signals, or to what good end +From land to land they come and go! +Upon a sea more vast and dark +The spirits of the dead embark, +All voyaging to unknown coasts. +We wave our farewells from the shore, +And they depart, and come no more, +Or come as phantoms and as ghosts. + +Above the darksome sea of death +Looms the great life that is to be, +A land of cloud and mystery, +A dim mirage, with shapes of men +Long dead, and passed beyond our ken. +Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath +Till the fair pageant vanisheth, +Leaving us in perplexity, +And doubtful whether it has been +A vision of the world unseen, +Or a bright image of our own +Against the sky in vapors thrown. + + _Lucifer (singing from the sea)_. Thou didst not make it, thou + canst not mend it, +But thou hast the power to end it! +The sea is silent, the sea is discreet, +Deep it lies at thy very feet; +There is no confessor like unto Death! +Thou canst not see him, but he is near; +Thou needest not whisper above thy breath, +And he will hear; +He will answer the questions, +The vague surmises and suggestions, +That fill thy soul with doubt and fear! + + _Prince Henry_. The fisherman, who lies afloat, +With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, +Is singing softly to the Night! +But do I comprehend aright +The meaning of the words he sung +So sweetly in his native tongue? +Ah, yes! the sea is still and deep. +All things within its bosom sleep! +A single step, and all is o'er; +A plunge, a bubble, and no more; +And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free +From martyrdom and agony. + + _Elsie (coming from her chamber upon the terrace)._ +The night is calm and cloudless, +And still as still can be, +And the stars come forth to listen +To the music of the sea. +They gather, and gather, and gather, +Until they crowd the sky, +And listen, in breathless silence, +To the solemn litany. +It begins in rocky caverns, +As a voice that chaunts alone +To the pedals of the organ +In monotonous undertone; +And anon from shelving beaches, +And shallow sands beyond, +In snow-white robes uprising +The ghostly choirs respond. +And sadly and unceasing +The mournful voice sings on, +And the snow-white choirs still answer +Christe eleison! + + _Prince Henry._ Angel of God! thy finer sense perceives +Celestial and perpetual harmonies! +Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes, +Hears the archangel's trumpet in the breeze, +And where the forest rolls, or ocean heaves, +Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas, +And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves. +But I hear discord only and despair, +And whispers as of demons in the air! + + * * * * * + + +AT SEA. + + + * * * * * + + _Il Padrone._ The wind upon our quarter lies, +And on before the freshening gale, +That fills the snow-white lateen sail, +Swiftly our light felucca flies. +Around, the billows burst and foam; +They lift her o'er the sunken rock, +They beat her sides with many a shock, +And then upon their flowing dome +They poise her, like a weathercock! +Between us and the western skies +The hills of Corsica arise; +Eastward, in yonder long, blue line, +The summits of the Apennine, +And southward, and still far away, +Salerno, on its sunny bay. +You cannot see it, where it lies. + + _Prince Henry._ Ah, would that never more mine eyes +Might see its towers by night or day! + + _Elsie._ Behind us, dark and awfully, +There comes a cloud out of the sea, +That bears the form of a hunted deer, +With hide of brown, and hoofs of black, +And antlers laid upon its back, +And fleeing fast and wild with fear, +As if the hounds were on its track! + + _Prince Henry._ Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and falls +In shapeless masses, like the walls +Of a burnt city. Broad and red +The fires of the descending sun +Glare through the windows, and o'erhead, +Athwart the vapors, dense and dun, +Long shafts of silvery light arise, +Like rafters that support the skies! + + _Elsie._ See! from its summit the lurid levin +Flashes downward without warning, +As Lucifer, son of the morning, +Fell from the battlements of heaven! + + _Il Padrone._ I must entreat you, friends, below! +The angry storm begins to blow, +For the weather changes with the moon. +All this morning, until noon, +We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws +Struck the sea with their cat's-paws. +Only a little hour ago +I was whistling to Saint Antonio +For a capful of wind to fill our sail, +And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale. +Last night I saw St. Elmo's stars, +With their glimmering lanterns, all at play +On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars, +And I knew we should have foul weather to-day. +Cheerily, my hearties! yo heave ho! +Brail up the mainsail, and let her go +As the winds will and Saint Antonio! + +Do you see that Livornese felucca, +That vessel to the windward yonder, +Running with her gunwale under? +I was looking when the wind o'ertook her, +She had all sail set, and the only wonder +Is that at once the strength of the blast +Did not carry away her mast. +She is a galley of the Gran Duca, +That, through the fear of the Algerines, +Convoys those lazy brigantines, +Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. +Now all is ready, high and low; +Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio! + +Ha! that is the first dash of the rain, +With a sprinkle of spray above the rails, +Just enough to moisten our sails, +And make them ready for the strain. +See how she leaps, as the blasts o'ertake her, +And speeds away with a bone in her mouth! +Now keep her head toward the south, +And there is no danger of bank or breaker. +With the breeze behind us, on we go; +Not too much, good Saint Antonio! + + + + +VI. + + +THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO. + +_A traveling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate +of the College._ + + _Scholastic._ There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield, +Hung up as a challenge to all the field! +One hundred and twenty-five propositions, +Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue +Against all disputants, old and young. +Let us see if doctors or dialecticians +Will dare to dispute my definitions, +Or attack any one of my learned theses. +Here stand I; the end shall be as God pleases. +I think I have proved, by profound research +The error of all those doctrines so vicious +Of the old Areopagite Dionysius, +That are making such terrible work in the churches, +By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East, +And done into Latin by that Scottish beast, +Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain, +In the face of the truth, the error infernal, +That the universe is and must be eternal; +At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, +That nothing with God can be accidental; +Then asserting that God before the creation +Could not have existed, because it is plain +That, had he existed, he would have created; +Which is begging the question that should be debated, +And moveth me less to anger than laughter. +All nature, he holds, is a respiration +Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter +Will inhale it into his bosom again, +So that nothing but God alone will remain. +And therein he contradicteth himself; +For he opens the whole discussion by stating, +That God can only exist in creating. +That question I think I have laid on the shelf! + + (_He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and + followed by pupils._) + + _Doctor Serafino._ I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain, +That a word which is only conceived in the brain +Is a type of eternal Generation; +The spoken word is the Incarnation. + + _Doctor Cherubino._ What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic, +With all his wordy chaffer and traffic? + + _Doctor Serafino._ You make but a paltry show of resistance; +Universals have no real existence! + + _Doctor Cherubino._ Your words are but idle and empty chatter; +Ideas are eternally joined to matter! + + _Doctor Serafino_. May the Lord have mercy on your position, +You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs! + + _Doctor Cherubino_. May he send your soul to eternal perdition, +For your Treatise on the Irregular Verbs! + + (_They rush out fighting. Two Scholars come in._) + + _First Scholar_. Monte Cassino, then, is your College. +What think you of ours here at Salern? + + _Second Scholar_. To tell the truth, I arrived so lately, +I hardly yet have had time to discern. +So much, at least, I am bound to acknowledge: +The air seems healthy, the buildings stately, +And on the whole I like it greatly. + + _First Scholar_. Yes, the air is sweet; the Calabrian hills +Send us down puffs of mountain air; +And in summer time the sea-breeze fills +With its coolness cloister, and court, and square. +Then at every season of the year +There are crowds of guests and travellers here; +Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, and traders +From the Levant, with figs and wine, +And bands of wounded and sick Crusaders, +Coming back from Palestine. + + _Second Scholar_. And what are the studies you pursue? +What is the course you here go through? + + _First Scholar_. The first three years of the college course +Are given to Logic alone, as the source +Of all that is noble, and wise, and true. + + _Second Scholar_. That seems rather strange, I must confess. +In a Medical School; yet, nevertheless, +You doubtless have reasons for that. + + _First Scholar_. Oh yes! +For none but a clever dialectician +Can hope to become a great physician; +That has been settled long ago. +Logic makes an important part +Of the mystery of the healing art; +For without it how could you hope to show +That nobody knows so much as you know? +After this there are five years more +Devoted wholly to medicine, +With lectures on chirurgical lore, +And dissections of the bodies of swine, +As likest the human form divine. + + _Second Scholar_. What are the books now most in vogue? + + _First Scholar_. Quite an extensive catalogue; +Mostly, however, books of our own; +As Gariopontus' Passionarius, +And the writings of Matthew Platearius; +And a volume universally known +As the Regimen of the School of Salern, +For Robert of Normandy written in terse +And very elegant Latin verse. +Each of these writings has its turn. +And when at length we have finished these, +Then comes the struggle for degrees, +With all the oldest and ablest critics; +The public thesis and disputation, +Question, and answer, and explanation +Of a passage out of Hippocrates, +Or Aristotle's Analytics. +There the triumphant Magister stands! +A book is solemnly placed in his hands, +On which he swears to follow the rule +And ancient forms of the good old School; +To report if any confectionarius +Mingles his drugs with matters various, +And to visit his patients twice a day, +And once in the night, if they live in town, +And if they are poor, to take no pay. +Having faithfully promised these, +His head is crowned with a laurel crown; +A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his hand, +The Magister Artium et Physices +Goes forth from the school like a lord of the land. +And now, as we have the whole morning before us +Let us go in, if you make no objection, +And listen awhile to a learned prelection +On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus. + + (_They go in. Enter_ LUCIFER _as a Doctor._) + + _Lucifer_. This is the great School of Salern! +A land of wrangling and of quarrels, +Of brains that seethe, and hearts that burn, +Where every emulous scholar hears, +In every breath that comes to his ears, +The rustling of another's laurels! +The air of the place is called salubrious; +The neighborhood of Vesuvius lends it +An odor volcanic, that rather mends it, +And the buildings have an aspect lugubrious, +That inspires a feeling of awe and terror +Into the heart of the beholder, +And befits such an ancient homestead of error, +Where the old falsehoods moulder and smoulder, +And yearly by many hundred hands +Are carried away, in the zeal of youth, +And sown like tares in the field of truth, +To blossom and ripen in other lands. +What have we here, affixed to the gate? +The challenge of some scholastic wight, +Who wishes to hold a public debate +On sundry questions wrong or right! +Ah, now this is my great delight! +For I have often observed of late +That such discussions end in a fight. +Let us see what the learned wag maintains +With such a prodigal waste of brains. + + (_Reads._) + +"Whether angels in moving from place to place +Pass through the intermediate space. +Whether God himself is the author of evil, +Or whether that is the work of the Devil. +When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell, +And whether he now is chained in hell." + +I think I can answer that question well! +So long as the boastful human mind +Consents in such mills as this to grind, +I sit very firmly upon my throne! +Of a truth it almost makes me laugh, +To see men leaving the golden grain +To gather in piles the pitiful chaff +That old Peter Lombard thrashed with his brain, +To have it caught up and tossed again +On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Cologne! + +But my guests approach! there is in the air +A fragrance, like that of the Beautiful Garden +Of Paradise, in the days that were! +An odor of innocence, and of prayer, +And of love, and faith that never fails, +Which as the fresh-young heart exhales +Before it begins to wither and harden! +I cannot breathe such an atmosphere! +My soul is filled with a nameless fear, +That, after all my trouble and pain, +After all my restless endeavor, +The youngest, fairest soul of the twain, +The most ethereal, most divine, +Will escape from my hands forever and ever. +But the other is already mine! +Let him live to corrupt his race, +Breathing among them, with every breath, +Weakness, selfishness, and the base +And pusillanimous fear of death. +I know his nature, and I know +That of all who in my ministry +Wander the great earth to and fro, +And on my errands come and go, +The safest and subtlest are such as he. + + (_Enter_ PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _with + attendants_.) + + _Prince Henry._ Can you direct us to Friar Angelo? + + _Lucifer._ He stands before you. + + _Prince Henry._ Then you know our purpose. +I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and this +The maiden that I spake of in my letters. + + _Lucifer._ It is a very grave and solemn business! +We must not be precipitate. Does she +Without compulsion, of her own free will, +Consent to this? + + _Prince Henry._ Against all opposition, +Against all prayers, entreaties, protestations. +She will not be persuaded. + + _Lucifer._ That is strange! +Have you thought well of it? + + _Elsie._ I come not here +To argue, but to die. Your business is not +to question, but to kill me. I am ready. +I am impatient to be gone from here +Ere any thoughts of earth disturb again +The spirit of tranquillity within me. + + _Prince Henry._ Would I had not come here + Would I were dead, +And thou wert in thy cottage in the forest, +And hadst not known me! Why have I done this? +Let me go back and die. + + _Elsie._ It cannot be; +Not if these cold, flat stones on which we tread +Were coulters heated white, and yonder gateway +Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold heat. +I must fulfil my purpose. + + _Prince Henry._ I forbid it! +Not one step farther. For I only meant +To put thus far thy courage to the proof. +It is enough. I, too, have courage to die, +For thou hast taught me! + + _Elsie._ O my Prince! remember +Your promises. Let me fulfill my errand. +You do not look on life and death as I do. +There are two angels, that attend unseen +Each one of us, and in great books record +Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down +The good ones, after every action closes +His volume, and ascends with it to God. +The other keeps his dreadful day-book open +Till sunset, that we may repent; which doing, +The record of the action fades away, +And leaves a line of white across the page. +Now if my act be good, as I believe it, +It cannot be recalled. It is already +Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished. +The rest is yours. Why wait you? I am ready. + + (_To her attendants._) + +Weep not, my friends! rather rejoice with me. +I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone, +And you will have another friend in heaven. +Then start not at the creaking of the door +Through which I pass. I see what lies beyond it. + + (_To_ PRINCE HENRY.) + +And you, O Prince! bear back my benison +Unto my father's house, and all within it. +This morning in the church I prayed for them, +After confession, after absolution, +When my whole soul was white, I prayed for them. +God will take care of them, they need me not. +And in your life let my remembrance linger, +As something not to trouble and disturb it, +But to complete it, adding life to life. +And if at times beside the evening fire +You see my face among the other faces, +Let it not be regarded as a ghost +That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you. +Nay, even as one of your own family, +Without whose presence there were something wanting. +I have no more to say. Let us go in. + + _Prince Henry._ Friar Angelo! I charge you on your life, +Believe not what she says, for she is mad, +And comes here not to die, but to be healed. + + _Elsie._ Alas! Prince Henry! + + _Lucifer._ Come with me; this way. + + (ELSIE _goes in with_ LUCIFER, _who thrusts_ PRINCE + HENRY _back and closes the door._) + + _Prince Henry._ Gone! and the light of all my life gone with her! +A sudden darkness falls upon the world! + + _Forester._ News from the Prince! + + _Ursula._ Of death or life? + + _Forester._ You put your questions eagerly! + + _Ursula._ Answer me, then! How is the Prince? + + _Forester._ I left him only two hours since +Homeward returning down the river, +As strong and well as if God, the Giver, +Had given him back in his youth again. + + _Ursula (despairing)._ Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead! + + _Forester._ That, my good woman, I have not said. +Don't cross the bridge till you come to it, +Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit. + + _Ursula._ Keep me no longer in this pain! + + _Forester._ It is true your daughter is no more;-- +That is, the peasant she was before. + + _Ursula._ Alas! I am simple and lowly bred +I am poor, distracted, and forlorn. +And it is not well that you of the court +Should mock me thus, and make a sport +Of a joyless mother whose child is dead, +For you, too, were of mother, born! + + _Forester._ Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well! +You will learn ere long how it all befell. +Her heart for a moment never failed; +But when they reached Salerno's gate, +The Prince's nobler self prevailed, +And saved her for a nobler fate, +And he was healed, in his despair, +By the touch of St. Matthew's sacred bones; +Though I think the long ride in the open air, +That pilgrimage over stocks and stones, +In the miracle must come in for a share! + + _Ursula._ Virgin! who lovest the poor and lonely, +If the loud cry of a mother's heart +Can ever ascend to where thou art, +Into thy blessed hands and holy +Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving! +Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it +Into the awful presence of God; +For thy feet with holiness are shod, +And if thou bearest it he will hear it. +Our child who was dead again is living! + + _Forester._ I did not tell you she was dead; +If you thought so 'twas no fault of mine; +At this very moment, while I speak, +They are sailing homeward down the Rhine, +In a splendid barge, with golden prow, +And decked with banners white and red +As the colors on your daughter's cheek. +They call her the Lady Alicia now; +For the Prince in Salerno made a vow +That Elsie only would he wed. + + _Ursula._ Jesu Maria! what a change! +All seems to me so weird and strange! + + _Forester._ I saw her standing on the deck, +Beneath an awning cool and shady; +Her cap of velvet could not hold +The tresses of her hair of gold, +That flowed and floated like the stream, +And fell in masses down her neck. +As fair and lovely did she seem +As in a story or a dream +Some beautiful and foreign lady. +And the Prince looked so grand and proud, +And waved his hand thus to the crowd +That gazed and shouted from the shore, +All down the river, long and loud. + + _Ursula._ We shall behold our child once more; +She is not dead! She is not dead! +God, listening, must have overheard +The prayers, that, without sound or word, +Our hearts in secrecy have said! +O, bring me to her; for mine eyes +Are hungry to behold her face; +My very soul within me cries; +My very hands seem to caress her, +To see her, gaze at her, and bless her; +Dear Elsie, child of God and grace! + + (_Goes out toward the garden._) + + _Forester._ There goes the good woman out of her head; +And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here; +A very capacious flagon of beer, +And a very portentous loaf of bread. +One would say his grief did not much oppress him. +Here's to the health of the Prince, God bless him! + + (_He drinks._) + +Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet! +And what a scene there, through the door! +The forest behind and the garden before, +And midway an old man of threescore, +With a wife and children that caress him. +Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it +With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet! + + (_Goes out blowing his horn._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE. + + + * * * * * + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _standing on the terrace at +evening. The sound of bells heard from a distance._ + + + _Prince Henry._ We are alone. The wedding guests +Ride down the hill, with plumes and cloaks, +And the descending dark invests +The Niederwald, and all the nests +Among its hoar and haunted oaks. + + _Elsie._ What bells are those, that ring so slow, +So mellow, musical, and low? + + _Prince Henry._ They are the bells of Geisenheim, +That with their melancholy chime +Ring out the curfew of the sun. + + _Elsie._ Listen, beloved. + + _Prince Henry._ They are done! +Dear Elsie! many years ago +Those same soft bells at eventide +Rang in the ears of Charlemagne, +As, seated by Fastrada's side +At Ingelheim, in all his pride +He heard their sound with secret pain. + + _Elsie._ Their voices only speak to me +Of peace and deep tranquillity, +And endless confidence in thee! + + _Prince Henry._ Thou knowest the story of her ring, +How, when the court went back to Aix, +Fastrada died; and how the king +Sat watching by her night and day, +Till into one of the blue lakes, +That water that delicious land, +They cast the ring, drawn from her hand; +And the great monarch sat serene +And sad beside the fated shore, +Nor left the land forever more. + + _Elsie._ That was true love. + + _Prince Henry._ For him the queen +Ne'er did what thou hast done for me. + + _Elsie._ Wilt thou as fond and faithful be? +Wilt thou so love me after death? + + _Prince Henry._ In life's delight, in death's dismay, +In storm and sunshine, night and day, +In health, in sickness, in decay, +Here and hereafter, I am thine! +Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Beneath +The calm, blue waters of thine eyes +Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies, +And, undisturbed by this world's breath, +With magic light its jewels shine! +This golden ring, which thou hast worn +Upon thy finger since the morn, +Is but a symbol and a semblance, +An outward fashion, a remembrance, +Of what thou wearest within unseen, +O my Fastrada, O my queen! +Behold! the hilltops all aglow +With purple and with amethyst; +While the whole valley deep below +Is filled, and seems to overflow, +With a fast-rising tide of mist. +The evening air grows damp and chill; +Let us go in. + + _Elsie._ Ah, not so soon. +See yonder fire! It is the moon +Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. +It glimmers on the forest tips, +And through the dewy foliage drips +In little rivulets of light, +And makes the heart in love with night. + + _Prince Henry._ Oft on this terrace, when the day +Was closing, have I stood and gazed, +And seen the landscape fade away, +And the white vapors rise and drown +Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town +While far above the hilltops blazed. +But men another hand than thine +Was gently held and clasped in mine; +Another head upon my breast +Was laid, as thine is now, at rest. +Why dost thou lift those tender eyes +With so much sorrow and surprise? +A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand, +Was that which in my own was pressed. +A manly form usurped thy place, +A beautiful, but bearded face, +That now is in the Holy Land, +Yet in my memory from afar +Is shining on us like a star. +But linger not. For while I speak, +A sheeted spectre white and tall, +The cold mist climbs the castle wall, +And lays his hand upon thy cheek! + + (_They go in._) + + * * * * * + + +EPILOGUE. + + + * * * * * + +THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING. + + _The Angel of Good Deeds (with closed book_). God sent his + messenger the rain, +And said unto the mountain brook, +"Rise up, and from thy caverns look +And leap, with naked, snow-white feet. +From the cool hills into the heat +Of the broad, arid plain." + +God sent his messenger of faith, +And whispered in the maiden's heart, +"Rise up, and look from where thou art, +And scatter with unselfish hands +Thy freshness on the barren sands +And solitudes of Death." +O beauty of holiness, +Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness! +O power of meekness, +Whose very gentleness and weakness +Are like the yielding, but irresistible air! +Upon the pages +Of the sealed volume that I bear, +The deed divine +Is written in characters of gold, +That never shall grow old, +But all through ages +Burn and shine, +With soft effulgence! +O God! it is thy indulgence +That fills the world with the bliss +Of a good deed like this! + + _The Angel of Evil Deeds (with open book)._ Not yet, not yet +Is the red sun wholly set, +But evermore recedes, +While open still I bear +The Book of Evil Deeds, +To let the breathings of the upper air +Visit its pages and erase +The records from its face! +Fainter and fainter as I gaze +On the broad blaze +The glimmering landscape shines, +And below me the black river +Is hidden by wreaths of vapor! +Fainter and fainter the black lines +Begin to quiver +Along the whitening surface of the paper; +Shade after shade +The terrible words grow faint and fade, +And in their place +Runs a white space! + +Down goes the sun! +But the soul of one, +Who by repentance +Has escaped the dreadful sentence, +Shines bright below me as I look. +It is the end! +With closed Book +To God do I ascend. + +Lo! over the mountain steeps +A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps +Beneath my feet; +A blackness inwardly brightening +With sullen heat, +As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning. +And a cry of lamentation, +Repeated and again repeated, +Deep and loud +As the reverberation +Of cloud answering unto cloud, +Swells and rolls away in the distance, +As if the sheeted +Lightning retreated, +Baffled and thwarted by the wind's resistance. + +It is Lucifer, +The son of mystery; +And since God suffers him to be, +He, too, is God's minister, +And labors for some good +By us not understood! + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Golden Legend, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10490 *** diff --git a/10490-h/10490-h.htm b/10490-h/10490-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3f12a30 --- /dev/null +++ b/10490-h/10490-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5330 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=UTF-8"> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Golden Legend, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + * { font-family: Times;} + P { text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: .75em; + font-size: 12pt; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; } + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10490 ***</div> + +<h2>THE</h2> + +<h2>Golden Legend</h2> + +<h2>BY</h2> + +<h2>HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW</h2> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<h2>THE GOLDEN LEGEND</h2> +<br> + +<h3>PROLOGUE.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<i>Night and storm.</i> LUCIFER, <i>with the Powers of the +Air, trying to tear down the Cross.</i><p><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> HASTEN! hasten!<br> +O ye spirits!<br> +From its station drag the ponderous<br> +Cross of iron, that to mock us<br> +Is uplifted high in air!<p></p> + + <i>Voices.</i> O, we cannot!<br> +For around it<br> +All the Saints and Guardian Angels<br> +Throng in legions to protect it;<br> +They defeat us everywhere!<p></p> + + <i>The Bells.</i> Laudo Deum verum<br> + Plebem voco!<br> + Congrego clerum!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Lower! lower!<br> +Hover downward!<br> +Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and<br> +Clashing, clanging, to the pavement<br> +Hurl them from their windy tower!<p></p> + + <i>Voices.</i> All thy thunders<br> +Here are harmless!<br> +For these bells have been anointed,<br> +And baptized with holy water!<br> +They defy our utmost power.<p></p> + + <i>The Bells.</i> Defunctos ploro!<br> + Pestem fugo!<br> + Festa decoro!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Shake the casements!<br> +Break the painted<br> +Panes that flame with gold and crimson!<br> +Scatter them like leaves of Autumn,<br> +Swept away before the blast!<p></p> + + <i>Voices.</i> O, we cannot!<br> +The Archangel<br> +Michael flames from every window,<br> +With the sword of fire that drove us<br> +Headlong, out of heaven, aghast!<p></p> + + <i>The Bells.</i> Funera plango!<br> + Fulgora frango!<br> + Sabbata pango!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Aim your lightnings<br> +At the oaken,<br> +Massive, iron-studded portals!<br> +Sack the house of God, and scatter<br> +Wide the ashes of the dead!<p></p> + + <i>Voices.</i> O, we cannot!<br> +The Apostles<br> +And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles,<br> +Stand as wardens at the entrance,<br> +Stand as sentinels o'erhead!<p></p> + + <i>The Bells.</i> Excito lentos!<br> + Dissipo ventos!<br> + Paco cruentos!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Baffled! baffled!<br> +Inefficient,<br> +Craven spirits! leave this labor<br> +Unto Time, the great Destroyer!<br> +Come away, ere night is gone!<p></p> + + <i>Voices.</i> Onward! onward!<br> +With the night-wind,<br> +Over field and farm and forest,<br> +Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet,<br> +Blighting all we breathe upon!<p></p> + + (<i>They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Choir.</i> Nocte surgentes<br> + Vig lemus omnes!<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>I.</h2> +<br> + +<H2>THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>A chamber in a tower.</i> PRINCE HENRY, <i>sitting alone, +ill and restless.</i><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I cannot sleep! my fervid brain<br> +Calls up the vanished Past again,<br> +And throws its misty splendors deep<br> +Into the pallid realms of sleep!<br> +A breath from that far-distant shore<br> +Comes freshening ever more and more,<br> +And wafts o'er intervening seas<br> +Sweet odors from the Hesperides!<br> +A wind, that through the corridor<br> +Just stirs the curtain, and no more,<br> +And, touching the aeolian strings,<br> +Faints with the burden that it brings!<br> +Come back! ye friendships long departed!<br> +That like o'erflowing streamlets started,<br> +And now are dwindled, one by one,<br> +To stony channels in the sun!<br> +Come back! ye friends, whose lives are ended!<br> +Come back, with all that light attended,<br> +Which seemed to darken and decay<br> +When ye arose and went away!<br> +They come, the shapes of joy and woe,<br> +The airy crowds of long-ago,<br> +The dreams and fancies known of yore,<br> +That have been, and shall be no more.<br> +They change the cloisters of the night<br> +Into a garden of delight;<br> +They make the dark and dreary hours<br> +Open and blossom into flowers!<br> +I would not sleep! I love to be<br> +Again in their fair company;<br> +But ere my lips can bid them stay,<br> +They pass and vanish quite away!<p></p> + +Alas! our memories may retrace<br> +Each circumstance of time and place,<br> +Season and scene come back again,<br> +And outward things unchanged remain;<br> +The rest we cannot reinstate;<br> +Ourselves we cannot re-create,<br> +Nor set our souls to the same key<br> +Of the remembered harmony!<p></p> + +Rest! rest! O, give me rest and peace!<br> +The thought of life that ne'er shall cease<br> +Has something in it like despair,<br> +A weight I am too weak to bear!<br> +Sweeter to this afflicted breast<br> +The thought of never-ending rest!<br> +Sweeter the undisturbed and deep<br> +Tranquillity of endless sleep!<p></p> +<br> + +(<i>A flash of lightning, out of which</i> LUCIFER <i>appears, +in the garb of a travelling Physician.</i>)<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. All hail Prince Henry!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> (<i>starting</i>). Who is it speaks?<br> +Who and what are you?<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. One who seeks<br> +A moment's audience with the Prince.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. When came you in?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. A moment since.<br> +I found your study door unlocked,<br> +And thought you answered when I knocked.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. I did not hear you.<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. You heard the thunder;<br> +It was loud enough to waken the dead.<br> +And it is not a matter of special wonder<br> +That, when God is walking overhead,<br> +You should not have heard my feeble tread.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. What may your wish or purpose be?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Nothing or everything, as it pleases<br> +Your Highness. You behold in me<br> +Only a traveling Physician;<br> +One of the few who have a mission<br> +To cure incurable diseases,<br> +Or those that are called so.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. Can you bring<br> +The dead to life?<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Yes; very nearly.<br> +And, what is a wiser and better thing,<br> +Can keep the living from ever needing<br> +Such an unnatural, strange proceeding,<br> +By showing conclusively and clearly<br> +That death is a stupid blunder merely,<br> +And not a necessity of our lives.<br> +My being here is accidental;<br> +The storm, that against your casement drives,<br> +In the little village below waylaid me.<br> +And there I heard, with a secret delight,<br> +Of your maladies physical and mental,<br> +Which neither astonished nor dismayed me.<br> +And I hastened hither, though late in the night,<br> +To proffer my aid!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry (ironically)</i> For this you came!<br> +Ah, how can I ever hope to requite<br> +This honor from one so erudite?<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. The honor is mine, or will be when<br> +I have cured your disease.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. But not till then.<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. What is your illness?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. It has no name.<br> +A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame,<br> +As in a kiln, burns in my veins,<br> +Sending up vapors to the head,<br> +My heart has become a dull lagoon,<br> +Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains;<br> +I am accounted as one who is dead,<br> +And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> And has Gordonius the Divine,<br> +In his famous Lily of Medicine,--<br> +I see the book lies open before you,--<br> +No remedy potent enough to restore you?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. None whatever!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> The dead are dead,<br> +And their oracles dumb, when questioned<br> +Of the new diseases that human life<br> +Evolves in its progress, rank and rife.<br> +Consult the dead upon things that were,<br> +But the living only on things that are.<br> +Have you done this, by the appliance<br> +And aid of doctors?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. Ay, whole schools<br> +Of doctors, with their learned rules,<br> +But the case is quite beyond their science.<br> +Even the doctors of Salern<br> +Send me back word they can discern<br> +No cure for a malady like this,<br> +Save one which in its nature is<br> +Impossible, and cannot be!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> That sounds oracular!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Unendurable!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> What is their remedy?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> You shall see;<br> +Writ in this scroll is the mystery.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (reading).</i> "Not to be cured, yet not incurable!<br> +The only remedy that remains<br> +Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins,<br> +Who of her own free will shall die,<br> +And give her life as the price of yours!"<br> +That is the strangest of all cures,<br> +And one, I think, you will never try;<br> +The prescription you may well put by,<br> +As something impossible to find<br> +Before the world itself shall end!<br> +And yet who knows? One cannot say<br> +That into some maiden's brain that kind<br> +Of madness will not find its way.<br> +Meanwhile permit me to recommend,<br> +As the matter admits of no delay,<br> +My wonderful Catholicon,<br> +Of very subtile and magical powers!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Purge with your nostrums and drugs infernal<br> +The spouts and gargoyles of these towers,<br> +Not me! My faith is utterly gone<br> +In every power but the Power Supernal!<br> +Pray tell me, of what school are you?<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Both of the Old and of the New!<br> +The school of Hermes Trismegistus,<br> +Who uttered his oracles sublime<br> +Before the Olympiads, in the dew<br> +Of the early dawn and dusk of Time,<br> +The reign of dateless old Hephaestus!<br> +As northward, from its Nubian springs,<br> +The Nile, forever new and old,<br> +Among the living and the dead,<br> +Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled;<br> +So, starting from its fountain-head<br> +Under the lotus-leaves of Isis,<br> +From the dead demigods of eld,<br> +Through long, unbroken lines of kings<br> +Its course the sacred art has held,<br> +Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices.<br> +This art the Arabian Geber taught,<br> +And in alembics, finely wrought,<br> +Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered<br> +The secret that so long had hovered<br> +Upon the misty verge of Truth,<br> +The Elixir of Perpetual Youth,<br> +Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech!<br> +Like him, this wondrous lore I teach!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> What! an adept?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Nor less, nor more!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I am a reader of such books,<br> +A lover of that mystic lore!<br> +With such a piercing glance it looks<br> +Into great Nature's open eye,<br> +And sees within it trembling lie<br> +The portrait of the Deity!<br> +And yet, alas! with all my pains,<br> +The secret and the mystery<br> +Have baffled and eluded me,<br> +Unseen the grand result remains!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (showing a flask).</i> Behold it here! this little flask<br> +Contains the wonderful quintessence,<br> +The perfect flower and efflorescence,<br> +Of all the knowledge man can ask!<br> +Hold it up thus against the light!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> How limpid, pure, and crystalline,<br> +How quick, and tremulous, and bright<br> +The little wavelets dance and shine,<br> +As were it the Water of Life in sooth!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> It is! It assuages every pain,<br> +Cures all disease, and gives again<br> +To age the swift delights of youth.<br> +Inhale its fragrance.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> It is sweet.<br> +A thousand different odors meet<br> +And mingle in its rare perfume,<br> +Such as the winds of summer waft<br> +At open windows through a room!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Will you not taste it?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Will one draught Suffice?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> If not, you can drink more.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Into this crystal goblet pour<br> +So much as safely I may drink.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (pouring).</i> Let not the quantity alarm you:<br> +You may drink all; it will not harm you.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I am as one who on the brink<br> +Of a dark river stands and sees<br> +The waters flow, the landscape dim<br> +Around him waver, wheel, and swim,<br> +And, ere he plunges, stops to think<br> +Into what whirlpools he may sink;<br> +One moment pauses, and no more,<br> +Then madly plunges from the shore!<br> +Headlong into the dark mysteries<br> +Of life and death I boldly leap,<br> +Nor fear the fateful current's sweep,<br> +Nor what in ambush lurks below!<br> +For death is better than disease!<p></p> + + (<i>An</i> ANGEL <i>with an aeolian harp hovers in the air</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Angel.</i> Woe! woe! eternal woe!<br> +Not only the whispered prayer<br> +Of love,<br> +But the imprecations of hate,<br> +Reverberate<br> +Forever and ever through the air<br> +Above!<br> +This fearful curse<br> +Shakes the great universe!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (disappearing).</i> Drink! drink!<br> +And thy soul shall sink<br> +Down into the dark abyss,<br> +Into the infinite abyss,<br> +From which no plummet nor rope<br> +Ever drew up the silver sand of hope!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry (drinking).</i> It is like a draught of fire!<br> +Through every vein<br> +I feel again<br> +The fever of youth, the soft desire;<br> +A rapture that is almost pain<br> +Throbs in my heart and fills my brain!<br> +O joy! O joy! I feel<br> +The band of steel<br> +That so long and heavily has pressed<br> +Upon my breast<br> +Uplifted, and the malediction<br> +Of my affliction<br> +Is taken from me, and my weary breast<br> +At length finds rest.<p></p> + + <i>The Angel.</i> It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air<br> + has been taken!<br> +It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken!<br> +It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow!<br> +It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow!<br> +With fiendish laughter,<br> +Hereafter,<br> +This false physician<br> +Will mock thee in thy perdition.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Speak! speak!<br> +Who says that I am ill?<br> +I am not ill! I am not weak!<br> +The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er!<br> +I feel the chill of death no more!<br> +At length,<br> +I stand renewed in all my strength!<br> +Beneath me I can feel<br> +The great earth stagger and reel,<br> +As it the feet of a descending God<br> +Upon its surface trod,<br> +And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel!<br> +This, O brave physician! this<br> +Is thy great Palingenesis!<p></p> + + (<i>Drinks again</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>The Angel.</i> Touch the goblet no more!<br> +It will make thy heart sore<br> +To its very core!<br> +Its perfume is the breath<br> +Of the Angel of Death,<br> +And the light that within it lies<br> +Is the flash of his evil eyes.<br> +Beware! O, beware!<br> +For sickness, sorrow, and care<br> +All are there!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry (sinking back).</i> O thou voice within my breast!<br> +Why entreat me, why upbraid me,<br> +When the steadfast tongues of truth<br> +And the flattering hopes of youth<br> +Have all deceived me and betrayed me?<br> +Give me, give me rest, O, rest!<br> +Golden visions wave and hover,<br> +Golden vapors, waters streaming,<br> +Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming!<br> +I am like a happy lover<br> +Who illumines life with dreaming!<br> +Brave physician! Rare physician!<br> +Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission!<p></p> + + (<i>His head falls On his book</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>The Angel (receding).</i> Alas! alas!<br> +Like a vapor the golden vision<br> +Shall fade and pass,<br> +And thou wilt find in thy heart again<br> +Only the blight of pain,<br> +And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +HUBERT <i>standing by the gateway.</i><p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> How sad the grand old castle looks!<br> +O'erhead, the unmolested rooks<br> +Upon the turret's windy top<br> +Sit, talking of the farmer's crop;<br> +Here in the court-yard springs the grass,<br> +So few are now the feet that pass;<br> +The stately peacocks, bolder grown,<br> +Come hopping down the steps of stone,<br> +As if the castle were their own;<br> +And I, the poor old seneschal,<br> +Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall.<br> +Alas! the merry guests no more<br> +Crowd through the hospital door;<br> +No eyes with youth and passion shine,<br> +No cheeks glow redder than the wine;<br> +No song, no laugh, no jovial din<br> +Of drinking wassail to the pin;<br> +But all is silent, sad, and drear,<br> +And now the only sounds I hear<br> +Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls,<br> +And horses stamping in their stalls!<p></p> + + (<i>A horn sounds</i>.)<br><p></p> + +What ho! that merry, sudden blast<br> +Reminds me of the days long past!<br>< +And, as of old resounding, grate<br> +The heavy hinges of the gate,<br> +And, clattering loud, with iron clank,<br> +Down goes the sounding bridge of plank,<br> +As if it were in haste to greet<br> +The pressure of a traveler's feet!<p></p> + + (<i>Enter</i> WALTER <i>the Minnesinger</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely!<br> +No banner flying from the walls,<br> +No pages and no seneschals,<br> +No wardens, and one porter only!<br> +Is it you, Hubert?<p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> Ah! Master Walter!<br><p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> Alas! how forms and faces alter!<br> +I did not know you. You look older!<br> +Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner,<br> +And you stoop a little in the shoulder!<p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> Alack! I am a poor old sinner,<br> +And, like these towers, begin to moulder;<br> +And you have been absent many a year!<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> How is the Prince?<br><p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> He is not here;<br> +He has been ill: and now has fled.<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> Speak it out frankly: say he's dead!<br> +Is it not so?<p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> No; if you please;<br> +A strange, mysterious disease<br> +Fell on him with a sudden blight.<br> +Whole hours together he would stand<br> +Upon the terrace, in a dream,<br> +Resting his head upon his hand,<br> +Best pleased when he was most alone,<br> +Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone,<br> +Looking down into a stream.<br> +In the Round Tower, night after night,<br> +He sat, and bleared his eyes with books;<br> +Until one morning we found him there<br> +Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon<br> +He had fallen from his chair.<br> +We hardly recognized his sweet looks!<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> Poor Prince!<br><p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> I think he might have mended;<br> +And he did mend; but very soon<br> +The Priests came flocking in, like rooks,<br> +With all their crosiers and their crooks,<br> +And so at last the matter ended.<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> How did it end?<br><p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> Why, in Saint Rochus<br> +They made him stand, and wait his doom;<br> +And, as if he were condemned to the tomb,<br> +Began to mutter their hocus pocus.<br> +First, the Mass for the Dead they chaunted.<br> +Then three times laid upon his head<br> +A shovelful of church-yard clay,<br> +Saying to him, as he stood undaunted,<br> +"This is a sign that thou art dead,<br> +So in thy heart be penitent!"<br> +And forth from the chapel door he went<br> +Into disgrace and banishment,<br> +Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray,<br> +And bearing a wallet, and a bell,<br> +Whose sound should be a perpetual knell<br> +To keep all travelers away.<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> O, horrible fate! Outcast, rejected,<br> +As one with pestilence infected!<p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> Then was the family tomb unsealed,<br> +And broken helmet, sword and shield,<br> +Buried together, in common wreck,<br> +As is the custom, when the last<br> +Of any princely house has passed,<br> +And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast,<br> +A herald shouted down the stair<br> +The words of warning and despair,--<br> +"O Hoheneck! O Hoheneck!"<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. Still in my soul that cry goes on,--<br> +Forever gone! forever gone!<br> +Ah, what a cruel sense of loss,<br> +Like a black shadow, would fall across<br> +The hearts of all, if he should die!<br> +His gracious presence upon earth<br> +Was as a fire upon a hearth;<br> +As pleasant songs, at morning sung,<br> +The words that dropped from his sweet tongue<br> +Strengthened our hearts; or, heard at night,<br> +Made all our slumbers soft and light.<br> +Where is he?<p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> In the Odenwald.<br> +Some of his tenants, unappalled<br> +By fear of death, or priestly word,--<br> +A holy family, that make<br> +Each meal a Supper of the Lord,--<br> +Have him beneath their watch and ward,<br> +For love of him, and Jesus' sake!<br> +Pray you come in. For why should I<br> +With outdoor hospitality<br> +My prince's friend thus entertain?<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> I would a moment here remain.<br> +But you, good Hubert, go before,<br> +Fill me a goblet of May-drink,<br> +As aromatic as the May<br> +From which it steals the breath away,<br> +And which he loved so well of yore;<br> +It is of him that I would think<br> +You shall attend me, when I call,<br> +In the ancestral banquet hall.<br> +Unseen companions, guests of air,<br> +You cannot wait on, will be there;<br> +They taste not food, they drink not wine,<br> +But their soft eyes look into mine,<br> +And their lips speak to me, and all<br> +The vast and shadowy banquet-hall<br> +Is full of looks and words divine!<p></p> + + (<i>Leaning over the parapet</i>.)<br><p></p> + +The day is done; and slowly from the scene<br> +The stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts,<br> +And puts them back into his golden quiver!<br> +Below me in the valley, deep and green<br> +As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts<br> +We drink its wine, the swift and mantling river<br> +Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions,<br> +Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent,<br> +And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent!<br> +Yes, there it flows, forever, broad and still,<br> +As when the vanguard of the Roman legions<br> +First saw it from the top of yonder hill!<br> +How beautiful it is! Fresh fields of wheat,<br> +Vineyard, and town, and tower with fluttering flag,<br> +The consecrated chapel on the crag,<br> +And the white hamlet gathered round its base,<br> +Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet,<br> +And looking up at his beloved face!<br> +O friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more<br> +Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br> +<h2>II.</h2> + +<H2>A FARM IN THE ODENWALD</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>A garden; morning;</i> PRINCE HENRY <i>seated, with a +book</i>. ELSIE, <i>at a distance, gathering flowers.</i><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry (reading).</i> One morning, all alone,<br> +Out of his convent of gray stone,<br> +Into the forest older, darker, grayer,<br> +His lips moving as if in prayer,<br> +His head sunken upon his breast<br> +As in a dream of rest,<br> +Walked the Monk Felix. All about<br> +The broad, sweet sunshine lay without,<br> +Filling the summer air;<br> +And within the woodlands as he trod,<br> +The twilight was like the Truce of God<br> +With worldly woe and care;<br> +Under him lay the golden moss;<br> +And above him the boughs of hemlock-tree<br> +Waved, and made the sign of the cross,<br> +And whispered their Benedicites;<br> +And from the ground<br> +Rose an odor sweet and fragrant<br> +Of the wild flowers and the vagrant<br> +Vines that wandered,<br> +Seeking the sunshine, round and round.<br> +These he heeded not, but pondered<br> +On the volume in his hand,<br> +A volume of Saint Augustine;<br> +Wherein he read of the unseen<br> +Splendors of God's great town<br> +In the unknown land,<br> +And, with his eyes cast down<br> +In humility, he said:<br> +"I believe, O God,<br> +What herein I have read,<br> +But alas! I do not understand!"<p></p> + +And lo! he heard<br> +The sudden singing of a bird,<br> +A snow-white bird, that from a cloud<br> +Dropped down,<br> +And among the branches brown<br> +Sat singing<br> +So sweet, and clear, and loud,<br> +It seemed a thousand harp strings ringing.<br> +And the Monk Felix closed his book,<br> +And long, long,<br> +With rapturous look,<br> +He listened to the song,<br> +And hardly breathed or stirred,<br> +Until he saw, as in a vision,<br> +The land Elysian,<br> +And in the heavenly city heard<br> +Angelic feet<br> +Fall on the golden flagging of the street.<br> +And he would fain<br> +Have caught the wondrous bird,<br> +But strove in vain;<br> +For it flew away, away,<br> +Far over hill and dell,<br> +And instead of its sweet singing<br> +He heard the convent bell<br> +Suddenly in the silence ringing<br> +For the service of noonday.<br> +And he retraced<br> +His pathway homeward sadly and in haste.<p><p></p> + +In the convent there was a change!<br> +He looked for each well known face,<br> +But the faces were new and strange;<br> +New figures sat in the oaken stalls,<br> +New voices chaunted in the choir,<br> +Yet the place was the same place,<br> +The same dusky walls<br> +Of cold, gray stone,<br> +The same cloisters and belfry and spire.<p></p> + +A stranger and alone<br> +Among that brotherhood<br> +The Monk Felix stood<br> +"Forty years," said a Friar.<br> +"Have I been Prior<br> +Of this convent in the wood,<br> +But for that space<br> +Never have I beheld thy face!"<p></p> + +The heart of the Monk Felix fell:<br> +And he answered with submissive tone,<br> +"This morning, after the hour of Prime,<br> +I left my cell,<br> +And wandered forth alone,<br> +Listening all the time<br> +To the melodious singing<br> +Of a beautiful white bird,<br> +Until I heard<br> +The bells of the convent ringing<br> +Noon from their noisy towers,<br> +It was as if I dreamed;<br> +For what to me had seemed<br> +Moments only, had been hours!"<p></p> + +"Years!" said a voice close by.<br> +It was an aged monk who spoke,<br> +From a bench of oak<br> +Fastened against the wall;--<br> +He was the oldest monk of all.<br> +For a whole century<br> +Had he been there,<br> +Serving God in prayer,<br> +The meekest and humblest of his creatures.<br> +He remembered well the features<br> +Of Felix, and he said,<br> +Speaking distinct and slow:<br> +"One hundred years ago,<br> +When I was a novice in this place,<br> +There was here a monk, full of God's grace,<br> +Who bore the name<br> +Of Felix, and this man must be the same."<p></p> + +And straightway<br> +They brought forth to the light of day<br> +A volume old and brown,<br> +A huge tome, bound<br> +With brass and wild-boar's hide,<br> +Therein were written down<br> +The names of all who had died<br> +In the convent, since it was edified.<br> +And there they found,<br> +Just as the old monk said,<br> +That on a certain day and date,<br> +One hundred years before,<br> +Had gone forth from the convent gate<br> +The Monk Felix, and never more<br> +Had entered that sacred door.<br> +He had been counted among the dead!<br> +And they knew, at last,<br> +That, such had been the power<br> +Of that celestial and immortal song,<br> +A hundred years had passed,<br> +And had not seemed so long<br> +As a single hour!<p></p> + + (ELSIE <i>comes in with flowers.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Here are flowers for you,<br> +But they are not all for you.<br> +Some of them are for the Virgin<br> +And for Saint Cecilia.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> As thou standest there,<br> +Thou seemest to me like the angel<br> +That brought the immortal roses<br> +To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> But these will fade.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Themselves will fade,<br> +But not their memory,<br> +And memory has the power<br> +To re-create them from the dust.<br> +They remind me, too,<br> +Of martyred Dorothea,<br> +Who from celestial gardens sent<br> +Flowers as her witnesses<br> +To him who scoffed and doubted.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Do you know the story<br> +Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter?<br> +That is the prettiest legend of them all.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Then tell it to me.<br> +But first come hither.<br> +Lay the flowers down beside me.<br> +And put both thy hands in mine.<br> +Now tell me the story.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Early in the morning<br> +The Sultan's daughter<br> +Walked in her father's garden,<br> +Gathering the bright flowers,<br> +All full of dew.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Just as thou hast been doing<br> +This morning, dearest Elsie.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> And as she gathered them,<br> +She wondered more and more<br> +Who was the Master of the Flowers,<br> +And made them grow<br> +Out of the cold, dark earth.<br> +"In my heart," she said,<br> +"I love him; and for him<br> +Would leave my father's palace,<br> +To labor in his garden."<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Dear, innocent child!<br> +How sweetly thou recallest<br> +The long-forgotten legend,<br> +That in my early childhood<br> +My mother told me!<br> +Upon my brain<br> +It reappears once more,<br> +As a birth-mark on the forehead<br> +When a hand suddenly<br> +Is laid upon it, and removed!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> And at midnight,<br> +As she lay upon her bed,<br> +She heard a voice<br> +Call to her from the garden,<br> +And, looking forth from her window,<br> +She saw a beautiful youth<br> +Standing among the flowers.<br> +It was the Lord Jesus;<br> +And she went down to him,<br> +And opened the door for him;<br> +And he said to her, "O maiden!<br> +Thou hast thought of me with love,<br> +And for thy sake<br> +Out of my Father's kingdom<br> +Have I come hither:<br> +I am the Master of the Flowers.<br> +My garden is in Paradise,<br> +And if thou wilt go with me,<br> +Thy bridal garland<br> +Shall be of bright red flowers."<br> +And then he took from his finger<br> +A golden ring,<br> +And asked the Sultan's daughter<br> +If she would be his bride.<br> +And when she answered him with love,<br> +His wounds began to bleed,<br> +And she said to him,<br> +"O Love! how red thy heart is,<br> +And thy hands are full of roses,"<br> +"For thy sake," answered he,<br> +"For thy sake is my heart so red,<br> +For thee I bring these roses.<br> +I gathered them at the cross<br> +Whereon I died for thee!<br> +Come, for my Father calls.<br> +Thou art my elected bride!"<br> +And the Sultan's daughter<br> +Followed him to his Father's garden.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie?<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Yes, very gladly.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Then the Celestial Bridegroom<br> +Will come for thee also.<br> +Upon thy forehead he will place,<br> +Not his crown of thorns,<br> +But a crown of roses.<br> +In thy bridal chamber,<br> +Like Saint Cecilia,<br> +Thou shall hear sweet music,<br> +And breathe the fragrance<br> +Of flowers immortal!<br> +Go now and place these flowers<br> +Before her picture.<p></p> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<H2>A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Twilight.</i> URSULA <i>spinning.</i> GOTTLIEB <i>asleep in his +chair.</i><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Darker and darker! Hardly a glimmer<br> +Of light comes in at the window-pane;<br> +Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer?<br> +I cannot disentangle this skein,<br> +Nor wind it rightly upon the reel.<br> +Elsie!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb (starting)</i>. The stopping of thy wheel<br> +Has wakened me out of a pleasant dream.<br> +I thought I was sitting beside a stream,<br> +And heard the grinding of a mill,<br> +When suddenly the wheels stood still,<br> +And a voice cried "Elsie" in my ear!<br> +It startled me, it seemed so near.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> I was calling her: I want a light.<br> +I cannot see to spin my flax.<br> +Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear?<p></p> + + <i>Elsie (within).</i> In a moment!<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Where are Bertha and Max?<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> They are sitting with Elsie at the door.<br> +She is telling them stories of the wood,<br> +And the Wolf, and Little Red Ridinghood.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb</i>. And where is the Prince?<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula</i>. In his room overhead;<br> +I heard him walking across the floor,<br> +As he always does, with a heavy tread.<p></p> + +(ELSIE <i>comes in with a lamp</i>. MAX <i>and</i> BERTHA <i>follow her; +and they all sing the Evening Song on the lighting of the lamps</i>.)<p></p> + + + EVENING SONG.<br> + + O gladsome light<br> + Of the Father Immortal,<br> + And of the celestial<br> + Sacred and blessed<br> + Jesus, our Saviour!<br><p></p> + + Now to the sunset<br> + Again hast thou brought us;<br> + And, seeing the evening<br> + Twilight, we bless thee,<br> + Praise thee, adore thee!<br><p></p> + + Father omnipotent!<br> + Son, the Life-giver!<br> + Spirit, the Comforter!<br> + Worthy at all times<br> + Of worship and wonder!<br><p></p> + + + <i>Prince Henry (at the door)</i>. Amen!<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula</i>. Who was it said Amen?<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i>. It was the Prince: he stood at the door,<br> +And listened a moment, as we chaunted<br> +The evening song. He is gone again.<br> +I have often seen him there before.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula</i>. Poor Prince!<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb</i>. I thought the house was haunted!<br> +Poor Prince, alas! and yet as mild<br> +And patient as the gentlest child!<p></p> + + <i>Max.</i> I love him because he is so good,<br> +And makes me such fine bows and arrows,<br> +To shoot at the robins and the sparrows,<br> +And the red squirrels in the wood!<p></p> + + <i>Bertha.</i> I love him, too!<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Ah, yes! we all<br> +Love him, from the bottom of our hearts;<br> +He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange,<br> +He gave us the horses and the carts,<br> +And the great oxen in the stall,<br> +The vineyard, and the forest range!<br> +We have nothing to give him but our love!<p></p> + + <i>Bertha.</i> Did he give us the beautiful stork above<br> +On the chimney-top, with its large, round nest?<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> No, not the stork; by God in heaven,<br> +As a blessing, the dear, white stork was given;<br> +But the Prince has given us all the rest.<br> +God bless him, and make him well again.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Would I could do something for his sake,<br> +Something to cure his sorrow and pain!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> That no one can; neither thou nor I,<br> +Nor any one else.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> And must he die?<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Yes; if the dear God does not take<br> +Pity upon him, in his distress,<br> +And work a miracle!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Or unless<br> +Some maiden, of her own accord,<br> +Offers her life for that of her lord,<br> +And is willing to die in his stead.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I will!<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Prithee, thou foolish child, be still!<br> +Thou shouldst not say what thou dost not mean!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I mean it truly!<br><p></p> + + <i>Max.</i> O father! this morning,<br> +Down by the mill, in the ravine,<br> +Hans killed a wolf, the very same<br> +That in the night to the sheepfold came,<br> +And ate up my lamb, that was left outside.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> I am glad he is dead. It will be a warning<br> +To the wolves in the forest, far and wide.<p></p> + + <i>Max.</i> And I am going to have his hide!<br><p></p> + + <i>Bertha.</i> I wonder if this is the wolf that ate<br> +Little Red Ridinghood!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> O, no!<br> +That wolf was killed a long while ago.<br> +Come, children, it is growing late.<p></p> + + <i>Max.</i> Ah, how I wish I were a man,<br> +As stout as Hans is, and as strong!<br> +I would do nothing else, the whole day long,<br> +But just kill wolves.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Then go to bed,<br> +And grow as fast as a little boy can.<br> +Bertha is half asleep already.<br> +See how she nods her heavy head,<br> +And her sleepy feet are so unsteady<br> +She will hardly be able to creep upstairs.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Good-night, my children. Here's the light.<br> +And do not forget to say your prayers<br> +Before you sleep.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Good-night!<br><p></p> + + <i>Max and Bertha.</i> Good-night!<br><p></p> + + (<i>They go out with</i> ELSIE.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula, (spinning).</i> She is a strange and wayward child,<br> +That Elsie of ours. She looks so old,<br> +And thoughts and fancies weird and wild<br> +Seem of late to have taken hold<br> +Of her heart, that was once so docile and mild!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> She is like all girls.<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Ah no, forsooth!<br> +Unlike all I have ever seen.<br> +For she has visions and strange dreams,<br> +And in all her words and ways, she seems<br> +Much older than she is in truth.<br> +Who would think her but fourteen?<br> +And there has been of late such a change!<br> +My heart is heavy with fear and doubt<br> +That she may not live till the year is out.<br> +She is so strange,--so strange,--so strange!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> I am not troubled with any such fear!<br> +She will live and thrive for many a year.<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>ELSIE'S CHAMBER.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Night.</i> ELSIE <i>praying.</i><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> My Redeemer and my Lord,<br> +I beseech thee, I entreat thee,<br> +Guide me in each act and word,<br> +That hereafter I may meet thee,<br> +Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning,<br> +With my lamp well trimmed and burning!<p></p> + +Interceding<br> +With these bleeding<br> +Wounds upon thy hands and side,<br> +For all who have lived and erred<br> +Thou hast suffered, thou hast died,<br> +Scourged, and mocked, and crucified,<br> +And in the grave hast thou been buried!<p></p> + +If my feeble prayer can reach thee,<br> +O my Saviour, I beseech thee,<br> +Even as thou hast died for me,<br> +More sincerely<br> +Let me follow where thou leadest,<br> +Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest,<br> +Die, if dying I may give<br> +Life to one who asks to live,<br> +And more nearly,<br> +Dying thus, resemble thee!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND URSULA.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Midnight.</i> ELSIE <i>standing by their bedside, weeping.</i><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> The wind is roaring; the rushing rain<br> +Is loud upon roof and window-pane,<br> +As if the Wild Huntsman of Rodenstein,<br> +Boding evil to me and mine,<br> +Were abroad to-night with his ghostly train!<br> +In the brief lulls of the tempest wild,<br> +The dogs howl in the yard; and hark!<br> +Some one is sobbing in the dark,<br> +Here in the chamber!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> It is I.<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Elsie! what ails thee, my poor child?<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I am disturbed and much distressed,<br> +In thinking our dear Prince must die,<br> +I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> What wouldst thou? In the Power Divine<br> +His healing lies, not in our own;<br> +It is in the hand of God alone.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Nay, he has put it into mine,<br> +And into my heart!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Thy words are wild!<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> What dost thou mean? my child! my child!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> That for our dear Prince Henry's sake<br> +I will myself the offering make,<br> +And give my life to purchase his.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula</i> Am I still dreaming, or awake?<br> +Thou speakest carelessly of death,<br> +And yet thou knowest not what it is.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> 'T is the cessation of our breath.<br> +Silent and motionless we lie;<br> +And no one knoweth more than this.<br> +I saw our little Gertrude die,<br> +She left off breathing, and no more<br> +I smoothed the pillow beneath her head.<br> +She was more beautiful than before.<br> +Like violets faded were her eyes;<br> +By this we knew that she was dead.<br> +Through the open window looked the skies<br> +Into the chamber where she lay,<br> +And the wind was like the sound of wings,<br> +As if angels came to bear her away.<br> +Ah! when I saw and felt these things,<br> +I found it difficult to stay;<br> +I longed to die, as she had died,<br> +And go forth with her, side by side.<br> +The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead,<br> +And Mary, and our Lord, and I<br> +Would follow in humility<br> +The way by them illumined!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> My child! my child! thou must not die!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> Why should I live? Do I not know<br> +The life of woman is full of woe?<br> +Toiling on and on and on,<br> +With breaking heart, and tearful eyes,<br> +And silent lips, and in the soul<br> +The secret longings that arise,<br> +Which this world never satisfies!<br> +Some more, some less, but of the whole<br> +Not one quite happy, no, not one!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> It is the malediction of Eve!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> In place of it, let me receive<br> +The benediction of Mary, then.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Ah, woe is me! Ah, woe is me!<br> +Most wretched am I among men!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Alas! that I should live to see<br> +Thy death, beloved, and to stand<br> +Above thy grave! Ah, woe the day!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie<br> +Beneath the flowers of another land,<br> +For at Salerno, far away<br> +Over the mountains, over the sea,<br> +It is appointed me to die!<br> +And it will seem no more to thee<br> +Than if at the village on market-day<br> +I should a little longer stay<br> +Than I am used.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Even as thou sayest!<br> +And how my heart beats, when thou stayest!<br> +I cannot rest until my sight<br> +Is satisfied with seeing thee.<br> +What, then, if thou wert dead?<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb</i> Ah me!<br> +Of our old eyes thou art the light!<br> +The joy of our old hearts art thou!<br> +And wilt thou die?<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Not now! not now!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> Christ died for me, and shall not I<br> +Be willing for my Prince to die?<br> +You both are silent; you cannot speak.<br> +This said I, at our Saviour's feast,<br> +After confession, to the priest,<br> +And even he made no reply.<br> +Does he not warn us all to seek<br> +The happier, better land on high,<br> +Where flowers immortal never wither,<br> +And could he forbid me to go thither?<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> In God's own time, my heart's delight!<br> +When he shall call thee, not before!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I heard him call. When Christ ascended<br> +Triumphantly, from star to star,<br> +He left the gates of heaven ajar.<br> +I had a vision in the night,<br> +And saw him standing at the door<br> +Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid,<br> +And beckoning to me from afar.<br> +I cannot stay!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> She speaks almost<br> +As if it were the Holy Ghost<br> +Spake through her lips, and in her stead!<br> +What if this were of God?<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Ah, then<br> +Gainsay it dare we not.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Amen!<br> +Elsie! the words that thou hast said<br> +Are strange and new for us to hear,<br> +And fill our hearts with doubt and fear.<br> +Whether it be a dark temptation<br> +Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration,<br> +We in our blindness cannot say.<br> +We must think upon it, and pray;<br> +For evil and good in both resembles.<br> +If it be of God, his will be done!<br> +May he guard us from the Evil One!<br> +How hot thy hand is! how it trembles!<br> +Go to thy bed, and try to sleep.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Kiss me. Good-night; and do not weep!<br><p></p> + + (ELSIE <i>goes out.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Ah, what an awful thing is this!<br> +I almost shuddered at her kiss.<br> +As if a ghost had touched my cheek,<br> +I am so childish and so weak!<br> +As soon as I see the earliest gray<br> +Of morning glimmer in the east,<br> +I will go over to the priest,<br> +And hear what the good man has to say!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>A VILLAGE CHURCH.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>A woman kneeling at the confessional.</i><p></p> + + <i>The Parish Priest (from within)</i>. Go, sin no<br> +more! Thy penance o'er,<br> +A new and better life begin!<br> +God maketh thee forever free<br> +From the dominion of thy sin!<br> +Go, sin no more! He will restore<br> +The peace that filled thy heart before,<br> +And pardon thine iniquity!<p></p> + + (<i>The woman goes out. The Priest comes forth, and +walks slowly up and down the church</i>.)<br><p></p> + +O blessed Lord! how much I need<br> +Thy light to guide me on my way!<br> +So many hands, that, without heed,<br> +Still touch thy wounds, and make them bleed!<br> +So many feet, that, day by day,<br> +Still wander from thy fold astray!<br> +Unless thou fill me with thy light,<br> +I cannot lead thy flock aright;<br> +Nor, without thy support, can bear<br> +The burden of so great a care,<br> +But am myself a castaway!<p></p> + + (<i>A pause</i>.)<br><p></p> + +The day is drawing to its close;<br> +And what good deeds, since first it rose,<br> +Have I presented, Lord, to thee,<br> +As offerings of my ministry?<br> +What wrong repressed, what right maintained<br> +What struggle passed, what victory gained,<br> +What good attempted and attained?<br> +Feeble, at best, is my endeavor!<br> +I see, but cannot reach, the height<br> +That lies forever in the light,<br> +And yet forever and forever,<br> +When seeming just within my grasp,<br> +I feel my feeble hands unclasp,<br> +And sink discouraged into night!<br> +For thine own purpose, thou hast sent<br> +The strife and the discouragement!<p></p> + + (<i>A pause</i>.)<br><p></p> + +Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck?<br> +Why keep me pacing to and fro<br> +Amid these aisles of sacred gloom,<br> +Counting my footsteps as I go,<br> +And marking with each step a tomb?<br> +Why should the world for thee make room,<br> +And wait thy leisure and thy beck?<br> +Thou comest in the hope to hear<br> +Some word of comfort and of cheer.<br> +What can I say? I cannot give<br> +The counsel to do this and live;<br> +But rather, firmly to deny<br> +The tempter, though his power is strong,<br> +And, inaccessible to wrong,<br> +Still like a martyr live and die!<p></p> + + (<i>A pause</i>.)<br><p></p> + +The evening air grows dusk and brown;<br> +I must go forth into the town,<br> +To visit beds of pain and death,<br> +Of restless limbs, and quivering breath,<br> +And sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes<br> +That see, through tears, the sun go down,<br> +But never more shall see it rise.<br> +The poor in body and estate,<br> +The sick and the disconsolate.<br> +Must not on man's convenience wait.<p></p> + + (<i>Goes out. Enter</i> LUCIFER, <i>as a Priest</i>. LUCIFER, +<i>with a genuflexion, mocking</i>.)<br><p></p> + +This is the Black Pater-noster.<br> +God was my foster,<br> +He fostered me<br> +Under the book of the Palm-tree!<br> +St. Michael was my dame.<br> +He was born at Bethlehem,<br> +He was made of flesh and blood.<br> +God send me my right food,<br> +My right food, and shelter too,<br> +That I may to yon kirk go,<br> +To read upon yon sweet book<br> +Which the mighty God of heaven shook.<br> +Open, open, hell's gates!<br> +Shut, shut, heaven's gates!<br> +All the devils in the air<br> +The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer!<p></p> + + (<i>Looking round the church</i>.)<br><p></p> + +What a darksome and dismal place!<br> +I wonder that any man has the face<br> +To call such a hole the House of the Lord,<br> +And the Gate of Heaven,--yet such is the word.<br> +Ceiling, and walls, and windows old,<br> +Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould;<br> +Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs,<br> +Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs!<br> +The pulpit, from which such ponderous sermons<br> +Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans,<br> +With about as much real edification<br> +As if a great Bible, bound in lead,<br> +Had fallen, and struck them on the head;<br> +And I ought to remember that sensation!<br> +Here stands the holy water stoup!<br> +Holy-water it may be to many,<br> +But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehennae!<br> +It smells like a filthy fast day soup!<br> +Near it stands the box for the poor;<br> +With its iron padlock, safe and sure,<br> +I and the priest of the parish know<br> +Whither all these charities go;<br> +Therefore, to keep up the institution,<br> +I will add my little contribution!<p></p> + + (<i>He puts in money.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Underneath this mouldering tomb,<br> +With statue of stone, and scutcheon of brass,<br> +Slumbers a great lord of the village.<br> +All his life was riot and pillage,<br> +But at length, to escape the threatened doom<br> +Of the everlasting, penal fire,<br> +He died in the dress of a mendicant friar,<br> +And bartered his wealth for a daily mass.<br> +But all that afterward came to pass,<br> +And whether he finds it dull or pleasant,<br> +Is kept a secret for the present,<br> +At his own particular desire.<p></p> + +And here, in a corner of the wall,<br> +Shadowy, silent, apart from all,<br> +With its awful portal open wide,<br> +And its latticed windows on either side,<br> +And its step well worn by the bended knees<br> +Of one or two pious centuries,<br> +Stands the village confessional!<br> +Within it, as an honored guest,<br> +I will sit me down awhile and rest!<p></p> + + (<i>Seats himself in the confessional</i>.)<br><p></p> + +Here sits the priest, and faint and low,<br> +Like the sighing of an evening breeze,<br> +Comes through these painted lattices<br> +The ceaseless sound of human woe,<br> +Here, while her bosom aches and throbs<br> +With deep and agonizing sobs,<br> +That half are passion, half contrition,<br> +The luckless daughter of perdition<br> +Slowly confesses her secret shame!<br> +The time, the place, the lover's name!<br> +Here the grim murderer, with a groan,<br> +From his bruised conscience rolls the stone,<br> +Thinking that thus he can atone<br> +For ravages of sword and flame!<br> +Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly,<br> +How a priest can sit here so sedately,<br> +Reading, the whole year out and in,<br> +Naught but the catalogue of sin,<br> +And still keep any faith whatever<br> +In human virtue! Never! never!<p></p> + +I cannot repeat a thousandth part<br> +Of the horrors and crimes and sins and woes<br> +That arise, when with palpitating throes<br> +The graveyard in the human heart<br> +Gives up its dead, at the voice of the priest,<br> +As if he were an archangel, at least.<br> +It makes a peculiar atmosphere,<br> +This odor of earthly passions and crimes,<br> +Such as I like to breathe, at times,<br> +And such as often brings me here<br> +In the hottest and most pestilential season.<br> +To-day, I come for another reason;<br> +To foster and ripen an evil thought<br> +In a heart that is almost to madness wrought,<br> +And to make a murderer out of a prince,<br> +A sleight of hand I learned long since!<br> +He comes In the twilight he will not see<br> +the difference between his priest and me!<br> +In the same net was the mother caught!<p></p> + + (<i>Prince Henry entering and kneeling at the confessional.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Remorseful, penitent, and lowly,<br> +I come to crave, O Father holy,<br> +Thy benediction on my head.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. The benediction shall be said<br> +After confession, not before!<br> +'T is a God speed to the parting guest,<br> +Who stands already at the door,<br> +Sandalled with holiness, and dressed<br> +In garments pure from earthly stain.<br> +Meanwhile, hast thou searched well thy breast?<br> +Does the same madness fill thy brain?<br> +Or have thy passion and unrest<br> +Vanished forever from thy mind?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. By the same madness still made blind,<br> +By the same passion still possessed,<br> +I come again to the house of prayer,<br> +A man afflicted and distressed!<br> +As in a cloudy atmosphere,<br> +Through unseen sluices of the air,<br> +A sudden and impetuous wind<br> +Strikes the great forest white with fear,<br> +And every branch, and bough, and spray<br> +Points all its quivering leaves one way,<br> +And meadows of grass, and fields of grain,<br> +And the clouds above, and the slanting rain,<br> +And smoke from chimneys of the town,<br> +Yield themselves to it, and bow down,<br> +So does this dreadful purpose press<br> +Onward, with irresistible stress,<br> +And all my thoughts and faculties,<br> +Struck level by the strength of this,<br> +From their true inclination turn,<br> +And all stream forward to Salem!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Alas! we are but eddies of dust,<br> +Uplifted by the blast, and whirled<br> +Along the highway of the world<br> +A moment only, then to fall<br> +Back to a common level all,<br> +At the subsiding of the gust!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. O holy Father! pardon in me<br> +The oscillation of a mind<br> +Unsteadfast, and that cannot find<br> +Its centre of rest and harmony!<br> +For evermore before mine eyes<br> +This ghastly phantom flits and flies,<br> +And as a madman through a crowd,<br> +With frantic gestures and wild cries,<br> +It hurries onward, and aloud<br> +Repeats its awful prophecies!<br> +Weakness is wretchedness! To be strong<br> +Is to be happy! I am weak,<br> +And cannot find the good I seek,<br> +Because I feel and fear the wrong!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Be not alarmed! The Church is kind--<br> +And in her mercy and her meekness<br> +She meets half-way her children's weakness,<br> +Writes their transgressions in the dust!<br> +Though in the Decalogue we find<br> +The mandate written, "Thou shalt not kill!"<br> +Yet there are cases when we must.<br> +In war, for instance, or from scathe<br> +To guard and keep the one true Faith!<br> +We must look at the Decalogue in the light<br> +Of an ancient statute, that was meant<br> +For a mild and general application,<br> +To be understood with the reservation,<br> +That, in certain instances, the Right<br> +Must yield to the Expedient!<br> +Thou art a Prince. If thou shouldst die,<br> +What hearts and hopes would prostrate he!<br> +What noble deeds, what fair renown,<br> +Into the grave with thee go down!<br> +What acts of valor and courtesy<br> +Remain undone, and die with thee!<br> +Thou art the last of all thy race!<br> +With thee a noble name expires,<br> +And vanishes from the earth's face<br> +The glorious memory of thy sires!<br> +She is a peasant. In her veins<br> +Flows common and plebeian blood;<br> +It is such as daily and hourly stains<br> +The dust and the turf of battle plains,<br> +By vassals shed, in a crimson flood,<br> +Without reserve, and without reward,<br> +At the slightest summons of their lord!<br> +But thine is precious, the fore-appointed<br> +Blood of kings, of God's anointed!<br> +Moreover, what has the world in store<br> +For one like her, but tears and toil?<br> +Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil,<br> +A peasant's child and a peasant's wife,<br> +And her soul within her sick and sore<br> +With the roughness and barrenness of life!<br> +I marvel not at the heart's recoil<br> +From a fate like this, in one so tender,<br> +Nor at its eagerness to surrender<br> +All the wretchedness, want, and woe<br> +That await it in this world below,<br> +For the unutterable splendor<br> +Of the world of rest beyond the skies.<br> +So the Church sanctions the sacrifice:<br> +Therefore inhale this healing balm,<br> +And breathe this fresh life into thine;<br> +Accept the comfort and the calm<br> +She offers, as a gift divine,<br> +Let her fall down and anoint thy feet<br> +With the ointment costly and most sweet<br> +Of her young blood, and thou shall live.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And will the righteous Heaven forgive?<br> +No action, whether foul or fair,<br> +Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere<br> +A record, written by fingers ghostly,<br> +As a blessing or a curse, and mostly<br> +In the greater weakness or greater strength<br> +Of the acts which follow it, till at length<br> +The wrongs of ages are redressed,<br> +And the justice of God made manifest!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> In ancient records it is stated<br> +That, whenever an evil deed is done,<br> +Another devil is created<br> +To scourge and torment the offending one!<br> +But evil is only good perverted,<br> +And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light,<br> +But an angel fallen and deserted,<br> +Thrust from his Father's house with a curse<br> +Into the black and endless night.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> If justice rules the universe,<br> +From the good actions of good men<br> +Angels of light should be begotten,<br> +And thus the balance restored again.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Yes; if the world were not so rotten,<br> +And so given over to the Devil!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> But this deed, is it good or evil?<br> +Have I thine absolution free<br> +To do it, and without restriction?<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Ay; and from whatsoever sin<br> +Lieth around it and within,<br> +From all crimes in which it may involve thee,<br> +I now release thee and absolve thee!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Give me thy holy benediction.<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> (<i>stretching forth his hand and muttering</i>),<br> + Maledictione perpetua<br> + Maledicat vos<br> + Pater eternus!<br><p></p> + +<i>The Angel</i> (<i>with the æolian harp</i>). Take heed! take heed!<br> +Noble art thou in thy birth,<br> +By the good and the great of earth<br> +Hast thou been taught!<br> +Be noble in every thought<br> +And in every deed!<br> +Let not the illusion of thy senses<br> +Betray thee to deadly offences.<br> +Be strong! be good! be pure!<br> +The right only shall endure,<br> +All things else are but false pretences!<br> +I entreat thee, I implore,<br> +Listen no more<br> +To the suggestions of an evil spirit,<br> +That even now is there,<br> +Making the foul seem fair,<br> +And selfishness itself a virtue and a merit!<p></p> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE.</H2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + <i>Gottlieb</i>. It is decided! For many days,<br> +And nights as many, we have had<br> +A nameless terror in our breast,<br> +Making us timid, and afraid<br> +Of God, and his mysterious ways!<br> +We have been sorrowful and sad;<br> +Much have we suffered, much have prayed<br> +That he would lead us as is best,<br> +And show us what his will required.<br> +It is decided; and we give<br> +Our child, O Prince, that you may live!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula</i>. It is of God. He has inspired<br> +This purpose in her; and through pain,<br> +Out of a world of sin and woe,<br> +He takes her to himself again.<br> +The mother's heart resists no longer;<br> +With the Angel of the Lord in vain<br> +It wrestled, for he was the stronger.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb</i>. As Abraham offered long ago<br> +His son unto the Lord, and even<br> +The Everlasting Father in heaven<br> +Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter,<br> +So do I offer up my daughter!<p></p> + + (URSULA <i>hides her face</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i>. My life is little,<br> +Only a cup of water,<br> +But pure and limpid.<br> +Take it, O my Prince!<br> +Let it refresh you,<br> +Let it restore you.<br> +It is given willingly,<br> +It is given freely;<br> +May God bless the gift!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And the giver!<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Amen!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I accept it!<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Where are the children?<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> They are already asleep.<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> What if they were dead?<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>IN THE GARDEN.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I have one thing to ask of you.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> What is it?<br> +It is already granted.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Promise me,<br> +When we are gone from here, and on our way<br> +Are journeying to Salerno, you will not,<br> +By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade me<br> +And turn me from my purpose, but remember<br> +That as a pilgrim to the Holy City<br> +Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon<br> +Occupied wholly, so would I approach<br> +The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee,<br> +With my petition, putting off from me<br> +All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off my feet.<br> +Promise me this.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Thy words fall from thy lips<br> +Like roses from the lips of Angelo: and angels<br> +Might stoop to pick them up!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Will you not promise?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> If ever we depart upon this journey,<br> +So long to one or both of us, I promise.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Shall we not go, then? Have you lifted me<br> +Into the air, only to hurl me back<br> +Wounded upon the ground? and offered me<br> +The waters of eternal life, to bid me<br> +Drink the polluted puddles of this world?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> O Elsie! what a lesson thou dost teach me!<br> +The life which is, and that which is to come,<br> +Suspended hang in such nice equipoise<br> +A breath disturbs the balance; and that scale<br> +In which we throw our hearts preponderates,<br> +And the other, like an empty one, flies up,<br> +And is accounted vanity and air!<br> +To me the thought of death is terrible,<br> +Having such hold on life. To thee it is not<br> +So much even as the lifting of a latch;<br> +Only a step into the open air<br> +Out of a tent already luminous<br> +With light that shines through its transparent walls!<br> +O pure in heart! from thy sweet dust shall grow<br> +Lilies, upon whose petals will be written<br> +"Ave Maria" in characters of gold!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br> +<h2>III.</h2> + +<H2>A STREET IN STRASBURG.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Night.</i> PRINCE HENRY <i>wandering alone, wrapped in a cloak.</i><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Still is the night. The sound of feet<br> +Has died away from the empty street,<br> +And like an artisan, bending down<br> +His head on his anvil, the dark town<br> +Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet.<br> +Sleepless and restless, I alone,<br> +In the dusk and damp of these wails of stone,<br> +Wander and weep in my remorse!<p></p> + + <i>Crier of the dead (ringing a bell).</i> Wake! wake!<br> + All ye that sleep!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Hark! with what accents loud and hoarse<br> +This warder on the walls of death<br> +Sends forth the challenge of his brerth!<br> +I see the dead that sleep in the grave!<br> +They rise up and their garments wave,<br> +Dimly and spectral, as they rise,<br> +With the light of another world in their eyes!<p></p> + + <i>Crier of the dead.</i> Wake! wake!<br> + All ye that sleep!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Why for the dead, who are at rest?<br> +Pray for the living, in whose breast<br> +The struggle between right and wrong<br> +Is raging terrible and strong,<br> +As when good angels war with devils!<br> +This is the Master of the Revels,<br> +Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes<br> +The health of absent friends, and pledges,<br> +Not in bright goblets crowned with roses,<br> +And tinkling as we touch their edges,<br> +But with his dismal, tinkling bell,<br> +That mocks and mimics their funeral knell!<p></p> + + <i>Crier of the dead.</i> Wake! wake!<br> + All ye that sleep!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Wake not, beloved! be thy sleep<br> +Silent as night is, and as deep!<br> +There walks a sentinel at thy gate<br> +Whose heart is heavy and desolate,<br> +And the heavings of whose bosom number<br> +The respirations of thy slumber,<br> +As if some strange, mysterious fate<br> +Had linked two hearts in one, and mine<br> +Went madly wheeling about thine,<br> +Only with wider and wilder sweep!<p></p> + + <i>Crier of the dead (at a distance).</i> Wake! wake!<br> + All ye that sleep!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Lo! with what depth of blackness thrown<br> +Against the clouds, far up the skies,<br> +The walls of the cathedral rise,<br> +Like a mysterious grove of stone,<br> +With fitful lights and shadows bleeding,<br> +As from behind, the moon, ascending,<br> +Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown!<br> +The wind is rising; but the boughs<br> +Rise not and fall not with the wind<br> +That through their foliage sobs and soughs;<br> +Only the cloudy rack behind,<br> +Drifting onward, wild and ragged,<br> +Gives to each spire and buttress jagged<br> +A seeming motion undefined.<br> +Below on the square, an armed knight,<br> +Still as a statue and as white,<br> +Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver<br> +Upon the points of his armor bright<br> +As on the ripples of a river.<br> +He lifts the visor from his cheek,<br> +And beckons, and makes as he would speak.<p></p> + + <i>Walter the Minnesinger</i> Friend! can you tell me where alight<br> +Thuringia's horsemen for the night?<br> +For I have lingered in the rear,<br> +And wander vainly up and down.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> I am a stranger in the town,<br> +As thou art, but the voice I hear<br> +Is not a stranger to mine ear.<br> +Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid!<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i> Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy name<br> +Is Henry of Hoheneck!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Ay, the same.<br><p></p> + + <i>Walter</i> (<i>embracing him</i>). Come closer, closer to my side!<br> +What brings thee hither? What potent charm<br> +Has drawn thee from thy German farm<br> +Into the old Alsatian city?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. A tale of wonder and of pity!<br> +A wretched man, almost by stealth<br> +Dragging my body to Salern,<br> +In the vain hope and search for health,<br> +And destined never to return.<br> +Already thou hast heard the rest<br> +But what brings thee, thus armed and dight<br> +In the equipments of a knight?<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. Dost thou not see upon my breast<br> +The cross of the Crusaders shine?<br> +My pathway leads to Palestine.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. Ah, would that way were also mine!<br> +O noble poet! thou whose heart<br> +Is like a nest of singing birds<br> +Rocked on the topmost bough of life,<br> +Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart,<br> +And in the clangor of the strife<br> +Mingle the music of thy words?<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. My hopes are high, my heart is proud,<br> +And like a trumpet long and loud,<br> +Thither my thoughts all clang and ring!<br> +My life is in my hand, and lo!<br> +I grasp and bend it as a bow,<br> +And shoot forth from its trembling string<br> +An arrow, that shall be, perchance,<br> +Like the arrow of the Israelite king<br> +Shot from the window toward the east,<br> +That of the Lord's deliverance!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. My life, alas! is what thou seest!<br> +O enviable fate! to be<br> +Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee<br> +With lyre and sword, with song and steel;<br> +A hand to smite, a heart to feel!<br> +Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy sword,<br> +Thou givest all unto thy Lord,<br> +While I, so mean and abject grown,<br> +Am thinking of myself alone.<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. Be patient: Time will reinstate<br> +Thy health and fortunes.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. 'T is too late!<br> +I cannot strive against my fate!<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. Come with me; for my steed is weary;<br> +Our journey has been long and dreary,<br> +And, dreaming of his stall, he dints<br> +With his impatient hoofs the flints.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> (<i>aside</i>). I am ashamed, in my disgrace,<br> +To look into that noble face!<br> +To-morrow, Walter, let it be.<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. To-morrow, at the dawn of day,<br> +I shall again be on my way<br> +Come with me to the hostelry,<br> +For I have many things to say.<br> +Our journey into Italy<br> +Perchance together we may make;<br> +Wilt thou not do it for my sake?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. A sick man's pace would but impede<br> +Thine eager and impatient speed.<br> +Besides, my pathway leads me round<br> +To Hirsehau, in the forest's bound,<br> +Where I assemble man and steed,<br> +And all things for my journey's need.<p></p> + + (<i>They go out</i>. LUCIFER, <i>flying over the city</i>.)<br><p></p> + +Sleep, sleep, O city! till the light<br> +Wakes you to sin and crime again,<br> +Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain,<br> +I scatter downward through the night<br> +My maledictions dark and deep.<br> +I have more martyrs in your walls<br> +Than God has; and they cannot sleep;<br> +They are my bondsmen and my thralls;<br> +Their wretched lives are full of pain,<br> +Wild agonies of nerve and brain;<br> +And every heart-beat, every breath,<br> +Is a convulsion worse than death!<br> +Sleep, sleep, O city! though within<br> +The circuit of your walls there lies<br> +No habitation free from sin,<br> +And all its nameless miseries;<br> +The aching heart, the aching head,<br> +Grief for the living and the dead,<br> +And foul corruption of the time,<br> +Disease, distress, and want, and woe,<br> +And crimes, and passions that may grow<br> +Until they ripen into, crime!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<H2>SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Easter Sunday</i>. FRIAR CUTHBERT <i>preaching to the +crowd from a pulpit in the open air</i>. PRINCE +HENRY <i>and</i> ELSIE <i>crossing the square</i>.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. This is the day, when from the dead<br> +Our Lord arose; and everywhere,<br> +Out of their darkness and despair,<br> +Triumphant over fears and foes,<br> +The hearts of his disciples rose,<br> +When to the women, standing near,<br> +The Angel in shining vesture said,<br> +"The Lord is risen; he is not here!"<br> +And, mindful that the day is come,<br> +On all the hearths in Christendom<br> +The fires are quenched, to be again<br> +Rekindled from the sun, that high<br> +Is dancing in the cloudless sky.<br> +The churches are all decked with flowers.<br> +The salutations among men<br> +Are but the Angel's words divine,<br> +"Christ is arisen!" and the bells<br> +Catch the glad murmur, as it swells,<br> +And chaunt together in their towers.<br> +All hearts are glad; and free from care<br> +The faces of the people shine.<br> +See what a crowd is in the square,<br> +Gaily and gallantly arrayed!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i>. Let us go back; I am afraid!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. Nay, let us mount the church-steps here,<br> +Under the doorway's sacred shadow;<br> +We can see all things, and be freer<br> +From the crowd that madly heaves and presses!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> What a gay pageant! what bright dresses!<br> +It looks like a flower besprinkled meadow.<br> +What is that yonder on the square?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> A pulpit in the open air,<br> +And a Friar, who is preaching to the crowd<br> +With a voice so deep and clear and loud,<br> +That, if we listen, and give heed,<br> +His lowest words will reach the ear.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert (gesticulating and cracking a postilion's whip)</i> What ho! good people! do you not hear?<br> +Dashing along at the top of his speed,<br> +Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed,<br> +A courier comes with words of cheer.<br> +Courier! what is the news, I pray?<br> +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From court."<br> +Then I do not believe it; you say it in sport.<p></p> + + (<i>Cracks his whip again.</i>)<br><p></p> + +There comes another, riding this way;<br> +We soon shall know what he has to say.<br> +Courier! what are the tidings to-day?<br> +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From town."<br> +Then I do not believe it; away with you, clown.<p></p> + + (<i>Cracks his whip more violently.</i>)<br><p></p> + +And here comes a third, who is spurring amain;<br> +What news do you bring, with your loose-hanging rein,<br> +Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle with foam?<br> +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From Rome."<br> +Ah, now I believe. He is risen, indeed.<br> +Ride on with the news, at the top of your speed!<p></p> + + (<i>Great applause among the crowd.</i>)<br><p></p> + +To come back to my text! When the news was first spread<br> +That Christ was arisen indeed from the dead,<br> +Very great was the joy of the angels in heaven;<br> +And as great the dispute as to who should carry<br> +The tidings, thereof to the Virgin Mary,<br> +Pierced to the heart with sorrows seven.<br> +Old Father Adam was first to propose,<br> +As being the author of all our woes;<br> +But he was refused, for fear, said they,<br> +He would stop to eat apples on the way!<br> +Abel came next, but petitioned in vain,<br> +Because he might meet with his brother Cain!<br> +Noah, too, was refused, lest his weakness for wine<br> +Should delay him at every tavern sign;<br> +And John the Baptist could not get a vote,<br> +On account of his old fashioned, camel's-hair coat;<br> +And the Penitent Thief, who died on the cross,<br> +Was reminded that all his bones were broken!<br> +Till at last, when each in turn had spoken,<br> +The company being still at a loss,<br> +The Angel, who had rolled away the stone,<br> +Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone,<br> +And filled with glory that gloomy prison,<br> +And said to the Virgin, "The Lord is arisen!"<p></p> + + (<i>The Cathedral bells ring</i>.)<br><p></p> + +But hark! the bells are beginning to chime;<br> +And I feel that I am growing hoarse.<br> +I will put an end to my discourse,<br> +And leave the rest for some other time.<br> +For the bells themselves are the best of preachers;<br> +Their brazen lips are learned teachers,<br> +From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air,<br> +Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw,<br> +Shriller than trumpets under the Law,<br> +Now a sermon and now a prayer.<br> +The clangorous hammer is the tongue,<br> +This way, that way, beaten and swung,<br> +That from mouth of brass, as from Mouth of Gold,<br> +May be taught the Testaments, New and Old.<br> +And above it the great crossbeam of wood<br> +Representeth the Holy Rood,<br> +Upon which, like the bell, our hopes are hung.<br> +And the wheel wherewith it is swayed and rung<br> +Is the mind of man, that round and round<br> +Sways, and maketh the tongue to sound!<br> +And the rope, with its twisted cordage three,<br> +Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity<br> +Of Morals, and Symbols, and History;<br> +And the upward and downward motions show<br> +That we touch upon matters high and low;<br> +And the constant change and transmutation<br> +Of action and of contemplation,<br> +Downward, the Scripture brought from on high,<br> +Upward, exalted again to the sky;<br> +Downward, the literal interpretation,<br> +Upward, the Vision and Mystery!<p></p> + +And now, my hearers, to make an end,<br> +I have only one word more to say;<br> +In the church, in honor of Easter day,<br> +Will be represented a Miracle Play;<br> +And I hope you will all have the grace to attend.<br> +Christ bring us at last So his felicity!<br> +Pax vobiscum! et Benedicite!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<H2>IN THE CATHEDRAL.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + CHAUNT.<br> + Kyrie Eleison!<br> + Christe Eleison!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I am at home here in my Father's house!<br> +These paintings of the Saints upon the walls<br> +Have all familiar and benignant faces.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> The portraits of the family of God!<br> +Thine own hereafter shall be placed among them.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> How very grand it is and wonderful!<br> +Never have I beheld a church so splendid!<br> +Such columns, and such arches, and such windows,<br> +So many tombs and statues in the chapels,<br> +And under them so many confessionals.<br> +They must be for the rich. I should not like<br> +To tell my sins in such a church as this.<br> +Who built it?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> A great master of his craft,<br> +Erwin von Steinbach; but not he alone,<br> +For many generations labored with him.<br> +Children that came to see these Saints in stone,<br> +As day by day out of the blocks they rose,<br> +Grew old and died, and still the work went on,<br> +And on, and on, and is not yet completed.<br> +The generation that succeeds our own<br> +Perhaps may finish it. The architect<br> +Built his great heart into these sculptured stones,<br> +And with him toiled his children, and their lives<br> +Were builded, with his own, into the walls,<br> +As offerings unto God. You see that statue<br> +Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled eyes<br> +Upon the Pillar of the Angels yonder.<br> +That is the image of the master, carved<br> +By the fair hand of his own child, Sabina.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> How beautiful is the column that he looks at!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> That, too, she sculptured. At the base of it<br> +Stand the Evangelists; above their heads<br> +Four Angels blowing upon marble trumpets,<br> +And over them the blessed Christ, surrounded<br> +By his attendant ministers, upholding<br> +The instruments of his passion.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> O my Lord!<br> +Would I could leave behind me upon earth<br> +Some monument to thy glory, such as this!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> A greater monument than this thou leavest<br> +In thine own life, all purity and love!<br> +See, too, the Rose, above the western portal<br> +Flamboyant with a thousand gorgeous colors,<br> +The perfect flower of Gothic loveliness!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> And, in the gallery, the long line of statues,<br> +Christ with his twelve Apostles watching us.<p></p> + + (<i>A</i> BISHOP <i>in armor, booted and spurred, passes with +his train.</i>)<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> But come away; we have not time to look.<br> +The crowd already fills the church, and yonder<br> +Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet,<br> +Clad like The Angel Gabriel, proclaims<br> +The Mystery that will now be represented.<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<h2>THE NATIVITY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>A MIRACLE PLAY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h3>THE NATIVITY.</h3> + +<h3>INTROITUS.</h3> + + <i>Præco.</i> Come, good people, all and each,<br> +Come and listen to our speech!<br> +In your presence here I stand,<br> +With a trumpet in my hand,<br> +To announce the Easter Play,<br> +Which we represent to-day!<br> +First of all we shall rehearse,<br> +In our action and our verse,<br> +The Nativity of our Lord,<br> +As written in the old record<br> +Of the Protevangelion,<br> +So that he who reads may run!<p></p> + + (<i>Blows his trumpet.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<p>I. HEAVEN.</p> + + <i>Mercy</i> (<i>at the feet of God</i>). Have pity, Lord be not afraid<br> +To save mankind, whom thou hast made,<br> +Nor let the souls that were betrayed<br> + Perish eternally!<p></p> + + <i>Justice.</i> It cannot be, it must not be!<br> +When in the garden placed by thee,<br> +The fruit of the forbidden tree<br> + He ate, and he must die!<p></p> + + <i>Mercy.</i> Have pity, Lord! let penitence<br> +Atone for disobedience,<br> +Nor let the fruit of man's offence<br> + Be endless misery!<p></p> + + <i>Justice.</i> What penitence proportionate<br> +Can e'er be felt for sin so great?<br> +Of the forbidden fruit he ate,<br> + And damned must he be!<p></p> + + <i>God.</i> He shall be saved, if that within<br> +The bounds of earth one free from sin<br> +Be found, who for his kith and kin<br> + Will suffer martyrdom.<p></p> + + <i>The Four Virtues.</i> Lord! we have searched the world around,<br> +From centre to the utmost bound,<br> +But no such mortal can be found;<br> + Despairing, back we come.<p></p> + + <i>Wisdom.</i> No mortal, but a God made man,<br> +Can ever carry out this plan,<br> +Achieving what none other can,<br> + Salvation unto all!<p></p> + + <i>God.</i> Go, then, O my beloved Son;<br> +It can by thee alone be done;<br> +By thee the victory shall be won<br> + O'er Satan and the Fall!<p></p> + + (<i>Here the</i> ANGEL GABRIEL <i>shall leave Paradise and +fly toward the earth; the jaws of Hell open below, +and the Devils walk about, making a great noise.</i>)<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<p>II. MARY AT THE WELL.</p> + + <i>Mary.</i> Along the garden walk, and thence<br> +Through the wicket in the garden fence,<br> + I steal with quiet pace,<br> +My pitcher at the well to fill,<br> +That lies so deep and cool and still<br> + In this sequestered place.<br> +These sycamores keep guard around;<br> +I see no face, I hear no sound,<br> + Save babblings of the spring,<br> +And my companions, who within<br> +The threads of gold and scarlet spin,<br> + And at their labor sing.<p></p> + + <i>The Angel Gabriel.</i> Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace!<br><p></p> + + (<i>Here</i> MARY <i>looketh around her, trembling, and +then saith:</i>)<p></p> + + <i>Mary.</i> Who is it speaketh in this place,<br> +With such a gentle voice?<p></p> + + <i>Gabriel.</i> The Lord of heaven is with thee now!<br> +Blessed among all women thou,<br> + Who art his holy choice!<p></p> + + <i>Mary</i> (setting down the pitcher). What can this mean?<br> +No one is near,<br> +And yet, such sacred words I hear,<br> + I almost fear to stay.<p></p> + + (<i>Here the</i> ANGEL, <i>appearing to her, shall say:</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Gabriel.</i> Fear not, O Mary! but believe!<br> +For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive<br> + A child this very day.<p></p> + +Fear not, O Mary! from the sky<br> +The majesty of the Most High<br> + Shall overshadow thee!<p></p> + + <i>Mary.</i> Behold the handmaid of the Lord!<br> +According to thy holy word,<br> + So be it unto me!<p></p> + + (<i>Here the Devils shall again make a great noise, under the stage.</i>)<br> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLANETS,</p> + <i>bearing the Star of Bethlehem.</i><br><p></p> + + <i>The Angels.</i> The Angels of the Planets Seven<br> +Across the shining fields of heaven<br> + The natal star we bring!<br> +Dropping our sevenfold virtues down,<br> +As priceless jewels in the crown<br> + Of Christ, our new-born King.<p></p> + + <i>Raphael.</i> I am the Angel of the Sun,<br> +Whose flaming wheels began to run<br> + When God's almighty breath<br> +Said to the darkness and the Night,<br> +Let there be light! and there was light!<br> + I bring the gift of Faith.<p></p> + + <i>Gabriel.</i> I am the Angel of the Moon,<br> +Darkened, to be rekindled soon<br> + Beneath the azure cope!<br> +Nearest to earth, it is my ray<br> +That best illumes the midnight way.<br> + I bring the gift of Hope!<p></p> + + <i>Anael.</i> The Angel of the Star of Love,<br> +The Evening Star, that shines above<br> + The place where lovers be,<br> +Above all happy hearths and homes,<br> +On roofs of thatch, or golden domes,<br> + I give him Charity!<p></p> + + <i>Zobiachel.</i> The Planet Jupiter is mine!<br> +The mightiest star of all that shine,<br> + Except the sun alone!<br> +He is the High Priest of the Dove,<br> +And sends, from his great throne above,<br> + Justice, that shall atone!<p></p> + + <i>Michael.</i> The Planet Mercury, whose place<br> +Is nearest to the sun in space,<br> + Is my allotted sphere!<br> +And with celestial ardor swift<br> +I bear upon my hands the gift<br> + Of heavenly Prudence here!<p></p> + + <i>Uriel.</i> I am the Minister of Mars,<br> +The strongest star among the stars!<br> + My songs of power prelude<br> +The march and battle of man's life,<br> +And for the suffering and the strife,<br> + I give him Fortitude!<p></p> + + <i>Anachiel.</i> The Angel of the uttermost<br> +Of all the shining, heavenly host,<br> + From the far-off expanse<br> +Of the Saturnian, endless space<br> +I bring the last, the crowning grace,<br> + The gift of Temperance!<p></p> + + (<i>A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable in the village below.</i>)<br><p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST.</p> + +<i>The stable of the Inn. The</i> VIRGIN <i>and</i> CHILD. <i>Three Gypsy Kings,</i> GASPAR, MELCHIOR, <i>and</i> BELSHAZZAR, <i>shall come in.</i><br><p></p> + + <i>Gaspar.</i> Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth!<br> +Though in a manger thou drawest thy breath,<br> +Thou art greater than Life and Death,<br> + Greater than Joy or Woe!<br> +This cross upon the line of life<br> +Portendeth struggle, toil, and strife,<br> +And through a region with dangers rife<br> + In darkness shall thou go!<p></p> + + <i>Melchior.</i> Hail to thee, King of Jerusalem<br> +Though humbly born in Bethlehem,<br> +A sceptre and a diadem<br> + Await thy brow and hand!<br> +The sceptre is a simple reed,<br> +The crown will make thy temples bleed,<br> +And in thy hour of greatest need,<br> + Abashed thy subjects stand!<p></p> + + <i>Belshazzar</i>. Hail to thee, Christ of Christendom!<br> +O'er all the earth thy kingdom come!<br> +From distant Trebizond to Rome<br> + Thy name shall men adore!<br> +Peace and good-will among all men,<br> +The Virgin has returned again,<br> +Returned the old Saturnian reign<br> + And Golden Age once more.<p></p> + +<i>The Child Christ</i>. Jesus, the Son of God, am I,<br> +Born here to suffer and to die<br> +According to the prophecy,<br> + That other men may live!<p></p> + +<i>The Virgin</i>. And now these clothes, that wrapped him, take<br> +And keep them precious, for his sake;<br> +For benediction thus we make,<br> + Naught else have we to give.<p></p> + + (<i>She gives them swaddling-clothes and they depart</i>.)<br><p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT.</p> +<br> + +<i>Here shall</i> JOSEPH <i>come in, leading an ass, on which +are seated</i> MARY <i>and the</i> CHILD.<p></p> + + <i>Mary</i>. Here will we rest us, under these<br> +Underhanging branches of the trees,<br> +Where robins chant their Litanies,<br> + And canticles of joy.<p></p> + + <i>Joseph</i>. My saddle-girths have given way<br> +With trudging through the heat to-day<br> +To you I think it is but play<br> + To ride and hold the boy.<p></p> + + <i>Mary</i>. Hark! how the robins shout and sing,<br> +As if to hail their infant King!<br> +I will alight at yonder spring<br> + To wash his little coat.<p></p> + + <i>Joseph</i>. And I will hobble well the ass,<br> +Lest, being loose upon the grass,<br> +He should escape; for, by the mass.<br> + He is nimble as a goat.<p></p> + + (<i>Here</i> MARY <i>shall alight and go to the spring.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Mary</i>. O Joseph! I am much afraid,<br> +For men are sleeping in the shade;<br> +I fear that we shall be waylaid,<br> + And robbed and beaten sore!<p></p> + + (<i>Here a band of robbers shall be seen sleeping, two of whom shall rise and come forward</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Dumachus</i>. Cock's soul! deliver up your gold!<br><p></p> + + <i>Joseph</i>. I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold!<br> +Of wealth I have no store.<p></p> + + <i>Dumachus</i>. Give up your money!<br><p></p> + + <i>Titus</i>. Prithee cease!<br> +Let these good people go in peace!<p></p> + + <i>Dumachus</i>. First let them pay for their release,<br> +And then go on their way.<p></p> + + <i>Titus</i>. These forty groats I give in fee,<br> +If thou wilt only silent be.<p></p> + + <i>Mary</i>. May God be merciful to thee<br> +Upon the Judgment Day!<p></p> + + <i>Jesus</i>. When thirty years shall have gone by,<br> +I at Jerusalem shall die,<br> +By Jewish hands exalted high<br> + On the accursed tree.<br> +Then on my right and my left side,<br> +These thieves shall both be crucified<br> +And Titus thenceforth shall abide<br> + In paradise with me.<p></p> + + (<i>Here a great rumor of trumpets and horses, like the noise of a king with his army, and the robbers shall take flight.</i>)<br> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS.</p> + + <i>King Herod.</i> Potz-tausend! Himmel-sacrament!<br> +Filled am I with great wonderment<br> + At this unwelcome news!<br> +Am I not Herod? Who shall dare<br> +My crown to take, my sceptre bear,<br> + As king among the Jews?<p></p> + + (<i>Here he shall stride up and down and flourish his sword.</i>)<br><p></p> + +What ho! I fain would drink a can<br> +Of the strong wine of Canaan!<br> + The wine of Helbon bring,<br> +I purchased at the Fair of Tyre,<br> +As red as blood, as hot as fire,<br> + And fit for any king!<p></p> + + (<i>He quaffs great goblets of wine.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Now at the window will I stand,<br> +While in the street the armed band<br> + The little children slay:<br> +The babe just born in Bethlehem<br> +Will surely slaughtered be with them,<br> + Nor live another day!<p></p> + + (<i>Here a voice of lamentation shall be heard in the street.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Rachel.</i> O wicked king! O cruel speed!<br> +To do this most unrighteous deed!<br> + My children all are slain!<p></p> + + <i>Herod.</i> Ho seneschal! another cup!<br> +With wine of Sorek fill it up!<br> + I would a bumper drain!<p></p> + + <i>Rahab.</i> May maledictions fall and blast<br> +Thyself and lineage, to the last<br> + Of all thy kith and kin!<p></p> + + <i>Herod.</i> Another goblet! quick! and stir<br> +Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh<br> + And calamus therein!<p></p> + + <i>Soldiers (in the street)</i>. Give up thy child into our hands!<br> +It is King Herod who commands<br> + That he should thus be slain!<p></p> + + <i>The Nurse Medusa.</i> O monstrous men! What have ye done!<br> +It is King Herod's only son<br> + That ye have cleft in twain!<p></p> + + <i>Herod.</i> Ah, luckless day! What words of fear<br> +Are these that smite upon my ear<br> + With such a doleful sound!<br> +What torments rack my heart and head!<br> +Would I were dead! would I were dead,<br> + And buried in the ground!<p></p> + + (<i>He falls down and writhes as though eaten by worms. +Hell opens, and</i> SATAN <i>and</i> ASTAROTH <i>come forth, +and drag him down.</i>)<br><p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOLMATES.</p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> The shower is over. Let us play,<br> +And make some sparrows out of clay,<br> + Down by the river's side.<p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> See, how the stream has overflowed<br> +Its banks, and o'er the meadow road<br> + Is spreading far and wide!<p></p> + + (<i>They draw water out of the river by channels, and +form little pools</i> JESUS <i>makes twelve sparrows of +clay, and the other boys do the same.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> Look! look! how prettily I make<br> +These little sparrows by the lake<br> + Bend down their necks and drink!<br> +Now will I make them sing and soar<br> +So far, they shall return no more<br> + Into this river's brink.<p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> That canst thou not! They are but clay,<br> +They cannot sing, nor fly away<br> + Above the meadow lands!<p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> Fly, fly! ye sparrows! you are free!<br> +And while you live, remember me,<br> + Who made you with my hands.<p></p> + + (<i>Here</i> JESUS <i>shall clap his hands, and the sparrows + shall fly away, chirruping.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> Thou art a sorcerer, I know;<br> +Oft has my mother told me so,<br> + I will not play with thee!<p></p> + + (<i>He strikes</i> JESUS <i>on the right side.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> Ah, Judas! thou has smote my side,<br> +And when I shall be crucified,<br> + There shall I pierced be!<p></p> + + (<i>Here</i> JOSEPH <i>shall come in, and say:</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Joseph.</i> Ye wicked boys! why do ye play,<br> +And break the holy Sabbath day?<br> +What, think ye, will your mothers say<br> + To see you in such plight!<br> +In such a sweat and such a heat,<br> +With all that mud-upon your feet!<br> +There's not a beggar in the street<br> + Makes such a sorry sight!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL.</p> + +<i>The</i> RABBI BEN ISRAEL, <i>with a long beard, sitting on + a high stool, with a rod in his hand.</i><br><p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> I am the Rabbi Ben Israel,<br> +Throughout this village known full well,<br> +And, as my scholars all will tell,<br> + Learned in things divine;<br> +The Kabala and Talmud hoar<br> +Than all the prophets prize I more,<br> +For water is all Bible lore,<br> + But Mishna is strong wine.<p></p> + +My fame extends from West to East,<br> +And always, at the Purim feast,<br> +I am as drunk as any beast<br> + That wallows in his sty;<br> +The wine it so elateth me,<br> +That I no difference can see<br> +Between "Accursed Haman be!"<br> + And "Blessed be Mordecai!"<p></p> + +Come hither, Judas Iscariot.<br> +Say, if thy lesson thou hast got<br> +From the Rabbinical Book or not.<br> + Why howl the dogs at night?<p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> In the Rabbinical Book, it saith<br> +The dogs howl, when with icy breath<br> +Great Sammaël, the Angel of Death,<br> + Takes through the town his flight!<p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> Well, boy! now say, if thou art wise,<br> +When the Angel of Death, who is full of eyes,<br> +Comes where a sick man dying lies,<br> + What doth he to the wight?<p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> He stands beside him, dark and tall,<br> +Holding a sword, from which doth fall<br> +Into his mouth a drop of gall,<br> + And so he turneth white.<p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> And now, my Judas, say to me<br> +What the great Voices Four may be,<br> +That quite across the world do flee,<br> + And are not heard by men?<p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> The Voice of the Sun in heaven's dome,<br> +The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome,<br> +The Voice of a Soul that goeth home,<br> + And the Angel of the Rain!<p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> Well have ye answered every one<br> +Now little Jesus, the carpenter's son,<br> +Let us see how thy task is done.<br> + Canst thou thy letters say?<p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> Aleph.<br><p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> What next? Do not stop yet!<br> +Go on with all the alphabet.<br> +Come, Aleph, Beth; dost thou forget?<br> + Cock's soul! thou'dst rather play!<p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> What Aleph means I fain would know,<br> +Before I any farther go!<p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> O, by Saint Peter! wouldst thou so?<br> +Come hither, boy, to me.<br> +And surely as the letter Jod<br> +Once cried aloud, and spake to God,<br> +So surely shalt thou feel this rod,<br> + And punished shalt thou be!<p></p> + + (<i>Here</i> RABBI BEN ISRAEL <i>shall lift up his rod to strike</i> JESUS, <i>and his right arm shall be paralyzed.</i>)<br><p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS.</p> + +JESUS <i>sitting among his playmates, crowned with +flowers as their King.</i><p></p> + + <i>Boys.</i> We spread our garments on the ground'<br> +With fragrant flowers thy head is crowned,<br> +While like a guard we stand around,<br> + And hail thee as our King!<br> +Thou art the new King of the Jews!<br> +Nor let the passers-by refuse<br> +To bring that homage which men use<br> + To majesty to bring.<p></p> + + (<i>Here a traveller shall go by, and the boys shall lay hold of his garments and say:</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Boys.</i> Come hither! and all reverence pay<br> +Unto our monarch, crowned to-day!<br> +Then go rejoicing on your way,<br> + In all prosperity!<p></p> + + <i>Traveller.</i> Hail to the King of Bethlehem,<br> +Who weareth in his diadem<br> +The yellow crocus for the gem<br> + Of his authority!<p></p> + + (<i>He passes by; and others come in, bearing on a litter a sick child.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Boys.</i> Set down the litter and draw near!<br> +The King of Bethlehem is here!<br> +What ails the child, who seems to fear<br> + That we shall do him harm?<p></p> + + <i>The Bearers.</i> He climbed up to the robin's nest,<br> +And out there darted, from his rest,<br> +A serpent with a crimson crest,<br> + And stung him in the arm.<p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> Bring him to me, and let me feel<br> +The wounded place; my touch can heal<br> +The sting of serpents, and can steal<br> + The poison from the bite!<p></p> + + (<i>He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Cease to lament! I can foresee<br> +That thou hereafter known shalt be,<br> +Among the men who follow me,<br> + As Simon the Canaanite!<p></p> + + * * * * *<br><p></p> + + + EPILOGUE.<br> + +In the after part of the day<br> +Will be represented another play,<br> +Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord,<br> +Beginning directly after Nones!<br> +At the close of which we shall accord,<br> +By way of benison and reward,<br> +The sight of a holy Martyr's bones!<p></p> + + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"> +<h2>IV.</H2> + +<H2> THE ROAD HIRSCHAU.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 35%;"> + +PRINCE HENRY <i>and</i> ELSIE, <i>with their attendants, on +horseback.</i><br><br> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Onward and onward the highway runs<br> + to the distant city, impatiently bearing<br> +Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of<br> + hate, of doing and daring!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> This life of ours is a wild aeolian<br> + harp of many a joyous strain,<br> +But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail,<br> + as of souls in pain.<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart<br> + that aches and bleeds with the stigma<br> +Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can<br> + comprehend its dark enigma.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure<br> + with little care of what may betide;<br> +Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon<br> + that rides by an angel's side?<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> All the hedges are white with dust, and<br> + the great dog under the creaking wain<br> +Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the<br> + horses toil and strain<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Now they stop at the wayside inn,<br> + and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter,<br> +While out of the dripping trough the horses distend<br> + their leathern sides with water.<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> All through life there are wayside inns,<br> + where man may refresh his soul with love;<br> +Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed<br> + by springs from above.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Yonder, where rises the cross of<br> + stone, our journey along the highway ends,<br> +And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the<br> + broad green valley descends.<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten<br> + road with its dust and heat;<br> +The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer<br> + under our horses' feet.<br><p></p> + + (<i>They turn down a green lane.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Sweet is the air with the budding haws,<br> + and the valley stretching for miles below<br> +Is white with blossoming cheery trees, as if just covered<br> + with lightest snow.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Over our heads a white cascade is<br> + gleaming against the distant hill;<br> +We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like<br> + a banner when winds are still.<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and<br> + cool the sound of the brook by our side!<br> +What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it<br> + over a land so wide?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> It is the home of the Counts of<br> + Calva; well have I known these scenes of old,<br> +Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the<br> + brooklet, the wood, and the wold.<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Hark! from the little village below us the<br> + bells of the church are ringing for rain!<br> +Priests and peasants in long procession come forth<br> + and kneel on the arid plain.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> They have not long to wait, for I<br> + see in the south uprising a little cloud,<br> +That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky<br> + above us as with a shroud.<br><p></p> + + (<i>They pass on.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE +BLACK FOREST.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>The Convent cellar.</i> FRIAR CLAUS <i>comes in with a +light and a basket of empty flagons.</i><p></p> + + <i>Friar Claus.</i> I always enter this sacred place<br> +With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace,<br> +Pausing long enough on each stair<br> +To breathe an ejaculatory prayer,<br> +And a benediction on the vines<br> +That produce these various sorts of wines!<p></p> + +For my part, I am well content<br> +That we have got through with the tedious Lent!<br> +Fasting is all very well for those<br> +Who have to contend with invisible foes;<br> +But I am quite sure it does not agree<br> +With a quiet, peaceable man like me,<br> +Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind<br> +That are always distressed in body and mind!<br> +And at times it really does me good<br> +To come down among this brotherhood,<br> +Dwelling forever under ground,<br> +Silent, contemplative, round and sound;<br> +Each one old, and brown with mould,<br> +But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth,<br> +With the latent power and love of truth,<br> +And with virtues fervent and manifold.<p></p> + +I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide,<br> +When buds are swelling on every side,<br> +And the sap begins to move in the vine.<br> +Then in all the cellars, far and wide,<br> +The oldest, as well as the newest, wine<br> +Begins to stir itself, and ferment,<br> +With a kind of revolt and discontent<br> +At being so long in darkness pent,<br> +And fain would burst from its sombre tun<br> +To bask on the hillside in the sun;<br> +As in the bosom of us poor friars,<br> +The tumult of half-subdued desires<br> +For the world that we have left behind<br> +Disturbs at times all peace of mind!<br> +And now that we have lived through Lent,<br> +My duty it is, as often before,<br> +To open awhile the prison-door,<br> +And give these restless spirits vent.<p></p> + +Now here is a cask that stands alone,<br> +And has stood a hundred years or more,<br> +Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar,<br> +Trailing and sweeping along the floor,<br> +Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave,<br> +Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave,<br> +Till his beard has grown through the table of stone!<br> +It is of the quick and not of the dead!<br> +In its veins the blood is hot and red,<br> +And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak<br> +That time may have tamed, but has not broke;<br> +It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine,<br> +Is one of the three best kinds of wine,<br> +And costs some hundred florins the ohm;<br> +But that I do not consider dear,<br> +When I remember that every year<br> +Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome.<br> +And whenever a goblet thereof I drain,<br> +The old rhyme keeps running in my brain:<p></p> + + At Bacharach on the Rhine,<br> + At Hochheim on the Main,<br> + And at Würzburg on the Stein,<br> + Grow the three best kinds of wine!<br><p></p> + +They are all good wines, and better far<br> +Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr<br> +In particular, Würzburg well may boast<br> +Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost,<br> +Which of all wines I like the most.<br> +This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking,<br> +Who seems to be much of my way of thinking.<p></p> + + (<i>Fills a flagon.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings!<br> +What a delicious fragrance springs<br> +From the deep flagon, while it fills,<br> +As of hyacinths and daffodils!<br> +Between this cask and the Abbot's lips<br> +Many have been the sips and slips;<br> +Many have been the draughts of wine,<br> +On their way to his, that have stopped at mine;<br> +And many a time my soul has hankered<br> +For a deep draught out of his silver tankard,<br> +When it should have been busy with other affairs,<br> +Less with its longings and more with its prayers.<br> +But now there is no such awkward condition,<br> +No danger of death and eternal perdition;<br> +So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all,<br> +Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul!<p></p> + + (<i>He drinks.</i>)<br><p></p> + +O cordial delicious! O soother of pain!<br> +It flashes like sunshine into my brain!<br> +A benison rest on the Bishop who sends<br> +Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends!<p></p> + +And now a flagon for such as may ask<br> +A draught from the noble Bacharach cask,<br> +And I will be gone, though I know full well<br> +The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell.<br> +Behold where he stands, all sound and good,<br> +Brown and old in his oaken hood;<br> +Silent he seems externally<br> +As any Carthusian monk may be;<br> +But within, what a spirit of deep unrest!<br> +What a seething and simmering in his breast!<br> +As if the heaving of his great heart<br> +Would burst his belt of oak apart!<br> +Let me unloose this button of wood,<br> +And quiet a little his turbulent mood.<p></p> + + (<i>Sets it running.</i>)<br><p></p> + +See! how its currents gleam and shine,<br> +As if they had caught the purple hues<br> +Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine,<br> +Descending and mingling with the dews;<br> +Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood<br> +Of the innocent boy, who, some years back,<br> +Was taken and crucified by the Jews,<br> +In that ancient town of Bacharach;<br> +Perdition upon those infidel Jews,<br> +In that ancient town of Bacharach!<br> +The beautiful town, that gives us wine<br> +With the fragrant odor of Muscadine!<br> +I should deem it wrong to let this pass<br> +Without first touching my lips to the glass,<br> +For here in the midst of the current I stand,<br> +Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river<br> +Taking toll upon either hand,<br> +And much more grateful to the giver.<p></p> + + (<i>He drinks.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Here, now, is a very inferior kind,<br> +Such as in any town you may find,<br> +Such as one might imagine would suit<br> +The rascal who drank wine out of a boot,<br> +And, after all, it was not a crime,<br> +For he won thereby Dorf Hüffelsheim.<br> +A jolly old toper! who at a pull<br> +Could drink a postilion's jack boot full,<br> +And ask with a laugh, when that was done,<br> +If the fellow had left the other one!<br> +This wine is as good as we can afford<br> +To the friars, who sit at the lower board,<br> +And cannot distinguish bad from good,<br> +And are far better off than if they could,<br> +Being rather the rude disciples of beer<br> +Than of anything more refined and dear!<p></p> + + (<i>Fills the other flagon and departs.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE SCRIPTORIUM.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +FRIAR PACIFICUS <i>transcribing and illuminating.</i><p></p> + + <i>Friar Pacificus</i> It is growing dark! Yet one line more,<br> +And then my work for today is o'er.<br> +I come again to the name of the Lord!<br> +Ere I that awful name record,<br> +That is spoken so lightly among men,<br> +Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen;<br> +Pure from blemish and blot must it be<br> +When it writes that word of mystery!<p></p> + +Thus have I labored on and on,<br> +Nearly through the Gospel of John.<br> +Can it be that from the lips<br> +Of this same gentle Evangelist,<br> +That Christ himself perhaps has kissed,<br> +Came the dread Apocalypse!<br> +It has a very awful look,<br> +As it stands there at the end of the book,<br> +Like the sun in an eclipse.<br> +Ah me! when I think of that vision divine,<br> +Think of writing it, line by line,<br> +I stand in awe of the terrible curse,<br> +Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse!<br> +God forgive me! if ever I<br> +Take aught from the book of that Prophecy,<br> +Lest my part too should be taken away<br> +From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day.<p></p> + +This is well written, though I say it!<br> +I should not be afraid to display it,<br> +In open day, on the selfsame shelf<br> +With the writings of St Thecla herself,<br> +Or of Theodosius, who of old<br> +Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold!<br> +That goodly folio standing yonder,<br> +Without a single blot or blunder,<br> +Would not bear away the palm from mine,<br> +If we should compare them line for line.<p></p> + +There, now, is an initial letter!<br> +King René himself never made a better!<br> +Finished down to the leaf and the snail,<br> +Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail!<br> +And now, as I turn the volume over,<br> +And see what lies between cover and cover,<br> +What treasures of art these pages hold,<br> +All ablaze with crimson and gold,<br> +God forgive me! I seem to feel<br> +A certain satisfaction steal<br> +Into my heart, and into my brain,<br> +As if my talent had not lain<br> +Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain.<br> +Yes, I might almost say to the Lord,<br> +Here is a copy of thy Word,<br> +Written out with much toil and pain;<br> +Take it, O Lord, and let it be<br> +As something I have done for thee!<p></p> + + (<i>He looks from the window.</i>)<br><p></p> + +How sweet the air is! How fair the scene!<br> +I wish I had as lovely a green<br> +To paint my landscapes and my leaves!<br> +How the swallows twitter under the eaves!<br> +There, now, there is one in her nest;<br> +I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast,<br> +And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook,<br> +In the margin of my Gospel book.<p></p> + + (<i>He makes a sketch.</i>)<br><p></p> + +I can see no more. Through the valley yonder<br> +A shower is passing; I hear the thunder<br> +Mutter its curses in the air,<br> +The Devil's own and only prayer!<br> +The dusty road is brown with rain,<br> +And speeding on with might and main,<br> +Hitherward rides a gallant train.<br> +They do not parley, they cannot wait,<br> +But hurry in at the convent gate.<br> +What a fair lady! and beside her<br> +What a handsome, graceful, noble rider!<br> +Now she gives him her hand to alight;<br> +They will beg a shelter for the night.<br> +I will go down to the corridor,<br> +And try to see that face once more;<br> +It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint,<br> +Or for one of the Maries I shall paint.<p></p> + + (<i>Goes out.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE CLOISTERS.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>The</i> ABBOT ERNESTUS <i>pacing to and fro.</i><p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> Slowly, slowly up the wall<br> +Steals the sunshine, steals the shade;<br> +Evening damps begin to fall,<br> +Evening shadows are displayed.<br> +Round me, o'er me, everywhere,<br> +All the sky is grand with clouds,<br> +And athwart the evening air<br> +Wheel the swallows home in crowds.<br> +Shafts of sunshine from the west<br> +Paint the dusky windows red;<br> +Darker shadows, deeper rest,<br> +Underneath and overhead.<br> +Darker, darker, and more wan,<br> +In my breast the shadows fall;<br> +Upward steals the life of man,<br> +As the sunshine from the wall.<br> +From the wall into the sky,<br> +From the roof along the spire;<br> +Ah, the souls of those that die<br> +Are but sunbeams lifted higher.<p></p> + + (<i>Enter</i> PRINCE HENRY.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Christ is arisen!<br><p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> Amen! he is arisen!<br> +His peace be with you!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Here it reigns forever!<br> +The peace of God, that passeth understanding,<br> +Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors,<br> +Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent?<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> I am.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck,<br> +Who crave your hospitality to-night.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> You are thrice welcome to our humble walls.<br> +You do us honor; and we shall requite it,<br> +I fear, but poorly, entertaining you<br> +With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine,<br> +The remnants of our Easter holidays.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau?<br> +Are all things well with them?<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> All things are well.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> A noble convent! I have known it long<br> +By the report of travellers. I now see<br> +Their commendations lag behind the truth.<br> +You lie here in the valley of the Nagold<br> +As in a nest: and the still river, gliding<br> +Along its bed, is like an admonition<br> +How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample,<br> +And your revenues large. God's benediction<br> +Rests on your convent.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> By our charities<br> +We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master,<br> +When he departed, left us in his will,<br> +As our best legacy on earth, the poor!<br> +These we have always with us; had we not,<br> +Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> If I remember right, the Counts of Calva<br> +Founded your convent.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> Even as you say.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And, if I err not, it is very old.<br><p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> Within these cloisters lie already buried<br> +Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags<br> +On which we stand, the Abbot William lies,<br> +Of blessed memory.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And whose tomb is that,<br> +Which bears the brass escutcheon?<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> A benefactor's.<br> +Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood<br> +Godfather to our bells<p>.</p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Your monks are learned<br> +And holy men, I trust.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> There are among them<br> +Learned and holy men. Yet in this age<br> +We need another Hildebrand, to shake<br> +And purify us like a mighty wind.<br> +The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder<br> +God does not lose his patience with it wholly,<br> +And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times,<br> +Within these walls, where all should be at peace,<br> +I have my trials. Time has laid his hand<br> +Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it,<br> +But as a harper lays his open palm<br> +Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.<br> +Ashes are on my head, and on my lips<br> +Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness<br> +And weariness of life, that makes me ready<br> +To say to the dead Abbots under us,<br> +"Make room for me!" Only I see the dusk<br> +Of evening twilight coming, and have not<br> +Completed half my task; and so at times<br> +The thought of my shortcomings in this life<br> +Falls like a shadow on the life to come.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> We must all die, and not the old alone;<br> +The young have no exemption from that doom.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must!<br> +That is the difference.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I have heard much laud<br> +Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium<br> +Is famous among all, your manuscripts<br> +Praised for their beauty and their excellence.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> That is indeed our boast. If you desire it,<br> +You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile<br> +Shall the Refectorarius bestow<br> +Your horses and attendants for the night.<p></p> + + (<i>They go in. The Vesper-bell rings.</i>)<br> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>THE CHAPEL.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Vespers; after which the monks retire, a chorister +leading an old monk who is blind</i>.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> They are all gone, save one who lingers,<br> +Absorbed in deep and silent prayer.<br> +As if his heart could find no rest,<br> +At times he beats his heaving breast<br> +With clenched and convulsive fingers,<br> +Then lifts them trembling in the air.<br> +A chorister, with golden hair,<br> +Guides hitherward his heavy pace.<br> +Can it be so? Or does my sight<br> +Deceive me in the uncertain light?<br> +Ah no! I recognize that face,<br> +Though Time has touched it in his flight,<br> +And changed the auburn hair to white.<br> +It is Count Hugo of the Rhine,<br> +The deadliest foe of all our race,<br> +And hateful unto me and mine!<p></p> + + <i>The Blind Monk</i>. Who is it that doth stand so near<br> +His whispered words I almost hear?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck,<br> +And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine!<br> +I know you, and I see the scar,<br> +The brand upon your forehead, shine<br> +And redden like a baleful star!<p></p> + + <i>The Blind Monk</i>. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck<br> +Of what I was. O Hoheneck!<br> +The passionate will, the pride, the wrath<br> +That bore me headlong on my path,<br> +Stumbled and staggered into fear,<br> +And failed me in my mad career,<br> +As a tired steed some evil-doer,<br> +Alone upon a desolate moor,<br> +Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind,<br> +And hearing loud and close behind<br> +The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer.<br> +Then suddenly, from the dark there came<br> +A voice that called me by my name,<br> +And said to me, "Kneel down and pray!"<br> +And so my terror passed away,<br> +Passed utterly away forever.<br> +Contrition, penitence, remorse,<br> +Came on me, with o'erwhelming force;<br> +A hope, a longing, an endeavor,<br> +By days of penance and nights of prayer,<br> +To frustrate and defeat despair!<br> +Calm, deep, and still is now my heart.<br> +With tranquil waters overflowed;<br> +A lake whose unseen fountains start,<br> +Where once the hot volcano glowed.<br> +And you, O Prince of Hoheneck!<br> +Have known me in that earlier time,<br> +A man of violence and crime,<br> +Whose passions brooked no curb nor check.<br> +Behold me now, in gentler mood,<br> +One of this holy brotherhood.<br> +Give me your hand; here let me kneel;<br> +Make your reproaches sharp as steel;<br> +Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek;<br> +No violence can harm the meek,<br> +There is no wound Christ cannot heal!<br> +Yes; lift your princely hand, and take<br> +Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek,<br> +Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Arise, Count Hugo! let there be<br> +No farther strife nor enmity<br> +Between us twain; we both have erred!<br> +Too rash in act, too wroth in word,<br> +From the beginning have we stood<br> +In fierce, defiant attitude,<br> +Each thoughtless of the other's right,<br> +And each reliant on his might.<br> +But now our souls are more subdued;<br> +The hand of God, and not in vain,<br> +Has touched us with the fire of pain.<br> +Let us kneel down, and side by side<br> +Pray, till our souls are purified,<br> +And pardon will not be denied!<p></p> + + (<i>They kneel.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>THE REFECTORY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. LUCIFER disguised +as a Friar.</i><p></p> + +<i>Friar Paul (sings).</i> Ave! color vini clari,<br> + Dulcis potus, non aman,<br> + Tua nos inebriari<br> + Digneris potentia!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> Not so much noise, my worthy freres,<br> +You'll disturb the Abbot at his prayers.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul (sings).</i> O! quam placens in colore!<br> + O! quam fragrans in odore!<br> + O! quam sapidum in ore!<br> + Dulce linguse vinculum!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> I should think your tongue had<br> +broken its chain!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul (sings).</i> Felix venter quern intrabis!<br> + Felix guttur quod rigabis!<br> + Felix os quod tu lavabis!<br> + Et beata labia!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> Peace! I say, peace!<br> +Will you never cease!<br> +You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again!<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> No danger! to-night he will let us alone,<br> +As I happen to know he has guests of his own.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> Who are they?<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> A German Prince and his train,<br> +Who arrived here just before the rain.<br> +There is with him a damsel fair to see,<br> +As slender and graceful as a reed!<br> +When she alighted from her steed,<br> +It seemed like a blossom blown from a tree.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> None of your pale-faced girls for me!<br><p></p> + + + (<i>Kisses the girl at his side</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg!<br> +do not drink any farther, I beg!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul (sings).</i> In the days of gold,<br> + The days of old,<br> + Cross of wood<br> + And bishop of gold!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert (to the girl).</i> What an infernal racket and din!<br> +No need not blush so, that's no sin.<br> +You look very holy in this disguise,<br> +Though there's something wicked in your eyes!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul (continues.)</i> Now we have changed<br> + That law so good,<br> + To cross of gold<br> + And bishop of wood!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> I like your sweet face under a hood.<br> +Sister! how came you into this way?<p></p> + + <i>Girl.</i> It was you, Friar Cuthbert, who led me astray.<br> +Have you forgotten that day in June,<br> +When the church was so cool in the afternoon,<br> +And I came in to confess my sins?<br> +That is where my ruin begins.<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> What is the name of yonder friar,<br> +With an eye that glows like a coal of fire,<br> +And such a black mass of tangled hair?<p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul.</i> He who is sitting there,<br> +With a rollicking,<br> +Devil may care,<br> +Free and easy look and air,<br> +As if he were used to such feasting and frollicking?<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> The same.<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul.</i> He's a stranger. You had better ask his name,<br> +And where he is going, and whence he came.<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> Hallo! Sir Friar!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul.</i> You must raise your voice a little higher,<br> +He does not seem to hear what you say.<br> +Now, try again! He is looking this way.<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> Hallo! Sir Friar,<br> +We wish to inquire<br> +Whence you came, and where you are going,<br> +And anything else that is worth the knowing.<br> +So be so good as to open your head.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> I am a Frenchman born and bred,<br> +Going on a pilgrimage to Rome.<br> +My home<br> +Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys,<br> +Of which, very like, you never have heard.<p></p> + + <i>Monks.</i> Never a word!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> You must know, then, it is in the diocese<br> +Called the Diocese of Vannes,<br> +In the province of Brittany.<br> +From the gray rocks of Morbihan<br> +It overlooks the angry sea;<br> +The very seashore where,<br> +In his great despair,<br> +Abbot Abelard walked to and fro,<br> +Filling the night with woe,<br> +And wailing aloud to the merciless seas<br> +The name of his sweet Heloise!<br> +Whilst overhead<br> +The convent windows gleamed as red<br> +As the fiery eyes of the monks within,<br> +Who with jovial din<br> +Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin!<br> +Ha! that is a convent! that is an abbey!<br> +Over the doors,<br> +None of your death-heads carved in wood,<br> +None of your Saints looking pious and good,<br> +None of your Patriarchs old and shabby!<br> +But the heads and tusks of boars,<br> +And the cells<br> +Hung all round with the fells<br> +of the fallow-deer,<br> +And then what cheer!<br> +What jolly, fat friars,<br> +Sitting round the great, roaring fires,<br> +Roaring louder than they,<br> +With their strong wines,<br> +And their concubines,<br> +And never a bell,<br> +With its swagger and swell,<br> +Calling you up with a start of affright<br> +In the dead of night,<br> +To send you grumbling down dark stairs,<br> +To mumble your prayers,<br> +But the cheery crow<br> +Of cocks in the yard below,<br> +After daybreak, an hour or so,<br> +And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds,<br> +These are the sounds<br> +That, instead of bells, salute the ear.<br> +And then all day<br> +Up and away<br> +Through the forest, hunting the deer!<br> +Ah, my friends! I'm afraid that here<br> +You are a little too pious, a little too tame,<br> +And the more is the shame,<br> +It is the greatest folly<br> +Not to be jolly;<br> +That's what I think!<br> +Come, drink, drink,<br> +Drink, and die game!<p></p> + + <i>Monks,</i> And your Abbot What's-his-name?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Abelard!<br><p></p> + + <i>Monks.</i> Did he drink hard?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> O, no! Not he!<br> +He was a dry old fellow,<br> +Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow.<br> +There he stood,<br> +Lowering at us in sullen mood,<br> +As if he had come into Brittany<br> +Just to reform our brotherhood!<p></p> + + (<i>A roar of laughter</i>.)<br><p></p> + +But you see<br> +It never would do!<br> +For some of us knew a thing or two,<br> +In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys!<br> +For instance, the great ado<br> +With old Fulbert's niece,<br> +The young and lovely Heloise!<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> Stop there, if you please,<br> +Till we drink to the fair Heloise.<p></p> + + <i>All (drinking and shouting).</i> Heloise! Heloise!<br><p></p> + + (<i>The Chapel-bell tolls</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (starting).</i> What is that bell for? Are you such asses<br> +As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses?<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> It is only a poor, unfortunate brother,<br> +Who is gifted with most miraculous powers<br> +Of getting up at all sorts of hours,<br> +And, by way of penance and Christian meekness,<br> +Of creeping silently out of his cell<br> +To take a pull at that hideous bell;<br> +So that all the monks who are lying awake<br> +May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake,<br> +And adapted to his peculiar weakness!<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> From frailty and fall--<br><p></p> + + <i>All.</i> Good Lord, deliver us all!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> And before the bell for matins sounds,<br> +He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds,<br> +Flashing it into our sleepy eyes,<br> +Merely to say it is time to arise.<br> +But enough of that. Go on, if you please,<br> +With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Well, it finally came to pass<br> +That, half in fun and half in malice,<br> +One Sunday at Mass<br> +We put some poison into the chalice.<br> +But, either by accident or design,<br> +Peter Abelard kept away<br> +From the chapel that day,<br> +And a poor, young friar, who in his stead<br> +Drank the sacramental wine,<br> +Fell on the steps of the altar, dead!<br> +But look! do you see at the window there<br> +That face, with a look of grief and despair,<br> +That ghastly face, as of one in pain?<p></p> + + <i>Monks.</i> Who? where?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> As I spoke, it vanished away again.<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> It is that nefarious<br> +Siebald the Refectorarius.<br> +That fellow is always playing the scout,<br> +Creeping and peeping and prowling about;<br> +And then he regales<br> +The Abbot with Scandalous tales.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers<br> +Telling scandalous tales of the others?<br> +Out upon him, the lazy loon!<br> +I would put a stop to that pretty soon,<br> +In a way he should rue it.<p></p> + + <i>Monks</i>. How shall we do it?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Do you, brother Paul,<br> +Creep under the window, close to the wall,<br> +And open it suddenly when I call.<br> +Then seize the villain by the hair,<br> +And hold him there,<br> +And punish him soundly, once for all.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert</i>. As St. Dustan of old,<br> +We are told,<br> +Once caught the Devil by the nose!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Ha! ha! that story is very clever,<br> +But has no foundation whatsoever.<br> +Quick! for I see his face again<br> +Glaring in at the window pane;<br> +Now! now! and do not spare your blows.<p></p> + + (FRIAR PAUL <i>opens the window suddenly, and seizes</i> SIEBALD. <i>They beat him.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Siebald</i>. Help! help! are you going to slay me?<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul</i>. That will teach you again to betray me!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Siebald</i>. Mercy! mercy!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul</i> (<i>shouting and beating</i>). Rumpas bellorum lorum,<br> + Vim confer amorum<br> + Morum verorum, rorun.<br> + Tu plena polorum!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Who stands in the doorway yonder,<br> +Stretching out his trembling hand,<br> +Just as Abelard used to stand,<br> +The flash of his keen, black eyes<br> +Forerunning the thunder?<p></p> + + <i>The Monks (in confusion)</i>. The Abbot! the<br> +Abbot!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)</i>. Put on your disguise!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Francis</i>. Hide the great flagon<br> +From the eyes of the dragon!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert</i>. Pull the brown hood over your face,<br> +Lest you bring me into disgrace!<p></p> + + <i>Abbot</i>. What means this revel and carouse?<br> +Is this a tavern and drinking-house?<br> +Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils,<br> +To pollute this convent with your revels?<br> +Were Peter Damian still upon earth,<br> +To be shocked by such ungodly mirth,<br> +He would write your names, with pen of gall,<br> +In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all!<br> +Away, you drunkards! to your cells,<br> +And pray till you hear the matin-bells;<br> +You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul!<br> +And as a penance mark each prayer<br> +With the scourge upon your shoulders bare;<br> +Nothing atones for such a sin<br> +But the blood that follows the discipline.<br> +And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me<br> +Alone into the sacristy;<br> +You, who should be a guide to your brothers,<br> +And are ten times worse than all the others,<br> +For you I've a draught that has long been brewing<br> +You shall do a penance worth the doing!<br> +Away to your prayers, then, one and all!<br> +I wonder the very, convent wall<br> +Does not crumble and crush you in its fall!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>The</i> ABBESS IRMINGARD <i>sitting with</i> ELSIE <i>in the +moonlight.</i><p></p> + + <i>Irmingard</i> The night is silent, the wind is still,<br> +The moon is looking from yonder hill<br> +Down upon convent, and grove, and garden;<br> +The clouds have passed away from her face,<br> +Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace,<br> +Only the tender and quiet grace<br> +Of one, whose heart had been healed with pardon!<p></p> + +And such am I. My soul within<br> +Was dark with passion and soiled with sin.<br> +But now its wounds are healed again;<br> +Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain;<br> +For across that desolate land of woe,<br> +O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go,<br> +A wind from heaven began to blow;<br> +And all my being trembled and shook,<br> +As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field,<br> +And I was healed, as the sick are healed,<br> +When fanned by the leaves of the Holy Book!<p></p> + +As thou sittest in the moonlight there,<br> +Its glory flooding thy golden hair,<br> +And the only darkness that which lies<br> +In the haunted chambers of thine eyes,<br> +I feel my soul drawn unto thee,<br> +Strangely, and strongly, and more and more,<br> +As to one I have known and loved before;<br> +For every soul is akin to me<br> +That dwells in the land of mystery!<br> +I am the Lady Irmingard,<br> +Born of a noble race and name!<br> +Many a wandering Suabian bard,<br> +Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard,<br> +Has found through me the way to fame.<br> +Brief and bright were those days, and the night<br> +Which followed was full of a lurid light.<br> +Love, that of every woman's heart<br> +Will have the whole, and not a part,<br> +That is to her, in Nature's plan,<br> +More than ambition is to man,<br> +Her light, her life, her very breath,<br> +With no alternative but death,<br> +Found me a maiden soft and young,<br> +Just from the convent's cloistered school,<br> +And seated on my lowly stool,<br> +Attentive while the minstrels sung.<p></p> + +Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall,<br> +Fairest, noblest, best of all,<br> +Was Walter of the Vogelweid,<br> +And, whatsoever may betide,<br> +Still I think of him with pride!<br> +His song was of the summer-time<br> +The very birds sang in his rhyme;<br> +The sunshine, the delicious air,<br> +The fragrance of the flowers, were there,<br> +And I grew restless as I heard,<br> +Restless and buoyant as a bird,<br> +Down soft, aërial currents sailing,<br> +O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom,<br> +And through the momentary gloom<br> +Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing,<br> +Yielding and borne I knew not where,<br> +But feeling resistance unavailing.<p></p> + +And thus, unnoticed and apart,<br> +And more by accident than choice.<br> +I listened to that single voice<br> +Until the chambers of my heart<br> +Were filled with it by night and day,<br> +One night,--it was a night in May,--<br> +Within the garden, unawares,<br> +Under the blossoms in the gloom,<br> +I heard it utter my own name<br> +With protestations and wild prayers;<br> +And it rang through me, and became<br> +Like the archangel's trump of doom,<br> +Which the soul hears, and must obey;<br> +And mine arose as from a tomb.<br> +My former life now seemed to me<br> +Such as hereafter death may be,<br> +When in the great Eternity<br> +We shall awake and find it day.<p></p> + +It was a dream, and would not stay;<br> +A dream, that in a single night<br> +Faded and vanished out of sight.<br> +My father's anger followed fast<br> +This passion, as a freshening blast<br> +Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage<br> +It may increase, but not assuage.<br> +And he exclaimed: "No wandering bard<br> +Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard!<br> +For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck<br> +By messenger and letter sues."<p></p> + +Gently, but firmly, I replied:<br> +"Henry of Hoheneck I discard!<br> +Never the hand of Irmingard<br> +Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride!"<br> +This said I, Walter, for thy sake:<br> +This said I, for I could not choose.<br> +After a pause, my father spake<br> +In that cold and deliberate tone<br> +Which turns the hearer into stone,<br> +And seems itself the act to be<br> +That follows with such dread certainty;<br> +"This, or the cloister and the veil!"<br> +No other words than these he said,<br> +But they were like a funeral wail;<br> +My life was ended, my heart was dead.<p></p> + +That night from the castle-gate went down,<br> +With silent, slow, and stealthy pace,<br> +Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds,<br> +Taking the narrow path that leads<br> +Into the forest dense and brown,<br> +In the leafy darkness of the place,<br> +One could not distinguish form nor face,<br> +Only a bulk without a shape,<br> +A darker shadow in the shade;<br> +One scarce could say it moved or stayed,<br> +Thus it was we made our escape!<br> +A foaming brook, with many a bound,<br> +Followed us like a playful hound;<br> +Then leaped before us, and in the hollow<br> +Paused, and waited for us to follow,<br> +And seemed impatient, and afraid<br> +That our tardy flight should be betrayed<br> +By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made,<br> +And when we reached the plain below,<br> +He paused a moment and drew rein<br> +To look back at the castle again;<br> +And we saw the windows all aglow<br> +With lights, that were passing to and fro;<br> +Our hearts with terror ceased to beat;<br> +The brook crept silent to our feet;<br> +We knew what most we feared to know.<br> +Then suddenly horns began to blow;<br> +And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp,<br> +And our horses snorted in the damp<br> +Night-air of the meadows green and wide,<br> +And in a moment, side by side,<br> +So close, they must have seemed but one,<br> +The shadows across the moonlight run,<br> +And another came, and swept behind,<br> +Like the shadow of clouds before the wind!<p></p> + +How I remember that breathless flight<br> +Across the moors, in the summer night!<br> +How under our feet the long, white road<br> +Backward like a river flowed,<br> +Sweeping with it fences and hedges,<br> +Whilst farther away, and overhead,<br> +Paler than I, with fear and dread,<br> +The moon fled with us, as we fled<br> +Along the forest's jagged edges!<p></p> + +All this I can remember well;<br> +But of what afterward befell<br> +I nothing farther can recall<br> +Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall;<br> +The rest is a blank and darkness all.<br> +When I awoke out of this swoon,<br> +The sun was shining, not the moon,<br> +Making a cross upon the wall<br> +With the bars of my windows narrow and tall;<br> +And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray,<br> +From early childhood, day by day,<br> +Each morning, as in bed I lay!<br> +I was lying again in my own room!<br> +And I thanked God, in my fever and pain,<br> +That those shadows on the midnight plain<br> +Were gone, and could not come again!<br> +I struggled no longer with my doom!<br> +This happened many years ago.<br> +I left my father's home to come<br> +Like Catherine to her martyrdom,<br> +For blindly I esteemed it so.<br> +And when I heard the convent door<br> +Behind me close, to ope no more,<br> +I felt it smite me like a blow,<br> +Through all my limbs a shudder ran,<br> +And on my bruised spirit fell<br> +The dampness of my narrow cell<br> +As night-air on a wounded man,<br> +Giving intolerable pain.<p></p> + +But now a better life began,<br> +I felt the agony decrease<br> +By slow degrees, then wholly cease,<br> +Ending in perfect rest and peace!<br> +It was not apathy, nor dulness,<br> +That weighed and pressed upon my brain,<br> +But the same passion I had given<br> +To earth before, now turned to heaven<br> +With all its overflowing fulness.<p></p> + +Alas! the world is full of peril!<br> +The path that runs through the fairest meads,<br> +On the sunniest side of the valley, leads<br> +Into a region bleak and sterile!<br> +Alike in the high-born and the lowly,<br> +The will is feeble, and passion strong.<br> +We cannot sever right from wrong;<br> +Some falsehood mingles with all truth;<br> +Nor is it strange the heart of youth<br> +Should waver and comprehend but slowly<br> +The things that are holy and unholy!<p></p> + +But in this sacred and calm retreat,<br> +We are all well and safely shielded<br> +From winds that blow, and waves that beat,<br> +From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat,<br> +To which the strongest hearts have yielded.<br> +Here we stand as the Virgins Seven,<br> +For our celestial bridegroom yearning;<br> +Our hearts are lamps forever burning,<br> +With a steady and unwavering flame,<br> +Pointing upward, forever the same,<br> +Steadily upward toward the Heaven!<p></p> + +The moon is hidden behind a cloud;<br> +A sudden darkness fills the room,<br> +And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom,<br> +Shine like jewels in a shroud.<br> +On the leaves is a sound of falling rain;<br> +A bird, awakened in its nest,<br> +Gives a faint twitter of unrest,<br> +Then smoothes its plumes and sleeps again.<p></p> + +No other sounds than these I hear;<br> +The hour of midnight must be near.<br> +Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue<br> +Of riding many a dusty league;<br> +Sink, then, gently to thy slumber;<br> +Me so many cares encumber,<br> +So many ghosts, and forms of fright,<br> +Have started from their graves to-night,<br> +They have driven sleep from mine eyes away:<br> +I will go down to the chapel and pray.<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>V.</h2><br><p></p> + +<h2>A COVERED BRIDGE AT LUCERNE.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. God's blessing on the architects who build<br> +The bridges o'er swift rivers and abysses<br> +Before impassable to human feet,<br> +No less than on the builders of cathedrals,<br> +Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across<br> +The dark and terrible abyss of Death.<br> +Well has the name of Pontifex been given<br> +Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder<br> +And architect of the invisible bridge<br> +That leads from earth to heaven.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> How dark it grows!<br> +What are these paintings on the walls around us?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> The Dance Macaber!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> What?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> The Dance of Death!<br> +All that go to and fro must look upon it,<br> +Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath,<br> +Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river<br> +Rushes, impetuous as the river of life,<br> +With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright,<br> +Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> O, yes! I see it now!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> The grim musician<br> +Leads all men through the mazes of that dance,<br> +To different sounds in different measures moving;<br> +Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum,<br> +To tempt or terrify.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> What is this picture?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> It is a young man singing to a nun,<br> +Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling<br> +Turns round to look at him, and Death, meanwhile,<br> +Is putting out the candles on the altar!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> Ah, what a pity 't is that she should listen<br> +to such songs, when in her orisons<br> +She might have heard in heaven the angels singing!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Here he has stolen a jester's cap and bells,<br> +And dances with the Queen.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> A foolish jest!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> And here the heart of the new-wedded wife,<br> +Coming from church with her beloved lord,<br> +He startles with the rattle of his drum.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> Ah, that is sad! And yet perhaps 't is best<br> +That she should die, with all the sunshine on her,<br> +And all the benedictions of the morning,<br> +Before this affluence of golden light<br> +Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray,<br> +Then into darkness!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Under it is written,<br> +"Nothing but death shall separate thee and me!"<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> And what is this, that follows close upon it?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Death, playing on a ducimer. Behind him,<br> +A poor old woman, with a rosary,<br> +Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet<br> +Were swifter to o'ertake him. Underneath,<br> +The inscription reads, "Better is Death than Life."<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Better is Death than Life! Ah yes! to thousands<br> +Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings<br> +That song of consolation, till the air<br> +Rings with it, and they cannot choose but follow<br> +Whither he leads. And not the old alone,<br> +But the young also hear it, and are still.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Yes, in their sadder moments. 'T is the sound<br> +Of their own hearts they hear, half full of tears,<br> +Which are like crystal cups, half filled with water.<br> +Responding to the pressure of a finger<br> +With music sweet and low and melancholy.<br> +Let us go forward, and no longer stay<br> +In this great picture-gallery of Death!<br> +I hate it! ay, the very thought of it!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Why is it hateful to you?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> For the reason<br> +That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely,<br> +And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> The grave is but a covered bridge,<br> +leading from light to light, through a brief darkness!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry (emerging from the bridge).</i> I breathe again more<br> + freely! Ah, how pleasant<br> +To come once more into the light of day,<br> +Out of that shadow of death! To hear again<br> +The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground,<br> +And not upon those hollow planks, resounding<br> +With a sepulchral echo, like the clods<br> +On coffins in a churchyard! Yonder lies<br> +The Lake of the Four Forest-Towns, apparelled<br> +In light, and lingering, like a village maiden,<br> +Hid in the bosom of her native mountains,<br> +Then pouring all her life into another's,<br> +Changing her name and being! Overhead,<br> +Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air,<br> +Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines.<p></p> + + (<i>They pass on</i>.)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +PRINCE HENRY <i>and</i> ELSIE <i>crossing, with attendants.</i><p></p> + + <i>Guide.</i> This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge.<br> +With a single arch, from ridge to ridge,<br> +It leaps across the terrible chasm<br> +Yawning beneath us, black and deep,<br> +As if, in some convulsive spasm,<br> +the summits of the hills had cracked,<br> +and made a road for the cataract,<br> +That raves and rages down the steep!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (under the bridge).</i> Ha! ha!<br><p></p> + + <i>Guide.</i> Never any bridge but this<br> +Could stand across the wild abyss;<br> +All the rest, of wood or stone,<br> +By the Devil's hand were overthrown.<br> +He toppled crags from the precipice,<br> +And whatsoe'er was built by day<br> +In the night was swept away;<br> +None could stand but this alone.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (under the bridge).</i> Ha! ha!<br><p></p> + + <i>Guide.</i> I showed you in the valley a boulder<br> +Marked with the imprint of his shoulder;<br> +As he was bearing it up this way,<br> +A peasant, passing, cried, "Herr Jé!"<br> +And the Devil dropped it in his fright,<br> +And vanished suddenly out of sight!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (under the bridge).</i> Ha! ha!<br><p></p> + + <i>Guide.</i> Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel,<br> +For pilgrims on their way to Rome,<br> +Built this at last, with a single arch,<br> +Under which, on its endless march,<br> +Runs the river, white with foam,<br> +Like a thread through the eye of a needle.<br> +And the Devil promised to let it stand,<br> +Under compact and condition<br> +That the first living thing which crossed<br> +Should be surrendered into his hand,<br> +And be beyond redemption lost.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (under the bridge).</i> Ha! ha! perdition!<br><p></p> + + <i>Guide.</i> At length, the bridge being all completed,<br> +The Abbot, standing at its head,<br> +Threw across it a loaf of bread,<br> +Which a hungry dog sprang after,<br> +And the rocks reechoed with peals of laughter<br> +To see the Devil thus defeated!<p></p> + + (<i>They pass on</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> (<i>under the bridge</i>) Ha! ha! defeated!<br> +For journeys and for crimes like this<br> +To let the bridge stand o'er the abyss!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE ST. GOTHARD PASS.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers<br> +Leap down to different seas, and as they roll<br> +Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence<br> +Becomes a benefaction to the towns<br> +They visit, wandering silently among them,<br> +Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses<br> +Grow on these rocks.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Yet are they not forgotten;<br> +Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft<br> +So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away<br> +Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me<br> +The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels<br> +Bear thee across these chasms and precipices,<br> +Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was,<br> +Upon angelic shoulders! Even now<br> +I Seem uplifted by them, light as air!<br> +What sound is that?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. The tumbling avalanches!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> How awful, yet how beautiful!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. These are<br> +The voices of the mountains! Thus they ope<br> +Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other,<br> +In the primeval language, lost to man.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i>. What land is this that spreads itself beneath us?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Italy! Italy!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> Land of the Madonna!<br> +How beautiful it is! It seems a garden<br> +Of Paradise!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. Nay, of Gethsemane<br> +To thee and me, of passion and of prayer!<br> +Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago<br> +I wandered as a youth among its bowers,<br> +And never from my heart has faded quite<br> +Its memory, that, like a summer sunset,<br> +Encircles with a ring of purple light<br> +All the horizon of my youth.<p></p> + + <i>Guide</i>. O friends!<br> +The days are short, the way before us long;<br> +We must not linger, if we think to reach<br> +The inn at Belinzona before vespers!<p></p> + + (<i>They pass on</i>.)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>A halt under the trees at noon</i>.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Here let us pause a moment in the trembling<br> +Shadow and sunshine of the roadside trees,<br> +And, our tired horses in a group assembling,<br> +Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze<br> +Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants;<br> +They lag behind us with a slower pace;<br> +We will await them under the green pendants<br> +Of the great willows in this shady place.<br> +Ho, Barbarossa! how thy mottled haunches<br> +Sweat with this canter over hill and glade!<br> +Stand still, and let these overhanging branches<br> +Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> What a delightful landscape spreads before us,<br> +Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and there!<br> +And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o'er us,<br> +Blossoms of grapevines scent the sunny air.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Hark! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents holy<br> +Fill the warm noon with music sad and sweet!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly<br> +On their long journey, with uncovered feet.<p></p> + + <i>Pilgrims (chaunting the Hymn of St. Hildebert)</i><br> + Me receptet Sion illa,<br> + Sion David, urbs tranquilla,<br> + Cujus faber auctor lucis,<br> + Cujus portae lignum crucis,<br> + Cujus claves lingua Petri,<br> + Cujus cives semper laeti,<br> + Cujus muri lapis vivus,<br> + Cujus custos Rex festivus!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (as a Friar in the procession).</i> Here am I, too, in the<br> + pious band,<br> +In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed!<br> +The soles of my feet are as hard and tanned<br> +As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand,<br> +The Holy Satan, who made the wives<br> +Of the bishops lead such shameful lives.<br> +All day long I beat my breast,<br> +And chaunt with a most particular zest<br> +The Latin hymns, which I understand<br> +Quite as well, I think, as the rest.<br> +And at night such lodging in barns and sheds,<br> +Such a hurly-burly in country inns,<br> +Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads,<br> +Such a helter-skelter of prayers and sins!<br> +Of all the contrivances of the time<br> +For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime,<br> +There is none so pleasing to me and mine<br> +As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> If from the outward man we judge the inner,<br> +And cleanliness is godliness, I fear<br> +A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sinner,<br> +Must be that Carmelite now passing near.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> There is my German Prince again,<br> +Thus far on his journey to Salern,<br> +And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain<br> +Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain;<br> +But it's a long road that has no turn!<br> +Let them quietly hold their way,<br> +I have also a part in the play.<br> +But first I must act to my heart's content<br> +This mummery and this merriment,<br> +And drive this motley flock of sheep<br> +Into the fold, where drink and sleep<br> +The jolly old friars of Benevent.<br> +Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh<br> +To see these beggars hobble along,<br> +Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff,<br> +Chanting their wonderful piff and paff,<br> +And, to make up for not understanding the song,<br> +Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong!<br> +Were it not for my magic garters and staff,<br> +And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff,<br> +And the mischief I make in the idle throng,<br> +I should not continue the business long.<p></p> + + <i>Pilgrims (chaunting).</i> In hâc uibe, lux solennis,<br> + Ver aeternum, pax perennis,<br> + In hâc odor implens caelos,<br> + In hâc semper festum melos!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Do you observe that monk among the train,<br> +Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass,<br> +As a cathedral spout pours out the rain,<br> +And this way turns his rubicund, round face?<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> It is the same who, on the Strasburg square,<br> +Preached to the people in the open air.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And he has crossed o'er mountain, field, and fell,<br> +On that good steed, that seems to bear him well,<br> +The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray,<br> +His own stout legs! He, too, was in the play,<br> +Both as King Herod and Ben Israel.<br> +Good morrow, Friar!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> Good morrow, noble Sir!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I speak in German, for, unless I err,<br> +You are a German.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> I cannot gainsay you.<br> +But by what instinct, or what secret sign,<br> +Meeting me here, do you straightway divine<br> +That northward of the Alps my country lies?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Your accent, like St, Peter's, would betray you,<br> +Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes,<br> +Moreover, we have seen your face before,<br> +And heard you preach at the Cathedral door<br> +On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg square<br> +We were among the crowd that gathered there,<br> +And saw you play the Rabbi with great skill,<br> +As if, by leaning o'er so many years<br> +To walk with little children, your own will<br> +Had caught a childish attitude from theirs,<br> +A kind of stooping in its form and gait,<br> +And could no longer stand erect and straight.<br> +Whence come you now?<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> From the old monastery<br> +Of Hirschau, in the forest; being sent<br> +Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent,<br> +To see the image of the Virgin Mary,<br> +That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks,<br> +And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks,<br> +To touch the hearts of the impenitent.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> O, had I faith, as in the days gone by,<br> +That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (at a distance).</i> Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> Farewell, Prince!<br> +I cannot stay to argue and convince.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> This is indeed the blessed Mary's land,<br> +Virgin and Mother of our dear Redeemer!<br> +All hearts are touched and softened at her name;<br> +Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand,<br> +The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant,<br> +The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer,<br> +Pay homage to her as one ever present!<br> +And even as children, who have much offended<br> +A too indulgent father, in great shame,<br> +Penitent, and yet not daring unattended<br> +To go into his presence, at the gate<br> +Speak with their sister, and confiding wait<br> +Till she goes in before and intercedes;<br> +So men, repenting of their evil deeds,<br> +And yet not venturing rashly to draw near<br> +With their requests an angry father's ear,<br> +Offer to her their prayers and their confession,<br> +And she for them in heaven makes intercession.<br> +And if our Faith had given us nothing more<br> +Than this example of all womanhood,<br> +So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good,<br> +So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure,<br> +This were enough to prove it higher and truer<br> +Than all the creeds the world had known before.<p></p> + +<i>Pilgrims (chaunting afar off)</i>. Urbs ccelestis, urbs beata,<br> + Supra petram collocata,<br> + Urbs in portu satis tuto<br> + De longinquo te saluto,<br> + Te saluto, te suspiro,<br> + Te affecto, te requiro!<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE INN AT GENOA.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>A terrace overlooking the sea. Night.</i><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> It is the sea, it is the sea,<br> +In all its vague immensity,<br> +Fading and darkening in the distance!<br> +Silent, majestical, and slow,<br> +The white ships haunt it to and fro,<br> +With all their ghostly sails unfurled,<br> +As phantoms from another world<br> +Haunt the dim confines of existence!<br> +But ah! how few can comprehend<br> +Their signals, or to what good end<br> +From land to land they come and go!<br> +Upon a sea more vast and dark<br> +The spirits of the dead embark,<br> +All voyaging to unknown coasts.<br> +We wave our farewells from the shore,<br> +And they depart, and come no more,<br> +Or come as phantoms and as ghosts.<p></p> + +Above the darksome sea of death<br> +Looms the great life that is to be,<br> +A land of cloud and mystery,<br> +A dim mirage, with shapes of men<br> +Long dead, and passed beyond our ken.<br> +Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath<br> +Till the fair pageant vanisheth,<br> +Leaving us in perplexity,<br> +And doubtful whether it has been<br> +A vision of the world unseen,<br> +Or a bright image of our own<br> +Against the sky in vapors thrown.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (singing from the sea)</i>. Thou didst not make it, thou<br> + canst not mend it,<br> +But thou hast the power to end it!<br> +The sea is silent, the sea is discreet,<br> +Deep it lies at thy very feet;<br> +There is no confessor like unto Death!<br> +Thou canst not see him, but he is near;<br> +Thou needest not whisper above thy breath,<br> +And he will hear;<br> +He will answer the questions,<br> +The vague surmises and suggestions,<br> +That fill thy soul with doubt and fear!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. The fisherman, who lies afloat,<br> +With shadowy sail, in yonder boat,<br> +Is singing softly to the Night!<br> +But do I comprehend aright<br> +The meaning of the words he sung<br> +So sweetly in his native tongue?<br> +Ah, yes! the sea is still and deep.<br> +All things within its bosom sleep!<br> +A single step, and all is o'er;<br> +A plunge, a bubble, and no more;<br> +And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free<br> +From martyrdom and agony.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie (coming from her chamber upon the terrace).</i><br> +The night is calm and cloudless,<br> +And still as still can be,<br> +And the stars come forth to listen<br> +To the music of the sea.<br> +They gather, and gather, and gather,<br> +Until they crowd the sky,<br> +And listen, in breathless silence,<br> +To the solemn litany.<br> +It begins in rocky caverns,<br> +As a voice that chaunts alone<br> +To the pedals of the organ<br> +In monotonous undertone;<br> +And anon from shelving beaches,<br> +And shallow sands beyond,<br> +In snow-white robes uprising<br> +The ghostly choirs respond.<br> +And sadly and unceasing<br> +The mournful voice sings on,<br> +And the snow-white choirs still answer<br> +Christe eleison!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Angel of God! thy finer sense perceives<br> +Celestial and perpetual harmonies!<br> +Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes,<br> +Hears the archangel's trumpet in the breeze,<br> +And where the forest rolls, or ocean heaves,<br> +Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas,<br> +And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves.<br> +But I hear discord only and despair,<br> +And whispers as of demons in the air!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>AT SEA.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + <i>Il Padrone.</i> The wind upon our quarter lies,<br> +And on before the freshening gale,<br> +That fills the snow-white lateen sail,<br> +Swiftly our light felucca flies.<br> +Around, the billows burst and foam;<br> +They lift her o'er the sunken rock,<br> +They beat her sides with many a shock,<br> +And then upon their flowing dome<br> +They poise her, like a weathercock!<br> +Between us and the western skies<br> +The hills of Corsica arise;<br> +Eastward, in yonder long, blue line,<br> +The summits of the Apennine,<br> +And southward, and still far away,<br> +Salerno, on its sunny bay.<br> +You cannot see it, where it lies.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Ah, would that never more mine eyes<br> +Might see its towers by night or day!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Behind us, dark and awfully,<br> +There comes a cloud out of the sea,<br> +That bears the form of a hunted deer,<br> +With hide of brown, and hoofs of black,<br> +And antlers laid upon its back,<br> +And fleeing fast and wild with fear,<br> +As if the hounds were on its track!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and falls<br> +In shapeless masses, like the walls<br> +Of a burnt city. Broad and red<br> +The fires of the descending sun<br> +Glare through the windows, and o'erhead,<br> +Athwart the vapors, dense and dun,<br> +Long shafts of silvery light arise,<br> +Like rafters that support the skies!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> See! from its summit the lurid levin<br> +Flashes downward without warning,<br> +As Lucifer, son of the morning,<br> +Fell from the battlements of heaven!<p></p> + + <i>Il Padrone.</i> I must entreat you, friends, below!<br> +The angry storm begins to blow,<br> +For the weather changes with the moon.<br> +All this morning, until noon,<br> +We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws<br> +Struck the sea with their cat's-paws.<br> +Only a little hour ago<br> +I was whistling to Saint Antonio<br> +For a capful of wind to fill our sail,<br> +And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale.<br> +Last night I saw St. Elmo's stars,<br> +With their glimmering lanterns, all at play<br> +On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars,<br> +And I knew we should have foul weather to-day.<br> +Cheerily, my hearties! yo heave ho!<br> +Brail up the mainsail, and let her go<br> +As the winds will and Saint Antonio!<p></p> + +Do you see that Livornese felucca,<br> +That vessel to the windward yonder,<br> +Running with her gunwale under?<br> +I was looking when the wind o'ertook her,<br> +She had all sail set, and the only wonder<br> +Is that at once the strength of the blast<br> +Did not carry away her mast.<br> +She is a galley of the Gran Duca,<br> +That, through the fear of the Algerines,<br> +Convoys those lazy brigantines,<br> +Laden with wine and oil from Lucca.<br> +Now all is ready, high and low;<br> +Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio!<p></p> + +Ha! that is the first dash of the rain,<br> +With a sprinkle of spray above the rails,<br> +Just enough to moisten our sails,<br> +And make them ready for the strain.<br> +See how she leaps, as the blasts o'ertake her,<br> +And speeds away with a bone in her mouth!<br> +Now keep her head toward the south,<br> +And there is no danger of bank or breaker.<br> +With the breeze behind us, on we go;<br> +Not too much, good Saint Antonio!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br> +<h2>VI.</h2> +<br> + +<h2>THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO.</h2> + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br> +<i>A traveling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate +of the College.</i><p></p> + + <i>Scholastic.</i> There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield,<br> +Hung up as a challenge to all the field!<br> +One hundred and twenty-five propositions,<br> +Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue<br> +Against all disputants, old and young.<br> +Let us see if doctors or dialecticians<br> +Will dare to dispute my definitions,<br> +Or attack any one of my learned theses.<br> +Here stand I; the end shall be as God pleases.<br> +I think I have proved, by profound research<br> +The error of all those doctrines so vicious<br> +Of the old Areopagite Dionysius,<br> +That are making such terrible work in the churches,<br> +By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East,<br> +And done into Latin by that Scottish beast,<br> +Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain,<br> +In the face of the truth, the error infernal,<br> +That the universe is and must be eternal;<br> +At first laying down, as a fact fundamental,<br> +That nothing with God can be accidental;<br> +Then asserting that God before the creation<br> +Could not have existed, because it is plain<br> +That, had he existed, he would have created;<br> +Which is begging the question that should be debated,<br> +And moveth me less to anger than laughter.<br> +All nature, he holds, is a respiration<br> +Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter<br> +Will inhale it into his bosom again,<br> +So that nothing but God alone will remain.<br> +And therein he contradicteth himself;<br> +For he opens the whole discussion by stating,<br> +That God can only exist in creating.<br> +That question I think I have laid on the shelf!<p></p> + + (<i>He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and followed by pupils.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Doctor Serafino.</i> I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain,<br> +That a word which is only conceived in the brain<br> +Is a type of eternal Generation;<br> +The spoken word is the Incarnation.<p></p> + + <i>Doctor Cherubino.</i> What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic,<br> +With all his wordy chaffer and traffic?<p></p> + + <i>Doctor Serafino.</i> You make but a paltry show of resistance;<br> +Universals have no real existence!<p></p> + + <i>Doctor Cherubino.</i> Your words are but idle and empty chatter;<br> +Ideas are eternally joined to matter!<p></p> + + <i>Doctor Serafino</i>. May the Lord have mercy on your position,<br> +You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs!<p></p> + + <i>Doctor Cherubino</i>. May he send your soul to eternal perdition,<br> +For your Treatise on the Irregular Verbs!<p></p> + + (<i>They rush out fighting. Two Scholars come in.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>First Scholar</i>. Monte Cassino, then, is your College.<br> +What think you of ours here at Salern?<p></p> + + <i>Second Scholar</i>. To tell the truth, I arrived so lately,<br> +I hardly yet have had time to discern.<br> +So much, at least, I am bound to acknowledge:<br> +The air seems healthy, the buildings stately,<br> +And on the whole I like it greatly.<p></p> + + <i>First Scholar</i>. Yes, the air is sweet; the Calabrian hills<br> +Send us down puffs of mountain air;<br> +And in summer time the sea-breeze fills<br> +With its coolness cloister, and court, and square.<br> +Then at every season of the year<br> +There are crowds of guests and travellers here;<br> +Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, and traders<br> +From the Levant, with figs and wine,<br> +And bands of wounded and sick Crusaders,<br> +Coming back from Palestine.<p></p> + + <i>Second Scholar</i>. And what are the studies you pursue?<br> +What is the course you here go through?<p></p> + + <i>First Scholar</i>. The first three years of the college course<br> +Are given to Logic alone, as the source<br> +Of all that is noble, and wise, and true.<p></p> + + <i>Second Scholar</i>. That seems rather strange, I must confess.<br> +In a Medical School; yet, nevertheless,<br> +You doubtless have reasons for that.<p></p> + + <i>First Scholar</i>. Oh yes!<br> +For none but a clever dialectician<br> +Can hope to become a great physician;<br> +That has been settled long ago.<br> +Logic makes an important part<br> +Of the mystery of the healing art;<br> +For without it how could you hope to show<br> +That nobody knows so much as you know?<br> +After this there are five years more<br> +Devoted wholly to medicine,<br> +With lectures on chirurgical lore,<br> +And dissections of the bodies of swine,<br> +As likest the human form divine.<p></p> + + <i>Second Scholar</i>. What are the books now most in vogue?<br><p></p> + + <i>First Scholar</i>. Quite an extensive catalogue;<br> +Mostly, however, books of our own;<br> +As Gariopontus' Passionarius,<br> +And the writings of Matthew Platearius;<br> +And a volume universally known<br> +As the Regimen of the School of Salern,<br> +For Robert of Normandy written in terse<br> +And very elegant Latin verse.<br> +Each of these writings has its turn.<br> +And when at length we have finished these,<br> +Then comes the struggle for degrees,<br> +With all the oldest and ablest critics;<br> +The public thesis and disputation,<br> +Question, and answer, and explanation<br> +Of a passage out of Hippocrates,<br> +Or Aristotle's Analytics.<br> +There the triumphant Magister stands!<br> +A book is solemnly placed in his hands,<br> +On which he swears to follow the rule<br> +And ancient forms of the good old School;<br> +To report if any confectionarius<br> +Mingles his drugs with matters various,<br> +And to visit his patients twice a day,<br> +And once in the night, if they live in town,<br> +And if they are poor, to take no pay.<br> +Having faithfully promised these,<br> +His head is crowned with a laurel crown;<br> +A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his hand,<br> +The Magister Artium et Physices<br> +Goes forth from the school like a lord of the land.<br> +And now, as we have the whole morning before us<br> +Let us go in, if you make no objection,<br> +And listen awhile to a learned prelection<br> +On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus.<p></p> + + (<i>They go in. Enter</i> LUCIFER <i>as a Doctor.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. This is the great School of Salern!<br> +A land of wrangling and of quarrels,<br> +Of brains that seethe, and hearts that burn,<br> +Where every emulous scholar hears,<br> +In every breath that comes to his ears,<br> +The rustling of another's laurels!<br> +The air of the place is called salubrious;<br> +The neighborhood of Vesuvius lends it<br> +An odor volcanic, that rather mends it,<br> +And the buildings have an aspect lugubrious,<br> +That inspires a feeling of awe and terror<br> +Into the heart of the beholder,<br> +And befits such an ancient homestead of error,<br> +Where the old falsehoods moulder and smoulder,<br> +And yearly by many hundred hands<br> +Are carried away, in the zeal of youth,<br> +And sown like tares in the field of truth,<br> +To blossom and ripen in other lands.<br> +What have we here, affixed to the gate?<br> +The challenge of some scholastic wight,<br> +Who wishes to hold a public debate<br> +On sundry questions wrong or right!<br> +Ah, now this is my great delight!<br> +For I have often observed of late<br> +That such discussions end in a fight.<br> +Let us see what the learned wag maintains<br> +With such a prodigal waste of brains.<p></p> + + (<i>Reads.</i>)<br><p></p> + +"Whether angels in moving from place to place<br> +Pass through the intermediate space.<br> +Whether God himself is the author of evil,<br> +Or whether that is the work of the Devil.<br> +When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell,<br> +And whether he now is chained in hell."<p></p> + +I think I can answer that question well!<br> +So long as the boastful human mind<br> +Consents in such mills as this to grind,<br> +I sit very firmly upon my throne!<br> +Of a truth it almost makes me laugh,<br> +To see men leaving the golden grain<br> +To gather in piles the pitiful chaff<br> +That old Peter Lombard thrashed with his brain,<br> +To have it caught up and tossed again<br> +On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Cologne!<p></p> + +But my guests approach! there is in the air<br> +A fragrance, like that of the Beautiful Garden<br> +Of Paradise, in the days that were!<br> +An odor of innocence, and of prayer,<br> +And of love, and faith that never fails,<br> +Which as the fresh-young heart exhales<br> +Before it begins to wither and harden!<br> +I cannot breathe such an atmosphere!<br> +My soul is filled with a nameless fear,<br> +That, after all my trouble and pain,<br> +After all my restless endeavor,<br> +The youngest, fairest soul of the twain,<br> +The most ethereal, most divine,<br> +Will escape from my hands forever and ever.<br> +But the other is already mine!<br> +Let him live to corrupt his race,<br> +Breathing among them, with every breath,<br> +Weakness, selfishness, and the base<br> +And pusillanimous fear of death.<br> +I know his nature, and I know<br> +That of all who in my ministry<br> +Wander the great earth to and fro,<br> +And on my errands come and go,<br> +The safest and subtlest are such as he.<p></p> + + (<i>Enter</i> PRINCE HENRY <i>and</i> ELSIE <i>with attendants</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Can you direct us to Friar Angelo?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> He stands before you.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Then you know our purpose.<br> +I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and this<br> +The maiden that I spake of in my letters.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> It is a very grave and solemn business!<br> +We must not be precipitate. Does she<br> +Without compulsion, of her own free will,<br> +Consent to this?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Against all opposition,<br> +Against all prayers, entreaties, protestations.<br> +She will not be persuaded.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> That is strange!<br> +Have you thought well of it?<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I come not here<br> +To argue, but to die. Your business is not<br> +to question, but to kill me. I am ready.<br> +I am impatient to be gone from here<br> +Ere any thoughts of earth disturb again<br> +The spirit of tranquillity within me.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Would I had not come here<br> + Would I were dead,<br> +And thou wert in thy cottage in the forest,<br> +And hadst not known me! Why have I done this?<br> +Let me go back and die.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> It cannot be;<br> +Not if these cold, flat stones on which we tread<br> +Were coulters heated white, and yonder gateway<br> +Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold heat.<br> +I must fulfil my purpose.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I forbid it!<br> +Not one step farther. For I only meant<br> +To put thus far thy courage to the proof.<br> +It is enough. I, too, have courage to die,<br> +For thou hast taught me!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> O my Prince! remember<br> +Your promises. Let me fulfill my errand.<br> +You do not look on life and death as I do.<br> +There are two angels, that attend unseen<br> +Each one of us, and in great books record<br> +Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down<br> +The good ones, after every action closes<br> +His volume, and ascends with it to God.<br> +The other keeps his dreadful day-book open<br> +Till sunset, that we may repent; which doing,<br> +The record of the action fades away,<br> +And leaves a line of white across the page.<br> +Now if my act be good, as I believe it,<br> +It cannot be recalled. It is already<br> +Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished.<br> +The rest is yours. Why wait you? I am ready.<p></p> + + (<i>To her attendants.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Weep not, my friends! rather rejoice with me.<br> +I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone,<br> +And you will have another friend in heaven.<br> +Then start not at the creaking of the door<br> +Through which I pass. I see what lies beyond it.<p></p> + + (<i>To</i> PRINCE HENRY.)<br><p></p> + +And you, O Prince! bear back my benison<br> +Unto my father's house, and all within it.<br> +This morning in the church I prayed for them,<br> +After confession, after absolution,<br> +When my whole soul was white, I prayed for them.<br> +God will take care of them, they need me not.<br> +And in your life let my remembrance linger,<br> +As something not to trouble and disturb it,<br> +But to complete it, adding life to life.<br> +And if at times beside the evening fire<br> +You see my face among the other faces,<br> +Let it not be regarded as a ghost<br> +That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you.<br> +Nay, even as one of your own family,<br> +Without whose presence there were something wanting.<br> +I have no more to say. Let us go in.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Friar Angelo! I charge you on your life,<br> +Believe not what she says, for she is mad,<br> +And comes here not to die, but to be healed.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Alas! Prince Henry!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Come with me; this way.<br><p></p> + + (ELSIE <i>goes in with</i> LUCIFER, <i>who thrusts</i> PRINCE HENRY <i>back and closes the door.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Gone! and the light of all my life gone with her!<br> +A sudden darkness falls upon the world!<p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> News from the Prince!<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Of death or life?<br><p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> You put your questions eagerly!<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Answer me, then! How is the Prince?<br><p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> I left him only two hours since<br> +Homeward returning down the river,<br> +As strong and well as if God, the Giver,<br> +Had given him back in his youth again.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula (despairing).</i> Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead!<br><p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> That, my good woman, I have not said.<br> +Don't cross the bridge till you come to it,<br> +Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Keep me no longer in this pain!<br><p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> It is true your daughter is no more;--<br> +That is, the peasant she was before.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Alas! I am simple and lowly bred<br> +I am poor, distracted, and forlorn.<br> +And it is not well that you of the court<br> +Should mock me thus, and make a sport<br> +Of a joyless mother whose child is dead,<br> +For you, too, were of mother, born!<p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well!<br> +You will learn ere long how it all befell.<br> +Her heart for a moment never failed;<br> +But when they reached Salerno's gate,<br> +The Prince's nobler self prevailed,<br> +And saved her for a nobler fate,<br> +And he was healed, in his despair,<br> +By the touch of St. Matthew's sacred bones;<br> +Though I think the long ride in the open air,<br> +That pilgrimage over stocks and stones,<br> +In the miracle must come in for a share!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Virgin! who lovest the poor and lonely,<br> +If the loud cry of a mother's heart<br> +Can ever ascend to where thou art,<br> +Into thy blessed hands and holy<br> +Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving!<br> +Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it<br> +Into the awful presence of God;<br> +For thy feet with holiness are shod,<br> +And if thou bearest it he will hear it.<br> +Our child who was dead again is living!<p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> I did not tell you she was dead;<br> +If you thought so 'twas no fault of mine;<br> +At this very moment, while I speak,<br> +They are sailing homeward down the Rhine,<br> +In a splendid barge, with golden prow,<br> +And decked with banners white and red<br> +As the colors on your daughter's cheek.<br> +They call her the Lady Alicia now;<br> +For the Prince in Salerno made a vow<br> +That Elsie only would he wed.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Jesu Maria! what a change!<br> +All seems to me so weird and strange!<p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> I saw her standing on the deck,<br> +Beneath an awning cool and shady;<br> +Her cap of velvet could not hold<br> +The tresses of her hair of gold,<br> +That flowed and floated like the stream,<br> +And fell in masses down her neck.<br> +As fair and lovely did she seem<br> +As in a story or a dream<br> +Some beautiful and foreign lady.<br> +And the Prince looked so grand and proud,<br> +And waved his hand thus to the crowd<br> +That gazed and shouted from the shore,<br> +All down the river, long and loud.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> We shall behold our child once more;<br> +She is not dead! She is not dead!<br> +God, listening, must have overheard<br> +The prayers, that, without sound or word,<br> +Our hearts in secrecy have said!<br> +O, bring me to her; for mine eyes<br> +Are hungry to behold her face;<br> +My very soul within me cries;<br> +My very hands seem to caress her,<br> +To see her, gaze at her, and bless her;<br> +Dear Elsie, child of God and grace!<p></p> + + (<i>Goes out toward the garden.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> There goes the good woman out of her head;<br> +And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here;<br> +A very capacious flagon of beer,<br> +And a very portentous loaf of bread.<br> +One would say his grief did not much oppress him.<br> +Here's to the health of the Prince, God bless him!<p></p> + + (<i>He drinks.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet!<br> +And what a scene there, through the door!<br> +The forest behind and the garden before,<br> +And midway an old man of threescore,<br> +With a wife and children that caress him.<br> +Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it<br> +With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet!<p></p> + + (<i>Goes out blowing his horn.</i>)<br> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +PRINCE HENRY <i>and</i> ELSIE <i>standing on the terrace at +evening. The sound of bells heard from a distance.</i><p></p> + + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> We are alone. The wedding guests<br> +Ride down the hill, with plumes and cloaks,<br> +And the descending dark invests<br> +The Niederwald, and all the nests<br> +Among its hoar and haunted oaks.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> What bells are those, that ring so slow,<br> +So mellow, musical, and low?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> They are the bells of Geisenheim,<br> +That with their melancholy chime<br> +Ring out the curfew of the sun.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Listen, beloved.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> They are done!<br> +Dear Elsie! many years ago<br> +Those same soft bells at eventide<br> +Rang in the ears of Charlemagne,<br> +As, seated by Fastrada's side<br> +At Ingelheim, in all his pride<br> +He heard their sound with secret pain.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Their voices only speak to me<br> +Of peace and deep tranquillity,<br> +And endless confidence in thee!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Thou knowest the story of her ring,<br> +How, when the court went back to Aix,<br> +Fastrada died; and how the king<br> +Sat watching by her night and day,<br> +Till into one of the blue lakes,<br> +That water that delicious land,<br> +They cast the ring, drawn from her hand;<br> +And the great monarch sat serene<br> +And sad beside the fated shore,<br> +Nor left the land forever more.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> That was true love.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> For him the queen<br> +Ne'er did what thou hast done for me.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Wilt thou as fond and faithful be?<br> +Wilt thou so love me after death?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> In life's delight, in death's dismay,<br> +In storm and sunshine, night and day,<br> +In health, in sickness, in decay,<br> +Here and hereafter, I am thine!<br> +Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Beneath<br> +The calm, blue waters of thine eyes<br> +Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies,<br> +And, undisturbed by this world's breath,<br> +With magic light its jewels shine!<br> +This golden ring, which thou hast worn<br> +Upon thy finger since the morn,<br> +Is but a symbol and a semblance,<br> +An outward fashion, a remembrance,<br> +Of what thou wearest within unseen,<br> +O my Fastrada, O my queen!<br> +Behold! the hilltops all aglow<br> +With purple and with amethyst;<br> +While the whole valley deep below<br> +Is filled, and seems to overflow,<br> +With a fast-rising tide of mist.<br> +The evening air grows damp and chill;<br> +Let us go in.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Ah, not so soon.<br> +See yonder fire! It is the moon<br> +Slow rising o'er the eastern hill.<br> +It glimmers on the forest tips,<br> +And through the dewy foliage drips<br> +In little rivulets of light,<br> +And makes the heart in love with night.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Oft on this terrace, when the day<br> +Was closing, have I stood and gazed,<br> +And seen the landscape fade away,<br> +And the white vapors rise and drown<br> +Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town<br> +While far above the hilltops blazed.<br> +But men another hand than thine<br> +Was gently held and clasped in mine;<br> +Another head upon my breast<br> +Was laid, as thine is now, at rest.<br> +Why dost thou lift those tender eyes<br> +With so much sorrow and surprise?<br> +A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand,<br> +Was that which in my own was pressed.<br> +A manly form usurped thy place,<br> +A beautiful, but bearded face,<br> +That now is in the Holy Land,<br> +Yet in my memory from afar<br> +Is shining on us like a star.<br> +But linger not. For while I speak,<br> +A sheeted spectre white and tall,<br> +The cold mist climbs the castle wall,<br> +And lays his hand upon thy cheek!<p></p> + + (<i>They go in.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>EPILOGUE.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + <i>The Angel of Good Deeds</i> (<i>with closed book</i>). God sent his<br> + messenger the rain,<br> +And said unto the mountain brook,<br> +"Rise up, and from thy caverns look<br> +And leap, with naked, snow-white feet.<br> +From the cool hills into the heat<br> +Of the broad, arid plain."<p></p> + +God sent his messenger of faith,<br> +And whispered in the maiden's heart,<br> +"Rise up, and look from where thou art,<br> +And scatter with unselfish hands<br> +Thy freshness on the barren sands<br> +And solitudes of Death."<br> +O beauty of holiness,<br> +Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness!<br> +O power of meekness,<br> +Whose very gentleness and weakness<br> +Are like the yielding, but irresistible air!<br> +Upon the pages<br> +Of the sealed volume that I bear,<br> +The deed divine<br> +Is written in characters of gold,<br> +That never shall grow old,<br> +But all through ages<br> +Burn and shine,<br> +With soft effulgence!<br> +O God! it is thy indulgence<br> +That fills the world with the bliss<br> +Of a good deed like this!<p></p> + + <i>The Angel of Evil Deeds (with open book).</i> Not yet, not yet<br> +Is the red sun wholly set,<br> +But evermore recedes,<br> +While open still I bear<br> +The Book of Evil Deeds,<br> +To let the breathings of the upper air<br> +Visit its pages and erase<br> +The records from its face!<br> +Fainter and fainter as I gaze<br> +On the broad blaze<br> +The glimmering landscape shines,<br> +And below me the black river<br> +Is hidden by wreaths of vapor!<br> +Fainter and fainter the black lines<br> +Begin to quiver<br> +Along the whitening surface of the paper;<br> +Shade after shade<br> +The terrible words grow faint and fade,<br> +And in their place<br> +Runs a white space!<p></p> + +Down goes the sun!<br> +But the soul of one,<br> +Who by repentance<br> +Has escaped the dreadful sentence,<br> +Shines bright below me as I look.<br> +It is the end!<br> +With closed Book<br> +To God do I ascend.<p></p> + +Lo! over the mountain steeps<br> +A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps<br> +Beneath my feet;<br> +A blackness inwardly brightening<br> +With sullen heat,<br> +As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning.<br> +And a cry of lamentation,<br> +Repeated and again repeated,<br> +Deep and loud<br> +As the reverberation<br> +Of cloud answering unto cloud,<br> +Swells and rolls away in the distance,<br> +As if the sheeted<br> +Lightning retreated,<br> +Baffled and thwarted by the wind's resistance.<p></p> + +It is Lucifer,<br> +The son of mystery;<br> +And since God suffers him to be,<br> +He, too, is God's minister,<br> +And labors for some good<br> +By us not understood!<p></p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10490 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + + diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e42918 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10490 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10490) diff --git a/old/10490-0.txt b/old/10490-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f0c743 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10490-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5732 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Golden Legend, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Golden Legend + +Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +Release Date: December 18, 2003 [EBook #10490] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN LEGEND *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +THE + +GOLDEN LEGEND + +BY + +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW + + + + +THE GOLDEN LEGEND + + +PROLOGUE. + + + +THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL. + + +_Night and storm._ LUCIFER, _with the Powers of the +Air, trying to tear down the Cross._ + + _Lucifer._ HASTEN! hasten! +O ye spirits! +From its station drag the ponderous +Cross of iron, that to mock us +Is uplifted high in air! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +For around it +All the Saints and Guardian Angels +Throng in legions to protect it; +They defeat us everywhere! + + _The Bells._ Laudo Deum verum + Plebem voco! + Congrego clerum! + + _Lucifer._ Lower! lower! +Hover downward! +Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and +Clashing, clanging, to the pavement +Hurl them from their windy tower! + + _Voices._ All thy thunders +Here are harmless! +For these bells have been anointed, +And baptized with holy water! +They defy our utmost power. + + _The Bells._ Defunctos ploro! + Pestem fugo! + Festa decoro! + + _Lucifer._ Shake the casements! +Break the painted +Panes that flame with gold and crimson! +Scatter them like leaves of Autumn, +Swept away before the blast! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +The Archangel +Michael flames from every window, +With the sword of fire that drove us +Headlong, out of heaven, aghast! + + _The Bells._ Funera plango! + Fulgora frango! + Sabbata pango! + + _Lucifer._ Aim your lightnings +At the oaken, +Massive, iron-studded portals! +Sack the house of God, and scatter +Wide the ashes of the dead! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +The Apostles +And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, +Stand as wardens at the entrance, +Stand as sentinels o'erhead! + + _The Bells._ Excito lentos! + Dissipo ventos! + Paco cruentos! + + _Lucifer._ Baffled! baffled! +Inefficient, +Craven spirits! leave this labor +Unto Time, the great Destroyer! +Come away, ere night is gone! + + _Voices._ Onward! onward! +With the night-wind, +Over field and farm and forest, +Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, +Blighting all we breathe upon! + + (_They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant._) + + _Choir._ Nocte surgentes + Vig lemus omnes! + + * * * * * + +I. + + +THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE. + + * * * * * + +_A chamber in a tower._ PRINCE HENRY, _sitting alone, +ill and restless._ + + _Prince Henry._ I cannot sleep! my fervid brain +Calls up the vanished Past again, +And throws its misty splendors deep +Into the pallid realms of sleep! +A breath from that far-distant shore +Comes freshening ever more and more, +And wafts o'er intervening seas +Sweet odors from the Hesperides! +A wind, that through the corridor +Just stirs the curtain, and no more, +And, touching the aeolian strings, +Faints with the burden that it brings! +Come back! ye friendships long departed! +That like o'erflowing streamlets started, +And now are dwindled, one by one, +To stony channels in the sun! +Come back! ye friends, whose lives are ended! +Come back, with all that light attended, +Which seemed to darken and decay +When ye arose and went away! +They come, the shapes of joy and woe, +The airy crowds of long-ago, +The dreams and fancies known of yore, +That have been, and shall be no more. +They change the cloisters of the night +Into a garden of delight; +They make the dark and dreary hours +Open and blossom into flowers! +I would not sleep! I love to be +Again in their fair company; +But ere my lips can bid them stay, +They pass and vanish quite away! + +Alas! our memories may retrace +Each circumstance of time and place, +Season and scene come back again, +And outward things unchanged remain; +The rest we cannot reinstate; +Ourselves we cannot re-create, +Nor set our souls to the same key +Of the remembered harmony! + +Rest! rest! O, give me rest and peace! +The thought of life that ne'er shall cease +Has something in it like despair, +A weight I am too weak to bear! +Sweeter to this afflicted breast +The thought of never-ending rest! +Sweeter the undisturbed and deep +Tranquillity of endless sleep! + + +(_A flash of lightning, out of which_ LUCIFER _appears, +in the garb of a travelling Physician._) + + _Lucifer_. All hail Prince Henry! + + _Prince Henry_ (_starting_). Who is it speaks? +Who and what are you? + + _Lucifer_. One who seeks +A moment's audience with the Prince. + + _Prince Henry_. When came you in? + + _Lucifer_. A moment since. +I found your study door unlocked, +And thought you answered when I knocked. + + _Prince Henry_. I did not hear you. + + _Lucifer_. You heard the thunder; +It was loud enough to waken the dead. +And it is not a matter of special wonder +That, when God is walking overhead, +You should not have heard my feeble tread. + + _Prince Henry_. What may your wish or purpose be? + + _Lucifer_. Nothing or everything, as it pleases +Your Highness. You behold in me +Only a traveling Physician; +One of the few who have a mission +To cure incurable diseases, +Or those that are called so. + + _Prince Henry_. Can you bring +The dead to life? + + _Lucifer_. Yes; very nearly. +And, what is a wiser and better thing, +Can keep the living from ever needing +Such an unnatural, strange proceeding, +By showing conclusively and clearly +That death is a stupid blunder merely, +And not a necessity of our lives. +My being here is accidental; +The storm, that against your casement drives, +In the little village below waylaid me. +And there I heard, with a secret delight, +Of your maladies physical and mental, +Which neither astonished nor dismayed me. +And I hastened hither, though late in the night, +To proffer my aid! + + _Prince Henry (ironically)_ For this you came! +Ah, how can I ever hope to requite +This honor from one so erudite? + + _Lucifer_. The honor is mine, or will be when +I have cured your disease. + + _Prince Henry_. But not till then. + + _Lucifer_. What is your illness? + + _Prince Henry_. It has no name. +A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, +As in a kiln, burns in my veins, +Sending up vapors to the head, +My heart has become a dull lagoon, +Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains; +I am accounted as one who is dead, +And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon. + + _Lucifer_ And has Gordonius the Divine, +In his famous Lily of Medicine,-- +I see the book lies open before you,-- +No remedy potent enough to restore you? + + _Prince Henry_. None whatever! + + _Lucifer_ The dead are dead, +And their oracles dumb, when questioned +Of the new diseases that human life +Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. +Consult the dead upon things that were, +But the living only on things that are. +Have you done this, by the appliance +And aid of doctors? + + _Prince Henry_. Ay, whole schools +Of doctors, with their learned rules, +But the case is quite beyond their science. +Even the doctors of Salern +Send me back word they can discern +No cure for a malady like this, +Save one which in its nature is +Impossible, and cannot be! + + _Lucifer_ That sounds oracular! + + _Prince Henry_ Unendurable! + + _Lucifer_ What is their remedy? + + _Prince Henry_ You shall see; +Writ in this scroll is the mystery. + + _Lucifer (reading)._ "Not to be cured, yet not incurable! +The only remedy that remains +Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins, +Who of her own free will shall die, +And give her life as the price of yours!" +That is the strangest of all cures, +And one, I think, you will never try; +The prescription you may well put by, +As something impossible to find +Before the world itself shall end! +And yet who knows? One cannot say +That into some maiden's brain that kind +Of madness will not find its way. +Meanwhile permit me to recommend, +As the matter admits of no delay, +My wonderful Catholicon, +Of very subtile and magical powers! + + _Prince Henry._ Purge with your nostrums and drugs infernal +The spouts and gargoyles of these towers, +Not me! My faith is utterly gone +In every power but the Power Supernal! +Pray tell me, of what school are you? + + _Lucifer._ Both of the Old and of the New! +The school of Hermes Trismegistus, +Who uttered his oracles sublime +Before the Olympiads, in the dew +Of the early dawn and dusk of Time, +The reign of dateless old Hephaestus! +As northward, from its Nubian springs, +The Nile, forever new and old, +Among the living and the dead, +Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled; +So, starting from its fountain-head +Under the lotus-leaves of Isis, +From the dead demigods of eld, +Through long, unbroken lines of kings +Its course the sacred art has held, +Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices. +This art the Arabian Geber taught, +And in alembics, finely wrought, +Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered +The secret that so long had hovered +Upon the misty verge of Truth, +The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, +Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech! +Like him, this wondrous lore I teach! + + _Prince Henry._ What! an adept? + + _Lucifer._ Nor less, nor more! + + _Prince Henry._ I am a reader of such books, +A lover of that mystic lore! +With such a piercing glance it looks +Into great Nature's open eye, +And sees within it trembling lie +The portrait of the Deity! +And yet, alas! with all my pains, +The secret and the mystery +Have baffled and eluded me, +Unseen the grand result remains! + + _Lucifer (showing a flask)._ Behold it here! this little flask +Contains the wonderful quintessence, +The perfect flower and efflorescence, +Of all the knowledge man can ask! +Hold it up thus against the light! + + _Prince Henry._ How limpid, pure, and crystalline, +How quick, and tremulous, and bright +The little wavelets dance and shine, +As were it the Water of Life in sooth! + + _Lucifer._ It is! It assuages every pain, +Cures all disease, and gives again +To age the swift delights of youth. +Inhale its fragrance. + + _Prince Henry._ It is sweet. +A thousand different odors meet +And mingle in its rare perfume, +Such as the winds of summer waft +At open windows through a room! + + _Lucifer._ Will you not taste it? + + _Prince Henry._ Will one draught +Suffice? + + _Lucifer._ If not, you can drink more. + + _Prince Henry._ Into this crystal goblet pour +So much as safely I may drink. + + _Lucifer (pouring)._ Let not the quantity alarm you: +You may drink all; it will not harm you. + + _Prince Henry._ I am as one who on the brink +Of a dark river stands and sees +The waters flow, the landscape dim +Around him waver, wheel, and swim, +And, ere he plunges, stops to think +Into what whirlpools he may sink; +One moment pauses, and no more, +Then madly plunges from the shore! +Headlong into the dark mysteries +Of life and death I boldly leap, +Nor fear the fateful current's sweep, +Nor what in ambush lurks below! +For death is better than disease! + + (_An_ ANGEL _with an aeolian harp hovers in the air_.) + + _Angel._ Woe! woe! eternal woe! +Not only the whispered prayer +Of love, +But the imprecations of hate, +Reverberate +Forever and ever through the air +Above! +This fearful curse +Shakes the great universe! + + _Lucifer (disappearing)._ Drink! drink! +And thy soul shall sink +Down into the dark abyss, +Into the infinite abyss, +From which no plummet nor rope +Ever drew up the silver sand of hope! + + _Prince Henry (drinking)._ It is like a draught of fire! +Through every vein +I feel again +The fever of youth, the soft desire; +A rapture that is almost pain +Throbs in my heart and fills my brain! +O joy! O joy! I feel +The band of steel +That so long and heavily has pressed +Upon my breast +Uplifted, and the malediction +Of my affliction +Is taken from me, and my weary breast +At length finds rest. + + _The Angel._ It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air + has been taken! +It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken! +It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow! +It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow! +With fiendish laughter, +Hereafter, +This false physician +Will mock thee in thy perdition. + + _Prince Henry._ Speak! speak! +Who says that I am ill? +I am not ill! I am not weak! +The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er! +I feel the chill of death no more! +At length, +I stand renewed in all my strength! +Beneath me I can feel +The great earth stagger and reel, +As it the feet of a descending God +Upon its surface trod, +And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel! +This, O brave physician! this +Is thy great Palingenesis! + + (_Drinks again_.) + + _The Angel._ Touch the goblet no more! +It will make thy heart sore +To its very core! +Its perfume is the breath +Of the Angel of Death, +And the light that within it lies +Is the flash of his evil eyes. +Beware! O, beware! +For sickness, sorrow, and care +All are there! + + _Prince Henry (sinking back)._ O thou voice within my breast! +Why entreat me, why upbraid me, +When the steadfast tongues of truth +And the flattering hopes of youth +Have all deceived me and betrayed me? +Give me, give me rest, O, rest! +Golden visions wave and hover, +Golden vapors, waters streaming, +Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming! +I am like a happy lover +Who illumines life with dreaming! +Brave physician! Rare physician! +Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission! + + (_His head falls On his book_.) + + _The Angel (receding)._ Alas! alas! +Like a vapor the golden vision +Shall fade and pass, +And thou wilt find in thy heart again +Only the blight of pain, +And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition! + + * * * * * + +COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE. + + * * * * * + +HUBERT _standing by the gateway._ + + _Hubert._ How sad the grand old castle looks! +O'erhead, the unmolested rooks +Upon the turret's windy top +Sit, talking of the farmer's crop; +Here in the court-yard springs the grass, +So few are now the feet that pass; +The stately peacocks, bolder grown, +Come hopping down the steps of stone, +As if the castle were their own; +And I, the poor old seneschal, +Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. +Alas! the merry guests no more +Crowd through the hospital door; +No eyes with youth and passion shine, +No cheeks glow redder than the wine; +No song, no laugh, no jovial din +Of drinking wassail to the pin; +But all is silent, sad, and drear, +And now the only sounds I hear +Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, +And horses stamping in their stalls! + + (_A horn sounds_.) + +What ho! that merry, sudden blast +Reminds me of the days long past! +And, as of old resounding, grate +The heavy hinges of the gate, +And, clattering loud, with iron clank, +Down goes the sounding bridge of plank, +As if it were in haste to greet +The pressure of a traveler's feet! + + (_Enter_ WALTER _the Minnesinger_.) + + _Walter._ How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely! +No banner flying from the walls, +No pages and no seneschals, +No wardens, and one porter only! +Is it you, Hubert? + + _Hubert._ Ah! Master Walter! + + _Walter._ Alas! how forms and faces alter! +I did not know you. You look older! +Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner, +And you stoop a little in the shoulder! + + _Hubert._ Alack! I am a poor old sinner, +And, like these towers, begin to moulder; +And you have been absent many a year! + + _Walter._ How is the Prince? + + _Hubert._ He is not here; +He has been ill: and now has fled. + +_Walter._ Speak it out frankly: say he's dead! +Is it not so? + + _Hubert._ No; if you please; +A strange, mysterious disease +Fell on him with a sudden blight. +Whole hours together he would stand +Upon the terrace, in a dream, +Resting his head upon his hand, +Best pleased when he was most alone, +Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone, +Looking down into a stream. +In the Round Tower, night after night, +He sat, and bleared his eyes with books; +Until one morning we found him there +Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon +He had fallen from his chair. +We hardly recognized his sweet looks! + + _Walter._ Poor Prince! + + _Hubert._ I think he might have mended; +And he did mend; but very soon +The Priests came flocking in, like rooks, +With all their crosiers and their crooks, +And so at last the matter ended. + + _Walter._ How did it end? + + _Hubert._ Why, in Saint Rochus +They made him stand, and wait his doom; +And, as if he were condemned to the tomb, +Began to mutter their hocus pocus. +First, the Mass for the Dead they chaunted. +Then three times laid upon his head +A shovelful of church-yard clay, +Saying to him, as he stood undaunted, +"This is a sign that thou art dead, +So in thy heart be penitent!" +And forth from the chapel door he went +Into disgrace and banishment, +Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, +And bearing a wallet, and a bell, +Whose sound should be a perpetual knell +To keep all travelers away. + + _Walter._ O, horrible fate! Outcast, rejected, +As one with pestilence infected! + + _Hubert._ Then was the family tomb unsealed, +And broken helmet, sword and shield, +Buried together, in common wreck, +As is the custom, when the last +Of any princely house has passed, +And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, +A herald shouted down the stair +The words of warning and despair,-- +"O Hoheneck! O Hoheneck!" + + _Walter_. Still in my soul that cry goes on,-- +Forever gone! forever gone! +Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, +Like a black shadow, would fall across +The hearts of all, if he should die! +His gracious presence upon earth +Was as a fire upon a hearth; +As pleasant songs, at morning sung, +The words that dropped from his sweet tongue +Strengthened our hearts; or, heard at night, +Made all our slumbers soft and light. +Where is he? + + _Hubert._ In the Odenwald. +Some of his tenants, unappalled +By fear of death, or priestly word,-- +A holy family, that make +Each meal a Supper of the Lord,-- +Have him beneath their watch and ward, +For love of him, and Jesus' sake! +Pray you come in. For why should I +With outdoor hospitality +My prince's friend thus entertain? + + _Walter._ I would a moment here remain. +But you, good Hubert, go before, +Fill me a goblet of May-drink, +As aromatic as the May +From which it steals the breath away, +And which he loved so well of yore; +It is of him that I would think +You shall attend me, when I call, +In the ancestral banquet hall. +Unseen companions, guests of air, +You cannot wait on, will be there; +They taste not food, they drink not wine, +But their soft eyes look into mine, +And their lips speak to me, and all +The vast and shadowy banquet-hall +Is full of looks and words divine! + + (_Leaning over the parapet_.) + +The day is done; and slowly from the scene +The stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, +And puts them back into his golden quiver! +Below me in the valley, deep and green +As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts +We drink its wine, the swift and mantling river +Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions, +Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent, +And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent! +Yes, there it flows, forever, broad and still, +As when the vanguard of the Roman legions +First saw it from the top of yonder hill! +How beautiful it is! Fresh fields of wheat, +Vineyard, and town, and tower with fluttering flag, +The consecrated chapel on the crag, +And the white hamlet gathered round its base, +Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet, +And looking up at his beloved face! +O friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more +Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er! + + + + +II. + +A FARM IN THE ODENWALD + + * * * * * + +_A garden; morning;_ PRINCE HENRY _seated, with a +book_. ELSIE, _at a distance, gathering flowers._ + + _Prince Henry (reading)._ One morning, all alone, +Out of his convent of gray stone, +Into the forest older, darker, grayer, +His lips moving as if in prayer, +His head sunken upon his breast +As in a dream of rest, +Walked the Monk Felix. All about +The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, +Filling the summer air; +And within the woodlands as he trod, +The twilight was like the Truce of God +With worldly woe and care; +Under him lay the golden moss; +And above him the boughs of hemlock-tree +Waved, and made the sign of the cross, +And whispered their Benedicites; +And from the ground +Rose an odor sweet and fragrant +Of the wild flowers and the vagrant +Vines that wandered, +Seeking the sunshine, round and round. +These he heeded not, but pondered +On the volume in his hand, +A volume of Saint Augustine; +Wherein he read of the unseen +Splendors of God's great town +In the unknown land, +And, with his eyes cast down +In humility, he said: +"I believe, O God, +What herein I have read, +But alas! I do not understand!" + +And lo! he heard +The sudden singing of a bird, +A snow-white bird, that from a cloud +Dropped down, +And among the branches brown +Sat singing +So sweet, and clear, and loud, +It seemed a thousand harp strings ringing. +And the Monk Felix closed his book, +And long, long, +With rapturous look, +He listened to the song, +And hardly breathed or stirred, +Until he saw, as in a vision, +The land Elysian, +And in the heavenly city heard +Angelic feet +Fall on the golden flagging of the street. +And he would fain +Have caught the wondrous bird, +But strove in vain; +For it flew away, away, +Far over hill and dell, +And instead of its sweet singing +He heard the convent bell +Suddenly in the silence ringing +For the service of noonday. +And he retraced +His pathway homeward sadly and in haste. + +In the convent there was a change! +He looked for each well known face, +But the faces were new and strange; +New figures sat in the oaken stalls, +New voices chaunted in the choir, +Yet the place was the same place, +The same dusky walls +Of cold, gray stone, +The same cloisters and belfry and spire. + +A stranger and alone +Among that brotherhood +The Monk Felix stood +"Forty years," said a Friar. +"Have I been Prior +Of this convent in the wood, +But for that space +Never have I beheld thy face!" + +The heart of the Monk Felix fell: +And he answered with submissive tone, +"This morning, after the hour of Prime, +I left my cell, +And wandered forth alone, +Listening all the time +To the melodious singing +Of a beautiful white bird, +Until I heard +The bells of the convent ringing +Noon from their noisy towers, +It was as if I dreamed; +For what to me had seemed +Moments only, had been hours!" + +"Years!" said a voice close by. +It was an aged monk who spoke, +From a bench of oak +Fastened against the wall;-- +He was the oldest monk of all. +For a whole century +Had he been there, +Serving God in prayer, +The meekest and humblest of his creatures. +He remembered well the features +Of Felix, and he said, +Speaking distinct and slow: +"One hundred years ago, +When I was a novice in this place, +There was here a monk, full of God's grace, +Who bore the name +Of Felix, and this man must be the same." + +And straightway +They brought forth to the light of day +A volume old and brown, +A huge tome, bound +With brass and wild-boar's hide, +Therein were written down +The names of all who had died +In the convent, since it was edified. +And there they found, +Just as the old monk said, +That on a certain day and date, +One hundred years before, +Had gone forth from the convent gate +The Monk Felix, and never more +Had entered that sacred door. +He had been counted among the dead! +And they knew, at last, +That, such had been the power +Of that celestial and immortal song, +A hundred years had passed, +And had not seemed so long +As a single hour! + + (ELSIE _comes in with flowers._) + + _Elsie._ Here are flowers for you, +But they are not all for you. +Some of them are for the Virgin +And for Saint Cecilia. + + _Prince Henry._ As thou standest there, +Thou seemest to me like the angel +That brought the immortal roses +To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. + + _Elsie._ But these will fade. + + _Prince Henry._ Themselves will fade, +But not their memory, +And memory has the power +To re-create them from the dust. +They remind me, too, +Of martyred Dorothea, +Who from celestial gardens sent +Flowers as her witnesses +To him who scoffed and doubted. + + _Elsie._ Do you know the story +Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter? +That is the prettiest legend of them all. + + _Prince Henry._ Then tell it to me. +But first come hither. +Lay the flowers down beside me. +And put both thy hands in mine. +Now tell me the story. + + _Elsie._ Early in the morning +The Sultan's daughter +Walked in her father's garden, +Gathering the bright flowers, +All full of dew. + + _Prince Henry._ Just as thou hast been doing +This morning, dearest Elsie. + + _Elsie._ And as she gathered them, +She wondered more and more +Who was the Master of the Flowers, +And made them grow +Out of the cold, dark earth. +"In my heart," she said, +"I love him; and for him +Would leave my father's palace, +To labor in his garden." + + _Prince Henry._ Dear, innocent child! +How sweetly thou recallest +The long-forgotten legend, +That in my early childhood +My mother told me! +Upon my brain +It reappears once more, +As a birth-mark on the forehead +When a hand suddenly +Is laid upon it, and removed! + + _Elsie._ And at midnight, +As she lay upon her bed, +She heard a voice +Call to her from the garden, +And, looking forth from her window, +She saw a beautiful youth +Standing among the flowers. +It was the Lord Jesus; +And she went down to him, +And opened the door for him; +And he said to her, "O maiden! +Thou hast thought of me with love, +And for thy sake +Out of my Father's kingdom +Have I come hither: +I am the Master of the Flowers. +My garden is in Paradise, +And if thou wilt go with me, +Thy bridal garland +Shall be of bright red flowers." +And then he took from his finger +A golden ring, +And asked the Sultan's daughter +If she would be his bride. +And when she answered him with love, +His wounds began to bleed, +And she said to him, +"O Love! how red thy heart is, +And thy hands are full of roses," +"For thy sake," answered he, +"For thy sake is my heart so red, +For thee I bring these roses. +I gathered them at the cross +Whereon I died for thee! +Come, for my Father calls. +Thou art my elected bride!" +And the Sultan's daughter +Followed him to his Father's garden. + + _Prince Henry._ Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie? + + _Elsie._ Yes, very gladly. + + _Prince Henry._ Then the Celestial Bridegroom +Will come for thee also. +Upon thy forehead he will place, +Not his crown of thorns, +But a crown of roses. +In thy bridal chamber, +Like Saint Cecilia, +Thou shall hear sweet music, +And breathe the fragrance +Of flowers immortal! +Go now and place these flowers +Before her picture. + + + * * * * * + + +A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. + + * * * * * + +_Twilight._ URSULA _spinning._ GOTTLIEB _asleep in his +chair._ + + _Ursula._ Darker and darker! Hardly a glimmer +Of light comes in at the window-pane; +Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer? +I cannot disentangle this skein, +Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. +Elsie! + + _Gottlieb (starting)_. The stopping of thy wheel +Has wakened me out of a pleasant dream. +I thought I was sitting beside a stream, +And heard the grinding of a mill, +When suddenly the wheels stood still, +And a voice cried "Elsie" in my ear! +It startled me, it seemed so near. + + _Ursula._ I was calling her: I want a light. +I cannot see to spin my flax. +Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear? + + _Elsie (within)._ In a moment! + + _Gottlieb._ Where are Bertha and Max? + + _Ursula._ They are sitting with Elsie at the door. +She is telling them stories of the wood, +And the Wolf, and Little Red Ridinghood. + + _Gottlieb_. And where is the Prince? + + _Ursula_. In his room overhead; +I heard him walking across the floor, +As he always does, with a heavy tread. + +(ELSIE _comes in with a lamp_. MAX _and_ BERTHA _follow her; +and they all sing the Evening Song on the lighting of the lamps_.) + + + EVENING SONG. + + O gladsome light + Of the Father Immortal, + And of the celestial + Sacred and blessed + Jesus, our Saviour! + + Now to the sunset + Again hast thou brought us; + And, seeing the evening + Twilight, we bless thee, + Praise thee, adore thee! + + Father omnipotent! + Son, the Life-giver! + Spirit, the Comforter! + Worthy at all times + Of worship and wonder! + + + _Prince Henry (at the door)_. Amen! + + _Ursula_. Who was it said Amen? + + _Elsie_. It was the Prince: he stood at the door, +And listened a moment, as we chaunted +The evening song. He is gone again. +I have often seen him there before. + + _Ursula_. Poor Prince! + + _Gottlieb_. I thought the house was haunted! +Poor Prince, alas! and yet as mild +And patient as the gentlest child! + + _Max._ I love him because he is so good, +And makes me such fine bows and arrows, +To shoot at the robins and the sparrows, +And the red squirrels in the wood! + + _Bertha._ I love him, too! + + _Gottlieb._ Ah, yes! we all +Love him, from the bottom of our hearts; +He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange, +He gave us the horses and the carts, +And the great oxen in the stall, +The vineyard, and the forest range! +We have nothing to give him but our love! + + _Bertha._ Did he give us the beautiful stork above +On the chimney-top, with its large, round nest? + + _Gottlieb._ No, not the stork; by God in heaven, +As a blessing, the dear, white stork was given; +But the Prince has given us all the rest. +God bless him, and make him well again. + + _Elsie._ Would I could do something for his sake, +Something to cure his sorrow and pain! + + _Gottlieb._ That no one can; neither thou nor I, +Nor any one else. + + _Elsie._ And must he die? + + _Ursula._ Yes; if the dear God does not take +Pity upon him, in his distress, +And work a miracle! + + _Gottlieb._ Or unless +Some maiden, of her own accord, +Offers her life for that of her lord, +And is willing to die in his stead. + + _Elsie._ I will! + + _Ursula._ Prithee, thou foolish child, be still! +Thou shouldst not say what thou dost not mean! + + _Elsie._ I mean it truly! + + _Max._ O father! this morning, +Down by the mill, in the ravine, +Hans killed a wolf, the very same +That in the night to the sheepfold came, +And ate up my lamb, that was left outside. + + _Gottlieb._ I am glad he is dead. It will be a warning +To the wolves in the forest, far and wide. + + _Max._ And I am going to have his hide! + + _Bertha._ I wonder if this is the wolf that ate +Little Red Ridinghood! + + _Ursula._ O, no! +That wolf was killed a long while ago. +Come, children, it is growing late. + + _Max._ Ah, how I wish I were a man, +As stout as Hans is, and as strong! +I would do nothing else, the whole day long, +But just kill wolves. + + _Gottlieb._ Then go to bed, +And grow as fast as a little boy can. +Bertha is half asleep already. +See how she nods her heavy head, +And her sleepy feet are so unsteady +She will hardly be able to creep upstairs. + + _Ursula._ Good-night, my children. Here's the light. +And do not forget to say your prayers +Before you sleep. + + _Gottlieb._ Good-night! + + _Max and Bertha._ Good-night! + + (_They go out with_ ELSIE.) + + _Ursula, (spinning)._ She is a strange and wayward child, +That Elsie of ours. She looks so old, +And thoughts and fancies weird and wild +Seem of late to have taken hold +Of her heart, that was once so docile and mild! + + _Gottlieb._ She is like all girls. + + _Ursula._ Ah no, forsooth! +Unlike all I have ever seen. +For she has visions and strange dreams, +And in all her words and ways, she seems +Much older than she is in truth. +Who would think her but fourteen? +And there has been of late such a change! +My heart is heavy with fear and doubt +That she may not live till the year is out. +She is so strange,--so strange,--so strange! + + _Gottlieb._ I am not troubled with any such fear! +She will live and thrive for many a year. + + * * * * * + +ELSIE'S CHAMBER. + + * * * * * + +_Night._ ELSIE _praying._ + + _Elsie._ My Redeemer and my Lord, +I beseech thee, I entreat thee, +Guide me in each act and word, +That hereafter I may meet thee, +Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning, +With my lamp well trimmed and burning! + +Interceding +With these bleeding +Wounds upon thy hands and side, +For all who have lived and erred +Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, +Scourged, and mocked, and crucified, +And in the grave hast thou been buried! + +If my feeble prayer can reach thee, +O my Saviour, I beseech thee, +Even as thou hast died for me, +More sincerely +Let me follow where thou leadest, +Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, +Die, if dying I may give +Life to one who asks to live, +And more nearly, +Dying thus, resemble thee! + + * * * * * + +THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND URSULA. + + * * * * * + +_Midnight._ ELSIE _standing by their bedside, weeping._ + + _Gottlieb._ The wind is roaring; the rushing rain +Is loud upon roof and window-pane, +As if the Wild Huntsman of Rodenstein, +Boding evil to me and mine, +Were abroad to-night with his ghostly train! +In the brief lulls of the tempest wild, +The dogs howl in the yard; and hark! +Some one is sobbing in the dark, +Here in the chamber! + + _Elsie._ It is I. + + _Ursula._ Elsie! what ails thee, my poor child? + + _Elsie._ I am disturbed and much distressed, +In thinking our dear Prince must die, +I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest. + + _Gottlieb._ What wouldst thou? In the Power Divine +His healing lies, not in our own; +It is in the hand of God alone. + + _Elsie._ Nay, he has put it into mine, +And into my heart! + + _Gottlieb._ Thy words are wild! + + _Ursula._ What dost thou mean? my child! my child! + + _Elsie._ That for our dear Prince Henry's sake +I will myself the offering make, +And give my life to purchase his. + + _Ursula_ Am I still dreaming, or awake? +Thou speakest carelessly of death, +And yet thou knowest not what it is. + + _Elsie._ 'T is the cessation of our breath. +Silent and motionless we lie; +And no one knoweth more than this. +I saw our little Gertrude die, +She left off breathing, and no more +I smoothed the pillow beneath her head. +She was more beautiful than before. +Like violets faded were her eyes; +By this we knew that she was dead. +Through the open window looked the skies +Into the chamber where she lay, +And the wind was like the sound of wings, +As if angels came to bear her away. +Ah! when I saw and felt these things, +I found it difficult to stay; +I longed to die, as she had died, +And go forth with her, side by side. +The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead, +And Mary, and our Lord, and I +Would follow in humility +The way by them illumined! + + _Ursula._ My child! my child! thou must not die! + + _Elsie_ Why should I live? Do I not know +The life of woman is full of woe? +Toiling on and on and on, +With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, +And silent lips, and in the soul +The secret longings that arise, +Which this world never satisfies! +Some more, some less, but of the whole +Not one quite happy, no, not one! + + _Ursula._ It is the malediction of Eve! + + _Elsie._ In place of it, let me receive +The benediction of Mary, then. + + _Gottlieb._ Ah, woe is me! Ah, woe is me! +Most wretched am I among men! + + _Ursula._ Alas! that I should live to see +Thy death, beloved, and to stand +Above thy grave! Ah, woe the day! + + _Elsie._ Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie +Beneath the flowers of another land, +For at Salerno, far away +Over the mountains, over the sea, +It is appointed me to die! +And it will seem no more to thee +Than if at the village on market-day +I should a little longer stay +Than I am used. + + _Ursula._ Even as thou sayest! +And how my heart beats, when thou stayest! +I cannot rest until my sight +Is satisfied with seeing thee. +What, then, if thou wert dead? + + _Gottlieb_ Ah me! +Of our old eyes thou art the light! +The joy of our old hearts art thou! +And wilt thou die? + + _Ursula._ Not now! not now! + + _Elsie_ Christ died for me, and shall not I +Be willing for my Prince to die? +You both are silent; you cannot speak. +This said I, at our Saviour's feast, +After confession, to the priest, +And even he made no reply. +Does he not warn us all to seek +The happier, better land on high, +Where flowers immortal never wither, +And could he forbid me to go thither? + + _Gottlieb._ In God's own time, my heart's delight! +When he shall call thee, not before! + + _Elsie._ I heard him call. When Christ ascended +Triumphantly, from star to star, +He left the gates of heaven ajar. +I had a vision in the night, +And saw him standing at the door +Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid, +And beckoning to me from afar. +I cannot stay! + + _Gottlieb._ She speaks almost +As if it were the Holy Ghost +Spake through her lips, and in her stead! +What if this were of God? + + _Ursula._ Ah, then +Gainsay it dare we not. + + _Gottlieb._ Amen! +Elsie! the words that thou hast said +Are strange and new for us to hear, +And fill our hearts with doubt and fear. +Whether it be a dark temptation +Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration, +We in our blindness cannot say. +We must think upon it, and pray; +For evil and good in both resembles. +If it be of God, his will be done! +May he guard us from the Evil One! +How hot thy hand is! how it trembles! +Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. + + _Ursula._ Kiss me. Good-night; and do not weep! + + (ELSIE _goes out._) + +Ah, what an awful thing is this! +I almost shuddered at her kiss. +As if a ghost had touched my cheek, +I am so childish and so weak! +As soon as I see the earliest gray +Of morning glimmer in the east, +I will go over to the priest, +And hear what the good man has to say! + + * * * * * + +A VILLAGE CHURCH. + + * * * * * + +_A woman kneeling at the confessional. + + The Parish Priest (from within)_. Go, sin no +more! Thy penance o'er, +A new and better life begin! +God maketh thee forever free +From the dominion of thy sin! +Go, sin no more! He will restore +The peace that filled thy heart before, +And pardon thine iniquity! + +(_The woman goes out. The Priest comes forth, and + walks slowly up and down the church_.) + +O blessed Lord! how much I need +Thy light to guide me on my way! +So many hands, that, without heed, +Still touch thy wounds, and make them bleed! +So many feet, that, day by day, +Still wander from thy fold astray! +Unless thou fill me with thy light, +I cannot lead thy flock aright; +Nor, without thy support, can bear +The burden of so great a care, +But am myself a castaway! + + (_A pause_.) + +The day is drawing to its close; +And what good deeds, since first it rose, +Have I presented, Lord, to thee, +As offerings of my ministry? +What wrong repressed, what right maintained +What struggle passed, what victory gained, +What good attempted and attained? +Feeble, at best, is my endeavor! +I see, but cannot reach, the height +That lies forever in the light, +And yet forever and forever, +When seeming just within my grasp, +I feel my feeble hands unclasp, +And sink discouraged into night! +For thine own purpose, thou hast sent +The strife and the discouragement! + + (_A pause_.) + +Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck? +Why keep me pacing to and fro +Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, +Counting my footsteps as I go, +And marking with each step a tomb? +Why should the world for thee make room, +And wait thy leisure and thy beck? +Thou comest in the hope to hear +Some word of comfort and of cheer. +What can I say? I cannot give +The counsel to do this and live; +But rather, firmly to deny +The tempter, though his power is strong, +And, inaccessible to wrong, +Still like a martyr live and die! + + (_A pause_.) + +The evening air grows dusk and brown; +I must go forth into the town, +To visit beds of pain and death, +Of restless limbs, and quivering breath, +And sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes +That see, through tears, the sun go down, +But never more shall see it rise. +The poor in body and estate, +The sick and the disconsolate. +Must not on man's convenience wait. + +(_Goes out. Enter_ LUCIFER, _as a Priest_. LUCIFER, + _with a genuflexion, mocking_.) + +This is the Black Pater-noster. +God was my foster, +He fostered me +Under the book of the Palm-tree! +St. Michael was my dame. +He was born at Bethlehem, +He was made of flesh and blood. +God send me my right food, +My right food, and shelter too, +That I may to yon kirk go, +To read upon yon sweet book +Which the mighty God of heaven shook. +Open, open, hell's gates! +Shut, shut, heaven's gates! +All the devils in the air +The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer! + + (_Looking round the church_.) + +What a darksome and dismal place! +I wonder that any man has the face +To call such a hole the House of the Lord, +And the Gate of Heaven,--yet such is the word. +Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, +Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould; +Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, +Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs! +The pulpit, from which such ponderous sermons +Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans, +With about as much real edification +As if a great Bible, bound in lead, +Had fallen, and struck them on the head; +And I ought to remember that sensation! +Here stands the holy water stoup! +Holy-water it may be to many, +But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehennae! +It smells like a filthy fast day soup! +Near it stands the box for the poor; +With its iron padlock, safe and sure, +I and the priest of the parish know +Whither all these charities go; +Therefore, to keep up the institution, +I will add my little contribution! + + (_He puts in money._) + +Underneath this mouldering tomb, +With statue of stone, and scutcheon of brass, +Slumbers a great lord of the village. +All his life was riot and pillage, +But at length, to escape the threatened doom +Of the everlasting, penal fire, +He died in the dress of a mendicant friar, +And bartered his wealth for a daily mass. +But all that afterward came to pass, +And whether he finds it dull or pleasant, +Is kept a secret for the present, +At his own particular desire. + +And here, in a corner of the wall, +Shadowy, silent, apart from all, +With its awful portal open wide, +And its latticed windows on either side, +And its step well worn by the bended knees +Of one or two pious centuries, +Stands the village confessional! +Within it, as an honored guest, +I will sit me down awhile and rest! + + (_Seats himself in the confessional_.) + +Here sits the priest, and faint and low, +Like the sighing of an evening breeze, +Comes through these painted lattices +The ceaseless sound of human woe, +Here, while her bosom aches and throbs +With deep and agonizing sobs, +That half are passion, half contrition, +The luckless daughter of perdition +Slowly confesses her secret shame! +The time, the place, the lover's name! +Here the grim murderer, with a groan, +From his bruised conscience rolls the stone, +Thinking that thus he can atone +For ravages of sword and flame! +Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly, +How a priest can sit here so sedately, +Reading, the whole year out and in, +Naught but the catalogue of sin, +And still keep any faith whatever +In human virtue! Never! never! + +I cannot repeat a thousandth part +Of the horrors and crimes and sins and woes +That arise, when with palpitating throes +The graveyard in the human heart +Gives up its dead, at the voice of the priest, +As if he were an archangel, at least. +It makes a peculiar atmosphere, +This odor of earthly passions and crimes, +Such as I like to breathe, at times, +And such as often brings me here +In the hottest and most pestilential season. +To-day, I come for another reason; +To foster and ripen an evil thought +In a heart that is almost to madness wrought, +And to make a murderer out of a prince, +A sleight of hand I learned long since! +He comes In the twilight he will not see +the difference between his priest and me! +In the same net was the mother caught! + + (_Prince Henry entering and kneeling at the confessional._) + +Remorseful, penitent, and lowly, +I come to crave, O Father holy, +Thy benediction on my head. + + _Lucifer_. The benediction shall be said +After confession, not before! +'T is a God speed to the parting guest, +Who stands already at the door, +Sandalled with holiness, and dressed +In garments pure from earthly stain. +Meanwhile, hast thou searched well thy breast? +Does the same madness fill thy brain? +Or have thy passion and unrest +Vanished forever from thy mind? + + _Prince Henry_. By the same madness still made blind, +By the same passion still possessed, +I come again to the house of prayer, +A man afflicted and distressed! +As in a cloudy atmosphere, +Through unseen sluices of the air, +A sudden and impetuous wind +Strikes the great forest white with fear, +And every branch, and bough, and spray +Points all its quivering leaves one way, +And meadows of grass, and fields of grain, +And the clouds above, and the slanting rain, +And smoke from chimneys of the town, +Yield themselves to it, and bow down, +So does this dreadful purpose press +Onward, with irresistible stress, +And all my thoughts and faculties, +Struck level by the strength of this, +From their true inclination turn, +And all stream forward to Salem! + + _Lucifer_. Alas! we are but eddies of dust, +Uplifted by the blast, and whirled +Along the highway of the world +A moment only, then to fall +Back to a common level all, +At the subsiding of the gust! + + _Prince Henry_. O holy Father! pardon in me +The oscillation of a mind +Unsteadfast, and that cannot find +Its centre of rest and harmony! +For evermore before mine eyes +This ghastly phantom flits and flies, +And as a madman through a crowd, +With frantic gestures and wild cries, +It hurries onward, and aloud +Repeats its awful prophecies! +Weakness is wretchedness! To be strong +Is to be happy! I am weak, +And cannot find the good I seek, +Because I feel and fear the wrong! + + _Lucifer_. Be not alarmed! The Church is kind-- +And in her mercy and her meekness +She meets half-way her children's weakness, +Writes their transgressions in the dust! +Though in the Decalogue we find +The mandate written, "Thou shalt not kill!" +Yet there are cases when we must. +In war, for instance, or from scathe +To guard and keep the one true Faith! +We must look at the Decalogue in the light +Of an ancient statute, that was meant +For a mild and general application, +To be understood with the reservation, +That, in certain instances, the Right +Must yield to the Expedient! +Thou art a Prince. If thou shouldst die, +What hearts and hopes would prostrate he! +What noble deeds, what fair renown, +Into the grave with thee go down! +What acts of valor and courtesy +Remain undone, and die with thee! +Thou art the last of all thy race! +With thee a noble name expires, +And vanishes from the earth's face +The glorious memory of thy sires! +She is a peasant. In her veins +Flows common and plebeian blood; +It is such as daily and hourly stains +The dust and the turf of battle plains, +By vassals shed, in a crimson flood, +Without reserve, and without reward, +At the slightest summons of their lord! +But thine is precious, the fore-appointed +Blood of kings, of God's anointed! +Moreover, what has the world in store +For one like her, but tears and toil? +Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, +A peasant's child and a peasant's wife, +And her soul within her sick and sore +With the roughness and barrenness of life! +I marvel not at the heart's recoil +From a fate like this, in one so tender, +Nor at its eagerness to surrender +All the wretchedness, want, and woe +That await it in this world below, +For the unutterable splendor +Of the world of rest beyond the skies. +So the Church sanctions the sacrifice: +Therefore inhale this healing balm, +And breathe this fresh life into thine; +Accept the comfort and the calm +She offers, as a gift divine, +Let her fall down and anoint thy feet +With the ointment costly and most sweet +Of her young blood, and thou shall live. + + _Prince Henry._ And will the righteous Heaven forgive? +No action, whether foul or fair, +Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere +A record, written by fingers ghostly, +As a blessing or a curse, and mostly +In the greater weakness or greater strength +Of the acts which follow it, till at length +The wrongs of ages are redressed, +And the justice of God made manifest! + + _Lucifer_ In ancient records it is stated +That, whenever an evil deed is done, +Another devil is created +To scourge and torment the offending one! +But evil is only good perverted, +And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light, +But an angel fallen and deserted, +Thrust from his Father's house with a curse +Into the black and endless night. + + _Prince Henry._ If justice rules the universe, +From the good actions of good men +Angels of light should be begotten, +And thus the balance restored again. + + _Lucifer._ Yes; if the world were not so rotten, +And so given over to the Devil! + + _Prince Henry._ But this deed, is it good or evil? +Have I thine absolution free +To do it, and without restriction? + + _Lucifer._ Ay; and from whatsoever sin +Lieth around it and within, +From all crimes in which it may involve thee, +I now release thee and absolve thee! + + _Prince Henry._ Give me thy holy benediction. + + _Lucifer._ (_stretching forth his hand and muttering_), + Maledictione perpetua + Maledicat vos + Pater eternus! + +_The Angel_ (_with the aeolian harp_). Take heed! take heed! +Noble art thou in thy birth, +By the good and the great of earth +Hast thou been taught! +Be noble in every thought +And in every deed! +Let not the illusion of thy senses +Betray thee to deadly offences. +Be strong! be good! be pure! +The right only shall endure, +All things else are but false pretences! +I entreat thee, I implore, +Listen no more +To the suggestions of an evil spirit, +That even now is there, +Making the foul seem fair, +And selfishness itself a virtue and a merit! + + + * * * * * + +A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. + + + * * * * * + + _Gottlieb_. It is decided! For many days, +And nights as many, we have had +A nameless terror in our breast, +Making us timid, and afraid +Of God, and his mysterious ways! +We have been sorrowful and sad; +Much have we suffered, much have prayed +That he would lead us as is best, +And show us what his will required. +It is decided; and we give +Our child, O Prince, that you may live! + + _Ursula_. It is of God. He has inspired +This purpose in her; and through pain, +Out of a world of sin and woe, +He takes her to himself again. +The mother's heart resists no longer; +With the Angel of the Lord in vain +It wrestled, for he was the stronger. + + _Gottlieb_. As Abraham offered long ago +His son unto the Lord, and even +The Everlasting Father in heaven +Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, +So do I offer up my daughter! + + (URSULA _hides her face_.) + + _Elsie_. My life is little, +Only a cup of water, +But pure and limpid. +Take it, O my Prince! +Let it refresh you, +Let it restore you. +It is given willingly, +It is given freely; +May God bless the gift! + + _Prince Henry._ And the giver! + + _Gottlieb._ Amen! + + _Prince Henry._ I accept it! + + _Gottlieb._ Where are the children? + + _Ursula._ They are already asleep. + + _Gottlieb._ What if they were dead? + + * * * * * + +IN THE GARDEN. + + * * * * * + + _Elsie._ I have one thing to ask of you. + + _Prince Henry._ What is it? +It is already granted. + + _Elsie._ Promise me, +When we are gone from here, and on our way +Are journeying to Salerno, you will not, +By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade me +And turn me from my purpose, but remember +That as a pilgrim to the Holy City +Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon +Occupied wholly, so would I approach +The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee, +With my petition, putting off from me +All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off my feet. +Promise me this. + + _Prince Henry._ Thy words fall from thy lips +Like roses from the lips of Angelo: and angels +Might stoop to pick them up! + + _Elsie._ Will you not promise? + + _Prince Henry._ If ever we depart upon this journey, +So long to one or both of us, I promise. + + _Elsie._ Shall we not go, then? Have you lifted me +Into the air, only to hurl me back +Wounded upon the ground? and offered me +The waters of eternal life, to bid me +Drink the polluted puddles of this world? + + _Prince Henry._ O Elsie! what a lesson thou dost teach me! +The life which is, and that which is to come, +Suspended hang in such nice equipoise +A breath disturbs the balance; and that scale +In which we throw our hearts preponderates, +And the other, like an empty one, flies up, +And is accounted vanity and air! +To me the thought of death is terrible, +Having such hold on life. To thee it is not +So much even as the lifting of a latch; +Only a step into the open air +Out of a tent already luminous +With light that shines through its transparent walls! +O pure in heart! from thy sweet dust shall grow +Lilies, upon whose petals will be written +"Ave Maria" in characters of gold! + + + + +III. + +A STREET IN STRASBURG. + + * * * * * + +_Night._ PRINCE HENRY _wandering alone, wrapped in a cloak._ + + _Prince Henry._ Still is the night. The sound of feet +Has died away from the empty street, +And like an artisan, bending down +His head on his anvil, the dark town +Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet. +Sleepless and restless, I alone, +In the dusk and damp of these wails of stone, +Wander and weep in my remorse! + + _Crier of the dead (ringing a bell)._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Hark! with what accents loud and hoarse +This warder on the walls of death +Sends forth the challenge of his breath! +I see the dead that sleep in the grave! +They rise up and their garments wave, +Dimly and spectral, as they rise, +With the light of another world in their eyes! + + _Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Why for the dead, who are at rest? +Pray for the living, in whose breast +The struggle between right and wrong +Is raging terrible and strong, +As when good angels war with devils! +This is the Master of the Revels, +Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes +The health of absent friends, and pledges, +Not in bright goblets crowned with roses, +And tinkling as we touch their edges, +But with his dismal, tinkling bell, +That mocks and mimics their funeral knell! + + _Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Wake not, beloved! be thy sleep +Silent as night is, and as deep! +There walks a sentinel at thy gate +Whose heart is heavy and desolate, +And the heavings of whose bosom number +The respirations of thy slumber, +As if some strange, mysterious fate +Had linked two hearts in one, and mine +Went madly wheeling about thine, +Only with wider and wilder sweep! + + _Crier of the dead (at a distance)._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Lo! with what depth of blackness thrown +Against the clouds, far up the skies, +The walls of the cathedral rise, +Like a mysterious grove of stone, +With fitful lights and shadows bleeding, +As from behind, the moon, ascending, +Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown! +The wind is rising; but the boughs +Rise not and fall not with the wind +That through their foliage sobs and soughs; +Only the cloudy rack behind, +Drifting onward, wild and ragged, +Gives to each spire and buttress jagged +A seeming motion undefined. +Below on the square, an armed knight, +Still as a statue and as white, +Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver +Upon the points of his armor bright +As on the ripples of a river. +He lifts the visor from his cheek, +And beckons, and makes as he would speak. + + _Walter the Minnesinger_ Friend! can you tell me where alight +Thuringia's horsemen for the night? +For I have lingered in the rear, +And wander vainly up and down. + + _Prince Henry_ I am a stranger in the town, +As thou art, but the voice I hear +Is not a stranger to mine ear. +Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid! + + _Walter_ Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy name +Is Henry of Hoheneck! + + _Prince Henry_ Ay, the same. + + _Walter_ (_embracing him_). Come closer, closer to my side! +What brings thee hither? What potent charm +Has drawn thee from thy German farm +Into the old Alsatian city? + + _Prince Henry_. A tale of wonder and of pity! +A wretched man, almost by stealth +Dragging my body to Salern, +In the vain hope and search for health, +And destined never to return. +Already thou hast heard the rest +But what brings thee, thus armed and dight +In the equipments of a knight? + + _Walter_. Dost thou not see upon my breast +The cross of the Crusaders shine? +My pathway leads to Palestine. + + _Prince Henry_. Ah, would that way were also mine! +O noble poet! thou whose heart +Is like a nest of singing birds +Rocked on the topmost bough of life, +Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, +And in the clangor of the strife +Mingle the music of thy words? + + _Walter_. My hopes are high, my heart is proud, +And like a trumpet long and loud, +Thither my thoughts all clang and ring! +My life is in my hand, and lo! +I grasp and bend it as a bow, +And shoot forth from its trembling string +An arrow, that shall be, perchance, +Like the arrow of the Israelite king +Shot from the window toward the east, +That of the Lord's deliverance! + + _Prince Henry_. My life, alas! is what thou seest! +O enviable fate! to be +Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee +With lyre and sword, with song and steel; +A hand to smite, a heart to feel! +Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy sword, +Thou givest all unto thy Lord, +While I, so mean and abject grown, +Am thinking of myself alone. + + _Walter_. Be patient: Time will reinstate +Thy health and fortunes. + + _Prince Henry_. 'T is too late! +I cannot strive against my fate! + + _Walter_. Come with me; for my steed is weary; +Our journey has been long and dreary, +And, dreaming of his stall, he dints +With his impatient hoofs the flints. + + _Prince Henry_ (_aside_). I am ashamed, in my disgrace, +To look into that noble face! +To-morrow, Walter, let it be. + + _Walter_. To-morrow, at the dawn of day, +I shall again be on my way +Come with me to the hostelry, +For I have many things to say. +Our journey into Italy +Perchance together we may make; +Wilt thou not do it for my sake? + + _Prince Henry_. A sick man's pace would but impede +Thine eager and impatient speed. +Besides, my pathway leads me round +To Hirsehau, in the forest's bound, +Where I assemble man and steed, +And all things for my journey's need. + + (_They go out_. LUCIFER, _flying over the city_.) + +Sleep, sleep, O city! till the light +Wakes you to sin and crime again, +Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain, +I scatter downward through the night +My maledictions dark and deep. +I have more martyrs in your walls +Than God has; and they cannot sleep; +They are my bondsmen and my thralls; +Their wretched lives are full of pain, +Wild agonies of nerve and brain; +And every heart-beat, every breath, +Is a convulsion worse than death! +Sleep, sleep, O city! though within +The circuit of your walls there lies +No habitation free from sin, +And all its nameless miseries; +The aching heart, the aching head, +Grief for the living and the dead, +And foul corruption of the time, +Disease, distress, and want, and woe, +And crimes, and passions that may grow +Until they ripen into, crime! + + + + +SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL. + + * * * * * + +_Easter Sunday_. FRIAR CUTHBERT _preaching to the +crowd from a pulpit in the open air_. PRINCE +HENRY _and_ ELSIE _crossing the square_. + + _Prince Henry_. This is the day, when from the dead +Our Lord arose; and everywhere, +Out of their darkness and despair, +Triumphant over fears and foes, +The hearts of his disciples rose, +When to the women, standing near, +The Angel in shining vesture said, +"The Lord is risen; he is not here!" +And, mindful that the day is come, +On all the hearths in Christendom +The fires are quenched, to be again +Rekindled from the sun, that high +Is dancing in the cloudless sky. +The churches are all decked with flowers. +The salutations among men +Are but the Angel's words divine, +"Christ is arisen!" and the bells +Catch the glad murmur, as it swells, +And chaunt together in their towers. +All hearts are glad; and free from care +The faces of the people shine. +See what a crowd is in the square, +Gaily and gallantly arrayed! + + _Elsie_. Let us go back; I am afraid! + + _Prince Henry_. Nay, let us mount the church-steps here, +Under the doorway's sacred shadow; +We can see all things, and be freer +From the crowd that madly heaves and presses! + + _Elsie._ What a gay pageant! what bright dresses! +It looks like a flower besprinkled meadow. +What is that yonder on the square? + + _Prince Henry_ A pulpit in the open air, +And a Friar, who is preaching to the crowd +With a voice so deep and clear and loud, +That, if we listen, and give heed, +His lowest words will reach the ear. + + _Friar Cuthbert (gesticulating and cracking a postilion's +whip)_ What ho! good people! do you not hear? +Dashing along at the top of his speed, +Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed, +A courier comes with words of cheer. +Courier! what is the news, I pray? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From court." +Then I do not believe it; you say it in sport. + + (_Cracks his whip again._) + +There comes another, riding this way; +We soon shall know what he has to say. +Courier! what are the tidings to-day? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From town." +Then I do not believe it; away with you, clown. + + (_Cracks his whip more violently._) + +And here comes a third, who is spurring amain; +What news do you bring, with your loose-hanging rein, +Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle with foam? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From Rome." +Ah, now I believe. He is risen, indeed. +Ride on with the news, at the top of your speed! + + (_Great applause among the crowd._) + +To come back to my text! When the news was first spread +That Christ was arisen indeed from the dead, +Very great was the joy of the angels in heaven; +And as great the dispute as to who should carry +The tidings, thereof to the Virgin Mary, +Pierced to the heart with sorrows seven. +Old Father Adam was first to propose, +As being the author of all our woes; +But he was refused, for fear, said they, +He would stop to eat apples on the way! +Abel came next, but petitioned in vain, +Because he might meet with his brother Cain! +Noah, too, was refused, lest his weakness for wine +Should delay him at every tavern sign; +And John the Baptist could not get a vote, +On account of his old fashioned, camel's-hair coat; +And the Penitent Thief, who died on the cross, +Was reminded that all his bones were broken! +Till at last, when each in turn had spoken, +The company being still at a loss, +The Angel, who had rolled away the stone, +Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone, +And filled with glory that gloomy prison, +And said to the Virgin, "The Lord is arisen!" + + (_The Cathedral bells ring_.) + +But hark! the bells are beginning to chime; +And I feel that I am growing hoarse. +I will put an end to my discourse, +And leave the rest for some other time. +For the bells themselves are the best of preachers; +Their brazen lips are learned teachers, +From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, +Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, +Shriller than trumpets under the Law, +Now a sermon and now a prayer. +The clangorous hammer is the tongue, +This way, that way, beaten and swung, +That from mouth of brass, as from Mouth of Gold, +May be taught the Testaments, New and Old. +And above it the great crossbeam of wood +Representeth the Holy Rood, +Upon which, like the bell, our hopes are hung. +And the wheel wherewith it is swayed and rung +Is the mind of man, that round and round +Sways, and maketh the tongue to sound! +And the rope, with its twisted cordage three, +Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity +Of Morals, and Symbols, and History; +And the upward and downward motions show +That we touch upon matters high and low; +And the constant change and transmutation +Of action and of contemplation, +Downward, the Scripture brought from on high, +Upward, exalted again to the sky; +Downward, the literal interpretation, +Upward, the Vision and Mystery! + +And now, my hearers, to make an end, +I have only one word more to say; +In the church, in honor of Easter day, +Will be represented a Miracle Play; +And I hope you will all have the grace to attend. +Christ bring us at last So his felicity! +Pax vobiscum! et Benedicite! + + + + +IN THE CATHEDRAL. + + * * * * * + +CHAUNT. + Kyrie Eleison! + Christe Eleison! + + _Elsie._ I am at home here in my Father's house! +These paintings of the Saints upon the walls +Have all familiar and benignant faces. + + _Prince Henry._ The portraits of the family of God! +Thine own hereafter shall be placed among them. + + _Elsie._ How very grand it is and wonderful! +Never have I beheld a church so splendid! +Such columns, and such arches, and such windows, +So many tombs and statues in the chapels, +And under them so many confessionals. +They must be for the rich. I should not like +To tell my sins in such a church as this. +Who built it? + + _Prince Henry._ A great master of his craft, +Erwin von Steinbach; but not he alone, +For many generations labored with him. +Children that came to see these Saints in stone, +As day by day out of the blocks they rose, +Grew old and died, and still the work went on, +And on, and on, and is not yet completed. +The generation that succeeds our own +Perhaps may finish it. The architect +Built his great heart into these sculptured stones, +And with him toiled his children, and their lives +Were builded, with his own, into the walls, +As offerings unto God. You see that statue +Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled eyes +Upon the Pillar of the Angels yonder. +That is the image of the master, carved +By the fair hand of his own child, Sabina. + + _Elsie._ How beautiful is the column that he looks at! + + _Prince Henry._ That, too, she sculptured. At the base of it +Stand the Evangelists; above their heads +Four Angels blowing upon marble trumpets, +And over them the blessed Christ, surrounded +By his attendant ministers, upholding +The instruments of his passion. + + _Elsie._ O my Lord! +Would I could leave behind me upon earth +Some monument to thy glory, such as this! + + _Prince Henry._ A greater monument than this thou leavest +In thine own life, all purity and love! +See, too, the Rose, above the western portal +Flamboyant with a thousand gorgeous colors, +The perfect flower of Gothic loveliness! + + _Elsie._ And, in the gallery, the long line of statues, +Christ with his twelve Apostles watching us. + +(_A_ BISHOP _in armor, booted and spurred, passes with +his train._) + +_Prince Henry._ But come away; we have not time to look. +The crowd already fills the church, and yonder +Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet, +Clad like The Angel Gabriel, proclaims +The Mystery that will now be represented. + + + + +THE NATIVITY. + + * * * * * + +A MIRACLE PLAY. + + * * * * * + +THE NATIVITY. + +INTROITUS. + + _Præco._ Come, good people, all and each, +Come and listen to our speech! +In your presence here I stand, +With a trumpet in my hand, +To announce the Easter Play, +Which we represent to-day! +First of all we shall rehearse, +In our action and our verse, +The Nativity of our Lord, +As written in the old record +Of the Protevangelion, +So that he who reads may run! + + (_Blows his trumpet._) + + * * * * * + +I. HEAVEN. + + _Mercy_ (_at the feet of God_). Have pity, Lord be not afraid +To save mankind, whom thou hast made, +Nor let the souls that were betrayed + Perish eternally! + + _Justice._ It cannot be, it must not be! +When in the garden placed by thee, +The fruit of the forbidden tree + He ate, and he must die! + + _Mercy._ Have pity, Lord! let penitence +Atone for disobedience, +Nor let the fruit of man's offence + Be endless misery! + + _Justice._ What penitence proportionate +Can e'er be felt for sin so great? +Of the forbidden fruit he ate, + And damned must he be! + + _God._ He shall be saved, if that within +The bounds of earth one free from sin +Be found, who for his kith and kin + Will suffer martyrdom. + + _The Four Virtues._ Lord! we have searched the world around, +From centre to the utmost bound, +But no such mortal can be found; + Despairing, back we come. + + _Wisdom._ No mortal, but a God made man, +Can ever carry out this plan, +Achieving what none other can, + Salvation unto all! + + _God._ Go, then, O my beloved Son; +It can by thee alone be done; +By thee the victory shall be won + O'er Satan and the Fall! + +(_Here the_ ANGEL GABRIEL _shall leave Paradise and +fly toward the earth; the jaws of Hell open below, +and the Devils walk about, making a great noise._) + + * * * * * + + +II. MARY AT THE WELL. + + _Mary._ Along the garden walk, and thence +Through the wicket in the garden fence, + I steal with quiet pace, +My pitcher at the well to fill, +That lies so deep and cool and still + In this sequestered place. +These sycamores keep guard around; +I see no face, I hear no sound, + Save babblings of the spring, +And my companions, who within +The threads of gold and scarlet spin, + And at their labor sing. + + _The Angel Gabriel._ Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace! + +(_Here_ MARY _looketh around her, trembling, and +then saith:_) + + _Mary._ Who is it speaketh in this place, +With such a gentle voice? + + _Gabriel._ The Lord of heaven is with thee now! +Blessed among all women thou, + Who art his holy choice! + + _Mary_ (setting down the pitcher). What can this mean? +No one is near, +And yet, such sacred words I hear, + I almost fear to stay. + + (_Here the_ ANGEL, _appearing to her, shall say:_) + + _Gabriel._ Fear not, O Mary! but believe! +For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive + A child this very day. + +Fear not, O Mary! from the sky +The majesty of the Most High + Shall overshadow thee! + + _Mary._ Behold the handmaid of the Lord! +According to thy holy word, + So be it unto me! + + (_Here the Devils shall again make a great noise, + under the stage._) + + + + +III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLANETS, + _bearing the Star of Bethlehem._ + + _The Angels._ The Angels of the Planets Seven +Across the shining fields of heaven + The natal star we bring! +Dropping our sevenfold virtues down, +As priceless jewels in the crown + Of Christ, our new-born King. + + _Raphael._ I am the Angel of the Sun, +Whose flaming wheels began to run + When God's almighty breath +Said to the darkness and the Night, +Let there be light! and there was light! + I bring the gift of Faith. + + _Gabriel._ I am the Angel of the Moon, +Darkened, to be rekindled soon + Beneath the azure cope! +Nearest to earth, it is my ray +That best illumes the midnight way. + I bring the gift of Hope! + + _Anael._ The Angel of the Star of Love, +The Evening Star, that shines above + The place where lovers be, +Above all happy hearths and homes, +On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, + I give him Charity! + + _Zobiachel._ The Planet Jupiter is mine! +The mightiest star of all that shine, + Except the sun alone! +He is the High Priest of the Dove, +And sends, from his great throne above, + Justice, that shall atone! + + _Michael._ The Planet Mercury, whose place +Is nearest to the sun in space, + Is my allotted sphere! +And with celestial ardor swift +I bear upon my hands the gift + Of heavenly Prudence here! + + _Uriel._ I am the Minister of Mars, +The strongest star among the stars! + My songs of power prelude +The march and battle of man's life, +And for the suffering and the strife, + I give him Fortitude! + + _Anachiel._ The Angel of the uttermost +Of all the shining, heavenly host, + From the far-off expanse +Of the Saturnian, endless space +I bring the last, the crowning grace, + The gift of Temperance! + + (_A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable + in the village below._) + + + + +IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. + + _The stable of the Inn. The_ VIRGIN _and_ CHILD. + _Three Gypsy Kings,_ GASPAR, MELCHIOR, _and_ BELSHAZZAR, + _shall come in._ + + _Gaspar._ Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth! +Though in a manger thou drawest thy breath, +Thou art greater than Life and Death, + Greater than Joy or Woe! +This cross upon the line of life +Portendeth struggle, toil, and strife, +And through a region with dangers rife + In darkness shall thou go! + + _Melchior._ Hail to thee, King of Jerusalem +Though humbly born in Bethlehem, +A sceptre and a diadem + Await thy brow and hand! +The sceptre is a simple reed, +The crown will make thy temples bleed, +And in thy hour of greatest need, + Abashed thy subjects stand! + +_Belshazzar_. Hail to thee, Christ of Christendom! +O'er all the earth thy kingdom come! +From distant Trebizond to Rome + Thy name shall men adore! +Peace and good-will among all men, +The Virgin has returned again, +Returned the old Saturnian reign + And Golden Age once more. + +_The Child Christ_. Jesus, the Son of God, am I, +Born here to suffer and to die +According to the prophecy, + That other men may live! + +_The Virgin_. And now these clothes, that wrapped him, take +And keep them precious, for his sake; +For benediction thus we make, + Naught else have we to give. + + (_She gives them swaddling-clothes and they depart_.) + + + + +V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. + + +_Here shall_ JOSEPH _come in, leading an ass, on which +are seated_ MARY _and the_ CHILD. + +_Mary_. Here will we rest us, under these +Underhanging branches of the trees, +Where robins chant their Litanies, + And canticles of joy. + +_Joseph_. My saddle-girths have given way +With trudging through the heat to-day +To you I think it is but play + To ride and hold the boy. + + _Mary_. Hark! how the robins shout and sing, +As if to hail their infant King! +I will alight at yonder spring + To wash his little coat. + + _Joseph_. And I will hobble well the ass, +Lest, being loose upon the grass, +He should escape; for, by the mass. + He is nimble as a goat. + + (_Here_ MARY _shall alight and go to the spring._) + + _Mary_. O Joseph! I am much afraid, +For men are sleeping in the shade; +I fear that we shall be waylaid, + And robbed and beaten sore! + + (_Here a band of robbers shall be seen sleeping, two of + whom shall rise and come forward_.) + + _Dumachus_. Cock's soul! deliver up your gold! + + _Joseph_. I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold! +Of wealth I have no store. + + _Dumachus_. Give up your money! + + _Titus_. Prithee cease! +Let these good people go in peace! + + _Dumachus_. First let them pay for their release, +And then go on their way. + + _Titus_. These forty groats I give in fee, +If thou wilt only silent be. + + _Mary_. May God be merciful to thee +Upon the Judgment Day! + + _Jesus_. When thirty years shall have gone by, +I at Jerusalem shall die, +By Jewish hands exalted high + On the accursed tree. +Then on my right and my left side, +These thieves shall both be crucified +And Titus thenceforth shall abide + In paradise with me. + + (_Here a great rumor of trumpets and horses, like the + noise of a king with his army, and the robbers shall + take flight._) + + + + +VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS. + + _King Herod._ Potz-tausend! Himmel-sacrament! +Filled am I with great wonderment + At this unwelcome news! +Am I not Herod? Who shall dare +My crown to take, my sceptre bear, + As king among the Jews? + + (_Here he shall stride up and down and flourish his sword._) + +What ho! I fain would drink a can +Of the strong wine of Canaan! + The wine of Helbon bring, +I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, +As red as blood, as hot as fire, + And fit for any king! + + (_He quaffs great goblets of wine._) + +Now at the window will I stand, +While in the street the armed band + The little children slay: +The babe just born in Bethlehem +Will surely slaughtered be with them, + Nor live another day! + + (_Here a voice of lamentation shall be heard in the street._) + + _Rachel._ O wicked king! O cruel speed! +To do this most unrighteous deed! + My children all are slain! + + _Herod._ Ho seneschal! another cup! +With wine of Sorek fill it up! + I would a bumper drain! + + _Rahab._ May maledictions fall and blast +Thyself and lineage, to the last + Of all thy kith and kin! + + _Herod._ Another goblet! quick! and stir +Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh + And calamus therein! + + _Soldiers (in the street)_. Give up thy child into our hands! +It is King Herod who commands + That he should thus be slain! + + _The Nurse Medusa._ O monstrous men! What have ye done! +It is King Herod's only son + That ye have cleft in twain! + + _Herod._ Ah, luckless day! What words of fear +Are these that smite upon my ear + With such a doleful sound! +What torments rack my heart and head! +Would I were dead! would I were dead, + And buried in the ground! + + (_He falls down and writhes as though eaten by worms. + Hell opens, and_ SATAN _and_ ASTAROTH _come forth, + and drag him down._) + + + + +VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOLMATES. + + _Jesus._ The shower is over. Let us play, +And make some sparrows out of clay, + Down by the river's side. + + _Judas._ See, how the stream has overflowed +Its banks, and o'er the meadow road + Is spreading far and wide! + + (_They draw water out of the river by channels, and + form little pools_ JESUS _makes twelve sparrows of + clay, and the other boys do the same._) + + _Jesus._ Look! look! how prettily I make +These little sparrows by the lake + Bend down their necks and drink! +Now will I make them sing and soar +So far, they shall return no more + Into this river's brink. + + _Judas._ That canst thou not! They are but clay, +They cannot sing, nor fly away + Above the meadow lands! + + _Jesus._ Fly, fly! ye sparrows! you are free! +And while you live, remember me, + Who made you with my hands. + + (_Here_ JESUS _shall clap his hands, and the sparrows + shall fly away, chirruping._) + + _Judas._ Thou art a sorcerer, I know; +Oft has my mother told me so, + I will not play with thee! + + (_He strikes_ JESUS _on the right side._) + + _Jesus._ Ah, Judas! thou has smote my side, +And when I shall be crucified, + There shall I pierced be! + + (_Here_ JOSEPH _shall come in, and say:_) + + _Joseph._ Ye wicked boys! why do ye play, +And break the holy Sabbath day? +What, think ye, will your mothers say + To see you in such plight! +In such a sweat and such a heat, +With all that mud-upon your feet! +There's not a beggar in the street + Makes such a sorry sight! + + + + +VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. + +_The_ RABBI BEN ISRAEL, _with a long beard, sitting on + a high stool, with a rod in his hand._ + + _Rabbi._ I am the Rabbi Ben Israel, +Throughout this village known full well, +And, as my scholars all will tell, + Learned in things divine; +The Kabala and Talmud hoar +Than all the prophets prize I more, +For water is all Bible lore, + But Mishna is strong wine. + +My fame extends from West to East, +And always, at the Purim feast, +I am as drunk as any beast + That wallows in his sty; +The wine it so elateth me, +That I no difference can see +Between "Accursed Haman be!" + And "Blessed be Mordecai!" + +Come hither, Judas Iscariot. +Say, if thy lesson thou hast got +From the Rabbinical Book or not. + Why howl the dogs at night? + + _Judas._ In the Rabbinical Book, it saith +The dogs howl, when with icy breath +Great Sammaël, the Angel of Death, + Takes through the town his flight! + + _Rabbi._ Well, boy! now say, if thou art wise, +When the Angel of Death, who is full of eyes, +Comes where a sick man dying lies, + What doth he to the wight? + + _Judas._ He stands beside him, dark and tall, +Holding a sword, from which doth fall +Into his mouth a drop of gall, + And so he turneth white. + + _Rabbi._ And now, my Judas, say to me +What the great Voices Four may be, +That quite across the world do flee, + And are not heard by men? + + _Judas._ The Voice of the Sun in heaven's dome, +The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome, +The Voice of a Soul that goeth home, + And the Angel of the Rain! + + _Rabbi._ Well have ye answered every one +Now little Jesus, the carpenter's son, +Let us see how thy task is done. + Canst thou thy letters say? + + _Jesus._ Aleph. + + _Rabbi._ What next? Do not stop yet! +Go on with all the alphabet. +Come, Aleph, Beth; dost thou forget? + Cock's soul! thou'dst rather play! + + _Jesus._ What Aleph means I fain would know, +Before I any farther go! + + _Rabbi._ O, by Saint Peter! wouldst thou so? +Come hither, boy, to me. +And surely as the letter Jod +Once cried aloud, and spake to God, +So surely shalt thou feel this rod, + And punished shalt thou be! + + (_Here_ RABBI BEN ISRAEL _shall lift up his rod to strike_ + JESUS, _and his right arm shall be paralyzed._) + + + + +IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS. + +JESUS _sitting among his playmates, crowned with +flowers as their King._ + + _Boys._ We spread our garments on the ground' +With fragrant flowers thy head is crowned, +While like a guard we stand around, + And hail thee as our King! +Thou art the new King of the Jews! +Nor let the passers-by refuse +To bring that homage which men use + To majesty to bring. + + (_Here a traveller shall go by, and the boys shall lay + hold of his garments and say:_) + + _Boys._ Come hither! and all reverence pay +Unto our monarch, crowned to-day! +Then go rejoicing on your way, + In all prosperity! + + _Traveller._ Hail to the King of Bethlehem, +Who weareth in his diadem +The yellow crocus for the gem + Of his authority! + + (_He passes by; and others come in, bearing on a litter + a sick child._) + + _Boys._ Set down the litter and draw near! +The King of Bethlehem is here! +What ails the child, who seems to fear + That we shall do him harm? + + _The Bearers._ He climbed up to the robin's nest, +And out there darted, from his rest, +A serpent with a crimson crest, + And stung him in the arm. + + _Jesus._ Bring him to me, and let me feel +The wounded place; my touch can heal +The sting of serpents, and can steal + The poison from the bite! + + (_He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry._) + +Cease to lament! I can foresee +That thou hereafter known shalt be, +Among the men who follow me, + As Simon the Canaanite! + + * * * * * + + + EPILOGUE. + +In the after part of the day +Will be represented another play, +Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord, +Beginning directly after Nones! +At the close of which we shall accord, +By way of benison and reward, +The sight of a holy Martyr's bones! + + + + +IV. THE ROAD HIRSCHAU. + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE, _with their attendants, on +horseback._ + + _Elsie._ Onward and onward the highway runs + to the distant city, impatiently bearing +Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of + hate, of doing and daring! + + _Prince Henry._ This life of ours is a wild aeolian + harp of many a joyous strain, +But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, + as of souls in pain. + + _Elsie._ Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart + that aches and bleeds with the stigma +Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can + comprehend its dark enigma. + + _Prince Henry._ Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure + with little care of what may betide; +Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon + that rides by an angel's side? + + _Elsie._ All the hedges are white with dust, and + the great dog under the creaking wain +Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the + horses toil and strain + + _Prince Henry._ Now they stop at the wayside inn, + and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter, +While out of the dripping trough the horses distend + their leathern sides with water. + + _Elsie._ All through life there are wayside inns, + where man may refresh his soul with love; +Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed + by springs from above. + + _Prince Henry._ Yonder, where rises the cross of + stone, our journey along the highway ends, +And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the + broad green valley descends. + + _Elsie._ I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten + road with its dust and heat; +The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer + under our horses' feet. + + (_They turn down a green lane._) + + _Elsie._ Sweet is the air with the budding haws, + and the valley stretching for miles below +Is white with blossoming cheery trees, as if just covered + with lightest snow. + + _Prince Henry._ Over our heads a white cascade is + gleaming against the distant hill; +We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like + a banner when winds are still. + + _Elsie._ Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and + cool the sound of the brook by our side! +What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it + over a land so wide? + +_Prince Henry._ It is the home of the Counts of + Calva; well have I known these scenes of old, +Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the + brooklet, the wood, and the wold. + + _Elsie._ Hark! from the little village below us the + bells of the church are ringing for rain! +Priests and peasants in long procession come forth + and kneel on the arid plain. + + _Prince Henry._ They have not long to wait, for I + see in the south uprising a little cloud, +That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky + above us as with a shroud. + + (_They pass on._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE +BLACK FOREST. + + * * * * * + +_The Convent cellar._ FRIAR CLAUS _comes in with a +light and a basket of empty flagons._ + + _Friar Claus._ I always enter this sacred place +With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace, +Pausing long enough on each stair +To breathe an ejaculatory prayer, +And a benediction on the vines +That produce these various sorts of wines! + +For my part, I am well content +That we have got through with the tedious Lent! +Fasting is all very well for those +Who have to contend with invisible foes; +But I am quite sure it does not agree +With a quiet, peaceable man like me, +Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind +That are always distressed in body and mind! +And at times it really does me good +To come down among this brotherhood, +Dwelling forever under ground, +Silent, contemplative, round and sound; +Each one old, and brown with mould, +But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth, +With the latent power and love of truth, +And with virtues fervent and manifold. + +I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, +When buds are swelling on every side, +And the sap begins to move in the vine. +Then in all the cellars, far and wide, +The oldest, as well as the newest, wine +Begins to stir itself, and ferment, +With a kind of revolt and discontent +At being so long in darkness pent, +And fain would burst from its sombre tun +To bask on the hillside in the sun; +As in the bosom of us poor friars, +The tumult of half-subdued desires +For the world that we have left behind +Disturbs at times all peace of mind! +And now that we have lived through Lent, +My duty it is, as often before, +To open awhile the prison-door, +And give these restless spirits vent. + +Now here is a cask that stands alone, +And has stood a hundred years or more, +Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, +Trailing and sweeping along the floor, +Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, +Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave, +Till his beard has grown through the table of stone! +It is of the quick and not of the dead! +In its veins the blood is hot and red, +And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak +That time may have tamed, but has not broke; +It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine, +Is one of the three best kinds of wine, +And costs some hundred florins the ohm; +But that I do not consider dear, +When I remember that every year +Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome. +And whenever a goblet thereof I drain, +The old rhyme keeps running in my brain: + + At Bacharach on the Rhine, + At Hochheim on the Main, + And at Würzburg on the Stein, + Grow the three best kinds of wine! + +They are all good wines, and better far +Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr +In particular, Würzburg well may boast +Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost, +Which of all wines I like the most. +This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking, +Who seems to be much of my way of thinking. + + (_Fills a flagon._) + +Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings! +What a delicious fragrance springs +From the deep flagon, while it fills, +As of hyacinths and daffodils! +Between this cask and the Abbot's lips +Many have been the sips and slips; +Many have been the draughts of wine, +On their way to his, that have stopped at mine; +And many a time my soul has hankered +For a deep draught out of his silver tankard, +When it should have been busy with other affairs, +Less with its longings and more with its prayers. +But now there is no such awkward condition, +No danger of death and eternal perdition; +So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all, +Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul! + + (_He drinks._) + +O cordial delicious! O soother of pain! +It flashes like sunshine into my brain! +A benison rest on the Bishop who sends +Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends! + +And now a flagon for such as may ask +A draught from the noble Bacharach cask, +And I will be gone, though I know full well +The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell. +Behold where he stands, all sound and good, +Brown and old in his oaken hood; +Silent he seems externally +As any Carthusian monk may be; +But within, what a spirit of deep unrest! +What a seething and simmering in his breast! +As if the heaving of his great heart +Would burst his belt of oak apart! +Let me unloose this button of wood, +And quiet a little his turbulent mood. + + (_Sets it running._) + +See! how its currents gleam and shine, +As if they had caught the purple hues +Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, +Descending and mingling with the dews; +Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood +Of the innocent boy, who, some years back, +Was taken and crucified by the Jews, +In that ancient town of Bacharach; +Perdition upon those infidel Jews, +In that ancient town of Bacharach! +The beautiful town, that gives us wine +With the fragrant odor of Muscadine! +I should deem it wrong to let this pass +Without first touching my lips to the glass, +For here in the midst of the current I stand, +Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river +Taking toll upon either hand, +And much more grateful to the giver. + + (_He drinks._) + +Here, now, is a very inferior kind, +Such as in any town you may find, +Such as one might imagine would suit +The rascal who drank wine out of a boot, +And, after all, it was not a crime, +For he won thereby Dorf Hüffelsheim. +A jolly old toper! who at a pull +Could drink a postilion's jack boot full, +And ask with a laugh, when that was done, +If the fellow had left the other one! +This wine is as good as we can afford +To the friars, who sit at the lower board, +And cannot distinguish bad from good, +And are far better off than if they could, +Being rather the rude disciples of beer +Than of anything more refined and dear! + + (_Fills the other flagon and departs._) + + * * * * * + + +THE SCRIPTORIUM. + +FRIAR PACIFICUS _transcribing and illuminating._ + + _Friar Pacificus_ It is growing dark! Yet one line more, +And then my work for today is o'er. +I come again to the name of the Lord! +Ere I that awful name record, +That is spoken so lightly among men, +Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen; +Pure from blemish and blot must it be +When it writes that word of mystery! + +Thus have I labored on and on, +Nearly through the Gospel of John. +Can it be that from the lips +Of this same gentle Evangelist, +That Christ himself perhaps has kissed, +Came the dread Apocalypse! +It has a very awful look, +As it stands there at the end of the book, +Like the sun in an eclipse. +Ah me! when I think of that vision divine, +Think of writing it, line by line, +I stand in awe of the terrible curse, +Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse! +God forgive me! if ever I +Take aught from the book of that Prophecy, +Lest my part too should be taken away +From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day. + +This is well written, though I say it! +I should not be afraid to display it, +In open day, on the selfsame shelf +With the writings of St Thecla herself, +Or of Theodosius, who of old +Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold! +That goodly folio standing yonder, +Without a single blot or blunder, +Would not bear away the palm from mine, +If we should compare them line for line. + +There, now, is an initial letter! +King René himself never made a better! +Finished down to the leaf and the snail, +Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail! +And now, as I turn the volume over, +And see what lies between cover and cover, +What treasures of art these pages hold, +All ablaze with crimson and gold, +God forgive me! I seem to feel +A certain satisfaction steal +Into my heart, and into my brain, +As if my talent had not lain +Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. +Yes, I might almost say to the Lord, +Here is a copy of thy Word, +Written out with much toil and pain; +Take it, O Lord, and let it be +As something I have done for thee! + + (_He looks from the window._) + +How sweet the air is! How fair the scene! +I wish I had as lovely a green +To paint my landscapes and my leaves! +How the swallows twitter under the eaves! +There, now, there is one in her nest; +I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast, +And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook, +In the margin of my Gospel book. + + (_He makes a sketch._) + +I can see no more. Through the valley yonder +A shower is passing; I hear the thunder +Mutter its curses in the air, +The Devil's own and only prayer! +The dusty road is brown with rain, +And speeding on with might and main, +Hitherward rides a gallant train. +They do not parley, they cannot wait, +But hurry in at the convent gate. +What a fair lady! and beside her +What a handsome, graceful, noble rider! +Now she gives him her hand to alight; +They will beg a shelter for the night. +I will go down to the corridor, +And try to see that face once more; +It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint, +Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. + + (_Goes out._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CLOISTERS. + + + * * * * * + +_The_ ABBOT ERNESTUS _pacing to and fro._ + + _Abbot._ Slowly, slowly up the wall +Steals the sunshine, steals the shade; +Evening damps begin to fall, +Evening shadows are displayed. +Round me, o'er me, everywhere, +All the sky is grand with clouds, +And athwart the evening air +Wheel the swallows home in crowds. +Shafts of sunshine from the west +Paint the dusky windows red; +Darker shadows, deeper rest, +Underneath and overhead. +Darker, darker, and more wan, +In my breast the shadows fall; +Upward steals the life of man, +As the sunshine from the wall. +From the wall into the sky, +From the roof along the spire; +Ah, the souls of those that die +Are but sunbeams lifted higher. + + (_Enter_ PRINCE HENRY.) + + _Prince Henry._ Christ is arisen! + + _Abbot._ Amen! he is arisen! +His peace be with you! + + _Prince Henry._ Here it reigns forever! +The peace of God, that passeth understanding, +Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors, +Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent? + + _Abbot._ I am. + + _Prince Henry._ And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, +Who crave your hospitality to-night. + + _Abbot._ You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. +You do us honor; and we shall requite it, +I fear, but poorly, entertaining you +With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine, +The remnants of our Easter holidays. + + _Prince Henry._ How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau? +Are all things well with them? + + _Abbot._ All things are well. + + _Prince Henry._ A noble convent! I have known it long +By the report of travellers. I now see +Their commendations lag behind the truth. +You lie here in the valley of the Nagold +As in a nest: and the still river, gliding +Along its bed, is like an admonition +How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample, +And your revenues large. God's benediction +Rests on your convent. + + _Abbot._ By our charities +We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, +When he departed, left us in his will, +As our best legacy on earth, the poor! +These we have always with us; had we not, +Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones. + + _Prince Henry._ If I remember right, the Counts of Calva +Founded your convent. + + _Abbot._ Even as you say. + + _Prince Henry._ And, if I err not, it is very old. + + _Abbot._ Within these cloisters lie already buried +Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags +On which we stand, the Abbot William lies, +Of blessed memory. + + _Prince Henry._ And whose tomb is that, +Which bears the brass escutcheon? + + _Abbot._ A benefactor's. +Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood +Godfather to our bells. + + _Prince Henry._ Your monks are learned +And holy men, I trust. + + _Abbot._ There are among them +Learned and holy men. Yet in this age +We need another Hildebrand, to shake +And purify us like a mighty wind. +The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder +God does not lose his patience with it wholly, +And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times, +Within these walls, where all should be at peace, +I have my trials. Time has laid his hand +Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, +But as a harper lays his open palm +Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. +Ashes are on my head, and on my lips +Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness +And weariness of life, that makes me ready +To say to the dead Abbots under us, +"Make room for me!" Only I see the dusk +Of evening twilight coming, and have not +Completed half my task; and so at times +The thought of my shortcomings in this life +Falls like a shadow on the life to come. + + _Prince Henry._ We must all die, and not the old alone; +The young have no exemption from that doom. + + _Abbot._ Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must! +That is the difference. + + _Prince Henry._ I have heard much laud +Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium +Is famous among all, your manuscripts +Praised for their beauty and their excellence. + + _Abbot._ That is indeed our boast. If you desire it, +You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile +Shall the Refectorarius bestow +Your horses and attendants for the night. + + (_They go in. The Vesper-bell rings._) + + * * * * * + +THE CHAPEL. + + * * * * * + +_Vespers; after which the monks retire, a chorister +leading an old monk who is blind_. + + _Prince Henry._ They are all gone, save one who lingers, +Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. +As if his heart could find no rest, +At times he beats his heaving breast +With clenched and convulsive fingers, +Then lifts them trembling in the air. +A chorister, with golden hair, +Guides hitherward his heavy pace. +Can it be so? Or does my sight +Deceive me in the uncertain light? +Ah no! I recognize that face, +Though Time has touched it in his flight, +And changed the auburn hair to white. +It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, +The deadliest foe of all our race, +And hateful unto me and mine! + + _The Blind Monk_. Who is it that doth stand so near +His whispered words I almost hear? + + _Prince Henry_. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, +And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine! +I know you, and I see the scar, +The brand upon your forehead, shine +And redden like a baleful star! + + _The Blind Monk_. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck +Of what I was. O Hoheneck! +The passionate will, the pride, the wrath +That bore me headlong on my path, +Stumbled and staggered into fear, +And failed me in my mad career, +As a tired steed some evil-doer, +Alone upon a desolate moor, +Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, +And hearing loud and close behind +The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer. +Then suddenly, from the dark there came +A voice that called me by my name, +And said to me, "Kneel down and pray!" +And so my terror passed away, +Passed utterly away forever. +Contrition, penitence, remorse, +Came on me, with o'erwhelming force; +A hope, a longing, an endeavor, +By days of penance and nights of prayer, +To frustrate and defeat despair! +Calm, deep, and still is now my heart. +With tranquil waters overflowed; +A lake whose unseen fountains start, +Where once the hot volcano glowed. +And you, O Prince of Hoheneck! +Have known me in that earlier time, +A man of violence and crime, +Whose passions brooked no curb nor check. +Behold me now, in gentler mood, +One of this holy brotherhood. +Give me your hand; here let me kneel; +Make your reproaches sharp as steel; +Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek; +No violence can harm the meek, +There is no wound Christ cannot heal! +Yes; lift your princely hand, and take +Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek, +Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake! + + _Prince Henry._ Arise, Count Hugo! let there be +No farther strife nor enmity +Between us twain; we both have erred! +Too rash in act, too wroth in word, +From the beginning have we stood +In fierce, defiant attitude, +Each thoughtless of the other's right, +And each reliant on his might. +But now our souls are more subdued; +The hand of God, and not in vain, +Has touched us with the fire of pain. +Let us kneel down, and side by side +Pray, till our souls are purified, +And pardon will not be denied! + + (_They kneel._) + + * * * * * + +THE REFECTORY. + + * * * * * + +_Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. LUCIFER disguised +as a Friar._ + +_Friar Paul (sings)._ Ave! color vini clari, + Dulcis potus, non aman, + Tua nos inebriari + Digneris potentia! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Not so much noise, my worthy freres, +You'll disturb the Abbot at his prayers. + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ O! quam placens in colore! + O! quam fragrans in odore! + O! quam sapidum in ore! + Dulce linguse vinculum! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I should think your tongue had +broken its chain! + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ Felix venter quern intrabis! + Felix guttur quod rigabis! + Felix os quod tu lavabis! + Et beata labia! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Peace! I say, peace! +Will you never cease! +You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again! + + _Friar John._ No danger! to-night he will let us alone, +As I happen to know he has guests of his own. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Who are they? + + _Friar John._ A German Prince and his train, +Who arrived here just before the rain. +There is with him a damsel fair to see, +As slender and graceful as a reed! +When she alighted from her steed, +It seemed like a blossom blown from a tree. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ None of your pale-faced girls for me! + + + (_Kisses the girl at his side_.) + + _Friar John._ Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg! +do not drink any farther, I beg! + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ In the days of gold, + The days of old, + Cross of wood + And bishop of gold! + + _Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)._ What an infernal racket and din! +No need not blush so, that's no sin. +You look very holy in this disguise, +Though there's something wicked in your eyes! + + _Friar Paul (continues.)_ Now we have changed + That law so good, + To cross of gold + And bishop of wood! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I like your sweet face under a hood. +Sister! how came you into this way? + + _Girl._ It was you, Friar Cuthbert, who led me astray. +Have you forgotten that day in June, +When the church was so cool in the afternoon, +And I came in to confess my sins? +That is where my ruin begins. + + _Friar John._ What is the name of yonder friar, +With an eye that glows like a coal of fire, +And such a black mass of tangled hair? + + _Friar Paul._ He who is sitting there, +With a rollicking, +Devil may care, +Free and easy look and air, +As if he were used to such feasting and frollicking? + + _Friar John._ The same. + + _Friar Paul._ He's a stranger. You had better ask his name, +And where he is going, and whence he came. + + _Friar John._ Hallo! Sir Friar! + + _Friar Paul._ You must raise your voice a little higher, +He does not seem to hear what you say. +Now, try again! He is looking this way. + + _Friar John._ Hallo! Sir Friar, +We wish to inquire +Whence you came, and where you are going, +And anything else that is worth the knowing. +So be so good as to open your head. + + _Lucifer._ I am a Frenchman born and bred, +Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. +My home +Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, +Of which, very like, you never have heard. + + _Monks._ Never a word! + + _Lucifer._ You must know, then, it is in the diocese +Called the Diocese of Vannes, +In the province of Brittany. +From the gray rocks of Morbihan +It overlooks the angry sea; +The very seashore where, +In his great despair, +Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, +Filling the night with woe, +And wailing aloud to the merciless seas +The name of his sweet Heloise! +Whilst overhead +The convent windows gleamed as red +As the fiery eyes of the monks within, +Who with jovial din +Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin! +Ha! that is a convent! that is an abbey! +Over the doors, +None of your death-heads carved in wood, +None of your Saints looking pious and good, +None of your Patriarchs old and shabby! +But the heads and tusks of boars, +And the cells +Hung all round with the fells +of the fallow-deer, +And then what cheer! +What jolly, fat friars, +Sitting round the great, roaring fires, +Roaring louder than they, +With their strong wines, +And their concubines, +And never a bell, +With its swagger and swell, +Calling you up with a start of affright +In the dead of night, +To send you grumbling down dark stairs, +To mumble your prayers, +But the cheery crow +Of cocks in the yard below, +After daybreak, an hour or so, +And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds, +These are the sounds +That, instead of bells, salute the ear. +And then all day +Up and away +Through the forest, hunting the deer! +Ah, my friends! I'm afraid that here +You are a little too pious, a little too tame, +And the more is the shame, +It is the greatest folly +Not to be jolly; +That's what I think! +Come, drink, drink, +Drink, and die game! + + _Monks,_ And your Abbot What's-his-name? + + _Lucifer._ Abelard! + + _Monks._ Did he drink hard? + + _Lucifer._ O, no! Not he! +He was a dry old fellow, +Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow. +There he stood, +Lowering at us in sullen mood, +As if he had come into Brittany +Just to reform our brotherhood! + + (_A roar of laughter_.) + +But you see +It never would do! +For some of us knew a thing or two, +In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys! +For instance, the great ado +With old Fulbert's niece, +The young and lovely Heloise! + + _Friar John._ Stop there, if you please, +Till we drink to the fair Heloise. + + _All (drinking and shouting)._ Heloise! Heloise! + + (_The Chapel-bell tolls_.) + + _Lucifer (starting)._ What is that bell for? Are you such asses +As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses? + +_Friar Cuthbert._ It is only a poor, unfortunate brother, +Who is gifted with most miraculous powers +Of getting up at all sorts of hours, +And, by way of penance and Christian meekness, +Of creeping silently out of his cell +To take a pull at that hideous bell; +So that all the monks who are lying awake +May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake, +And adapted to his peculiar weakness! + + _Friar John._ From frailty and fall-- + + _All._ Good Lord, deliver us all! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ And before the bell for matins sounds, +He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds, +Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, +Merely to say it is time to arise. +But enough of that. Go on, if you please, +With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys. + + _Lucifer._ Well, it finally came to pass +That, half in fun and half in malice, +One Sunday at Mass +We put some poison into the chalice. +But, either by accident or design, +Peter Abelard kept away +From the chapel that day, +And a poor, young friar, who in his stead +Drank the sacramental wine, +Fell on the steps of the altar, dead! +But look! do you see at the window there +That face, with a look of grief and despair, +That ghastly face, as of one in pain? + + _Monks._ Who? where? + + _Lucifer._ As I spoke, it vanished away again. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ It is that nefarious +Siebald the Refectorarius. +That fellow is always playing the scout, +Creeping and peeping and prowling about; +And then he regales +The Abbot with Scandalous tales. + + _Lucifer_. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers +Telling scandalous tales of the others? +Out upon him, the lazy loon! +I would put a stop to that pretty soon, +In a way he should rue it. + + _Monks_. How shall we do it? + + _Lucifer_. Do you, brother Paul, +Creep under the window, close to the wall, +And open it suddenly when I call. +Then seize the villain by the hair, +And hold him there, +And punish him soundly, once for all. + + _Friar Cuthbert_. As St. Dustan of old, +We are told, +Once caught the Devil by the nose! + + _Lucifer_. Ha! ha! that story is very clever, +But has no foundation whatsoever. +Quick! for I see his face again +Glaring in at the window pane; +Now! now! and do not spare your blows. + + (FRIAR PAUL _opens the window suddenly, and seizes_ + SIEBALD. _They beat him._) + + _Friar Siebald_. Help! help! are you going to slay me? + + _Friar Paul_. That will teach you again to betray me! + + _Friar Siebald_. Mercy! mercy! + + _Friar Paul_ (_shouting and beating_). Rumpas bellorum lorum, + Vim confer amorum + Morum verorum, rorun. + Tu plena polorum! + + _Lucifer_. Who stands in the doorway yonder, +Stretching out his trembling hand, +Just as Abelard used to stand, +The flash of his keen, black eyes +Forerunning the thunder? + + _The Monks (in confusion)_. The Abbot! the +Abbot! + + _Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)_. Put on your disguise! + + _Friar Francis_. Hide the great flagon +From the eyes of the dragon! + + _Friar Cuthbert_. Pull the brown hood over your face, +Lest you bring me into disgrace! + + _Abbot_. What means this revel and carouse? +Is this a tavern and drinking-house? +Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils, +To pollute this convent with your revels? +Were Peter Damian still upon earth, +To be shocked by such ungodly mirth, +He would write your names, with pen of gall, +In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all! +Away, you drunkards! to your cells, +And pray till you hear the matin-bells; +You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul! +And as a penance mark each prayer +With the scourge upon your shoulders bare; +Nothing atones for such a sin +But the blood that follows the discipline. +And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me +Alone into the sacristy; +You, who should be a guide to your brothers, +And are ten times worse than all the others, +For you I've a draught that has long been brewing +You shall do a penance worth the doing! +Away to your prayers, then, one and all! +I wonder the very, convent wall +Does not crumble and crush you in its fall! + + * * * * * + + +THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY. + + * * * * * + +_The_ ABBESS IRMINGARD _sitting with_ ELSIE _in the +moonlight._ + + _Irmingard_ The night is silent, the wind is still, +The moon is looking from yonder hill +Down upon convent, and grove, and garden; +The clouds have passed away from her face, +Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace, +Only the tender and quiet grace +Of one, whose heart had been healed with pardon! + +And such am I. My soul within +Was dark with passion and soiled with sin. +But now its wounds are healed again; +Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain; +For across that desolate land of woe, +O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go, +A wind from heaven began to blow; +And all my being trembled and shook, +As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field, +And I was healed, as the sick are healed, +When fanned by the leaves of the Holy Book! + +As thou sittest in the moonlight there, +Its glory flooding thy golden hair, +And the only darkness that which lies +In the haunted chambers of thine eyes, +I feel my soul drawn unto thee, +Strangely, and strongly, and more and more, +As to one I have known and loved before; +For every soul is akin to me +That dwells in the land of mystery! +I am the Lady Irmingard, +Born of a noble race and name! +Many a wandering Suabian bard, +Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard, +Has found through me the way to fame. +Brief and bright were those days, and the night +Which followed was full of a lurid light. +Love, that of every woman's heart +Will have the whole, and not a part, +That is to her, in Nature's plan, +More than ambition is to man, +Her light, her life, her very breath, +With no alternative but death, +Found me a maiden soft and young, +Just from the convent's cloistered school, +And seated on my lowly stool, +Attentive while the minstrels sung. + +Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, +Fairest, noblest, best of all, +Was Walter of the Vogelweid, +And, whatsoever may betide, +Still I think of him with pride! +His song was of the summer-time +The very birds sang in his rhyme; +The sunshine, the delicious air, +The fragrance of the flowers, were there, +And I grew restless as I heard, +Restless and buoyant as a bird, +Down soft, aërial currents sailing, +O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom, +And through the momentary gloom +Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, +Yielding and borne I knew not where, +But feeling resistance unavailing. + +And thus, unnoticed and apart, +And more by accident than choice. +I listened to that single voice +Until the chambers of my heart +Were filled with it by night and day, +One night,--it was a night in May,-- +Within the garden, unawares, +Under the blossoms in the gloom, +I heard it utter my own name +With protestations and wild prayers; +And it rang through me, and became +Like the archangel's trump of doom, +Which the soul hears, and must obey; +And mine arose as from a tomb. +My former life now seemed to me +Such as hereafter death may be, +When in the great Eternity +We shall awake and find it day. + +It was a dream, and would not stay; +A dream, that in a single night +Faded and vanished out of sight. +My father's anger followed fast +This passion, as a freshening blast +Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage +It may increase, but not assuage. +And he exclaimed: "No wandering bard +Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard! +For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck +By messenger and letter sues." + +Gently, but firmly, I replied: +"Henry of Hoheneck I discard! +Never the hand of Irmingard +Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride!" +This said I, Walter, for thy sake: +This said I, for I could not choose. +After a pause, my father spake +In that cold and deliberate tone +Which turns the hearer into stone, +And seems itself the act to be +That follows with such dread certainty; +"This, or the cloister and the veil!" +No other words than these he said, +But they were like a funeral wail; +My life was ended, my heart was dead. + +That night from the castle-gate went down, +With silent, slow, and stealthy pace, +Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds, +Taking the narrow path that leads +Into the forest dense and brown, +In the leafy darkness of the place, +One could not distinguish form nor face, +Only a bulk without a shape, +A darker shadow in the shade; +One scarce could say it moved or stayed, +Thus it was we made our escape! +A foaming brook, with many a bound, +Followed us like a playful hound; +Then leaped before us, and in the hollow +Paused, and waited for us to follow, +And seemed impatient, and afraid +That our tardy flight should be betrayed +By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made, +And when we reached the plain below, +He paused a moment and drew rein +To look back at the castle again; +And we saw the windows all aglow +With lights, that were passing to and fro; +Our hearts with terror ceased to beat; +The brook crept silent to our feet; +We knew what most we feared to know. +Then suddenly horns began to blow; +And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp, +And our horses snorted in the damp +Night-air of the meadows green and wide, +And in a moment, side by side, +So close, they must have seemed but one, +The shadows across the moonlight run, +And another came, and swept behind, +Like the shadow of clouds before the wind! + +How I remember that breathless flight +Across the moors, in the summer night! +How under our feet the long, white road +Backward like a river flowed, +Sweeping with it fences and hedges, +Whilst farther away, and overhead, +Paler than I, with fear and dread, +The moon fled with us, as we fled +Along the forest's jagged edges! + +All this I can remember well; +But of what afterward befell +I nothing farther can recall +Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall; +The rest is a blank and darkness all. +When I awoke out of this swoon, +The sun was shining, not the moon, +Making a cross upon the wall +With the bars of my windows narrow and tall; +And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray, +From early childhood, day by day, +Each morning, as in bed I lay! +I was lying again in my own room! +And I thanked God, in my fever and pain, +That those shadows on the midnight plain +Were gone, and could not come again! +I struggled no longer with my doom! +This happened many years ago. +I left my father's home to come +Like Catherine to her martyrdom, +For blindly I esteemed it so. +And when I heard the convent door +Behind me close, to ope no more, +I felt it smite me like a blow, +Through all my limbs a shudder ran, +And on my bruised spirit fell +The dampness of my narrow cell +As night-air on a wounded man, +Giving intolerable pain. + +But now a better life began, +I felt the agony decrease +By slow degrees, then wholly cease, +Ending in perfect rest and peace! +It was not apathy, nor dulness, +That weighed and pressed upon my brain, +But the same passion I had given +To earth before, now turned to heaven +With all its overflowing fulness. + +Alas! the world is full of peril! +The path that runs through the fairest meads, +On the sunniest side of the valley, leads +Into a region bleak and sterile! +Alike in the high-born and the lowly, +The will is feeble, and passion strong. +We cannot sever right from wrong; +Some falsehood mingles with all truth; +Nor is it strange the heart of youth +Should waver and comprehend but slowly +The things that are holy and unholy! + +But in this sacred and calm retreat, +We are all well and safely shielded +From winds that blow, and waves that beat, +From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat, +To which the strongest hearts have yielded. +Here we stand as the Virgins Seven, +For our celestial bridegroom yearning; +Our hearts are lamps forever burning, +With a steady and unwavering flame, +Pointing upward, forever the same, +Steadily upward toward the Heaven! + +The moon is hidden behind a cloud; +A sudden darkness fills the room, +And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, +Shine like jewels in a shroud. +On the leaves is a sound of falling rain; +A bird, awakened in its nest, +Gives a faint twitter of unrest, +Then smoothes its plumes and sleeps again. + +No other sounds than these I hear; +The hour of midnight must be near. +Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue +Of riding many a dusty league; +Sink, then, gently to thy slumber; +Me so many cares encumber, +So many ghosts, and forms of fright, +Have started from their graves to-night, +They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: +I will go down to the chapel and pray. + + * * * * * + +V. + +A COVERED BRIDGE AT LUCERNE. + + + * * * * * + + + _Prince Henry_. God's blessing on the architects who build +The bridges o'er swift rivers and abysses +Before impassable to human feet, +No less than on the builders of cathedrals, +Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across +The dark and terrible abyss of Death. +Well has the name of Pontifex been given +Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder +And architect of the invisible bridge +That leads from earth to heaven. + + _Elsie_ How dark it grows! +What are these paintings on the walls around us? + + _Prince Henry_ The Dance Macaber! + + _Elsie_ What? + + _Prince Henry_ The Dance of Death! +All that go to and fro must look upon it, +Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath, +Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river +Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, +With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright, +Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it. + + _Elsie._ O, yes! I see it now! + + _Prince Henry_ The grim musician +Leads all men through the mazes of that dance, +To different sounds in different measures moving; +Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum, +To tempt or terrify. + + _Elsie_ What is this picture? + + _Prince Henry_ It is a young man singing to a nun, +Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling +Turns round to look at him, and Death, meanwhile, +Is putting out the candles on the altar! + + _Elsie_ Ah, what a pity 't is that she should listen +to such songs, when in her orisons +She might have heard in heaven the angels singing! + + _Prince Henry_ Here he has stolen a jester's cap and bells, +And dances with the Queen. + + _Elsie_ A foolish jest! + + _Prince Henry_ And here the heart of the new-wedded wife, +Coming from church with her beloved lord, +He startles with the rattle of his drum. + + _Elsie_ Ah, that is sad! And yet perhaps 't is best +That she should die, with all the sunshine on her, +And all the benedictions of the morning, +Before this affluence of golden light +Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray, +Then into darkness! + + _Prince Henry_ Under it is written, +"Nothing but death shall separate thee and me!" + + _Elsie._ And what is this, that follows close upon it? + + _Prince Henry_ Death, playing on a ducimer. Behind him, +A poor old woman, with a rosary, +Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet +Were swifter to o'ertake him. Underneath, +The inscription reads, "Better is Death than Life." + + _Elsie._ Better is Death than Life! Ah yes! to thousands +Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings +That song of consolation, till the air +Rings with it, and they cannot choose but follow +Whither he leads. And not the old alone, +But the young also hear it, and are still. + + _Prince Henry_ Yes, in their sadder moments. 'T is the sound +Of their own hearts they hear, half full of tears, +Which are like crystal cups, half filled with water. +Responding to the pressure of a finger +With music sweet and low and melancholy. +Let us go forward, and no longer stay +In this great picture-gallery of Death! +I hate it! ay, the very thought of it! + + _Elsie._ Why is it hateful to you? + + _Prince Henry._ For the reason +That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely, +And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful. + + _Elsie._ The grave is but a covered bridge, +leading from light to light, through a brief darkness! + + _Prince Henry (emerging from the bridge)._ I breathe again more + freely! Ah, how pleasant +To come once more into the light of day, +Out of that shadow of death! To hear again +The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground, +And not upon those hollow planks, resounding +With a sepulchral echo, like the clods +On coffins in a churchyard! Yonder lies +The Lake of the Four Forest-Towns, apparelled +In light, and lingering, like a village maiden, +Hid in the bosom of her native mountains, +Then pouring all her life into another's, +Changing her name and being! Overhead, +Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air, +Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. + + (_They pass on_.) + + * * * * * + + +THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE. + + * * * * * + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _crossing, with attendants._ + + _Guide._ This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge. +With a single arch, from ridge to ridge, +It leaps across the terrible chasm +Yawning beneath us, black and deep, +As if, in some convulsive spasm, +the summits of the hills had cracked, +and made a road for the cataract, +That raves and rages down the steep! + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ Never any bridge but this +Could stand across the wild abyss; +All the rest, of wood or stone, +By the Devil's hand were overthrown. +He toppled crags from the precipice, +And whatsoe'er was built by day +In the night was swept away; +None could stand but this alone. + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ I showed you in the valley a boulder +Marked with the imprint of his shoulder; +As he was bearing it up this way, +A peasant, passing, cried, "Herr Jé!" +And the Devil dropped it in his fright, +And vanished suddenly out of sight! + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, +For pilgrims on their way to Rome, +Built this at last, with a single arch, +Under which, on its endless march, +Runs the river, white with foam, +Like a thread through the eye of a needle. +And the Devil promised to let it stand, +Under compact and condition +That the first living thing which crossed +Should be surrendered into his hand, +And be beyond redemption lost. + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! perdition! + + _Guide._ At length, the bridge being all completed, +The Abbot, standing at its head, +Threw across it a loaf of bread, +Which a hungry dog sprang after, +And the rocks reechoed with peals of laughter +To see the Devil thus defeated! + + (_They pass on_) + + _Lucifer_ (_under the bridge_) Ha! ha! defeated! +For journeys and for crimes like this +To let the bridge stand o'er the abyss! + + * * * * * + + +THE ST. GOTHARD PASS. + + + * * * * * + + _Prince Henry._ This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers +Leap down to different seas, and as they roll +Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence +Becomes a benefaction to the towns +They visit, wandering silently among them, +Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. + + _Elsie._ How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses +Grow on these rocks. + + _Prince Henry._ Yet are they not forgotten; +Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them. + + _Elsie._ See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft +So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away +Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me +The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels! + + _Prince Henry._ Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels +Bear thee across these chasms and precipices, +Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone! + + _Elsie._ Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, +Upon angelic shoulders! Even now +I Seem uplifted by them, light as air! +What sound is that? + + _Prince Henry_. The tumbling avalanches! + + _Elsie_ How awful, yet how beautiful! + + _Prince Henry_. These are +The voices of the mountains! Thus they ope +Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other, +In the primeval language, lost to man. + + _Elsie_. What land is this that spreads itself beneath us? + + _Prince Henry_ Italy! Italy! + + _Elsie_ Land of the Madonna! +How beautiful it is! It seems a garden +Of Paradise! + + _Prince Henry_. Nay, of Gethsemane +To thee and me, of passion and of prayer! +Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago +I wandered as a youth among its bowers, +And never from my heart has faded quite +Its memory, that, like a summer sunset, +Encircles with a ring of purple light +All the horizon of my youth. + + _Guide_. O friends! +The days are short, the way before us long; +We must not linger, if we think to reach +The inn at Belinzona before vespers! + + (_They pass on_.) + + * * * * * + +AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS. + + * * * * * + +_A halt under the trees at noon_. + + _Prince Henry_ Here let us pause a moment in the trembling +Shadow and sunshine of the roadside trees, +And, our tired horses in a group assembling, +Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze +Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants; +They lag behind us with a slower pace; +We will await them under the green pendants +Of the great willows in this shady place. +Ho, Barbarossa! how thy mottled haunches +Sweat with this canter over hill and glade! +Stand still, and let these overhanging branches +Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade! + + _Elsie._ What a delightful landscape spreads before us, +Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and there! +And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o'er us, +Blossoms of grapevines scent the sunny air. + + _Prince Henry._ Hark! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents holy +Fill the warm noon with music sad and sweet! + + _Elsie._ It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly +On their long journey, with uncovered feet. + + _Pilgrims (chaunting the Hymn of St. Hildebert)_ + Me receptet Sion illa, + Sion David, urbs tranquilla, + Cujus faber auctor lucis, + Cujus portae lignum crucis, + Cujus claves lingua Petri, + Cujus cives semper laeti, + Cujus muri lapis vivus, + Cujus custos Rex festivus! + + _Lucifer (as a Friar in the procession)._ Here am I, too, in the + pious band, +In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed! +The soles of my feet are as hard and tanned +As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand, +The Holy Satan, who made the wives +Of the bishops lead such shameful lives. +All day long I beat my breast, +And chaunt with a most particular zest +The Latin hymns, which I understand +Quite as well, I think, as the rest. +And at night such lodging in barns and sheds, +Such a hurly-burly in country inns, +Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads, +Such a helter-skelter of prayers and sins! +Of all the contrivances of the time +For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime, +There is none so pleasing to me and mine +As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine! + + _Prince Henry._ If from the outward man we judge the inner, +And cleanliness is godliness, I fear +A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sinner, +Must be that Carmelite now passing near. + + _Lucifer._ There is my German Prince again, +Thus far on his journey to Salern, +And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain +Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain; +But it's a long road that has no turn! +Let them quietly hold their way, +I have also a part in the play. +But first I must act to my heart's content +This mummery and this merriment, +And drive this motley flock of sheep +Into the fold, where drink and sleep +The jolly old friars of Benevent. +Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh +To see these beggars hobble along, +Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, +Chanting their wonderful piff and paff, +And, to make up for not understanding the song, +Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong! +Were it not for my magic garters and staff, +And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, +And the mischief I make in the idle throng, +I should not continue the business long. + + _Pilgrims (chaunting)._ In hâc uibe, lux solennis, + Ver aeternum, pax perennis, + In hâc odor implens caelos, + In hâc semper festum melos! + + _Prince Henry._ Do you observe that monk among the train, +Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass, +As a cathedral spout pours out the rain, +And this way turns his rubicund, round face? + + _Elsie._ It is the same who, on the Strasburg square, +Preached to the people in the open air. + + _Prince Henry._ And he has crossed o'er mountain, field, and fell, +On that good steed, that seems to bear him well, +The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray, +His own stout legs! He, too, was in the play, +Both as King Herod and Ben Israel. +Good morrow, Friar! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Good morrow, noble Sir! + + _Prince Henry._ I speak in German, for, unless I err, +You are a German. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I cannot gainsay you. +But by what instinct, or what secret sign, +Meeting me here, do you straightway divine +That northward of the Alps my country lies? + + _Prince Henry._ Your accent, like St, Peter's, would betray you, +Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes, +Moreover, we have seen your face before, +And heard you preach at the Cathedral door +On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg square +We were among the crowd that gathered there, +And saw you play the Rabbi with great skill, +As if, by leaning o'er so many years +To walk with little children, your own will +Had caught a childish attitude from theirs, +A kind of stooping in its form and gait, +And could no longer stand erect and straight. +Whence come you now? + + _Friar Cuthbert._ From the old monastery +Of Hirschau, in the forest; being sent +Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent, +To see the image of the Virgin Mary, +That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks, +And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks, +To touch the hearts of the impenitent. + + _Prince Henry._ O, had I faith, as in the days gone by, +That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery! + + _Lucifer (at a distance)._ Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Farewell, Prince! +I cannot stay to argue and convince. + + _Prince Henry._ This is indeed the blessed Mary's land, +Virgin and Mother of our dear Redeemer! +All hearts are touched and softened at her name; +Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand, +The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant, +The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer, +Pay homage to her as one ever present! +And even as children, who have much offended +A too indulgent father, in great shame, +Penitent, and yet not daring unattended +To go into his presence, at the gate +Speak with their sister, and confiding wait +Till she goes in before and intercedes; +So men, repenting of their evil deeds, +And yet not venturing rashly to draw near +With their requests an angry father's ear, +Offer to her their prayers and their confession, +And she for them in heaven makes intercession. +And if our Faith had given us nothing more +Than this example of all womanhood, +So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, +So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, +This were enough to prove it higher and truer +Than all the creeds the world had known before. + +_Pilgrims (chaunting afar off)_. Urbs ccelestis, urbs beata, + Supra petram collocata, + Urbs in portu satis tuto + De longinquo te saluto, + Te saluto, te suspiro, + Te affecto, te requiro! + + * * * * * + + +THE INN AT GENOA. + + + * * * * * + +_A terrace overlooking the sea. Night._ + + _Prince Henry._ It is the sea, it is the sea, +In all its vague immensity, +Fading and darkening in the distance! +Silent, majestical, and slow, +The white ships haunt it to and fro, +With all their ghostly sails unfurled, +As phantoms from another world +Haunt the dim confines of existence! +But ah! how few can comprehend +Their signals, or to what good end +From land to land they come and go! +Upon a sea more vast and dark +The spirits of the dead embark, +All voyaging to unknown coasts. +We wave our farewells from the shore, +And they depart, and come no more, +Or come as phantoms and as ghosts. + +Above the darksome sea of death +Looms the great life that is to be, +A land of cloud and mystery, +A dim mirage, with shapes of men +Long dead, and passed beyond our ken. +Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath +Till the fair pageant vanisheth, +Leaving us in perplexity, +And doubtful whether it has been +A vision of the world unseen, +Or a bright image of our own +Against the sky in vapors thrown. + + _Lucifer (singing from the sea)_. Thou didst not make it, thou + canst not mend it, +But thou hast the power to end it! +The sea is silent, the sea is discreet, +Deep it lies at thy very feet; +There is no confessor like unto Death! +Thou canst not see him, but he is near; +Thou needest not whisper above thy breath, +And he will hear; +He will answer the questions, +The vague surmises and suggestions, +That fill thy soul with doubt and fear! + + _Prince Henry_. The fisherman, who lies afloat, +With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, +Is singing softly to the Night! +But do I comprehend aright +The meaning of the words he sung +So sweetly in his native tongue? +Ah, yes! the sea is still and deep. +All things within its bosom sleep! +A single step, and all is o'er; +A plunge, a bubble, and no more; +And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free +From martyrdom and agony. + + _Elsie (coming from her chamber upon the terrace)._ +The night is calm and cloudless, +And still as still can be, +And the stars come forth to listen +To the music of the sea. +They gather, and gather, and gather, +Until they crowd the sky, +And listen, in breathless silence, +To the solemn litany. +It begins in rocky caverns, +As a voice that chaunts alone +To the pedals of the organ +In monotonous undertone; +And anon from shelving beaches, +And shallow sands beyond, +In snow-white robes uprising +The ghostly choirs respond. +And sadly and unceasing +The mournful voice sings on, +And the snow-white choirs still answer +Christe eleison! + + _Prince Henry._ Angel of God! thy finer sense perceives +Celestial and perpetual harmonies! +Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes, +Hears the archangel's trumpet in the breeze, +And where the forest rolls, or ocean heaves, +Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas, +And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves. +But I hear discord only and despair, +And whispers as of demons in the air! + + * * * * * + + +AT SEA. + + + * * * * * + + _Il Padrone._ The wind upon our quarter lies, +And on before the freshening gale, +That fills the snow-white lateen sail, +Swiftly our light felucca flies. +Around, the billows burst and foam; +They lift her o'er the sunken rock, +They beat her sides with many a shock, +And then upon their flowing dome +They poise her, like a weathercock! +Between us and the western skies +The hills of Corsica arise; +Eastward, in yonder long, blue line, +The summits of the Apennine, +And southward, and still far away, +Salerno, on its sunny bay. +You cannot see it, where it lies. + + _Prince Henry._ Ah, would that never more mine eyes +Might see its towers by night or day! + + _Elsie._ Behind us, dark and awfully, +There comes a cloud out of the sea, +That bears the form of a hunted deer, +With hide of brown, and hoofs of black, +And antlers laid upon its back, +And fleeing fast and wild with fear, +As if the hounds were on its track! + + _Prince Henry._ Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and falls +In shapeless masses, like the walls +Of a burnt city. Broad and red +The fires of the descending sun +Glare through the windows, and o'erhead, +Athwart the vapors, dense and dun, +Long shafts of silvery light arise, +Like rafters that support the skies! + + _Elsie._ See! from its summit the lurid levin +Flashes downward without warning, +As Lucifer, son of the morning, +Fell from the battlements of heaven! + + _Il Padrone._ I must entreat you, friends, below! +The angry storm begins to blow, +For the weather changes with the moon. +All this morning, until noon, +We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws +Struck the sea with their cat's-paws. +Only a little hour ago +I was whistling to Saint Antonio +For a capful of wind to fill our sail, +And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale. +Last night I saw St. Elmo's stars, +With their glimmering lanterns, all at play +On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars, +And I knew we should have foul weather to-day. +Cheerily, my hearties! yo heave ho! +Brail up the mainsail, and let her go +As the winds will and Saint Antonio! + +Do you see that Livornese felucca, +That vessel to the windward yonder, +Running with her gunwale under? +I was looking when the wind o'ertook her, +She had all sail set, and the only wonder +Is that at once the strength of the blast +Did not carry away her mast. +She is a galley of the Gran Duca, +That, through the fear of the Algerines, +Convoys those lazy brigantines, +Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. +Now all is ready, high and low; +Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio! + +Ha! that is the first dash of the rain, +With a sprinkle of spray above the rails, +Just enough to moisten our sails, +And make them ready for the strain. +See how she leaps, as the blasts o'ertake her, +And speeds away with a bone in her mouth! +Now keep her head toward the south, +And there is no danger of bank or breaker. +With the breeze behind us, on we go; +Not too much, good Saint Antonio! + + + + +VI. + + +THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO. + +_A traveling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate +of the College._ + + _Scholastic._ There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield, +Hung up as a challenge to all the field! +One hundred and twenty-five propositions, +Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue +Against all disputants, old and young. +Let us see if doctors or dialecticians +Will dare to dispute my definitions, +Or attack any one of my learned theses. +Here stand I; the end shall be as God pleases. +I think I have proved, by profound research +The error of all those doctrines so vicious +Of the old Areopagite Dionysius, +That are making such terrible work in the churches, +By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East, +And done into Latin by that Scottish beast, +Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain, +In the face of the truth, the error infernal, +That the universe is and must be eternal; +At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, +That nothing with God can be accidental; +Then asserting that God before the creation +Could not have existed, because it is plain +That, had he existed, he would have created; +Which is begging the question that should be debated, +And moveth me less to anger than laughter. +All nature, he holds, is a respiration +Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter +Will inhale it into his bosom again, +So that nothing but God alone will remain. +And therein he contradicteth himself; +For he opens the whole discussion by stating, +That God can only exist in creating. +That question I think I have laid on the shelf! + + (_He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and + followed by pupils._) + + _Doctor Serafino._ I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain, +That a word which is only conceived in the brain +Is a type of eternal Generation; +The spoken word is the Incarnation. + + _Doctor Cherubino._ What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic, +With all his wordy chaffer and traffic? + + _Doctor Serafino._ You make but a paltry show of resistance; +Universals have no real existence! + + _Doctor Cherubino._ Your words are but idle and empty chatter; +Ideas are eternally joined to matter! + + _Doctor Serafino_. May the Lord have mercy on your position, +You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs! + + _Doctor Cherubino_. May he send your soul to eternal perdition, +For your Treatise on the Irregular Verbs! + + (_They rush out fighting. Two Scholars come in._) + + _First Scholar_. Monte Cassino, then, is your College. +What think you of ours here at Salern? + + _Second Scholar_. To tell the truth, I arrived so lately, +I hardly yet have had time to discern. +So much, at least, I am bound to acknowledge: +The air seems healthy, the buildings stately, +And on the whole I like it greatly. + + _First Scholar_. Yes, the air is sweet; the Calabrian hills +Send us down puffs of mountain air; +And in summer time the sea-breeze fills +With its coolness cloister, and court, and square. +Then at every season of the year +There are crowds of guests and travellers here; +Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, and traders +From the Levant, with figs and wine, +And bands of wounded and sick Crusaders, +Coming back from Palestine. + + _Second Scholar_. And what are the studies you pursue? +What is the course you here go through? + + _First Scholar_. The first three years of the college course +Are given to Logic alone, as the source +Of all that is noble, and wise, and true. + + _Second Scholar_. That seems rather strange, I must confess. +In a Medical School; yet, nevertheless, +You doubtless have reasons for that. + + _First Scholar_. Oh yes! +For none but a clever dialectician +Can hope to become a great physician; +That has been settled long ago. +Logic makes an important part +Of the mystery of the healing art; +For without it how could you hope to show +That nobody knows so much as you know? +After this there are five years more +Devoted wholly to medicine, +With lectures on chirurgical lore, +And dissections of the bodies of swine, +As likest the human form divine. + + _Second Scholar_. What are the books now most in vogue? + + _First Scholar_. Quite an extensive catalogue; +Mostly, however, books of our own; +As Gariopontus' Passionarius, +And the writings of Matthew Platearius; +And a volume universally known +As the Regimen of the School of Salern, +For Robert of Normandy written in terse +And very elegant Latin verse. +Each of these writings has its turn. +And when at length we have finished these, +Then comes the struggle for degrees, +With all the oldest and ablest critics; +The public thesis and disputation, +Question, and answer, and explanation +Of a passage out of Hippocrates, +Or Aristotle's Analytics. +There the triumphant Magister stands! +A book is solemnly placed in his hands, +On which he swears to follow the rule +And ancient forms of the good old School; +To report if any confectionarius +Mingles his drugs with matters various, +And to visit his patients twice a day, +And once in the night, if they live in town, +And if they are poor, to take no pay. +Having faithfully promised these, +His head is crowned with a laurel crown; +A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his hand, +The Magister Artium et Physices +Goes forth from the school like a lord of the land. +And now, as we have the whole morning before us +Let us go in, if you make no objection, +And listen awhile to a learned prelection +On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus. + + (_They go in. Enter_ LUCIFER _as a Doctor._) + + _Lucifer_. This is the great School of Salern! +A land of wrangling and of quarrels, +Of brains that seethe, and hearts that burn, +Where every emulous scholar hears, +In every breath that comes to his ears, +The rustling of another's laurels! +The air of the place is called salubrious; +The neighborhood of Vesuvius lends it +An odor volcanic, that rather mends it, +And the buildings have an aspect lugubrious, +That inspires a feeling of awe and terror +Into the heart of the beholder, +And befits such an ancient homestead of error, +Where the old falsehoods moulder and smoulder, +And yearly by many hundred hands +Are carried away, in the zeal of youth, +And sown like tares in the field of truth, +To blossom and ripen in other lands. +What have we here, affixed to the gate? +The challenge of some scholastic wight, +Who wishes to hold a public debate +On sundry questions wrong or right! +Ah, now this is my great delight! +For I have often observed of late +That such discussions end in a fight. +Let us see what the learned wag maintains +With such a prodigal waste of brains. + + (_Reads._) + +"Whether angels in moving from place to place +Pass through the intermediate space. +Whether God himself is the author of evil, +Or whether that is the work of the Devil. +When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell, +And whether he now is chained in hell." + +I think I can answer that question well! +So long as the boastful human mind +Consents in such mills as this to grind, +I sit very firmly upon my throne! +Of a truth it almost makes me laugh, +To see men leaving the golden grain +To gather in piles the pitiful chaff +That old Peter Lombard thrashed with his brain, +To have it caught up and tossed again +On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Cologne! + +But my guests approach! there is in the air +A fragrance, like that of the Beautiful Garden +Of Paradise, in the days that were! +An odor of innocence, and of prayer, +And of love, and faith that never fails, +Which as the fresh-young heart exhales +Before it begins to wither and harden! +I cannot breathe such an atmosphere! +My soul is filled with a nameless fear, +That, after all my trouble and pain, +After all my restless endeavor, +The youngest, fairest soul of the twain, +The most ethereal, most divine, +Will escape from my hands forever and ever. +But the other is already mine! +Let him live to corrupt his race, +Breathing among them, with every breath, +Weakness, selfishness, and the base +And pusillanimous fear of death. +I know his nature, and I know +That of all who in my ministry +Wander the great earth to and fro, +And on my errands come and go, +The safest and subtlest are such as he. + + (_Enter_ PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _with + attendants_.) + + _Prince Henry._ Can you direct us to Friar Angelo? + + _Lucifer._ He stands before you. + + _Prince Henry._ Then you know our purpose. +I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and this +The maiden that I spake of in my letters. + + _Lucifer._ It is a very grave and solemn business! +We must not be precipitate. Does she +Without compulsion, of her own free will, +Consent to this? + + _Prince Henry._ Against all opposition, +Against all prayers, entreaties, protestations. +She will not be persuaded. + + _Lucifer._ That is strange! +Have you thought well of it? + + _Elsie._ I come not here +To argue, but to die. Your business is not +to question, but to kill me. I am ready. +I am impatient to be gone from here +Ere any thoughts of earth disturb again +The spirit of tranquillity within me. + + _Prince Henry._ Would I had not come here + Would I were dead, +And thou wert in thy cottage in the forest, +And hadst not known me! Why have I done this? +Let me go back and die. + + _Elsie._ It cannot be; +Not if these cold, flat stones on which we tread +Were coulters heated white, and yonder gateway +Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold heat. +I must fulfil my purpose. + + _Prince Henry._ I forbid it! +Not one step farther. For I only meant +To put thus far thy courage to the proof. +It is enough. I, too, have courage to die, +For thou hast taught me! + + _Elsie._ O my Prince! remember +Your promises. Let me fulfill my errand. +You do not look on life and death as I do. +There are two angels, that attend unseen +Each one of us, and in great books record +Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down +The good ones, after every action closes +His volume, and ascends with it to God. +The other keeps his dreadful day-book open +Till sunset, that we may repent; which doing, +The record of the action fades away, +And leaves a line of white across the page. +Now if my act be good, as I believe it, +It cannot be recalled. It is already +Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished. +The rest is yours. Why wait you? I am ready. + + (_To her attendants._) + +Weep not, my friends! rather rejoice with me. +I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone, +And you will have another friend in heaven. +Then start not at the creaking of the door +Through which I pass. I see what lies beyond it. + + (_To_ PRINCE HENRY.) + +And you, O Prince! bear back my benison +Unto my father's house, and all within it. +This morning in the church I prayed for them, +After confession, after absolution, +When my whole soul was white, I prayed for them. +God will take care of them, they need me not. +And in your life let my remembrance linger, +As something not to trouble and disturb it, +But to complete it, adding life to life. +And if at times beside the evening fire +You see my face among the other faces, +Let it not be regarded as a ghost +That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you. +Nay, even as one of your own family, +Without whose presence there were something wanting. +I have no more to say. Let us go in. + + _Prince Henry._ Friar Angelo! I charge you on your life, +Believe not what she says, for she is mad, +And comes here not to die, but to be healed. + + _Elsie._ Alas! Prince Henry! + + _Lucifer._ Come with me; this way. + + (ELSIE _goes in with_ LUCIFER, _who thrusts_ PRINCE + HENRY _back and closes the door._) + + _Prince Henry._ Gone! and the light of all my life gone with her! +A sudden darkness falls upon the world! + + _Forester._ News from the Prince! + + _Ursula._ Of death or life? + + _Forester._ You put your questions eagerly! + + _Ursula._ Answer me, then! How is the Prince? + + _Forester._ I left him only two hours since +Homeward returning down the river, +As strong and well as if God, the Giver, +Had given him back in his youth again. + + _Ursula (despairing)._ Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead! + + _Forester._ That, my good woman, I have not said. +Don't cross the bridge till you come to it, +Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit. + + _Ursula._ Keep me no longer in this pain! + + _Forester._ It is true your daughter is no more;-- +That is, the peasant she was before. + + _Ursula._ Alas! I am simple and lowly bred +I am poor, distracted, and forlorn. +And it is not well that you of the court +Should mock me thus, and make a sport +Of a joyless mother whose child is dead, +For you, too, were of mother, born! + + _Forester._ Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well! +You will learn ere long how it all befell. +Her heart for a moment never failed; +But when they reached Salerno's gate, +The Prince's nobler self prevailed, +And saved her for a nobler fate, +And he was healed, in his despair, +By the touch of St. Matthew's sacred bones; +Though I think the long ride in the open air, +That pilgrimage over stocks and stones, +In the miracle must come in for a share! + + _Ursula._ Virgin! who lovest the poor and lonely, +If the loud cry of a mother's heart +Can ever ascend to where thou art, +Into thy blessed hands and holy +Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving! +Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it +Into the awful presence of God; +For thy feet with holiness are shod, +And if thou bearest it he will hear it. +Our child who was dead again is living! + + _Forester._ I did not tell you she was dead; +If you thought so 'twas no fault of mine; +At this very moment, while I speak, +They are sailing homeward down the Rhine, +In a splendid barge, with golden prow, +And decked with banners white and red +As the colors on your daughter's cheek. +They call her the Lady Alicia now; +For the Prince in Salerno made a vow +That Elsie only would he wed. + + _Ursula._ Jesu Maria! what a change! +All seems to me so weird and strange! + + _Forester._ I saw her standing on the deck, +Beneath an awning cool and shady; +Her cap of velvet could not hold +The tresses of her hair of gold, +That flowed and floated like the stream, +And fell in masses down her neck. +As fair and lovely did she seem +As in a story or a dream +Some beautiful and foreign lady. +And the Prince looked so grand and proud, +And waved his hand thus to the crowd +That gazed and shouted from the shore, +All down the river, long and loud. + + _Ursula._ We shall behold our child once more; +She is not dead! She is not dead! +God, listening, must have overheard +The prayers, that, without sound or word, +Our hearts in secrecy have said! +O, bring me to her; for mine eyes +Are hungry to behold her face; +My very soul within me cries; +My very hands seem to caress her, +To see her, gaze at her, and bless her; +Dear Elsie, child of God and grace! + + (_Goes out toward the garden._) + + _Forester._ There goes the good woman out of her head; +And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here; +A very capacious flagon of beer, +And a very portentous loaf of bread. +One would say his grief did not much oppress him. +Here's to the health of the Prince, God bless him! + + (_He drinks._) + +Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet! +And what a scene there, through the door! +The forest behind and the garden before, +And midway an old man of threescore, +With a wife and children that caress him. +Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it +With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet! + + (_Goes out blowing his horn._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE. + + + * * * * * + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _standing on the terrace at +evening. The sound of bells heard from a distance._ + + + _Prince Henry._ We are alone. The wedding guests +Ride down the hill, with plumes and cloaks, +And the descending dark invests +The Niederwald, and all the nests +Among its hoar and haunted oaks. + + _Elsie._ What bells are those, that ring so slow, +So mellow, musical, and low? + + _Prince Henry._ They are the bells of Geisenheim, +That with their melancholy chime +Ring out the curfew of the sun. + + _Elsie._ Listen, beloved. + + _Prince Henry._ They are done! +Dear Elsie! many years ago +Those same soft bells at eventide +Rang in the ears of Charlemagne, +As, seated by Fastrada's side +At Ingelheim, in all his pride +He heard their sound with secret pain. + + _Elsie._ Their voices only speak to me +Of peace and deep tranquillity, +And endless confidence in thee! + + _Prince Henry._ Thou knowest the story of her ring, +How, when the court went back to Aix, +Fastrada died; and how the king +Sat watching by her night and day, +Till into one of the blue lakes, +That water that delicious land, +They cast the ring, drawn from her hand; +And the great monarch sat serene +And sad beside the fated shore, +Nor left the land forever more. + + _Elsie._ That was true love. + + _Prince Henry._ For him the queen +Ne'er did what thou hast done for me. + + _Elsie._ Wilt thou as fond and faithful be? +Wilt thou so love me after death? + + _Prince Henry._ In life's delight, in death's dismay, +In storm and sunshine, night and day, +In health, in sickness, in decay, +Here and hereafter, I am thine! +Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Beneath +The calm, blue waters of thine eyes +Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies, +And, undisturbed by this world's breath, +With magic light its jewels shine! +This golden ring, which thou hast worn +Upon thy finger since the morn, +Is but a symbol and a semblance, +An outward fashion, a remembrance, +Of what thou wearest within unseen, +O my Fastrada, O my queen! +Behold! the hilltops all aglow +With purple and with amethyst; +While the whole valley deep below +Is filled, and seems to overflow, +With a fast-rising tide of mist. +The evening air grows damp and chill; +Let us go in. + + _Elsie._ Ah, not so soon. +See yonder fire! It is the moon +Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. +It glimmers on the forest tips, +And through the dewy foliage drips +In little rivulets of light, +And makes the heart in love with night. + + _Prince Henry._ Oft on this terrace, when the day +Was closing, have I stood and gazed, +And seen the landscape fade away, +And the white vapors rise and drown +Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town +While far above the hilltops blazed. +But men another hand than thine +Was gently held and clasped in mine; +Another head upon my breast +Was laid, as thine is now, at rest. +Why dost thou lift those tender eyes +With so much sorrow and surprise? +A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand, +Was that which in my own was pressed. +A manly form usurped thy place, +A beautiful, but bearded face, +That now is in the Holy Land, +Yet in my memory from afar +Is shining on us like a star. +But linger not. For while I speak, +A sheeted spectre white and tall, +The cold mist climbs the castle wall, +And lays his hand upon thy cheek! + + (_They go in._) + + * * * * * + + +EPILOGUE. + + + * * * * * + +THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING. + + _The Angel of Good Deeds (with closed book_). God sent his + messenger the rain, +And said unto the mountain brook, +"Rise up, and from thy caverns look +And leap, with naked, snow-white feet. +From the cool hills into the heat +Of the broad, arid plain." + +God sent his messenger of faith, +And whispered in the maiden's heart, +"Rise up, and look from where thou art, +And scatter with unselfish hands +Thy freshness on the barren sands +And solitudes of Death." +O beauty of holiness, +Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness! +O power of meekness, +Whose very gentleness and weakness +Are like the yielding, but irresistible air! +Upon the pages +Of the sealed volume that I bear, +The deed divine +Is written in characters of gold, +That never shall grow old, +But all through ages +Burn and shine, +With soft effulgence! +O God! it is thy indulgence +That fills the world with the bliss +Of a good deed like this! + + _The Angel of Evil Deeds (with open book)._ Not yet, not yet +Is the red sun wholly set, +But evermore recedes, +While open still I bear +The Book of Evil Deeds, +To let the breathings of the upper air +Visit its pages and erase +The records from its face! +Fainter and fainter as I gaze +On the broad blaze +The glimmering landscape shines, +And below me the black river +Is hidden by wreaths of vapor! +Fainter and fainter the black lines +Begin to quiver +Along the whitening surface of the paper; +Shade after shade +The terrible words grow faint and fade, +And in their place +Runs a white space! + +Down goes the sun! +But the soul of one, +Who by repentance +Has escaped the dreadful sentence, +Shines bright below me as I look. +It is the end! +With closed Book +To God do I ascend. + +Lo! over the mountain steeps +A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps +Beneath my feet; +A blackness inwardly brightening +With sullen heat, +As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning. +And a cry of lamentation, +Repeated and again repeated, +Deep and loud +As the reverberation +Of cloud answering unto cloud, +Swells and rolls away in the distance, +As if the sheeted +Lightning retreated, +Baffled and thwarted by the wind's resistance. + +It is Lucifer, +The son of mystery; +And since God suffers him to be, +He, too, is God's minister, +And labors for some good +By us not understood! + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Golden Legend, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN LEGEND *** + +***** This file should be named 10490-0.txt or 10490-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/9/10490/ + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Golden Legend + +Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +Release Date: December 18, 2003 [EBook #10490] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN LEGEND *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h2>THE</h2> + +<h2>Golden Legend</h2> + +<h2>BY</h2> + +<h2>HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW</h2> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<h2>THE GOLDEN LEGEND</h2> +<br> + +<h3>PROLOGUE.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<i>Night and storm.</i> LUCIFER, <i>with the Powers of the +Air, trying to tear down the Cross.</i><p><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> HASTEN! hasten!<br> +O ye spirits!<br> +From its station drag the ponderous<br> +Cross of iron, that to mock us<br> +Is uplifted high in air!<p></p> + + <i>Voices.</i> O, we cannot!<br> +For around it<br> +All the Saints and Guardian Angels<br> +Throng in legions to protect it;<br> +They defeat us everywhere!<p></p> + + <i>The Bells.</i> Laudo Deum verum<br> + Plebem voco!<br> + Congrego clerum!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Lower! lower!<br> +Hover downward!<br> +Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and<br> +Clashing, clanging, to the pavement<br> +Hurl them from their windy tower!<p></p> + + <i>Voices.</i> All thy thunders<br> +Here are harmless!<br> +For these bells have been anointed,<br> +And baptized with holy water!<br> +They defy our utmost power.<p></p> + + <i>The Bells.</i> Defunctos ploro!<br> + Pestem fugo!<br> + Festa decoro!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Shake the casements!<br> +Break the painted<br> +Panes that flame with gold and crimson!<br> +Scatter them like leaves of Autumn,<br> +Swept away before the blast!<p></p> + + <i>Voices.</i> O, we cannot!<br> +The Archangel<br> +Michael flames from every window,<br> +With the sword of fire that drove us<br> +Headlong, out of heaven, aghast!<p></p> + + <i>The Bells.</i> Funera plango!<br> + Fulgora frango!<br> + Sabbata pango!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Aim your lightnings<br> +At the oaken,<br> +Massive, iron-studded portals!<br> +Sack the house of God, and scatter<br> +Wide the ashes of the dead!<p></p> + + <i>Voices.</i> O, we cannot!<br> +The Apostles<br> +And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles,<br> +Stand as wardens at the entrance,<br> +Stand as sentinels o'erhead!<p></p> + + <i>The Bells.</i> Excito lentos!<br> + Dissipo ventos!<br> + Paco cruentos!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Baffled! baffled!<br> +Inefficient,<br> +Craven spirits! leave this labor<br> +Unto Time, the great Destroyer!<br> +Come away, ere night is gone!<p></p> + + <i>Voices.</i> Onward! onward!<br> +With the night-wind,<br> +Over field and farm and forest,<br> +Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet,<br> +Blighting all we breathe upon!<p></p> + + (<i>They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Choir.</i> Nocte surgentes<br> + Vig lemus omnes!<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>I.</h2> +<br> + +<H2>THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>A chamber in a tower.</i> PRINCE HENRY, <i>sitting alone, +ill and restless.</i><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I cannot sleep! my fervid brain<br> +Calls up the vanished Past again,<br> +And throws its misty splendors deep<br> +Into the pallid realms of sleep!<br> +A breath from that far-distant shore<br> +Comes freshening ever more and more,<br> +And wafts o'er intervening seas<br> +Sweet odors from the Hesperides!<br> +A wind, that through the corridor<br> +Just stirs the curtain, and no more,<br> +And, touching the aeolian strings,<br> +Faints with the burden that it brings!<br> +Come back! ye friendships long departed!<br> +That like o'erflowing streamlets started,<br> +And now are dwindled, one by one,<br> +To stony channels in the sun!<br> +Come back! ye friends, whose lives are ended!<br> +Come back, with all that light attended,<br> +Which seemed to darken and decay<br> +When ye arose and went away!<br> +They come, the shapes of joy and woe,<br> +The airy crowds of long-ago,<br> +The dreams and fancies known of yore,<br> +That have been, and shall be no more.<br> +They change the cloisters of the night<br> +Into a garden of delight;<br> +They make the dark and dreary hours<br> +Open and blossom into flowers!<br> +I would not sleep! I love to be<br> +Again in their fair company;<br> +But ere my lips can bid them stay,<br> +They pass and vanish quite away!<p></p> + +Alas! our memories may retrace<br> +Each circumstance of time and place,<br> +Season and scene come back again,<br> +And outward things unchanged remain;<br> +The rest we cannot reinstate;<br> +Ourselves we cannot re-create,<br> +Nor set our souls to the same key<br> +Of the remembered harmony!<p></p> + +Rest! rest! O, give me rest and peace!<br> +The thought of life that ne'er shall cease<br> +Has something in it like despair,<br> +A weight I am too weak to bear!<br> +Sweeter to this afflicted breast<br> +The thought of never-ending rest!<br> +Sweeter the undisturbed and deep<br> +Tranquillity of endless sleep!<p></p> +<br> + +(<i>A flash of lightning, out of which</i> LUCIFER <i>appears, +in the garb of a travelling Physician.</i>)<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. All hail Prince Henry!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> (<i>starting</i>). Who is it speaks?<br> +Who and what are you?<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. One who seeks<br> +A moment's audience with the Prince.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. When came you in?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. A moment since.<br> +I found your study door unlocked,<br> +And thought you answered when I knocked.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. I did not hear you.<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. You heard the thunder;<br> +It was loud enough to waken the dead.<br> +And it is not a matter of special wonder<br> +That, when God is walking overhead,<br> +You should not have heard my feeble tread.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. What may your wish or purpose be?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Nothing or everything, as it pleases<br> +Your Highness. You behold in me<br> +Only a traveling Physician;<br> +One of the few who have a mission<br> +To cure incurable diseases,<br> +Or those that are called so.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. Can you bring<br> +The dead to life?<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Yes; very nearly.<br> +And, what is a wiser and better thing,<br> +Can keep the living from ever needing<br> +Such an unnatural, strange proceeding,<br> +By showing conclusively and clearly<br> +That death is a stupid blunder merely,<br> +And not a necessity of our lives.<br> +My being here is accidental;<br> +The storm, that against your casement drives,<br> +In the little village below waylaid me.<br> +And there I heard, with a secret delight,<br> +Of your maladies physical and mental,<br> +Which neither astonished nor dismayed me.<br> +And I hastened hither, though late in the night,<br> +To proffer my aid!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry (ironically)</i> For this you came!<br> +Ah, how can I ever hope to requite<br> +This honor from one so erudite?<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. The honor is mine, or will be when<br> +I have cured your disease.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. But not till then.<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. What is your illness?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. It has no name.<br> +A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame,<br> +As in a kiln, burns in my veins,<br> +Sending up vapors to the head,<br> +My heart has become a dull lagoon,<br> +Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains;<br> +I am accounted as one who is dead,<br> +And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> And has Gordonius the Divine,<br> +In his famous Lily of Medicine,--<br> +I see the book lies open before you,--<br> +No remedy potent enough to restore you?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. None whatever!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> The dead are dead,<br> +And their oracles dumb, when questioned<br> +Of the new diseases that human life<br> +Evolves in its progress, rank and rife.<br> +Consult the dead upon things that were,<br> +But the living only on things that are.<br> +Have you done this, by the appliance<br> +And aid of doctors?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. Ay, whole schools<br> +Of doctors, with their learned rules,<br> +But the case is quite beyond their science.<br> +Even the doctors of Salern<br> +Send me back word they can discern<br> +No cure for a malady like this,<br> +Save one which in its nature is<br> +Impossible, and cannot be!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> That sounds oracular!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Unendurable!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> What is their remedy?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> You shall see;<br> +Writ in this scroll is the mystery.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (reading).</i> "Not to be cured, yet not incurable!<br> +The only remedy that remains<br> +Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins,<br> +Who of her own free will shall die,<br> +And give her life as the price of yours!"<br> +That is the strangest of all cures,<br> +And one, I think, you will never try;<br> +The prescription you may well put by,<br> +As something impossible to find<br> +Before the world itself shall end!<br> +And yet who knows? One cannot say<br> +That into some maiden's brain that kind<br> +Of madness will not find its way.<br> +Meanwhile permit me to recommend,<br> +As the matter admits of no delay,<br> +My wonderful Catholicon,<br> +Of very subtile and magical powers!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Purge with your nostrums and drugs infernal<br> +The spouts and gargoyles of these towers,<br> +Not me! My faith is utterly gone<br> +In every power but the Power Supernal!<br> +Pray tell me, of what school are you?<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Both of the Old and of the New!<br> +The school of Hermes Trismegistus,<br> +Who uttered his oracles sublime<br> +Before the Olympiads, in the dew<br> +Of the early dawn and dusk of Time,<br> +The reign of dateless old Hephaestus!<br> +As northward, from its Nubian springs,<br> +The Nile, forever new and old,<br> +Among the living and the dead,<br> +Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled;<br> +So, starting from its fountain-head<br> +Under the lotus-leaves of Isis,<br> +From the dead demigods of eld,<br> +Through long, unbroken lines of kings<br> +Its course the sacred art has held,<br> +Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices.<br> +This art the Arabian Geber taught,<br> +And in alembics, finely wrought,<br> +Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered<br> +The secret that so long had hovered<br> +Upon the misty verge of Truth,<br> +The Elixir of Perpetual Youth,<br> +Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech!<br> +Like him, this wondrous lore I teach!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> What! an adept?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Nor less, nor more!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I am a reader of such books,<br> +A lover of that mystic lore!<br> +With such a piercing glance it looks<br> +Into great Nature's open eye,<br> +And sees within it trembling lie<br> +The portrait of the Deity!<br> +And yet, alas! with all my pains,<br> +The secret and the mystery<br> +Have baffled and eluded me,<br> +Unseen the grand result remains!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (showing a flask).</i> Behold it here! this little flask<br> +Contains the wonderful quintessence,<br> +The perfect flower and efflorescence,<br> +Of all the knowledge man can ask!<br> +Hold it up thus against the light!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> How limpid, pure, and crystalline,<br> +How quick, and tremulous, and bright<br> +The little wavelets dance and shine,<br> +As were it the Water of Life in sooth!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> It is! It assuages every pain,<br> +Cures all disease, and gives again<br> +To age the swift delights of youth.<br> +Inhale its fragrance.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> It is sweet.<br> +A thousand different odors meet<br> +And mingle in its rare perfume,<br> +Such as the winds of summer waft<br> +At open windows through a room!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Will you not taste it?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Will one draught Suffice?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> If not, you can drink more.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Into this crystal goblet pour<br> +So much as safely I may drink.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (pouring).</i> Let not the quantity alarm you:<br> +You may drink all; it will not harm you.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I am as one who on the brink<br> +Of a dark river stands and sees<br> +The waters flow, the landscape dim<br> +Around him waver, wheel, and swim,<br> +And, ere he plunges, stops to think<br> +Into what whirlpools he may sink;<br> +One moment pauses, and no more,<br> +Then madly plunges from the shore!<br> +Headlong into the dark mysteries<br> +Of life and death I boldly leap,<br> +Nor fear the fateful current's sweep,<br> +Nor what in ambush lurks below!<br> +For death is better than disease!<p></p> + + (<i>An</i> ANGEL <i>with an aeolian harp hovers in the air</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Angel.</i> Woe! woe! eternal woe!<br> +Not only the whispered prayer<br> +Of love,<br> +But the imprecations of hate,<br> +Reverberate<br> +Forever and ever through the air<br> +Above!<br> +This fearful curse<br> +Shakes the great universe!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (disappearing).</i> Drink! drink!<br> +And thy soul shall sink<br> +Down into the dark abyss,<br> +Into the infinite abyss,<br> +From which no plummet nor rope<br> +Ever drew up the silver sand of hope!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry (drinking).</i> It is like a draught of fire!<br> +Through every vein<br> +I feel again<br> +The fever of youth, the soft desire;<br> +A rapture that is almost pain<br> +Throbs in my heart and fills my brain!<br> +O joy! O joy! I feel<br> +The band of steel<br> +That so long and heavily has pressed<br> +Upon my breast<br> +Uplifted, and the malediction<br> +Of my affliction<br> +Is taken from me, and my weary breast<br> +At length finds rest.<p></p> + + <i>The Angel.</i> It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air<br> + has been taken!<br> +It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken!<br> +It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow!<br> +It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow!<br> +With fiendish laughter,<br> +Hereafter,<br> +This false physician<br> +Will mock thee in thy perdition.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Speak! speak!<br> +Who says that I am ill?<br> +I am not ill! I am not weak!<br> +The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er!<br> +I feel the chill of death no more!<br> +At length,<br> +I stand renewed in all my strength!<br> +Beneath me I can feel<br> +The great earth stagger and reel,<br> +As it the feet of a descending God<br> +Upon its surface trod,<br> +And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel!<br> +This, O brave physician! this<br> +Is thy great Palingenesis!<p></p> + + (<i>Drinks again</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>The Angel.</i> Touch the goblet no more!<br> +It will make thy heart sore<br> +To its very core!<br> +Its perfume is the breath<br> +Of the Angel of Death,<br> +And the light that within it lies<br> +Is the flash of his evil eyes.<br> +Beware! O, beware!<br> +For sickness, sorrow, and care<br> +All are there!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry (sinking back).</i> O thou voice within my breast!<br> +Why entreat me, why upbraid me,<br> +When the steadfast tongues of truth<br> +And the flattering hopes of youth<br> +Have all deceived me and betrayed me?<br> +Give me, give me rest, O, rest!<br> +Golden visions wave and hover,<br> +Golden vapors, waters streaming,<br> +Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming!<br> +I am like a happy lover<br> +Who illumines life with dreaming!<br> +Brave physician! Rare physician!<br> +Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission!<p></p> + + (<i>His head falls On his book</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>The Angel (receding).</i> Alas! alas!<br> +Like a vapor the golden vision<br> +Shall fade and pass,<br> +And thou wilt find in thy heart again<br> +Only the blight of pain,<br> +And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +HUBERT <i>standing by the gateway.</i><p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> How sad the grand old castle looks!<br> +O'erhead, the unmolested rooks<br> +Upon the turret's windy top<br> +Sit, talking of the farmer's crop;<br> +Here in the court-yard springs the grass,<br> +So few are now the feet that pass;<br> +The stately peacocks, bolder grown,<br> +Come hopping down the steps of stone,<br> +As if the castle were their own;<br> +And I, the poor old seneschal,<br> +Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall.<br> +Alas! the merry guests no more<br> +Crowd through the hospital door;<br> +No eyes with youth and passion shine,<br> +No cheeks glow redder than the wine;<br> +No song, no laugh, no jovial din<br> +Of drinking wassail to the pin;<br> +But all is silent, sad, and drear,<br> +And now the only sounds I hear<br> +Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls,<br> +And horses stamping in their stalls!<p></p> + + (<i>A horn sounds</i>.)<br><p></p> + +What ho! that merry, sudden blast<br> +Reminds me of the days long past!<br>< +And, as of old resounding, grate<br> +The heavy hinges of the gate,<br> +And, clattering loud, with iron clank,<br> +Down goes the sounding bridge of plank,<br> +As if it were in haste to greet<br> +The pressure of a traveler's feet!<p></p> + + (<i>Enter</i> WALTER <i>the Minnesinger</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely!<br> +No banner flying from the walls,<br> +No pages and no seneschals,<br> +No wardens, and one porter only!<br> +Is it you, Hubert?<p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> Ah! Master Walter!<br><p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> Alas! how forms and faces alter!<br> +I did not know you. You look older!<br> +Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner,<br> +And you stoop a little in the shoulder!<p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> Alack! I am a poor old sinner,<br> +And, like these towers, begin to moulder;<br> +And you have been absent many a year!<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> How is the Prince?<br><p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> He is not here;<br> +He has been ill: and now has fled.<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> Speak it out frankly: say he's dead!<br> +Is it not so?<p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> No; if you please;<br> +A strange, mysterious disease<br> +Fell on him with a sudden blight.<br> +Whole hours together he would stand<br> +Upon the terrace, in a dream,<br> +Resting his head upon his hand,<br> +Best pleased when he was most alone,<br> +Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone,<br> +Looking down into a stream.<br> +In the Round Tower, night after night,<br> +He sat, and bleared his eyes with books;<br> +Until one morning we found him there<br> +Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon<br> +He had fallen from his chair.<br> +We hardly recognized his sweet looks!<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> Poor Prince!<br><p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> I think he might have mended;<br> +And he did mend; but very soon<br> +The Priests came flocking in, like rooks,<br> +With all their crosiers and their crooks,<br> +And so at last the matter ended.<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> How did it end?<br><p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> Why, in Saint Rochus<br> +They made him stand, and wait his doom;<br> +And, as if he were condemned to the tomb,<br> +Began to mutter their hocus pocus.<br> +First, the Mass for the Dead they chaunted.<br> +Then three times laid upon his head<br> +A shovelful of church-yard clay,<br> +Saying to him, as he stood undaunted,<br> +"This is a sign that thou art dead,<br> +So in thy heart be penitent!"<br> +And forth from the chapel door he went<br> +Into disgrace and banishment,<br> +Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray,<br> +And bearing a wallet, and a bell,<br> +Whose sound should be a perpetual knell<br> +To keep all travelers away.<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> O, horrible fate! Outcast, rejected,<br> +As one with pestilence infected!<p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> Then was the family tomb unsealed,<br> +And broken helmet, sword and shield,<br> +Buried together, in common wreck,<br> +As is the custom, when the last<br> +Of any princely house has passed,<br> +And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast,<br> +A herald shouted down the stair<br> +The words of warning and despair,--<br> +"O Hoheneck! O Hoheneck!"<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. Still in my soul that cry goes on,--<br> +Forever gone! forever gone!<br> +Ah, what a cruel sense of loss,<br> +Like a black shadow, would fall across<br> +The hearts of all, if he should die!<br> +His gracious presence upon earth<br> +Was as a fire upon a hearth;<br> +As pleasant songs, at morning sung,<br> +The words that dropped from his sweet tongue<br> +Strengthened our hearts; or, heard at night,<br> +Made all our slumbers soft and light.<br> +Where is he?<p></p> + + <i>Hubert.</i> In the Odenwald.<br> +Some of his tenants, unappalled<br> +By fear of death, or priestly word,--<br> +A holy family, that make<br> +Each meal a Supper of the Lord,--<br> +Have him beneath their watch and ward,<br> +For love of him, and Jesus' sake!<br> +Pray you come in. For why should I<br> +With outdoor hospitality<br> +My prince's friend thus entertain?<p></p> + + <i>Walter.</i> I would a moment here remain.<br> +But you, good Hubert, go before,<br> +Fill me a goblet of May-drink,<br> +As aromatic as the May<br> +From which it steals the breath away,<br> +And which he loved so well of yore;<br> +It is of him that I would think<br> +You shall attend me, when I call,<br> +In the ancestral banquet hall.<br> +Unseen companions, guests of air,<br> +You cannot wait on, will be there;<br> +They taste not food, they drink not wine,<br> +But their soft eyes look into mine,<br> +And their lips speak to me, and all<br> +The vast and shadowy banquet-hall<br> +Is full of looks and words divine!<p></p> + + (<i>Leaning over the parapet</i>.)<br><p></p> + +The day is done; and slowly from the scene<br> +The stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts,<br> +And puts them back into his golden quiver!<br> +Below me in the valley, deep and green<br> +As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts<br> +We drink its wine, the swift and mantling river<br> +Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions,<br> +Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent,<br> +And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent!<br> +Yes, there it flows, forever, broad and still,<br> +As when the vanguard of the Roman legions<br> +First saw it from the top of yonder hill!<br> +How beautiful it is! Fresh fields of wheat,<br> +Vineyard, and town, and tower with fluttering flag,<br> +The consecrated chapel on the crag,<br> +And the white hamlet gathered round its base,<br> +Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet,<br> +And looking up at his beloved face!<br> +O friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more<br> +Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br> +<h2>II.</h2> + +<H2>A FARM IN THE ODENWALD</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>A garden; morning;</i> PRINCE HENRY <i>seated, with a +book</i>. ELSIE, <i>at a distance, gathering flowers.</i><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry (reading).</i> One morning, all alone,<br> +Out of his convent of gray stone,<br> +Into the forest older, darker, grayer,<br> +His lips moving as if in prayer,<br> +His head sunken upon his breast<br> +As in a dream of rest,<br> +Walked the Monk Felix. All about<br> +The broad, sweet sunshine lay without,<br> +Filling the summer air;<br> +And within the woodlands as he trod,<br> +The twilight was like the Truce of God<br> +With worldly woe and care;<br> +Under him lay the golden moss;<br> +And above him the boughs of hemlock-tree<br> +Waved, and made the sign of the cross,<br> +And whispered their Benedicites;<br> +And from the ground<br> +Rose an odor sweet and fragrant<br> +Of the wild flowers and the vagrant<br> +Vines that wandered,<br> +Seeking the sunshine, round and round.<br> +These he heeded not, but pondered<br> +On the volume in his hand,<br> +A volume of Saint Augustine;<br> +Wherein he read of the unseen<br> +Splendors of God's great town<br> +In the unknown land,<br> +And, with his eyes cast down<br> +In humility, he said:<br> +"I believe, O God,<br> +What herein I have read,<br> +But alas! I do not understand!"<p></p> + +And lo! he heard<br> +The sudden singing of a bird,<br> +A snow-white bird, that from a cloud<br> +Dropped down,<br> +And among the branches brown<br> +Sat singing<br> +So sweet, and clear, and loud,<br> +It seemed a thousand harp strings ringing.<br> +And the Monk Felix closed his book,<br> +And long, long,<br> +With rapturous look,<br> +He listened to the song,<br> +And hardly breathed or stirred,<br> +Until he saw, as in a vision,<br> +The land Elysian,<br> +And in the heavenly city heard<br> +Angelic feet<br> +Fall on the golden flagging of the street.<br> +And he would fain<br> +Have caught the wondrous bird,<br> +But strove in vain;<br> +For it flew away, away,<br> +Far over hill and dell,<br> +And instead of its sweet singing<br> +He heard the convent bell<br> +Suddenly in the silence ringing<br> +For the service of noonday.<br> +And he retraced<br> +His pathway homeward sadly and in haste.<p><p></p> + +In the convent there was a change!<br> +He looked for each well known face,<br> +But the faces were new and strange;<br> +New figures sat in the oaken stalls,<br> +New voices chaunted in the choir,<br> +Yet the place was the same place,<br> +The same dusky walls<br> +Of cold, gray stone,<br> +The same cloisters and belfry and spire.<p></p> + +A stranger and alone<br> +Among that brotherhood<br> +The Monk Felix stood<br> +"Forty years," said a Friar.<br> +"Have I been Prior<br> +Of this convent in the wood,<br> +But for that space<br> +Never have I beheld thy face!"<p></p> + +The heart of the Monk Felix fell:<br> +And he answered with submissive tone,<br> +"This morning, after the hour of Prime,<br> +I left my cell,<br> +And wandered forth alone,<br> +Listening all the time<br> +To the melodious singing<br> +Of a beautiful white bird,<br> +Until I heard<br> +The bells of the convent ringing<br> +Noon from their noisy towers,<br> +It was as if I dreamed;<br> +For what to me had seemed<br> +Moments only, had been hours!"<p></p> + +"Years!" said a voice close by.<br> +It was an aged monk who spoke,<br> +From a bench of oak<br> +Fastened against the wall;--<br> +He was the oldest monk of all.<br> +For a whole century<br> +Had he been there,<br> +Serving God in prayer,<br> +The meekest and humblest of his creatures.<br> +He remembered well the features<br> +Of Felix, and he said,<br> +Speaking distinct and slow:<br> +"One hundred years ago,<br> +When I was a novice in this place,<br> +There was here a monk, full of God's grace,<br> +Who bore the name<br> +Of Felix, and this man must be the same."<p></p> + +And straightway<br> +They brought forth to the light of day<br> +A volume old and brown,<br> +A huge tome, bound<br> +With brass and wild-boar's hide,<br> +Therein were written down<br> +The names of all who had died<br> +In the convent, since it was edified.<br> +And there they found,<br> +Just as the old monk said,<br> +That on a certain day and date,<br> +One hundred years before,<br> +Had gone forth from the convent gate<br> +The Monk Felix, and never more<br> +Had entered that sacred door.<br> +He had been counted among the dead!<br> +And they knew, at last,<br> +That, such had been the power<br> +Of that celestial and immortal song,<br> +A hundred years had passed,<br> +And had not seemed so long<br> +As a single hour!<p></p> + + (ELSIE <i>comes in with flowers.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Here are flowers for you,<br> +But they are not all for you.<br> +Some of them are for the Virgin<br> +And for Saint Cecilia.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> As thou standest there,<br> +Thou seemest to me like the angel<br> +That brought the immortal roses<br> +To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> But these will fade.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Themselves will fade,<br> +But not their memory,<br> +And memory has the power<br> +To re-create them from the dust.<br> +They remind me, too,<br> +Of martyred Dorothea,<br> +Who from celestial gardens sent<br> +Flowers as her witnesses<br> +To him who scoffed and doubted.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Do you know the story<br> +Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter?<br> +That is the prettiest legend of them all.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Then tell it to me.<br> +But first come hither.<br> +Lay the flowers down beside me.<br> +And put both thy hands in mine.<br> +Now tell me the story.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Early in the morning<br> +The Sultan's daughter<br> +Walked in her father's garden,<br> +Gathering the bright flowers,<br> +All full of dew.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Just as thou hast been doing<br> +This morning, dearest Elsie.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> And as she gathered them,<br> +She wondered more and more<br> +Who was the Master of the Flowers,<br> +And made them grow<br> +Out of the cold, dark earth.<br> +"In my heart," she said,<br> +"I love him; and for him<br> +Would leave my father's palace,<br> +To labor in his garden."<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Dear, innocent child!<br> +How sweetly thou recallest<br> +The long-forgotten legend,<br> +That in my early childhood<br> +My mother told me!<br> +Upon my brain<br> +It reappears once more,<br> +As a birth-mark on the forehead<br> +When a hand suddenly<br> +Is laid upon it, and removed!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> And at midnight,<br> +As she lay upon her bed,<br> +She heard a voice<br> +Call to her from the garden,<br> +And, looking forth from her window,<br> +She saw a beautiful youth<br> +Standing among the flowers.<br> +It was the Lord Jesus;<br> +And she went down to him,<br> +And opened the door for him;<br> +And he said to her, "O maiden!<br> +Thou hast thought of me with love,<br> +And for thy sake<br> +Out of my Father's kingdom<br> +Have I come hither:<br> +I am the Master of the Flowers.<br> +My garden is in Paradise,<br> +And if thou wilt go with me,<br> +Thy bridal garland<br> +Shall be of bright red flowers."<br> +And then he took from his finger<br> +A golden ring,<br> +And asked the Sultan's daughter<br> +If she would be his bride.<br> +And when she answered him with love,<br> +His wounds began to bleed,<br> +And she said to him,<br> +"O Love! how red thy heart is,<br> +And thy hands are full of roses,"<br> +"For thy sake," answered he,<br> +"For thy sake is my heart so red,<br> +For thee I bring these roses.<br> +I gathered them at the cross<br> +Whereon I died for thee!<br> +Come, for my Father calls.<br> +Thou art my elected bride!"<br> +And the Sultan's daughter<br> +Followed him to his Father's garden.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie?<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Yes, very gladly.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Then the Celestial Bridegroom<br> +Will come for thee also.<br> +Upon thy forehead he will place,<br> +Not his crown of thorns,<br> +But a crown of roses.<br> +In thy bridal chamber,<br> +Like Saint Cecilia,<br> +Thou shall hear sweet music,<br> +And breathe the fragrance<br> +Of flowers immortal!<br> +Go now and place these flowers<br> +Before her picture.<p></p> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<H2>A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Twilight.</i> URSULA <i>spinning.</i> GOTTLIEB <i>asleep in his +chair.</i><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Darker and darker! Hardly a glimmer<br> +Of light comes in at the window-pane;<br> +Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer?<br> +I cannot disentangle this skein,<br> +Nor wind it rightly upon the reel.<br> +Elsie!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb (starting)</i>. The stopping of thy wheel<br> +Has wakened me out of a pleasant dream.<br> +I thought I was sitting beside a stream,<br> +And heard the grinding of a mill,<br> +When suddenly the wheels stood still,<br> +And a voice cried "Elsie" in my ear!<br> +It startled me, it seemed so near.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> I was calling her: I want a light.<br> +I cannot see to spin my flax.<br> +Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear?<p></p> + + <i>Elsie (within).</i> In a moment!<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Where are Bertha and Max?<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> They are sitting with Elsie at the door.<br> +She is telling them stories of the wood,<br> +And the Wolf, and Little Red Ridinghood.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb</i>. And where is the Prince?<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula</i>. In his room overhead;<br> +I heard him walking across the floor,<br> +As he always does, with a heavy tread.<p></p> + +(ELSIE <i>comes in with a lamp</i>. MAX <i>and</i> BERTHA <i>follow her; +and they all sing the Evening Song on the lighting of the lamps</i>.)<p></p> + + + EVENING SONG.<br> + + O gladsome light<br> + Of the Father Immortal,<br> + And of the celestial<br> + Sacred and blessed<br> + Jesus, our Saviour!<br><p></p> + + Now to the sunset<br> + Again hast thou brought us;<br> + And, seeing the evening<br> + Twilight, we bless thee,<br> + Praise thee, adore thee!<br><p></p> + + Father omnipotent!<br> + Son, the Life-giver!<br> + Spirit, the Comforter!<br> + Worthy at all times<br> + Of worship and wonder!<br><p></p> + + + <i>Prince Henry (at the door)</i>. Amen!<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula</i>. Who was it said Amen?<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i>. It was the Prince: he stood at the door,<br> +And listened a moment, as we chaunted<br> +The evening song. He is gone again.<br> +I have often seen him there before.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula</i>. Poor Prince!<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb</i>. I thought the house was haunted!<br> +Poor Prince, alas! and yet as mild<br> +And patient as the gentlest child!<p></p> + + <i>Max.</i> I love him because he is so good,<br> +And makes me such fine bows and arrows,<br> +To shoot at the robins and the sparrows,<br> +And the red squirrels in the wood!<p></p> + + <i>Bertha.</i> I love him, too!<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Ah, yes! we all<br> +Love him, from the bottom of our hearts;<br> +He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange,<br> +He gave us the horses and the carts,<br> +And the great oxen in the stall,<br> +The vineyard, and the forest range!<br> +We have nothing to give him but our love!<p></p> + + <i>Bertha.</i> Did he give us the beautiful stork above<br> +On the chimney-top, with its large, round nest?<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> No, not the stork; by God in heaven,<br> +As a blessing, the dear, white stork was given;<br> +But the Prince has given us all the rest.<br> +God bless him, and make him well again.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Would I could do something for his sake,<br> +Something to cure his sorrow and pain!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> That no one can; neither thou nor I,<br> +Nor any one else.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> And must he die?<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Yes; if the dear God does not take<br> +Pity upon him, in his distress,<br> +And work a miracle!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Or unless<br> +Some maiden, of her own accord,<br> +Offers her life for that of her lord,<br> +And is willing to die in his stead.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I will!<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Prithee, thou foolish child, be still!<br> +Thou shouldst not say what thou dost not mean!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I mean it truly!<br><p></p> + + <i>Max.</i> O father! this morning,<br> +Down by the mill, in the ravine,<br> +Hans killed a wolf, the very same<br> +That in the night to the sheepfold came,<br> +And ate up my lamb, that was left outside.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> I am glad he is dead. It will be a warning<br> +To the wolves in the forest, far and wide.<p></p> + + <i>Max.</i> And I am going to have his hide!<br><p></p> + + <i>Bertha.</i> I wonder if this is the wolf that ate<br> +Little Red Ridinghood!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> O, no!<br> +That wolf was killed a long while ago.<br> +Come, children, it is growing late.<p></p> + + <i>Max.</i> Ah, how I wish I were a man,<br> +As stout as Hans is, and as strong!<br> +I would do nothing else, the whole day long,<br> +But just kill wolves.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Then go to bed,<br> +And grow as fast as a little boy can.<br> +Bertha is half asleep already.<br> +See how she nods her heavy head,<br> +And her sleepy feet are so unsteady<br> +She will hardly be able to creep upstairs.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Good-night, my children. Here's the light.<br> +And do not forget to say your prayers<br> +Before you sleep.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Good-night!<br><p></p> + + <i>Max and Bertha.</i> Good-night!<br><p></p> + + (<i>They go out with</i> ELSIE.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula, (spinning).</i> She is a strange and wayward child,<br> +That Elsie of ours. She looks so old,<br> +And thoughts and fancies weird and wild<br> +Seem of late to have taken hold<br> +Of her heart, that was once so docile and mild!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> She is like all girls.<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Ah no, forsooth!<br> +Unlike all I have ever seen.<br> +For she has visions and strange dreams,<br> +And in all her words and ways, she seems<br> +Much older than she is in truth.<br> +Who would think her but fourteen?<br> +And there has been of late such a change!<br> +My heart is heavy with fear and doubt<br> +That she may not live till the year is out.<br> +She is so strange,--so strange,--so strange!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> I am not troubled with any such fear!<br> +She will live and thrive for many a year.<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>ELSIE'S CHAMBER.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Night.</i> ELSIE <i>praying.</i><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> My Redeemer and my Lord,<br> +I beseech thee, I entreat thee,<br> +Guide me in each act and word,<br> +That hereafter I may meet thee,<br> +Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning,<br> +With my lamp well trimmed and burning!<p></p> + +Interceding<br> +With these bleeding<br> +Wounds upon thy hands and side,<br> +For all who have lived and erred<br> +Thou hast suffered, thou hast died,<br> +Scourged, and mocked, and crucified,<br> +And in the grave hast thou been buried!<p></p> + +If my feeble prayer can reach thee,<br> +O my Saviour, I beseech thee,<br> +Even as thou hast died for me,<br> +More sincerely<br> +Let me follow where thou leadest,<br> +Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest,<br> +Die, if dying I may give<br> +Life to one who asks to live,<br> +And more nearly,<br> +Dying thus, resemble thee!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND URSULA.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Midnight.</i> ELSIE <i>standing by their bedside, weeping.</i><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> The wind is roaring; the rushing rain<br> +Is loud upon roof and window-pane,<br> +As if the Wild Huntsman of Rodenstein,<br> +Boding evil to me and mine,<br> +Were abroad to-night with his ghostly train!<br> +In the brief lulls of the tempest wild,<br> +The dogs howl in the yard; and hark!<br> +Some one is sobbing in the dark,<br> +Here in the chamber!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> It is I.<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Elsie! what ails thee, my poor child?<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I am disturbed and much distressed,<br> +In thinking our dear Prince must die,<br> +I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> What wouldst thou? In the Power Divine<br> +His healing lies, not in our own;<br> +It is in the hand of God alone.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Nay, he has put it into mine,<br> +And into my heart!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Thy words are wild!<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> What dost thou mean? my child! my child!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> That for our dear Prince Henry's sake<br> +I will myself the offering make,<br> +And give my life to purchase his.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula</i> Am I still dreaming, or awake?<br> +Thou speakest carelessly of death,<br> +And yet thou knowest not what it is.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> 'T is the cessation of our breath.<br> +Silent and motionless we lie;<br> +And no one knoweth more than this.<br> +I saw our little Gertrude die,<br> +She left off breathing, and no more<br> +I smoothed the pillow beneath her head.<br> +She was more beautiful than before.<br> +Like violets faded were her eyes;<br> +By this we knew that she was dead.<br> +Through the open window looked the skies<br> +Into the chamber where she lay,<br> +And the wind was like the sound of wings,<br> +As if angels came to bear her away.<br> +Ah! when I saw and felt these things,<br> +I found it difficult to stay;<br> +I longed to die, as she had died,<br> +And go forth with her, side by side.<br> +The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead,<br> +And Mary, and our Lord, and I<br> +Would follow in humility<br> +The way by them illumined!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> My child! my child! thou must not die!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> Why should I live? Do I not know<br> +The life of woman is full of woe?<br> +Toiling on and on and on,<br> +With breaking heart, and tearful eyes,<br> +And silent lips, and in the soul<br> +The secret longings that arise,<br> +Which this world never satisfies!<br> +Some more, some less, but of the whole<br> +Not one quite happy, no, not one!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> It is the malediction of Eve!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> In place of it, let me receive<br> +The benediction of Mary, then.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Ah, woe is me! Ah, woe is me!<br> +Most wretched am I among men!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Alas! that I should live to see<br> +Thy death, beloved, and to stand<br> +Above thy grave! Ah, woe the day!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie<br> +Beneath the flowers of another land,<br> +For at Salerno, far away<br> +Over the mountains, over the sea,<br> +It is appointed me to die!<br> +And it will seem no more to thee<br> +Than if at the village on market-day<br> +I should a little longer stay<br> +Than I am used.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Even as thou sayest!<br> +And how my heart beats, when thou stayest!<br> +I cannot rest until my sight<br> +Is satisfied with seeing thee.<br> +What, then, if thou wert dead?<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb</i> Ah me!<br> +Of our old eyes thou art the light!<br> +The joy of our old hearts art thou!<br> +And wilt thou die?<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Not now! not now!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> Christ died for me, and shall not I<br> +Be willing for my Prince to die?<br> +You both are silent; you cannot speak.<br> +This said I, at our Saviour's feast,<br> +After confession, to the priest,<br> +And even he made no reply.<br> +Does he not warn us all to seek<br> +The happier, better land on high,<br> +Where flowers immortal never wither,<br> +And could he forbid me to go thither?<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> In God's own time, my heart's delight!<br> +When he shall call thee, not before!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I heard him call. When Christ ascended<br> +Triumphantly, from star to star,<br> +He left the gates of heaven ajar.<br> +I had a vision in the night,<br> +And saw him standing at the door<br> +Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid,<br> +And beckoning to me from afar.<br> +I cannot stay!<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> She speaks almost<br> +As if it were the Holy Ghost<br> +Spake through her lips, and in her stead!<br> +What if this were of God?<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Ah, then<br> +Gainsay it dare we not.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Amen!<br> +Elsie! the words that thou hast said<br> +Are strange and new for us to hear,<br> +And fill our hearts with doubt and fear.<br> +Whether it be a dark temptation<br> +Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration,<br> +We in our blindness cannot say.<br> +We must think upon it, and pray;<br> +For evil and good in both resembles.<br> +If it be of God, his will be done!<br> +May he guard us from the Evil One!<br> +How hot thy hand is! how it trembles!<br> +Go to thy bed, and try to sleep.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Kiss me. Good-night; and do not weep!<br><p></p> + + (ELSIE <i>goes out.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Ah, what an awful thing is this!<br> +I almost shuddered at her kiss.<br> +As if a ghost had touched my cheek,<br> +I am so childish and so weak!<br> +As soon as I see the earliest gray<br> +Of morning glimmer in the east,<br> +I will go over to the priest,<br> +And hear what the good man has to say!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>A VILLAGE CHURCH.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>A woman kneeling at the confessional.</i><p></p> + + <i>The Parish Priest (from within)</i>. Go, sin no<br> +more! Thy penance o'er,<br> +A new and better life begin!<br> +God maketh thee forever free<br> +From the dominion of thy sin!<br> +Go, sin no more! He will restore<br> +The peace that filled thy heart before,<br> +And pardon thine iniquity!<p></p> + + (<i>The woman goes out. The Priest comes forth, and +walks slowly up and down the church</i>.)<br><p></p> + +O blessed Lord! how much I need<br> +Thy light to guide me on my way!<br> +So many hands, that, without heed,<br> +Still touch thy wounds, and make them bleed!<br> +So many feet, that, day by day,<br> +Still wander from thy fold astray!<br> +Unless thou fill me with thy light,<br> +I cannot lead thy flock aright;<br> +Nor, without thy support, can bear<br> +The burden of so great a care,<br> +But am myself a castaway!<p></p> + + (<i>A pause</i>.)<br><p></p> + +The day is drawing to its close;<br> +And what good deeds, since first it rose,<br> +Have I presented, Lord, to thee,<br> +As offerings of my ministry?<br> +What wrong repressed, what right maintained<br> +What struggle passed, what victory gained,<br> +What good attempted and attained?<br> +Feeble, at best, is my endeavor!<br> +I see, but cannot reach, the height<br> +That lies forever in the light,<br> +And yet forever and forever,<br> +When seeming just within my grasp,<br> +I feel my feeble hands unclasp,<br> +And sink discouraged into night!<br> +For thine own purpose, thou hast sent<br> +The strife and the discouragement!<p></p> + + (<i>A pause</i>.)<br><p></p> + +Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck?<br> +Why keep me pacing to and fro<br> +Amid these aisles of sacred gloom,<br> +Counting my footsteps as I go,<br> +And marking with each step a tomb?<br> +Why should the world for thee make room,<br> +And wait thy leisure and thy beck?<br> +Thou comest in the hope to hear<br> +Some word of comfort and of cheer.<br> +What can I say? I cannot give<br> +The counsel to do this and live;<br> +But rather, firmly to deny<br> +The tempter, though his power is strong,<br> +And, inaccessible to wrong,<br> +Still like a martyr live and die!<p></p> + + (<i>A pause</i>.)<br><p></p> + +The evening air grows dusk and brown;<br> +I must go forth into the town,<br> +To visit beds of pain and death,<br> +Of restless limbs, and quivering breath,<br> +And sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes<br> +That see, through tears, the sun go down,<br> +But never more shall see it rise.<br> +The poor in body and estate,<br> +The sick and the disconsolate.<br> +Must not on man's convenience wait.<p></p> + + (<i>Goes out. Enter</i> LUCIFER, <i>as a Priest</i>. LUCIFER, +<i>with a genuflexion, mocking</i>.)<br><p></p> + +This is the Black Pater-noster.<br> +God was my foster,<br> +He fostered me<br> +Under the book of the Palm-tree!<br> +St. Michael was my dame.<br> +He was born at Bethlehem,<br> +He was made of flesh and blood.<br> +God send me my right food,<br> +My right food, and shelter too,<br> +That I may to yon kirk go,<br> +To read upon yon sweet book<br> +Which the mighty God of heaven shook.<br> +Open, open, hell's gates!<br> +Shut, shut, heaven's gates!<br> +All the devils in the air<br> +The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer!<p></p> + + (<i>Looking round the church</i>.)<br><p></p> + +What a darksome and dismal place!<br> +I wonder that any man has the face<br> +To call such a hole the House of the Lord,<br> +And the Gate of Heaven,--yet such is the word.<br> +Ceiling, and walls, and windows old,<br> +Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould;<br> +Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs,<br> +Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs!<br> +The pulpit, from which such ponderous sermons<br> +Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans,<br> +With about as much real edification<br> +As if a great Bible, bound in lead,<br> +Had fallen, and struck them on the head;<br> +And I ought to remember that sensation!<br> +Here stands the holy water stoup!<br> +Holy-water it may be to many,<br> +But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehennae!<br> +It smells like a filthy fast day soup!<br> +Near it stands the box for the poor;<br> +With its iron padlock, safe and sure,<br> +I and the priest of the parish know<br> +Whither all these charities go;<br> +Therefore, to keep up the institution,<br> +I will add my little contribution!<p></p> + + (<i>He puts in money.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Underneath this mouldering tomb,<br> +With statue of stone, and scutcheon of brass,<br> +Slumbers a great lord of the village.<br> +All his life was riot and pillage,<br> +But at length, to escape the threatened doom<br> +Of the everlasting, penal fire,<br> +He died in the dress of a mendicant friar,<br> +And bartered his wealth for a daily mass.<br> +But all that afterward came to pass,<br> +And whether he finds it dull or pleasant,<br> +Is kept a secret for the present,<br> +At his own particular desire.<p></p> + +And here, in a corner of the wall,<br> +Shadowy, silent, apart from all,<br> +With its awful portal open wide,<br> +And its latticed windows on either side,<br> +And its step well worn by the bended knees<br> +Of one or two pious centuries,<br> +Stands the village confessional!<br> +Within it, as an honored guest,<br> +I will sit me down awhile and rest!<p></p> + + (<i>Seats himself in the confessional</i>.)<br><p></p> + +Here sits the priest, and faint and low,<br> +Like the sighing of an evening breeze,<br> +Comes through these painted lattices<br> +The ceaseless sound of human woe,<br> +Here, while her bosom aches and throbs<br> +With deep and agonizing sobs,<br> +That half are passion, half contrition,<br> +The luckless daughter of perdition<br> +Slowly confesses her secret shame!<br> +The time, the place, the lover's name!<br> +Here the grim murderer, with a groan,<br> +From his bruised conscience rolls the stone,<br> +Thinking that thus he can atone<br> +For ravages of sword and flame!<br> +Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly,<br> +How a priest can sit here so sedately,<br> +Reading, the whole year out and in,<br> +Naught but the catalogue of sin,<br> +And still keep any faith whatever<br> +In human virtue! Never! never!<p></p> + +I cannot repeat a thousandth part<br> +Of the horrors and crimes and sins and woes<br> +That arise, when with palpitating throes<br> +The graveyard in the human heart<br> +Gives up its dead, at the voice of the priest,<br> +As if he were an archangel, at least.<br> +It makes a peculiar atmosphere,<br> +This odor of earthly passions and crimes,<br> +Such as I like to breathe, at times,<br> +And such as often brings me here<br> +In the hottest and most pestilential season.<br> +To-day, I come for another reason;<br> +To foster and ripen an evil thought<br> +In a heart that is almost to madness wrought,<br> +And to make a murderer out of a prince,<br> +A sleight of hand I learned long since!<br> +He comes In the twilight he will not see<br> +the difference between his priest and me!<br> +In the same net was the mother caught!<p></p> + + (<i>Prince Henry entering and kneeling at the confessional.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Remorseful, penitent, and lowly,<br> +I come to crave, O Father holy,<br> +Thy benediction on my head.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. The benediction shall be said<br> +After confession, not before!<br> +'T is a God speed to the parting guest,<br> +Who stands already at the door,<br> +Sandalled with holiness, and dressed<br> +In garments pure from earthly stain.<br> +Meanwhile, hast thou searched well thy breast?<br> +Does the same madness fill thy brain?<br> +Or have thy passion and unrest<br> +Vanished forever from thy mind?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. By the same madness still made blind,<br> +By the same passion still possessed,<br> +I come again to the house of prayer,<br> +A man afflicted and distressed!<br> +As in a cloudy atmosphere,<br> +Through unseen sluices of the air,<br> +A sudden and impetuous wind<br> +Strikes the great forest white with fear,<br> +And every branch, and bough, and spray<br> +Points all its quivering leaves one way,<br> +And meadows of grass, and fields of grain,<br> +And the clouds above, and the slanting rain,<br> +And smoke from chimneys of the town,<br> +Yield themselves to it, and bow down,<br> +So does this dreadful purpose press<br> +Onward, with irresistible stress,<br> +And all my thoughts and faculties,<br> +Struck level by the strength of this,<br> +From their true inclination turn,<br> +And all stream forward to Salem!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Alas! we are but eddies of dust,<br> +Uplifted by the blast, and whirled<br> +Along the highway of the world<br> +A moment only, then to fall<br> +Back to a common level all,<br> +At the subsiding of the gust!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. O holy Father! pardon in me<br> +The oscillation of a mind<br> +Unsteadfast, and that cannot find<br> +Its centre of rest and harmony!<br> +For evermore before mine eyes<br> +This ghastly phantom flits and flies,<br> +And as a madman through a crowd,<br> +With frantic gestures and wild cries,<br> +It hurries onward, and aloud<br> +Repeats its awful prophecies!<br> +Weakness is wretchedness! To be strong<br> +Is to be happy! I am weak,<br> +And cannot find the good I seek,<br> +Because I feel and fear the wrong!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Be not alarmed! The Church is kind--<br> +And in her mercy and her meekness<br> +She meets half-way her children's weakness,<br> +Writes their transgressions in the dust!<br> +Though in the Decalogue we find<br> +The mandate written, "Thou shalt not kill!"<br> +Yet there are cases when we must.<br> +In war, for instance, or from scathe<br> +To guard and keep the one true Faith!<br> +We must look at the Decalogue in the light<br> +Of an ancient statute, that was meant<br> +For a mild and general application,<br> +To be understood with the reservation,<br> +That, in certain instances, the Right<br> +Must yield to the Expedient!<br> +Thou art a Prince. If thou shouldst die,<br> +What hearts and hopes would prostrate he!<br> +What noble deeds, what fair renown,<br> +Into the grave with thee go down!<br> +What acts of valor and courtesy<br> +Remain undone, and die with thee!<br> +Thou art the last of all thy race!<br> +With thee a noble name expires,<br> +And vanishes from the earth's face<br> +The glorious memory of thy sires!<br> +She is a peasant. In her veins<br> +Flows common and plebeian blood;<br> +It is such as daily and hourly stains<br> +The dust and the turf of battle plains,<br> +By vassals shed, in a crimson flood,<br> +Without reserve, and without reward,<br> +At the slightest summons of their lord!<br> +But thine is precious, the fore-appointed<br> +Blood of kings, of God's anointed!<br> +Moreover, what has the world in store<br> +For one like her, but tears and toil?<br> +Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil,<br> +A peasant's child and a peasant's wife,<br> +And her soul within her sick and sore<br> +With the roughness and barrenness of life!<br> +I marvel not at the heart's recoil<br> +From a fate like this, in one so tender,<br> +Nor at its eagerness to surrender<br> +All the wretchedness, want, and woe<br> +That await it in this world below,<br> +For the unutterable splendor<br> +Of the world of rest beyond the skies.<br> +So the Church sanctions the sacrifice:<br> +Therefore inhale this healing balm,<br> +And breathe this fresh life into thine;<br> +Accept the comfort and the calm<br> +She offers, as a gift divine,<br> +Let her fall down and anoint thy feet<br> +With the ointment costly and most sweet<br> +Of her young blood, and thou shall live.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And will the righteous Heaven forgive?<br> +No action, whether foul or fair,<br> +Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere<br> +A record, written by fingers ghostly,<br> +As a blessing or a curse, and mostly<br> +In the greater weakness or greater strength<br> +Of the acts which follow it, till at length<br> +The wrongs of ages are redressed,<br> +And the justice of God made manifest!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> In ancient records it is stated<br> +That, whenever an evil deed is done,<br> +Another devil is created<br> +To scourge and torment the offending one!<br> +But evil is only good perverted,<br> +And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light,<br> +But an angel fallen and deserted,<br> +Thrust from his Father's house with a curse<br> +Into the black and endless night.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> If justice rules the universe,<br> +From the good actions of good men<br> +Angels of light should be begotten,<br> +And thus the balance restored again.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Yes; if the world were not so rotten,<br> +And so given over to the Devil!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> But this deed, is it good or evil?<br> +Have I thine absolution free<br> +To do it, and without restriction?<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Ay; and from whatsoever sin<br> +Lieth around it and within,<br> +From all crimes in which it may involve thee,<br> +I now release thee and absolve thee!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Give me thy holy benediction.<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> (<i>stretching forth his hand and muttering</i>),<br> + Maledictione perpetua<br> + Maledicat vos<br> + Pater eternus!<br><p></p> + +<i>The Angel</i> (<i>with the æolian harp</i>). Take heed! take heed!<br> +Noble art thou in thy birth,<br> +By the good and the great of earth<br> +Hast thou been taught!<br> +Be noble in every thought<br> +And in every deed!<br> +Let not the illusion of thy senses<br> +Betray thee to deadly offences.<br> +Be strong! be good! be pure!<br> +The right only shall endure,<br> +All things else are but false pretences!<br> +I entreat thee, I implore,<br> +Listen no more<br> +To the suggestions of an evil spirit,<br> +That even now is there,<br> +Making the foul seem fair,<br> +And selfishness itself a virtue and a merit!<p></p> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE.</H2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + <i>Gottlieb</i>. It is decided! For many days,<br> +And nights as many, we have had<br> +A nameless terror in our breast,<br> +Making us timid, and afraid<br> +Of God, and his mysterious ways!<br> +We have been sorrowful and sad;<br> +Much have we suffered, much have prayed<br> +That he would lead us as is best,<br> +And show us what his will required.<br> +It is decided; and we give<br> +Our child, O Prince, that you may live!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula</i>. It is of God. He has inspired<br> +This purpose in her; and through pain,<br> +Out of a world of sin and woe,<br> +He takes her to himself again.<br> +The mother's heart resists no longer;<br> +With the Angel of the Lord in vain<br> +It wrestled, for he was the stronger.<p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb</i>. As Abraham offered long ago<br> +His son unto the Lord, and even<br> +The Everlasting Father in heaven<br> +Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter,<br> +So do I offer up my daughter!<p></p> + + (URSULA <i>hides her face</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i>. My life is little,<br> +Only a cup of water,<br> +But pure and limpid.<br> +Take it, O my Prince!<br> +Let it refresh you,<br> +Let it restore you.<br> +It is given willingly,<br> +It is given freely;<br> +May God bless the gift!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And the giver!<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Amen!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I accept it!<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> Where are the children?<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> They are already asleep.<br><p></p> + + <i>Gottlieb.</i> What if they were dead?<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<H2>IN THE GARDEN.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I have one thing to ask of you.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> What is it?<br> +It is already granted.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Promise me,<br> +When we are gone from here, and on our way<br> +Are journeying to Salerno, you will not,<br> +By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade me<br> +And turn me from my purpose, but remember<br> +That as a pilgrim to the Holy City<br> +Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon<br> +Occupied wholly, so would I approach<br> +The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee,<br> +With my petition, putting off from me<br> +All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off my feet.<br> +Promise me this.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Thy words fall from thy lips<br> +Like roses from the lips of Angelo: and angels<br> +Might stoop to pick them up!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Will you not promise?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> If ever we depart upon this journey,<br> +So long to one or both of us, I promise.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Shall we not go, then? Have you lifted me<br> +Into the air, only to hurl me back<br> +Wounded upon the ground? and offered me<br> +The waters of eternal life, to bid me<br> +Drink the polluted puddles of this world?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> O Elsie! what a lesson thou dost teach me!<br> +The life which is, and that which is to come,<br> +Suspended hang in such nice equipoise<br> +A breath disturbs the balance; and that scale<br> +In which we throw our hearts preponderates,<br> +And the other, like an empty one, flies up,<br> +And is accounted vanity and air!<br> +To me the thought of death is terrible,<br> +Having such hold on life. To thee it is not<br> +So much even as the lifting of a latch;<br> +Only a step into the open air<br> +Out of a tent already luminous<br> +With light that shines through its transparent walls!<br> +O pure in heart! from thy sweet dust shall grow<br> +Lilies, upon whose petals will be written<br> +"Ave Maria" in characters of gold!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br> +<h2>III.</h2> + +<H2>A STREET IN STRASBURG.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Night.</i> PRINCE HENRY <i>wandering alone, wrapped in a cloak.</i><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Still is the night. The sound of feet<br> +Has died away from the empty street,<br> +And like an artisan, bending down<br> +His head on his anvil, the dark town<br> +Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet.<br> +Sleepless and restless, I alone,<br> +In the dusk and damp of these wails of stone,<br> +Wander and weep in my remorse!<p></p> + + <i>Crier of the dead (ringing a bell).</i> Wake! wake!<br> + All ye that sleep!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Hark! with what accents loud and hoarse<br> +This warder on the walls of death<br> +Sends forth the challenge of his brerth!<br> +I see the dead that sleep in the grave!<br> +They rise up and their garments wave,<br> +Dimly and spectral, as they rise,<br> +With the light of another world in their eyes!<p></p> + + <i>Crier of the dead.</i> Wake! wake!<br> + All ye that sleep!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Why for the dead, who are at rest?<br> +Pray for the living, in whose breast<br> +The struggle between right and wrong<br> +Is raging terrible and strong,<br> +As when good angels war with devils!<br> +This is the Master of the Revels,<br> +Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes<br> +The health of absent friends, and pledges,<br> +Not in bright goblets crowned with roses,<br> +And tinkling as we touch their edges,<br> +But with his dismal, tinkling bell,<br> +That mocks and mimics their funeral knell!<p></p> + + <i>Crier of the dead.</i> Wake! wake!<br> + All ye that sleep!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Wake not, beloved! be thy sleep<br> +Silent as night is, and as deep!<br> +There walks a sentinel at thy gate<br> +Whose heart is heavy and desolate,<br> +And the heavings of whose bosom number<br> +The respirations of thy slumber,<br> +As if some strange, mysterious fate<br> +Had linked two hearts in one, and mine<br> +Went madly wheeling about thine,<br> +Only with wider and wilder sweep!<p></p> + + <i>Crier of the dead (at a distance).</i> Wake! wake!<br> + All ye that sleep!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br> + Pray for the Dead!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Lo! with what depth of blackness thrown<br> +Against the clouds, far up the skies,<br> +The walls of the cathedral rise,<br> +Like a mysterious grove of stone,<br> +With fitful lights and shadows bleeding,<br> +As from behind, the moon, ascending,<br> +Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown!<br> +The wind is rising; but the boughs<br> +Rise not and fall not with the wind<br> +That through their foliage sobs and soughs;<br> +Only the cloudy rack behind,<br> +Drifting onward, wild and ragged,<br> +Gives to each spire and buttress jagged<br> +A seeming motion undefined.<br> +Below on the square, an armed knight,<br> +Still as a statue and as white,<br> +Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver<br> +Upon the points of his armor bright<br> +As on the ripples of a river.<br> +He lifts the visor from his cheek,<br> +And beckons, and makes as he would speak.<p></p> + + <i>Walter the Minnesinger</i> Friend! can you tell me where alight<br> +Thuringia's horsemen for the night?<br> +For I have lingered in the rear,<br> +And wander vainly up and down.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> I am a stranger in the town,<br> +As thou art, but the voice I hear<br> +Is not a stranger to mine ear.<br> +Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid!<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i> Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy name<br> +Is Henry of Hoheneck!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Ay, the same.<br><p></p> + + <i>Walter</i> (<i>embracing him</i>). Come closer, closer to my side!<br> +What brings thee hither? What potent charm<br> +Has drawn thee from thy German farm<br> +Into the old Alsatian city?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. A tale of wonder and of pity!<br> +A wretched man, almost by stealth<br> +Dragging my body to Salern,<br> +In the vain hope and search for health,<br> +And destined never to return.<br> +Already thou hast heard the rest<br> +But what brings thee, thus armed and dight<br> +In the equipments of a knight?<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. Dost thou not see upon my breast<br> +The cross of the Crusaders shine?<br> +My pathway leads to Palestine.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. Ah, would that way were also mine!<br> +O noble poet! thou whose heart<br> +Is like a nest of singing birds<br> +Rocked on the topmost bough of life,<br> +Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart,<br> +And in the clangor of the strife<br> +Mingle the music of thy words?<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. My hopes are high, my heart is proud,<br> +And like a trumpet long and loud,<br> +Thither my thoughts all clang and ring!<br> +My life is in my hand, and lo!<br> +I grasp and bend it as a bow,<br> +And shoot forth from its trembling string<br> +An arrow, that shall be, perchance,<br> +Like the arrow of the Israelite king<br> +Shot from the window toward the east,<br> +That of the Lord's deliverance!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. My life, alas! is what thou seest!<br> +O enviable fate! to be<br> +Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee<br> +With lyre and sword, with song and steel;<br> +A hand to smite, a heart to feel!<br> +Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy sword,<br> +Thou givest all unto thy Lord,<br> +While I, so mean and abject grown,<br> +Am thinking of myself alone.<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. Be patient: Time will reinstate<br> +Thy health and fortunes.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. 'T is too late!<br> +I cannot strive against my fate!<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. Come with me; for my steed is weary;<br> +Our journey has been long and dreary,<br> +And, dreaming of his stall, he dints<br> +With his impatient hoofs the flints.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> (<i>aside</i>). I am ashamed, in my disgrace,<br> +To look into that noble face!<br> +To-morrow, Walter, let it be.<p></p> + + <i>Walter</i>. To-morrow, at the dawn of day,<br> +I shall again be on my way<br> +Come with me to the hostelry,<br> +For I have many things to say.<br> +Our journey into Italy<br> +Perchance together we may make;<br> +Wilt thou not do it for my sake?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. A sick man's pace would but impede<br> +Thine eager and impatient speed.<br> +Besides, my pathway leads me round<br> +To Hirsehau, in the forest's bound,<br> +Where I assemble man and steed,<br> +And all things for my journey's need.<p></p> + + (<i>They go out</i>. LUCIFER, <i>flying over the city</i>.)<br><p></p> + +Sleep, sleep, O city! till the light<br> +Wakes you to sin and crime again,<br> +Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain,<br> +I scatter downward through the night<br> +My maledictions dark and deep.<br> +I have more martyrs in your walls<br> +Than God has; and they cannot sleep;<br> +They are my bondsmen and my thralls;<br> +Their wretched lives are full of pain,<br> +Wild agonies of nerve and brain;<br> +And every heart-beat, every breath,<br> +Is a convulsion worse than death!<br> +Sleep, sleep, O city! though within<br> +The circuit of your walls there lies<br> +No habitation free from sin,<br> +And all its nameless miseries;<br> +The aching heart, the aching head,<br> +Grief for the living and the dead,<br> +And foul corruption of the time,<br> +Disease, distress, and want, and woe,<br> +And crimes, and passions that may grow<br> +Until they ripen into, crime!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<H2>SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Easter Sunday</i>. FRIAR CUTHBERT <i>preaching to the +crowd from a pulpit in the open air</i>. PRINCE +HENRY <i>and</i> ELSIE <i>crossing the square</i>.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. This is the day, when from the dead<br> +Our Lord arose; and everywhere,<br> +Out of their darkness and despair,<br> +Triumphant over fears and foes,<br> +The hearts of his disciples rose,<br> +When to the women, standing near,<br> +The Angel in shining vesture said,<br> +"The Lord is risen; he is not here!"<br> +And, mindful that the day is come,<br> +On all the hearths in Christendom<br> +The fires are quenched, to be again<br> +Rekindled from the sun, that high<br> +Is dancing in the cloudless sky.<br> +The churches are all decked with flowers.<br> +The salutations among men<br> +Are but the Angel's words divine,<br> +"Christ is arisen!" and the bells<br> +Catch the glad murmur, as it swells,<br> +And chaunt together in their towers.<br> +All hearts are glad; and free from care<br> +The faces of the people shine.<br> +See what a crowd is in the square,<br> +Gaily and gallantly arrayed!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i>. Let us go back; I am afraid!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. Nay, let us mount the church-steps here,<br> +Under the doorway's sacred shadow;<br> +We can see all things, and be freer<br> +From the crowd that madly heaves and presses!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> What a gay pageant! what bright dresses!<br> +It looks like a flower besprinkled meadow.<br> +What is that yonder on the square?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> A pulpit in the open air,<br> +And a Friar, who is preaching to the crowd<br> +With a voice so deep and clear and loud,<br> +That, if we listen, and give heed,<br> +His lowest words will reach the ear.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert (gesticulating and cracking a postilion's whip)</i> What ho! good people! do you not hear?<br> +Dashing along at the top of his speed,<br> +Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed,<br> +A courier comes with words of cheer.<br> +Courier! what is the news, I pray?<br> +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From court."<br> +Then I do not believe it; you say it in sport.<p></p> + + (<i>Cracks his whip again.</i>)<br><p></p> + +There comes another, riding this way;<br> +We soon shall know what he has to say.<br> +Courier! what are the tidings to-day?<br> +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From town."<br> +Then I do not believe it; away with you, clown.<p></p> + + (<i>Cracks his whip more violently.</i>)<br><p></p> + +And here comes a third, who is spurring amain;<br> +What news do you bring, with your loose-hanging rein,<br> +Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle with foam?<br> +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From Rome."<br> +Ah, now I believe. He is risen, indeed.<br> +Ride on with the news, at the top of your speed!<p></p> + + (<i>Great applause among the crowd.</i>)<br><p></p> + +To come back to my text! When the news was first spread<br> +That Christ was arisen indeed from the dead,<br> +Very great was the joy of the angels in heaven;<br> +And as great the dispute as to who should carry<br> +The tidings, thereof to the Virgin Mary,<br> +Pierced to the heart with sorrows seven.<br> +Old Father Adam was first to propose,<br> +As being the author of all our woes;<br> +But he was refused, for fear, said they,<br> +He would stop to eat apples on the way!<br> +Abel came next, but petitioned in vain,<br> +Because he might meet with his brother Cain!<br> +Noah, too, was refused, lest his weakness for wine<br> +Should delay him at every tavern sign;<br> +And John the Baptist could not get a vote,<br> +On account of his old fashioned, camel's-hair coat;<br> +And the Penitent Thief, who died on the cross,<br> +Was reminded that all his bones were broken!<br> +Till at last, when each in turn had spoken,<br> +The company being still at a loss,<br> +The Angel, who had rolled away the stone,<br> +Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone,<br> +And filled with glory that gloomy prison,<br> +And said to the Virgin, "The Lord is arisen!"<p></p> + + (<i>The Cathedral bells ring</i>.)<br><p></p> + +But hark! the bells are beginning to chime;<br> +And I feel that I am growing hoarse.<br> +I will put an end to my discourse,<br> +And leave the rest for some other time.<br> +For the bells themselves are the best of preachers;<br> +Their brazen lips are learned teachers,<br> +From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air,<br> +Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw,<br> +Shriller than trumpets under the Law,<br> +Now a sermon and now a prayer.<br> +The clangorous hammer is the tongue,<br> +This way, that way, beaten and swung,<br> +That from mouth of brass, as from Mouth of Gold,<br> +May be taught the Testaments, New and Old.<br> +And above it the great crossbeam of wood<br> +Representeth the Holy Rood,<br> +Upon which, like the bell, our hopes are hung.<br> +And the wheel wherewith it is swayed and rung<br> +Is the mind of man, that round and round<br> +Sways, and maketh the tongue to sound!<br> +And the rope, with its twisted cordage three,<br> +Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity<br> +Of Morals, and Symbols, and History;<br> +And the upward and downward motions show<br> +That we touch upon matters high and low;<br> +And the constant change and transmutation<br> +Of action and of contemplation,<br> +Downward, the Scripture brought from on high,<br> +Upward, exalted again to the sky;<br> +Downward, the literal interpretation,<br> +Upward, the Vision and Mystery!<p></p> + +And now, my hearers, to make an end,<br> +I have only one word more to say;<br> +In the church, in honor of Easter day,<br> +Will be represented a Miracle Play;<br> +And I hope you will all have the grace to attend.<br> +Christ bring us at last So his felicity!<br> +Pax vobiscum! et Benedicite!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<H2>IN THE CATHEDRAL.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + CHAUNT.<br> + Kyrie Eleison!<br> + Christe Eleison!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I am at home here in my Father's house!<br> +These paintings of the Saints upon the walls<br> +Have all familiar and benignant faces.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> The portraits of the family of God!<br> +Thine own hereafter shall be placed among them.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> How very grand it is and wonderful!<br> +Never have I beheld a church so splendid!<br> +Such columns, and such arches, and such windows,<br> +So many tombs and statues in the chapels,<br> +And under them so many confessionals.<br> +They must be for the rich. I should not like<br> +To tell my sins in such a church as this.<br> +Who built it?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> A great master of his craft,<br> +Erwin von Steinbach; but not he alone,<br> +For many generations labored with him.<br> +Children that came to see these Saints in stone,<br> +As day by day out of the blocks they rose,<br> +Grew old and died, and still the work went on,<br> +And on, and on, and is not yet completed.<br> +The generation that succeeds our own<br> +Perhaps may finish it. The architect<br> +Built his great heart into these sculptured stones,<br> +And with him toiled his children, and their lives<br> +Were builded, with his own, into the walls,<br> +As offerings unto God. You see that statue<br> +Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled eyes<br> +Upon the Pillar of the Angels yonder.<br> +That is the image of the master, carved<br> +By the fair hand of his own child, Sabina.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> How beautiful is the column that he looks at!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> That, too, she sculptured. At the base of it<br> +Stand the Evangelists; above their heads<br> +Four Angels blowing upon marble trumpets,<br> +And over them the blessed Christ, surrounded<br> +By his attendant ministers, upholding<br> +The instruments of his passion.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> O my Lord!<br> +Would I could leave behind me upon earth<br> +Some monument to thy glory, such as this!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> A greater monument than this thou leavest<br> +In thine own life, all purity and love!<br> +See, too, the Rose, above the western portal<br> +Flamboyant with a thousand gorgeous colors,<br> +The perfect flower of Gothic loveliness!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> And, in the gallery, the long line of statues,<br> +Christ with his twelve Apostles watching us.<p></p> + + (<i>A</i> BISHOP <i>in armor, booted and spurred, passes with +his train.</i>)<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> But come away; we have not time to look.<br> +The crowd already fills the church, and yonder<br> +Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet,<br> +Clad like The Angel Gabriel, proclaims<br> +The Mystery that will now be represented.<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<h2>THE NATIVITY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>A MIRACLE PLAY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h3>THE NATIVITY.</h3> + +<h3>INTROITUS.</h3> + + <i>Præco.</i> Come, good people, all and each,<br> +Come and listen to our speech!<br> +In your presence here I stand,<br> +With a trumpet in my hand,<br> +To announce the Easter Play,<br> +Which we represent to-day!<br> +First of all we shall rehearse,<br> +In our action and our verse,<br> +The Nativity of our Lord,<br> +As written in the old record<br> +Of the Protevangelion,<br> +So that he who reads may run!<p></p> + + (<i>Blows his trumpet.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<p>I. HEAVEN.</p> + + <i>Mercy</i> (<i>at the feet of God</i>). Have pity, Lord be not afraid<br> +To save mankind, whom thou hast made,<br> +Nor let the souls that were betrayed<br> + Perish eternally!<p></p> + + <i>Justice.</i> It cannot be, it must not be!<br> +When in the garden placed by thee,<br> +The fruit of the forbidden tree<br> + He ate, and he must die!<p></p> + + <i>Mercy.</i> Have pity, Lord! let penitence<br> +Atone for disobedience,<br> +Nor let the fruit of man's offence<br> + Be endless misery!<p></p> + + <i>Justice.</i> What penitence proportionate<br> +Can e'er be felt for sin so great?<br> +Of the forbidden fruit he ate,<br> + And damned must he be!<p></p> + + <i>God.</i> He shall be saved, if that within<br> +The bounds of earth one free from sin<br> +Be found, who for his kith and kin<br> + Will suffer martyrdom.<p></p> + + <i>The Four Virtues.</i> Lord! we have searched the world around,<br> +From centre to the utmost bound,<br> +But no such mortal can be found;<br> + Despairing, back we come.<p></p> + + <i>Wisdom.</i> No mortal, but a God made man,<br> +Can ever carry out this plan,<br> +Achieving what none other can,<br> + Salvation unto all!<p></p> + + <i>God.</i> Go, then, O my beloved Son;<br> +It can by thee alone be done;<br> +By thee the victory shall be won<br> + O'er Satan and the Fall!<p></p> + + (<i>Here the</i> ANGEL GABRIEL <i>shall leave Paradise and +fly toward the earth; the jaws of Hell open below, +and the Devils walk about, making a great noise.</i>)<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<p>II. MARY AT THE WELL.</p> + + <i>Mary.</i> Along the garden walk, and thence<br> +Through the wicket in the garden fence,<br> + I steal with quiet pace,<br> +My pitcher at the well to fill,<br> +That lies so deep and cool and still<br> + In this sequestered place.<br> +These sycamores keep guard around;<br> +I see no face, I hear no sound,<br> + Save babblings of the spring,<br> +And my companions, who within<br> +The threads of gold and scarlet spin,<br> + And at their labor sing.<p></p> + + <i>The Angel Gabriel.</i> Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace!<br><p></p> + + (<i>Here</i> MARY <i>looketh around her, trembling, and +then saith:</i>)<p></p> + + <i>Mary.</i> Who is it speaketh in this place,<br> +With such a gentle voice?<p></p> + + <i>Gabriel.</i> The Lord of heaven is with thee now!<br> +Blessed among all women thou,<br> + Who art his holy choice!<p></p> + + <i>Mary</i> (setting down the pitcher). What can this mean?<br> +No one is near,<br> +And yet, such sacred words I hear,<br> + I almost fear to stay.<p></p> + + (<i>Here the</i> ANGEL, <i>appearing to her, shall say:</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Gabriel.</i> Fear not, O Mary! but believe!<br> +For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive<br> + A child this very day.<p></p> + +Fear not, O Mary! from the sky<br> +The majesty of the Most High<br> + Shall overshadow thee!<p></p> + + <i>Mary.</i> Behold the handmaid of the Lord!<br> +According to thy holy word,<br> + So be it unto me!<p></p> + + (<i>Here the Devils shall again make a great noise, under the stage.</i>)<br> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLANETS,</p> + <i>bearing the Star of Bethlehem.</i><br><p></p> + + <i>The Angels.</i> The Angels of the Planets Seven<br> +Across the shining fields of heaven<br> + The natal star we bring!<br> +Dropping our sevenfold virtues down,<br> +As priceless jewels in the crown<br> + Of Christ, our new-born King.<p></p> + + <i>Raphael.</i> I am the Angel of the Sun,<br> +Whose flaming wheels began to run<br> + When God's almighty breath<br> +Said to the darkness and the Night,<br> +Let there be light! and there was light!<br> + I bring the gift of Faith.<p></p> + + <i>Gabriel.</i> I am the Angel of the Moon,<br> +Darkened, to be rekindled soon<br> + Beneath the azure cope!<br> +Nearest to earth, it is my ray<br> +That best illumes the midnight way.<br> + I bring the gift of Hope!<p></p> + + <i>Anael.</i> The Angel of the Star of Love,<br> +The Evening Star, that shines above<br> + The place where lovers be,<br> +Above all happy hearths and homes,<br> +On roofs of thatch, or golden domes,<br> + I give him Charity!<p></p> + + <i>Zobiachel.</i> The Planet Jupiter is mine!<br> +The mightiest star of all that shine,<br> + Except the sun alone!<br> +He is the High Priest of the Dove,<br> +And sends, from his great throne above,<br> + Justice, that shall atone!<p></p> + + <i>Michael.</i> The Planet Mercury, whose place<br> +Is nearest to the sun in space,<br> + Is my allotted sphere!<br> +And with celestial ardor swift<br> +I bear upon my hands the gift<br> + Of heavenly Prudence here!<p></p> + + <i>Uriel.</i> I am the Minister of Mars,<br> +The strongest star among the stars!<br> + My songs of power prelude<br> +The march and battle of man's life,<br> +And for the suffering and the strife,<br> + I give him Fortitude!<p></p> + + <i>Anachiel.</i> The Angel of the uttermost<br> +Of all the shining, heavenly host,<br> + From the far-off expanse<br> +Of the Saturnian, endless space<br> +I bring the last, the crowning grace,<br> + The gift of Temperance!<p></p> + + (<i>A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable in the village below.</i>)<br><p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST.</p> + +<i>The stable of the Inn. The</i> VIRGIN <i>and</i> CHILD. <i>Three Gypsy Kings,</i> GASPAR, MELCHIOR, <i>and</i> BELSHAZZAR, <i>shall come in.</i><br><p></p> + + <i>Gaspar.</i> Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth!<br> +Though in a manger thou drawest thy breath,<br> +Thou art greater than Life and Death,<br> + Greater than Joy or Woe!<br> +This cross upon the line of life<br> +Portendeth struggle, toil, and strife,<br> +And through a region with dangers rife<br> + In darkness shall thou go!<p></p> + + <i>Melchior.</i> Hail to thee, King of Jerusalem<br> +Though humbly born in Bethlehem,<br> +A sceptre and a diadem<br> + Await thy brow and hand!<br> +The sceptre is a simple reed,<br> +The crown will make thy temples bleed,<br> +And in thy hour of greatest need,<br> + Abashed thy subjects stand!<p></p> + + <i>Belshazzar</i>. Hail to thee, Christ of Christendom!<br> +O'er all the earth thy kingdom come!<br> +From distant Trebizond to Rome<br> + Thy name shall men adore!<br> +Peace and good-will among all men,<br> +The Virgin has returned again,<br> +Returned the old Saturnian reign<br> + And Golden Age once more.<p></p> + +<i>The Child Christ</i>. Jesus, the Son of God, am I,<br> +Born here to suffer and to die<br> +According to the prophecy,<br> + That other men may live!<p></p> + +<i>The Virgin</i>. And now these clothes, that wrapped him, take<br> +And keep them precious, for his sake;<br> +For benediction thus we make,<br> + Naught else have we to give.<p></p> + + (<i>She gives them swaddling-clothes and they depart</i>.)<br><p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT.</p> +<br> + +<i>Here shall</i> JOSEPH <i>come in, leading an ass, on which +are seated</i> MARY <i>and the</i> CHILD.<p></p> + + <i>Mary</i>. Here will we rest us, under these<br> +Underhanging branches of the trees,<br> +Where robins chant their Litanies,<br> + And canticles of joy.<p></p> + + <i>Joseph</i>. My saddle-girths have given way<br> +With trudging through the heat to-day<br> +To you I think it is but play<br> + To ride and hold the boy.<p></p> + + <i>Mary</i>. Hark! how the robins shout and sing,<br> +As if to hail their infant King!<br> +I will alight at yonder spring<br> + To wash his little coat.<p></p> + + <i>Joseph</i>. And I will hobble well the ass,<br> +Lest, being loose upon the grass,<br> +He should escape; for, by the mass.<br> + He is nimble as a goat.<p></p> + + (<i>Here</i> MARY <i>shall alight and go to the spring.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Mary</i>. O Joseph! I am much afraid,<br> +For men are sleeping in the shade;<br> +I fear that we shall be waylaid,<br> + And robbed and beaten sore!<p></p> + + (<i>Here a band of robbers shall be seen sleeping, two of whom shall rise and come forward</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Dumachus</i>. Cock's soul! deliver up your gold!<br><p></p> + + <i>Joseph</i>. I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold!<br> +Of wealth I have no store.<p></p> + + <i>Dumachus</i>. Give up your money!<br><p></p> + + <i>Titus</i>. Prithee cease!<br> +Let these good people go in peace!<p></p> + + <i>Dumachus</i>. First let them pay for their release,<br> +And then go on their way.<p></p> + + <i>Titus</i>. These forty groats I give in fee,<br> +If thou wilt only silent be.<p></p> + + <i>Mary</i>. May God be merciful to thee<br> +Upon the Judgment Day!<p></p> + + <i>Jesus</i>. When thirty years shall have gone by,<br> +I at Jerusalem shall die,<br> +By Jewish hands exalted high<br> + On the accursed tree.<br> +Then on my right and my left side,<br> +These thieves shall both be crucified<br> +And Titus thenceforth shall abide<br> + In paradise with me.<p></p> + + (<i>Here a great rumor of trumpets and horses, like the noise of a king with his army, and the robbers shall take flight.</i>)<br> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS.</p> + + <i>King Herod.</i> Potz-tausend! Himmel-sacrament!<br> +Filled am I with great wonderment<br> + At this unwelcome news!<br> +Am I not Herod? Who shall dare<br> +My crown to take, my sceptre bear,<br> + As king among the Jews?<p></p> + + (<i>Here he shall stride up and down and flourish his sword.</i>)<br><p></p> + +What ho! I fain would drink a can<br> +Of the strong wine of Canaan!<br> + The wine of Helbon bring,<br> +I purchased at the Fair of Tyre,<br> +As red as blood, as hot as fire,<br> + And fit for any king!<p></p> + + (<i>He quaffs great goblets of wine.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Now at the window will I stand,<br> +While in the street the armed band<br> + The little children slay:<br> +The babe just born in Bethlehem<br> +Will surely slaughtered be with them,<br> + Nor live another day!<p></p> + + (<i>Here a voice of lamentation shall be heard in the street.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Rachel.</i> O wicked king! O cruel speed!<br> +To do this most unrighteous deed!<br> + My children all are slain!<p></p> + + <i>Herod.</i> Ho seneschal! another cup!<br> +With wine of Sorek fill it up!<br> + I would a bumper drain!<p></p> + + <i>Rahab.</i> May maledictions fall and blast<br> +Thyself and lineage, to the last<br> + Of all thy kith and kin!<p></p> + + <i>Herod.</i> Another goblet! quick! and stir<br> +Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh<br> + And calamus therein!<p></p> + + <i>Soldiers (in the street)</i>. Give up thy child into our hands!<br> +It is King Herod who commands<br> + That he should thus be slain!<p></p> + + <i>The Nurse Medusa.</i> O monstrous men! What have ye done!<br> +It is King Herod's only son<br> + That ye have cleft in twain!<p></p> + + <i>Herod.</i> Ah, luckless day! What words of fear<br> +Are these that smite upon my ear<br> + With such a doleful sound!<br> +What torments rack my heart and head!<br> +Would I were dead! would I were dead,<br> + And buried in the ground!<p></p> + + (<i>He falls down and writhes as though eaten by worms. +Hell opens, and</i> SATAN <i>and</i> ASTAROTH <i>come forth, +and drag him down.</i>)<br><p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOLMATES.</p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> The shower is over. Let us play,<br> +And make some sparrows out of clay,<br> + Down by the river's side.<p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> See, how the stream has overflowed<br> +Its banks, and o'er the meadow road<br> + Is spreading far and wide!<p></p> + + (<i>They draw water out of the river by channels, and +form little pools</i> JESUS <i>makes twelve sparrows of +clay, and the other boys do the same.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> Look! look! how prettily I make<br> +These little sparrows by the lake<br> + Bend down their necks and drink!<br> +Now will I make them sing and soar<br> +So far, they shall return no more<br> + Into this river's brink.<p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> That canst thou not! They are but clay,<br> +They cannot sing, nor fly away<br> + Above the meadow lands!<p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> Fly, fly! ye sparrows! you are free!<br> +And while you live, remember me,<br> + Who made you with my hands.<p></p> + + (<i>Here</i> JESUS <i>shall clap his hands, and the sparrows + shall fly away, chirruping.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> Thou art a sorcerer, I know;<br> +Oft has my mother told me so,<br> + I will not play with thee!<p></p> + + (<i>He strikes</i> JESUS <i>on the right side.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> Ah, Judas! thou has smote my side,<br> +And when I shall be crucified,<br> + There shall I pierced be!<p></p> + + (<i>Here</i> JOSEPH <i>shall come in, and say:</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Joseph.</i> Ye wicked boys! why do ye play,<br> +And break the holy Sabbath day?<br> +What, think ye, will your mothers say<br> + To see you in such plight!<br> +In such a sweat and such a heat,<br> +With all that mud-upon your feet!<br> +There's not a beggar in the street<br> + Makes such a sorry sight!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL.</p> + +<i>The</i> RABBI BEN ISRAEL, <i>with a long beard, sitting on + a high stool, with a rod in his hand.</i><br><p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> I am the Rabbi Ben Israel,<br> +Throughout this village known full well,<br> +And, as my scholars all will tell,<br> + Learned in things divine;<br> +The Kabala and Talmud hoar<br> +Than all the prophets prize I more,<br> +For water is all Bible lore,<br> + But Mishna is strong wine.<p></p> + +My fame extends from West to East,<br> +And always, at the Purim feast,<br> +I am as drunk as any beast<br> + That wallows in his sty;<br> +The wine it so elateth me,<br> +That I no difference can see<br> +Between "Accursed Haman be!"<br> + And "Blessed be Mordecai!"<p></p> + +Come hither, Judas Iscariot.<br> +Say, if thy lesson thou hast got<br> +From the Rabbinical Book or not.<br> + Why howl the dogs at night?<p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> In the Rabbinical Book, it saith<br> +The dogs howl, when with icy breath<br> +Great Sammaël, the Angel of Death,<br> + Takes through the town his flight!<p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> Well, boy! now say, if thou art wise,<br> +When the Angel of Death, who is full of eyes,<br> +Comes where a sick man dying lies,<br> + What doth he to the wight?<p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> He stands beside him, dark and tall,<br> +Holding a sword, from which doth fall<br> +Into his mouth a drop of gall,<br> + And so he turneth white.<p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> And now, my Judas, say to me<br> +What the great Voices Four may be,<br> +That quite across the world do flee,<br> + And are not heard by men?<p></p> + + <i>Judas.</i> The Voice of the Sun in heaven's dome,<br> +The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome,<br> +The Voice of a Soul that goeth home,<br> + And the Angel of the Rain!<p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> Well have ye answered every one<br> +Now little Jesus, the carpenter's son,<br> +Let us see how thy task is done.<br> + Canst thou thy letters say?<p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> Aleph.<br><p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> What next? Do not stop yet!<br> +Go on with all the alphabet.<br> +Come, Aleph, Beth; dost thou forget?<br> + Cock's soul! thou'dst rather play!<p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> What Aleph means I fain would know,<br> +Before I any farther go!<p></p> + + <i>Rabbi.</i> O, by Saint Peter! wouldst thou so?<br> +Come hither, boy, to me.<br> +And surely as the letter Jod<br> +Once cried aloud, and spake to God,<br> +So surely shalt thou feel this rod,<br> + And punished shalt thou be!<p></p> + + (<i>Here</i> RABBI BEN ISRAEL <i>shall lift up his rod to strike</i> JESUS, <i>and his right arm shall be paralyzed.</i>)<br><p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br> +<p>IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS.</p> + +JESUS <i>sitting among his playmates, crowned with +flowers as their King.</i><p></p> + + <i>Boys.</i> We spread our garments on the ground'<br> +With fragrant flowers thy head is crowned,<br> +While like a guard we stand around,<br> + And hail thee as our King!<br> +Thou art the new King of the Jews!<br> +Nor let the passers-by refuse<br> +To bring that homage which men use<br> + To majesty to bring.<p></p> + + (<i>Here a traveller shall go by, and the boys shall lay hold of his garments and say:</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Boys.</i> Come hither! and all reverence pay<br> +Unto our monarch, crowned to-day!<br> +Then go rejoicing on your way,<br> + In all prosperity!<p></p> + + <i>Traveller.</i> Hail to the King of Bethlehem,<br> +Who weareth in his diadem<br> +The yellow crocus for the gem<br> + Of his authority!<p></p> + + (<i>He passes by; and others come in, bearing on a litter a sick child.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Boys.</i> Set down the litter and draw near!<br> +The King of Bethlehem is here!<br> +What ails the child, who seems to fear<br> + That we shall do him harm?<p></p> + + <i>The Bearers.</i> He climbed up to the robin's nest,<br> +And out there darted, from his rest,<br> +A serpent with a crimson crest,<br> + And stung him in the arm.<p></p> + + <i>Jesus.</i> Bring him to me, and let me feel<br> +The wounded place; my touch can heal<br> +The sting of serpents, and can steal<br> + The poison from the bite!<p></p> + + (<i>He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Cease to lament! I can foresee<br> +That thou hereafter known shalt be,<br> +Among the men who follow me,<br> + As Simon the Canaanite!<p></p> + + * * * * *<br><p></p> + + + EPILOGUE.<br> + +In the after part of the day<br> +Will be represented another play,<br> +Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord,<br> +Beginning directly after Nones!<br> +At the close of which we shall accord,<br> +By way of benison and reward,<br> +The sight of a holy Martyr's bones!<p></p> + + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"> +<h2>IV.</H2> + +<H2> THE ROAD HIRSCHAU.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 35%;"> + +PRINCE HENRY <i>and</i> ELSIE, <i>with their attendants, on +horseback.</i><br><br> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Onward and onward the highway runs<br> + to the distant city, impatiently bearing<br> +Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of<br> + hate, of doing and daring!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> This life of ours is a wild aeolian<br> + harp of many a joyous strain,<br> +But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail,<br> + as of souls in pain.<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart<br> + that aches and bleeds with the stigma<br> +Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can<br> + comprehend its dark enigma.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure<br> + with little care of what may betide;<br> +Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon<br> + that rides by an angel's side?<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> All the hedges are white with dust, and<br> + the great dog under the creaking wain<br> +Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the<br> + horses toil and strain<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Now they stop at the wayside inn,<br> + and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter,<br> +While out of the dripping trough the horses distend<br> + their leathern sides with water.<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> All through life there are wayside inns,<br> + where man may refresh his soul with love;<br> +Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed<br> + by springs from above.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Yonder, where rises the cross of<br> + stone, our journey along the highway ends,<br> +And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the<br> + broad green valley descends.<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten<br> + road with its dust and heat;<br> +The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer<br> + under our horses' feet.<br><p></p> + + (<i>They turn down a green lane.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Sweet is the air with the budding haws,<br> + and the valley stretching for miles below<br> +Is white with blossoming cheery trees, as if just covered<br> + with lightest snow.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Over our heads a white cascade is<br> + gleaming against the distant hill;<br> +We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like<br> + a banner when winds are still.<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and<br> + cool the sound of the brook by our side!<br> +What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it<br> + over a land so wide?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> It is the home of the Counts of<br> + Calva; well have I known these scenes of old,<br> +Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the<br> + brooklet, the wood, and the wold.<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Hark! from the little village below us the<br> + bells of the church are ringing for rain!<br> +Priests and peasants in long procession come forth<br> + and kneel on the arid plain.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> They have not long to wait, for I<br> + see in the south uprising a little cloud,<br> +That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky<br> + above us as with a shroud.<br><p></p> + + (<i>They pass on.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE +BLACK FOREST.</H2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>The Convent cellar.</i> FRIAR CLAUS <i>comes in with a +light and a basket of empty flagons.</i><p></p> + + <i>Friar Claus.</i> I always enter this sacred place<br> +With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace,<br> +Pausing long enough on each stair<br> +To breathe an ejaculatory prayer,<br> +And a benediction on the vines<br> +That produce these various sorts of wines!<p></p> + +For my part, I am well content<br> +That we have got through with the tedious Lent!<br> +Fasting is all very well for those<br> +Who have to contend with invisible foes;<br> +But I am quite sure it does not agree<br> +With a quiet, peaceable man like me,<br> +Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind<br> +That are always distressed in body and mind!<br> +And at times it really does me good<br> +To come down among this brotherhood,<br> +Dwelling forever under ground,<br> +Silent, contemplative, round and sound;<br> +Each one old, and brown with mould,<br> +But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth,<br> +With the latent power and love of truth,<br> +And with virtues fervent and manifold.<p></p> + +I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide,<br> +When buds are swelling on every side,<br> +And the sap begins to move in the vine.<br> +Then in all the cellars, far and wide,<br> +The oldest, as well as the newest, wine<br> +Begins to stir itself, and ferment,<br> +With a kind of revolt and discontent<br> +At being so long in darkness pent,<br> +And fain would burst from its sombre tun<br> +To bask on the hillside in the sun;<br> +As in the bosom of us poor friars,<br> +The tumult of half-subdued desires<br> +For the world that we have left behind<br> +Disturbs at times all peace of mind!<br> +And now that we have lived through Lent,<br> +My duty it is, as often before,<br> +To open awhile the prison-door,<br> +And give these restless spirits vent.<p></p> + +Now here is a cask that stands alone,<br> +And has stood a hundred years or more,<br> +Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar,<br> +Trailing and sweeping along the floor,<br> +Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave,<br> +Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave,<br> +Till his beard has grown through the table of stone!<br> +It is of the quick and not of the dead!<br> +In its veins the blood is hot and red,<br> +And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak<br> +That time may have tamed, but has not broke;<br> +It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine,<br> +Is one of the three best kinds of wine,<br> +And costs some hundred florins the ohm;<br> +But that I do not consider dear,<br> +When I remember that every year<br> +Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome.<br> +And whenever a goblet thereof I drain,<br> +The old rhyme keeps running in my brain:<p></p> + + At Bacharach on the Rhine,<br> + At Hochheim on the Main,<br> + And at Würzburg on the Stein,<br> + Grow the three best kinds of wine!<br><p></p> + +They are all good wines, and better far<br> +Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr<br> +In particular, Würzburg well may boast<br> +Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost,<br> +Which of all wines I like the most.<br> +This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking,<br> +Who seems to be much of my way of thinking.<p></p> + + (<i>Fills a flagon.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings!<br> +What a delicious fragrance springs<br> +From the deep flagon, while it fills,<br> +As of hyacinths and daffodils!<br> +Between this cask and the Abbot's lips<br> +Many have been the sips and slips;<br> +Many have been the draughts of wine,<br> +On their way to his, that have stopped at mine;<br> +And many a time my soul has hankered<br> +For a deep draught out of his silver tankard,<br> +When it should have been busy with other affairs,<br> +Less with its longings and more with its prayers.<br> +But now there is no such awkward condition,<br> +No danger of death and eternal perdition;<br> +So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all,<br> +Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul!<p></p> + + (<i>He drinks.</i>)<br><p></p> + +O cordial delicious! O soother of pain!<br> +It flashes like sunshine into my brain!<br> +A benison rest on the Bishop who sends<br> +Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends!<p></p> + +And now a flagon for such as may ask<br> +A draught from the noble Bacharach cask,<br> +And I will be gone, though I know full well<br> +The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell.<br> +Behold where he stands, all sound and good,<br> +Brown and old in his oaken hood;<br> +Silent he seems externally<br> +As any Carthusian monk may be;<br> +But within, what a spirit of deep unrest!<br> +What a seething and simmering in his breast!<br> +As if the heaving of his great heart<br> +Would burst his belt of oak apart!<br> +Let me unloose this button of wood,<br> +And quiet a little his turbulent mood.<p></p> + + (<i>Sets it running.</i>)<br><p></p> + +See! how its currents gleam and shine,<br> +As if they had caught the purple hues<br> +Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine,<br> +Descending and mingling with the dews;<br> +Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood<br> +Of the innocent boy, who, some years back,<br> +Was taken and crucified by the Jews,<br> +In that ancient town of Bacharach;<br> +Perdition upon those infidel Jews,<br> +In that ancient town of Bacharach!<br> +The beautiful town, that gives us wine<br> +With the fragrant odor of Muscadine!<br> +I should deem it wrong to let this pass<br> +Without first touching my lips to the glass,<br> +For here in the midst of the current I stand,<br> +Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river<br> +Taking toll upon either hand,<br> +And much more grateful to the giver.<p></p> + + (<i>He drinks.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Here, now, is a very inferior kind,<br> +Such as in any town you may find,<br> +Such as one might imagine would suit<br> +The rascal who drank wine out of a boot,<br> +And, after all, it was not a crime,<br> +For he won thereby Dorf Hüffelsheim.<br> +A jolly old toper! who at a pull<br> +Could drink a postilion's jack boot full,<br> +And ask with a laugh, when that was done,<br> +If the fellow had left the other one!<br> +This wine is as good as we can afford<br> +To the friars, who sit at the lower board,<br> +And cannot distinguish bad from good,<br> +And are far better off than if they could,<br> +Being rather the rude disciples of beer<br> +Than of anything more refined and dear!<p></p> + + (<i>Fills the other flagon and departs.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE SCRIPTORIUM.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +FRIAR PACIFICUS <i>transcribing and illuminating.</i><p></p> + + <i>Friar Pacificus</i> It is growing dark! Yet one line more,<br> +And then my work for today is o'er.<br> +I come again to the name of the Lord!<br> +Ere I that awful name record,<br> +That is spoken so lightly among men,<br> +Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen;<br> +Pure from blemish and blot must it be<br> +When it writes that word of mystery!<p></p> + +Thus have I labored on and on,<br> +Nearly through the Gospel of John.<br> +Can it be that from the lips<br> +Of this same gentle Evangelist,<br> +That Christ himself perhaps has kissed,<br> +Came the dread Apocalypse!<br> +It has a very awful look,<br> +As it stands there at the end of the book,<br> +Like the sun in an eclipse.<br> +Ah me! when I think of that vision divine,<br> +Think of writing it, line by line,<br> +I stand in awe of the terrible curse,<br> +Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse!<br> +God forgive me! if ever I<br> +Take aught from the book of that Prophecy,<br> +Lest my part too should be taken away<br> +From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day.<p></p> + +This is well written, though I say it!<br> +I should not be afraid to display it,<br> +In open day, on the selfsame shelf<br> +With the writings of St Thecla herself,<br> +Or of Theodosius, who of old<br> +Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold!<br> +That goodly folio standing yonder,<br> +Without a single blot or blunder,<br> +Would not bear away the palm from mine,<br> +If we should compare them line for line.<p></p> + +There, now, is an initial letter!<br> +King René himself never made a better!<br> +Finished down to the leaf and the snail,<br> +Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail!<br> +And now, as I turn the volume over,<br> +And see what lies between cover and cover,<br> +What treasures of art these pages hold,<br> +All ablaze with crimson and gold,<br> +God forgive me! I seem to feel<br> +A certain satisfaction steal<br> +Into my heart, and into my brain,<br> +As if my talent had not lain<br> +Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain.<br> +Yes, I might almost say to the Lord,<br> +Here is a copy of thy Word,<br> +Written out with much toil and pain;<br> +Take it, O Lord, and let it be<br> +As something I have done for thee!<p></p> + + (<i>He looks from the window.</i>)<br><p></p> + +How sweet the air is! How fair the scene!<br> +I wish I had as lovely a green<br> +To paint my landscapes and my leaves!<br> +How the swallows twitter under the eaves!<br> +There, now, there is one in her nest;<br> +I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast,<br> +And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook,<br> +In the margin of my Gospel book.<p></p> + + (<i>He makes a sketch.</i>)<br><p></p> + +I can see no more. Through the valley yonder<br> +A shower is passing; I hear the thunder<br> +Mutter its curses in the air,<br> +The Devil's own and only prayer!<br> +The dusty road is brown with rain,<br> +And speeding on with might and main,<br> +Hitherward rides a gallant train.<br> +They do not parley, they cannot wait,<br> +But hurry in at the convent gate.<br> +What a fair lady! and beside her<br> +What a handsome, graceful, noble rider!<br> +Now she gives him her hand to alight;<br> +They will beg a shelter for the night.<br> +I will go down to the corridor,<br> +And try to see that face once more;<br> +It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint,<br> +Or for one of the Maries I shall paint.<p></p> + + (<i>Goes out.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE CLOISTERS.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>The</i> ABBOT ERNESTUS <i>pacing to and fro.</i><p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> Slowly, slowly up the wall<br> +Steals the sunshine, steals the shade;<br> +Evening damps begin to fall,<br> +Evening shadows are displayed.<br> +Round me, o'er me, everywhere,<br> +All the sky is grand with clouds,<br> +And athwart the evening air<br> +Wheel the swallows home in crowds.<br> +Shafts of sunshine from the west<br> +Paint the dusky windows red;<br> +Darker shadows, deeper rest,<br> +Underneath and overhead.<br> +Darker, darker, and more wan,<br> +In my breast the shadows fall;<br> +Upward steals the life of man,<br> +As the sunshine from the wall.<br> +From the wall into the sky,<br> +From the roof along the spire;<br> +Ah, the souls of those that die<br> +Are but sunbeams lifted higher.<p></p> + + (<i>Enter</i> PRINCE HENRY.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Christ is arisen!<br><p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> Amen! he is arisen!<br> +His peace be with you!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Here it reigns forever!<br> +The peace of God, that passeth understanding,<br> +Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors,<br> +Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent?<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> I am.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck,<br> +Who crave your hospitality to-night.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> You are thrice welcome to our humble walls.<br> +You do us honor; and we shall requite it,<br> +I fear, but poorly, entertaining you<br> +With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine,<br> +The remnants of our Easter holidays.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau?<br> +Are all things well with them?<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> All things are well.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> A noble convent! I have known it long<br> +By the report of travellers. I now see<br> +Their commendations lag behind the truth.<br> +You lie here in the valley of the Nagold<br> +As in a nest: and the still river, gliding<br> +Along its bed, is like an admonition<br> +How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample,<br> +And your revenues large. God's benediction<br> +Rests on your convent.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> By our charities<br> +We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master,<br> +When he departed, left us in his will,<br> +As our best legacy on earth, the poor!<br> +These we have always with us; had we not,<br> +Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> If I remember right, the Counts of Calva<br> +Founded your convent.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> Even as you say.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And, if I err not, it is very old.<br><p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> Within these cloisters lie already buried<br> +Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags<br> +On which we stand, the Abbot William lies,<br> +Of blessed memory.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And whose tomb is that,<br> +Which bears the brass escutcheon?<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> A benefactor's.<br> +Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood<br> +Godfather to our bells<p>.</p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Your monks are learned<br> +And holy men, I trust.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> There are among them<br> +Learned and holy men. Yet in this age<br> +We need another Hildebrand, to shake<br> +And purify us like a mighty wind.<br> +The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder<br> +God does not lose his patience with it wholly,<br> +And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times,<br> +Within these walls, where all should be at peace,<br> +I have my trials. Time has laid his hand<br> +Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it,<br> +But as a harper lays his open palm<br> +Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.<br> +Ashes are on my head, and on my lips<br> +Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness<br> +And weariness of life, that makes me ready<br> +To say to the dead Abbots under us,<br> +"Make room for me!" Only I see the dusk<br> +Of evening twilight coming, and have not<br> +Completed half my task; and so at times<br> +The thought of my shortcomings in this life<br> +Falls like a shadow on the life to come.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> We must all die, and not the old alone;<br> +The young have no exemption from that doom.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must!<br> +That is the difference.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I have heard much laud<br> +Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium<br> +Is famous among all, your manuscripts<br> +Praised for their beauty and their excellence.<p></p> + + <i>Abbot.</i> That is indeed our boast. If you desire it,<br> +You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile<br> +Shall the Refectorarius bestow<br> +Your horses and attendants for the night.<p></p> + + (<i>They go in. The Vesper-bell rings.</i>)<br> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>THE CHAPEL.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Vespers; after which the monks retire, a chorister +leading an old monk who is blind</i>.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> They are all gone, save one who lingers,<br> +Absorbed in deep and silent prayer.<br> +As if his heart could find no rest,<br> +At times he beats his heaving breast<br> +With clenched and convulsive fingers,<br> +Then lifts them trembling in the air.<br> +A chorister, with golden hair,<br> +Guides hitherward his heavy pace.<br> +Can it be so? Or does my sight<br> +Deceive me in the uncertain light?<br> +Ah no! I recognize that face,<br> +Though Time has touched it in his flight,<br> +And changed the auburn hair to white.<br> +It is Count Hugo of the Rhine,<br> +The deadliest foe of all our race,<br> +And hateful unto me and mine!<p></p> + + <i>The Blind Monk</i>. Who is it that doth stand so near<br> +His whispered words I almost hear?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck,<br> +And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine!<br> +I know you, and I see the scar,<br> +The brand upon your forehead, shine<br> +And redden like a baleful star!<p></p> + + <i>The Blind Monk</i>. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck<br> +Of what I was. O Hoheneck!<br> +The passionate will, the pride, the wrath<br> +That bore me headlong on my path,<br> +Stumbled and staggered into fear,<br> +And failed me in my mad career,<br> +As a tired steed some evil-doer,<br> +Alone upon a desolate moor,<br> +Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind,<br> +And hearing loud and close behind<br> +The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer.<br> +Then suddenly, from the dark there came<br> +A voice that called me by my name,<br> +And said to me, "Kneel down and pray!"<br> +And so my terror passed away,<br> +Passed utterly away forever.<br> +Contrition, penitence, remorse,<br> +Came on me, with o'erwhelming force;<br> +A hope, a longing, an endeavor,<br> +By days of penance and nights of prayer,<br> +To frustrate and defeat despair!<br> +Calm, deep, and still is now my heart.<br> +With tranquil waters overflowed;<br> +A lake whose unseen fountains start,<br> +Where once the hot volcano glowed.<br> +And you, O Prince of Hoheneck!<br> +Have known me in that earlier time,<br> +A man of violence and crime,<br> +Whose passions brooked no curb nor check.<br> +Behold me now, in gentler mood,<br> +One of this holy brotherhood.<br> +Give me your hand; here let me kneel;<br> +Make your reproaches sharp as steel;<br> +Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek;<br> +No violence can harm the meek,<br> +There is no wound Christ cannot heal!<br> +Yes; lift your princely hand, and take<br> +Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek,<br> +Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Arise, Count Hugo! let there be<br> +No farther strife nor enmity<br> +Between us twain; we both have erred!<br> +Too rash in act, too wroth in word,<br> +From the beginning have we stood<br> +In fierce, defiant attitude,<br> +Each thoughtless of the other's right,<br> +And each reliant on his might.<br> +But now our souls are more subdued;<br> +The hand of God, and not in vain,<br> +Has touched us with the fire of pain.<br> +Let us kneel down, and side by side<br> +Pray, till our souls are purified,<br> +And pardon will not be denied!<p></p> + + (<i>They kneel.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>THE REFECTORY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. LUCIFER disguised +as a Friar.</i><p></p> + +<i>Friar Paul (sings).</i> Ave! color vini clari,<br> + Dulcis potus, non aman,<br> + Tua nos inebriari<br> + Digneris potentia!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> Not so much noise, my worthy freres,<br> +You'll disturb the Abbot at his prayers.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul (sings).</i> O! quam placens in colore!<br> + O! quam fragrans in odore!<br> + O! quam sapidum in ore!<br> + Dulce linguse vinculum!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> I should think your tongue had<br> +broken its chain!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul (sings).</i> Felix venter quern intrabis!<br> + Felix guttur quod rigabis!<br> + Felix os quod tu lavabis!<br> + Et beata labia!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> Peace! I say, peace!<br> +Will you never cease!<br> +You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again!<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> No danger! to-night he will let us alone,<br> +As I happen to know he has guests of his own.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> Who are they?<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> A German Prince and his train,<br> +Who arrived here just before the rain.<br> +There is with him a damsel fair to see,<br> +As slender and graceful as a reed!<br> +When she alighted from her steed,<br> +It seemed like a blossom blown from a tree.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> None of your pale-faced girls for me!<br><p></p> + + + (<i>Kisses the girl at his side</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg!<br> +do not drink any farther, I beg!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul (sings).</i> In the days of gold,<br> + The days of old,<br> + Cross of wood<br> + And bishop of gold!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert (to the girl).</i> What an infernal racket and din!<br> +No need not blush so, that's no sin.<br> +You look very holy in this disguise,<br> +Though there's something wicked in your eyes!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul (continues.)</i> Now we have changed<br> + That law so good,<br> + To cross of gold<br> + And bishop of wood!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> I like your sweet face under a hood.<br> +Sister! how came you into this way?<p></p> + + <i>Girl.</i> It was you, Friar Cuthbert, who led me astray.<br> +Have you forgotten that day in June,<br> +When the church was so cool in the afternoon,<br> +And I came in to confess my sins?<br> +That is where my ruin begins.<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> What is the name of yonder friar,<br> +With an eye that glows like a coal of fire,<br> +And such a black mass of tangled hair?<p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul.</i> He who is sitting there,<br> +With a rollicking,<br> +Devil may care,<br> +Free and easy look and air,<br> +As if he were used to such feasting and frollicking?<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> The same.<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul.</i> He's a stranger. You had better ask his name,<br> +And where he is going, and whence he came.<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> Hallo! Sir Friar!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul.</i> You must raise your voice a little higher,<br> +He does not seem to hear what you say.<br> +Now, try again! He is looking this way.<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> Hallo! Sir Friar,<br> +We wish to inquire<br> +Whence you came, and where you are going,<br> +And anything else that is worth the knowing.<br> +So be so good as to open your head.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> I am a Frenchman born and bred,<br> +Going on a pilgrimage to Rome.<br> +My home<br> +Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys,<br> +Of which, very like, you never have heard.<p></p> + + <i>Monks.</i> Never a word!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> You must know, then, it is in the diocese<br> +Called the Diocese of Vannes,<br> +In the province of Brittany.<br> +From the gray rocks of Morbihan<br> +It overlooks the angry sea;<br> +The very seashore where,<br> +In his great despair,<br> +Abbot Abelard walked to and fro,<br> +Filling the night with woe,<br> +And wailing aloud to the merciless seas<br> +The name of his sweet Heloise!<br> +Whilst overhead<br> +The convent windows gleamed as red<br> +As the fiery eyes of the monks within,<br> +Who with jovial din<br> +Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin!<br> +Ha! that is a convent! that is an abbey!<br> +Over the doors,<br> +None of your death-heads carved in wood,<br> +None of your Saints looking pious and good,<br> +None of your Patriarchs old and shabby!<br> +But the heads and tusks of boars,<br> +And the cells<br> +Hung all round with the fells<br> +of the fallow-deer,<br> +And then what cheer!<br> +What jolly, fat friars,<br> +Sitting round the great, roaring fires,<br> +Roaring louder than they,<br> +With their strong wines,<br> +And their concubines,<br> +And never a bell,<br> +With its swagger and swell,<br> +Calling you up with a start of affright<br> +In the dead of night,<br> +To send you grumbling down dark stairs,<br> +To mumble your prayers,<br> +But the cheery crow<br> +Of cocks in the yard below,<br> +After daybreak, an hour or so,<br> +And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds,<br> +These are the sounds<br> +That, instead of bells, salute the ear.<br> +And then all day<br> +Up and away<br> +Through the forest, hunting the deer!<br> +Ah, my friends! I'm afraid that here<br> +You are a little too pious, a little too tame,<br> +And the more is the shame,<br> +It is the greatest folly<br> +Not to be jolly;<br> +That's what I think!<br> +Come, drink, drink,<br> +Drink, and die game!<p></p> + + <i>Monks,</i> And your Abbot What's-his-name?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Abelard!<br><p></p> + + <i>Monks.</i> Did he drink hard?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> O, no! Not he!<br> +He was a dry old fellow,<br> +Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow.<br> +There he stood,<br> +Lowering at us in sullen mood,<br> +As if he had come into Brittany<br> +Just to reform our brotherhood!<p></p> + + (<i>A roar of laughter</i>.)<br><p></p> + +But you see<br> +It never would do!<br> +For some of us knew a thing or two,<br> +In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys!<br> +For instance, the great ado<br> +With old Fulbert's niece,<br> +The young and lovely Heloise!<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> Stop there, if you please,<br> +Till we drink to the fair Heloise.<p></p> + + <i>All (drinking and shouting).</i> Heloise! Heloise!<br><p></p> + + (<i>The Chapel-bell tolls</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (starting).</i> What is that bell for? Are you such asses<br> +As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses?<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> It is only a poor, unfortunate brother,<br> +Who is gifted with most miraculous powers<br> +Of getting up at all sorts of hours,<br> +And, by way of penance and Christian meekness,<br> +Of creeping silently out of his cell<br> +To take a pull at that hideous bell;<br> +So that all the monks who are lying awake<br> +May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake,<br> +And adapted to his peculiar weakness!<p></p> + + <i>Friar John.</i> From frailty and fall--<br><p></p> + + <i>All.</i> Good Lord, deliver us all!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> And before the bell for matins sounds,<br> +He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds,<br> +Flashing it into our sleepy eyes,<br> +Merely to say it is time to arise.<br> +But enough of that. Go on, if you please,<br> +With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Well, it finally came to pass<br> +That, half in fun and half in malice,<br> +One Sunday at Mass<br> +We put some poison into the chalice.<br> +But, either by accident or design,<br> +Peter Abelard kept away<br> +From the chapel that day,<br> +And a poor, young friar, who in his stead<br> +Drank the sacramental wine,<br> +Fell on the steps of the altar, dead!<br> +But look! do you see at the window there<br> +That face, with a look of grief and despair,<br> +That ghastly face, as of one in pain?<p></p> + + <i>Monks.</i> Who? where?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> As I spoke, it vanished away again.<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> It is that nefarious<br> +Siebald the Refectorarius.<br> +That fellow is always playing the scout,<br> +Creeping and peeping and prowling about;<br> +And then he regales<br> +The Abbot with Scandalous tales.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers<br> +Telling scandalous tales of the others?<br> +Out upon him, the lazy loon!<br> +I would put a stop to that pretty soon,<br> +In a way he should rue it.<p></p> + + <i>Monks</i>. How shall we do it?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Do you, brother Paul,<br> +Creep under the window, close to the wall,<br> +And open it suddenly when I call.<br> +Then seize the villain by the hair,<br> +And hold him there,<br> +And punish him soundly, once for all.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert</i>. As St. Dustan of old,<br> +We are told,<br> +Once caught the Devil by the nose!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Ha! ha! that story is very clever,<br> +But has no foundation whatsoever.<br> +Quick! for I see his face again<br> +Glaring in at the window pane;<br> +Now! now! and do not spare your blows.<p></p> + + (FRIAR PAUL <i>opens the window suddenly, and seizes</i> SIEBALD. <i>They beat him.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Siebald</i>. Help! help! are you going to slay me?<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul</i>. That will teach you again to betray me!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Siebald</i>. Mercy! mercy!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Paul</i> (<i>shouting and beating</i>). Rumpas bellorum lorum,<br> + Vim confer amorum<br> + Morum verorum, rorun.<br> + Tu plena polorum!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. Who stands in the doorway yonder,<br> +Stretching out his trembling hand,<br> +Just as Abelard used to stand,<br> +The flash of his keen, black eyes<br> +Forerunning the thunder?<p></p> + + <i>The Monks (in confusion)</i>. The Abbot! the<br> +Abbot!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)</i>. Put on your disguise!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Francis</i>. Hide the great flagon<br> +From the eyes of the dragon!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert</i>. Pull the brown hood over your face,<br> +Lest you bring me into disgrace!<p></p> + + <i>Abbot</i>. What means this revel and carouse?<br> +Is this a tavern and drinking-house?<br> +Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils,<br> +To pollute this convent with your revels?<br> +Were Peter Damian still upon earth,<br> +To be shocked by such ungodly mirth,<br> +He would write your names, with pen of gall,<br> +In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all!<br> +Away, you drunkards! to your cells,<br> +And pray till you hear the matin-bells;<br> +You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul!<br> +And as a penance mark each prayer<br> +With the scourge upon your shoulders bare;<br> +Nothing atones for such a sin<br> +But the blood that follows the discipline.<br> +And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me<br> +Alone into the sacristy;<br> +You, who should be a guide to your brothers,<br> +And are ten times worse than all the others,<br> +For you I've a draught that has long been brewing<br> +You shall do a penance worth the doing!<br> +Away to your prayers, then, one and all!<br> +I wonder the very, convent wall<br> +Does not crumble and crush you in its fall!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>The</i> ABBESS IRMINGARD <i>sitting with</i> ELSIE <i>in the +moonlight.</i><p></p> + + <i>Irmingard</i> The night is silent, the wind is still,<br> +The moon is looking from yonder hill<br> +Down upon convent, and grove, and garden;<br> +The clouds have passed away from her face,<br> +Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace,<br> +Only the tender and quiet grace<br> +Of one, whose heart had been healed with pardon!<p></p> + +And such am I. My soul within<br> +Was dark with passion and soiled with sin.<br> +But now its wounds are healed again;<br> +Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain;<br> +For across that desolate land of woe,<br> +O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go,<br> +A wind from heaven began to blow;<br> +And all my being trembled and shook,<br> +As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field,<br> +And I was healed, as the sick are healed,<br> +When fanned by the leaves of the Holy Book!<p></p> + +As thou sittest in the moonlight there,<br> +Its glory flooding thy golden hair,<br> +And the only darkness that which lies<br> +In the haunted chambers of thine eyes,<br> +I feel my soul drawn unto thee,<br> +Strangely, and strongly, and more and more,<br> +As to one I have known and loved before;<br> +For every soul is akin to me<br> +That dwells in the land of mystery!<br> +I am the Lady Irmingard,<br> +Born of a noble race and name!<br> +Many a wandering Suabian bard,<br> +Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard,<br> +Has found through me the way to fame.<br> +Brief and bright were those days, and the night<br> +Which followed was full of a lurid light.<br> +Love, that of every woman's heart<br> +Will have the whole, and not a part,<br> +That is to her, in Nature's plan,<br> +More than ambition is to man,<br> +Her light, her life, her very breath,<br> +With no alternative but death,<br> +Found me a maiden soft and young,<br> +Just from the convent's cloistered school,<br> +And seated on my lowly stool,<br> +Attentive while the minstrels sung.<p></p> + +Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall,<br> +Fairest, noblest, best of all,<br> +Was Walter of the Vogelweid,<br> +And, whatsoever may betide,<br> +Still I think of him with pride!<br> +His song was of the summer-time<br> +The very birds sang in his rhyme;<br> +The sunshine, the delicious air,<br> +The fragrance of the flowers, were there,<br> +And I grew restless as I heard,<br> +Restless and buoyant as a bird,<br> +Down soft, aërial currents sailing,<br> +O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom,<br> +And through the momentary gloom<br> +Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing,<br> +Yielding and borne I knew not where,<br> +But feeling resistance unavailing.<p></p> + +And thus, unnoticed and apart,<br> +And more by accident than choice.<br> +I listened to that single voice<br> +Until the chambers of my heart<br> +Were filled with it by night and day,<br> +One night,--it was a night in May,--<br> +Within the garden, unawares,<br> +Under the blossoms in the gloom,<br> +I heard it utter my own name<br> +With protestations and wild prayers;<br> +And it rang through me, and became<br> +Like the archangel's trump of doom,<br> +Which the soul hears, and must obey;<br> +And mine arose as from a tomb.<br> +My former life now seemed to me<br> +Such as hereafter death may be,<br> +When in the great Eternity<br> +We shall awake and find it day.<p></p> + +It was a dream, and would not stay;<br> +A dream, that in a single night<br> +Faded and vanished out of sight.<br> +My father's anger followed fast<br> +This passion, as a freshening blast<br> +Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage<br> +It may increase, but not assuage.<br> +And he exclaimed: "No wandering bard<br> +Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard!<br> +For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck<br> +By messenger and letter sues."<p></p> + +Gently, but firmly, I replied:<br> +"Henry of Hoheneck I discard!<br> +Never the hand of Irmingard<br> +Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride!"<br> +This said I, Walter, for thy sake:<br> +This said I, for I could not choose.<br> +After a pause, my father spake<br> +In that cold and deliberate tone<br> +Which turns the hearer into stone,<br> +And seems itself the act to be<br> +That follows with such dread certainty;<br> +"This, or the cloister and the veil!"<br> +No other words than these he said,<br> +But they were like a funeral wail;<br> +My life was ended, my heart was dead.<p></p> + +That night from the castle-gate went down,<br> +With silent, slow, and stealthy pace,<br> +Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds,<br> +Taking the narrow path that leads<br> +Into the forest dense and brown,<br> +In the leafy darkness of the place,<br> +One could not distinguish form nor face,<br> +Only a bulk without a shape,<br> +A darker shadow in the shade;<br> +One scarce could say it moved or stayed,<br> +Thus it was we made our escape!<br> +A foaming brook, with many a bound,<br> +Followed us like a playful hound;<br> +Then leaped before us, and in the hollow<br> +Paused, and waited for us to follow,<br> +And seemed impatient, and afraid<br> +That our tardy flight should be betrayed<br> +By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made,<br> +And when we reached the plain below,<br> +He paused a moment and drew rein<br> +To look back at the castle again;<br> +And we saw the windows all aglow<br> +With lights, that were passing to and fro;<br> +Our hearts with terror ceased to beat;<br> +The brook crept silent to our feet;<br> +We knew what most we feared to know.<br> +Then suddenly horns began to blow;<br> +And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp,<br> +And our horses snorted in the damp<br> +Night-air of the meadows green and wide,<br> +And in a moment, side by side,<br> +So close, they must have seemed but one,<br> +The shadows across the moonlight run,<br> +And another came, and swept behind,<br> +Like the shadow of clouds before the wind!<p></p> + +How I remember that breathless flight<br> +Across the moors, in the summer night!<br> +How under our feet the long, white road<br> +Backward like a river flowed,<br> +Sweeping with it fences and hedges,<br> +Whilst farther away, and overhead,<br> +Paler than I, with fear and dread,<br> +The moon fled with us, as we fled<br> +Along the forest's jagged edges!<p></p> + +All this I can remember well;<br> +But of what afterward befell<br> +I nothing farther can recall<br> +Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall;<br> +The rest is a blank and darkness all.<br> +When I awoke out of this swoon,<br> +The sun was shining, not the moon,<br> +Making a cross upon the wall<br> +With the bars of my windows narrow and tall;<br> +And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray,<br> +From early childhood, day by day,<br> +Each morning, as in bed I lay!<br> +I was lying again in my own room!<br> +And I thanked God, in my fever and pain,<br> +That those shadows on the midnight plain<br> +Were gone, and could not come again!<br> +I struggled no longer with my doom!<br> +This happened many years ago.<br> +I left my father's home to come<br> +Like Catherine to her martyrdom,<br> +For blindly I esteemed it so.<br> +And when I heard the convent door<br> +Behind me close, to ope no more,<br> +I felt it smite me like a blow,<br> +Through all my limbs a shudder ran,<br> +And on my bruised spirit fell<br> +The dampness of my narrow cell<br> +As night-air on a wounded man,<br> +Giving intolerable pain.<p></p> + +But now a better life began,<br> +I felt the agony decrease<br> +By slow degrees, then wholly cease,<br> +Ending in perfect rest and peace!<br> +It was not apathy, nor dulness,<br> +That weighed and pressed upon my brain,<br> +But the same passion I had given<br> +To earth before, now turned to heaven<br> +With all its overflowing fulness.<p></p> + +Alas! the world is full of peril!<br> +The path that runs through the fairest meads,<br> +On the sunniest side of the valley, leads<br> +Into a region bleak and sterile!<br> +Alike in the high-born and the lowly,<br> +The will is feeble, and passion strong.<br> +We cannot sever right from wrong;<br> +Some falsehood mingles with all truth;<br> +Nor is it strange the heart of youth<br> +Should waver and comprehend but slowly<br> +The things that are holy and unholy!<p></p> + +But in this sacred and calm retreat,<br> +We are all well and safely shielded<br> +From winds that blow, and waves that beat,<br> +From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat,<br> +To which the strongest hearts have yielded.<br> +Here we stand as the Virgins Seven,<br> +For our celestial bridegroom yearning;<br> +Our hearts are lamps forever burning,<br> +With a steady and unwavering flame,<br> +Pointing upward, forever the same,<br> +Steadily upward toward the Heaven!<p></p> + +The moon is hidden behind a cloud;<br> +A sudden darkness fills the room,<br> +And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom,<br> +Shine like jewels in a shroud.<br> +On the leaves is a sound of falling rain;<br> +A bird, awakened in its nest,<br> +Gives a faint twitter of unrest,<br> +Then smoothes its plumes and sleeps again.<p></p> + +No other sounds than these I hear;<br> +The hour of midnight must be near.<br> +Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue<br> +Of riding many a dusty league;<br> +Sink, then, gently to thy slumber;<br> +Me so many cares encumber,<br> +So many ghosts, and forms of fright,<br> +Have started from their graves to-night,<br> +They have driven sleep from mine eyes away:<br> +I will go down to the chapel and pray.<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>V.</h2><br><p></p> + +<h2>A COVERED BRIDGE AT LUCERNE.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. God's blessing on the architects who build<br> +The bridges o'er swift rivers and abysses<br> +Before impassable to human feet,<br> +No less than on the builders of cathedrals,<br> +Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across<br> +The dark and terrible abyss of Death.<br> +Well has the name of Pontifex been given<br> +Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder<br> +And architect of the invisible bridge<br> +That leads from earth to heaven.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> How dark it grows!<br> +What are these paintings on the walls around us?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> The Dance Macaber!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> What?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> The Dance of Death!<br> +All that go to and fro must look upon it,<br> +Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath,<br> +Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river<br> +Rushes, impetuous as the river of life,<br> +With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright,<br> +Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> O, yes! I see it now!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> The grim musician<br> +Leads all men through the mazes of that dance,<br> +To different sounds in different measures moving;<br> +Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum,<br> +To tempt or terrify.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> What is this picture?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> It is a young man singing to a nun,<br> +Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling<br> +Turns round to look at him, and Death, meanwhile,<br> +Is putting out the candles on the altar!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> Ah, what a pity 't is that she should listen<br> +to such songs, when in her orisons<br> +She might have heard in heaven the angels singing!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Here he has stolen a jester's cap and bells,<br> +And dances with the Queen.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> A foolish jest!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> And here the heart of the new-wedded wife,<br> +Coming from church with her beloved lord,<br> +He startles with the rattle of his drum.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> Ah, that is sad! And yet perhaps 't is best<br> +That she should die, with all the sunshine on her,<br> +And all the benedictions of the morning,<br> +Before this affluence of golden light<br> +Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray,<br> +Then into darkness!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Under it is written,<br> +"Nothing but death shall separate thee and me!"<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> And what is this, that follows close upon it?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Death, playing on a ducimer. Behind him,<br> +A poor old woman, with a rosary,<br> +Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet<br> +Were swifter to o'ertake him. Underneath,<br> +The inscription reads, "Better is Death than Life."<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Better is Death than Life! Ah yes! to thousands<br> +Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings<br> +That song of consolation, till the air<br> +Rings with it, and they cannot choose but follow<br> +Whither he leads. And not the old alone,<br> +But the young also hear it, and are still.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Yes, in their sadder moments. 'T is the sound<br> +Of their own hearts they hear, half full of tears,<br> +Which are like crystal cups, half filled with water.<br> +Responding to the pressure of a finger<br> +With music sweet and low and melancholy.<br> +Let us go forward, and no longer stay<br> +In this great picture-gallery of Death!<br> +I hate it! ay, the very thought of it!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Why is it hateful to you?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> For the reason<br> +That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely,<br> +And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> The grave is but a covered bridge,<br> +leading from light to light, through a brief darkness!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry (emerging from the bridge).</i> I breathe again more<br> + freely! Ah, how pleasant<br> +To come once more into the light of day,<br> +Out of that shadow of death! To hear again<br> +The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground,<br> +And not upon those hollow planks, resounding<br> +With a sepulchral echo, like the clods<br> +On coffins in a churchyard! Yonder lies<br> +The Lake of the Four Forest-Towns, apparelled<br> +In light, and lingering, like a village maiden,<br> +Hid in the bosom of her native mountains,<br> +Then pouring all her life into another's,<br> +Changing her name and being! Overhead,<br> +Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air,<br> +Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines.<p></p> + + (<i>They pass on</i>.)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +PRINCE HENRY <i>and</i> ELSIE <i>crossing, with attendants.</i><p></p> + + <i>Guide.</i> This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge.<br> +With a single arch, from ridge to ridge,<br> +It leaps across the terrible chasm<br> +Yawning beneath us, black and deep,<br> +As if, in some convulsive spasm,<br> +the summits of the hills had cracked,<br> +and made a road for the cataract,<br> +That raves and rages down the steep!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (under the bridge).</i> Ha! ha!<br><p></p> + + <i>Guide.</i> Never any bridge but this<br> +Could stand across the wild abyss;<br> +All the rest, of wood or stone,<br> +By the Devil's hand were overthrown.<br> +He toppled crags from the precipice,<br> +And whatsoe'er was built by day<br> +In the night was swept away;<br> +None could stand but this alone.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (under the bridge).</i> Ha! ha!<br><p></p> + + <i>Guide.</i> I showed you in the valley a boulder<br> +Marked with the imprint of his shoulder;<br> +As he was bearing it up this way,<br> +A peasant, passing, cried, "Herr Jé!"<br> +And the Devil dropped it in his fright,<br> +And vanished suddenly out of sight!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (under the bridge).</i> Ha! ha!<br><p></p> + + <i>Guide.</i> Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel,<br> +For pilgrims on their way to Rome,<br> +Built this at last, with a single arch,<br> +Under which, on its endless march,<br> +Runs the river, white with foam,<br> +Like a thread through the eye of a needle.<br> +And the Devil promised to let it stand,<br> +Under compact and condition<br> +That the first living thing which crossed<br> +Should be surrendered into his hand,<br> +And be beyond redemption lost.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (under the bridge).</i> Ha! ha! perdition!<br><p></p> + + <i>Guide.</i> At length, the bridge being all completed,<br> +The Abbot, standing at its head,<br> +Threw across it a loaf of bread,<br> +Which a hungry dog sprang after,<br> +And the rocks reechoed with peals of laughter<br> +To see the Devil thus defeated!<p></p> + + (<i>They pass on</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i> (<i>under the bridge</i>) Ha! ha! defeated!<br> +For journeys and for crimes like this<br> +To let the bridge stand o'er the abyss!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE ST. GOTHARD PASS.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers<br> +Leap down to different seas, and as they roll<br> +Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence<br> +Becomes a benefaction to the towns<br> +They visit, wandering silently among them,<br> +Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses<br> +Grow on these rocks.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Yet are they not forgotten;<br> +Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft<br> +So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away<br> +Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me<br> +The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels<br> +Bear thee across these chasms and precipices,<br> +Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was,<br> +Upon angelic shoulders! Even now<br> +I Seem uplifted by them, light as air!<br> +What sound is that?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. The tumbling avalanches!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> How awful, yet how beautiful!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. These are<br> +The voices of the mountains! Thus they ope<br> +Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other,<br> +In the primeval language, lost to man.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i>. What land is this that spreads itself beneath us?<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Italy! Italy!<br><p></p> + + <i>Elsie</i> Land of the Madonna!<br> +How beautiful it is! It seems a garden<br> +Of Paradise!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. Nay, of Gethsemane<br> +To thee and me, of passion and of prayer!<br> +Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago<br> +I wandered as a youth among its bowers,<br> +And never from my heart has faded quite<br> +Its memory, that, like a summer sunset,<br> +Encircles with a ring of purple light<br> +All the horizon of my youth.<p></p> + + <i>Guide</i>. O friends!<br> +The days are short, the way before us long;<br> +We must not linger, if we think to reach<br> +The inn at Belinzona before vespers!<p></p> + + (<i>They pass on</i>.)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>A halt under the trees at noon</i>.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i> Here let us pause a moment in the trembling<br> +Shadow and sunshine of the roadside trees,<br> +And, our tired horses in a group assembling,<br> +Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze<br> +Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants;<br> +They lag behind us with a slower pace;<br> +We will await them under the green pendants<br> +Of the great willows in this shady place.<br> +Ho, Barbarossa! how thy mottled haunches<br> +Sweat with this canter over hill and glade!<br> +Stand still, and let these overhanging branches<br> +Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> What a delightful landscape spreads before us,<br> +Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and there!<br> +And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o'er us,<br> +Blossoms of grapevines scent the sunny air.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Hark! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents holy<br> +Fill the warm noon with music sad and sweet!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly<br> +On their long journey, with uncovered feet.<p></p> + + <i>Pilgrims (chaunting the Hymn of St. Hildebert)</i><br> + Me receptet Sion illa,<br> + Sion David, urbs tranquilla,<br> + Cujus faber auctor lucis,<br> + Cujus portae lignum crucis,<br> + Cujus claves lingua Petri,<br> + Cujus cives semper laeti,<br> + Cujus muri lapis vivus,<br> + Cujus custos Rex festivus!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (as a Friar in the procession).</i> Here am I, too, in the<br> + pious band,<br> +In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed!<br> +The soles of my feet are as hard and tanned<br> +As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand,<br> +The Holy Satan, who made the wives<br> +Of the bishops lead such shameful lives.<br> +All day long I beat my breast,<br> +And chaunt with a most particular zest<br> +The Latin hymns, which I understand<br> +Quite as well, I think, as the rest.<br> +And at night such lodging in barns and sheds,<br> +Such a hurly-burly in country inns,<br> +Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads,<br> +Such a helter-skelter of prayers and sins!<br> +Of all the contrivances of the time<br> +For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime,<br> +There is none so pleasing to me and mine<br> +As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> If from the outward man we judge the inner,<br> +And cleanliness is godliness, I fear<br> +A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sinner,<br> +Must be that Carmelite now passing near.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> There is my German Prince again,<br> +Thus far on his journey to Salern,<br> +And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain<br> +Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain;<br> +But it's a long road that has no turn!<br> +Let them quietly hold their way,<br> +I have also a part in the play.<br> +But first I must act to my heart's content<br> +This mummery and this merriment,<br> +And drive this motley flock of sheep<br> +Into the fold, where drink and sleep<br> +The jolly old friars of Benevent.<br> +Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh<br> +To see these beggars hobble along,<br> +Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff,<br> +Chanting their wonderful piff and paff,<br> +And, to make up for not understanding the song,<br> +Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong!<br> +Were it not for my magic garters and staff,<br> +And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff,<br> +And the mischief I make in the idle throng,<br> +I should not continue the business long.<p></p> + + <i>Pilgrims (chaunting).</i> In hâc uibe, lux solennis,<br> + Ver aeternum, pax perennis,<br> + In hâc odor implens caelos,<br> + In hâc semper festum melos!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Do you observe that monk among the train,<br> +Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass,<br> +As a cathedral spout pours out the rain,<br> +And this way turns his rubicund, round face?<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> It is the same who, on the Strasburg square,<br> +Preached to the people in the open air.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> And he has crossed o'er mountain, field, and fell,<br> +On that good steed, that seems to bear him well,<br> +The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray,<br> +His own stout legs! He, too, was in the play,<br> +Both as King Herod and Ben Israel.<br> +Good morrow, Friar!<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> Good morrow, noble Sir!<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I speak in German, for, unless I err,<br> +You are a German.<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> I cannot gainsay you.<br> +But by what instinct, or what secret sign,<br> +Meeting me here, do you straightway divine<br> +That northward of the Alps my country lies?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Your accent, like St, Peter's, would betray you,<br> +Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes,<br> +Moreover, we have seen your face before,<br> +And heard you preach at the Cathedral door<br> +On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg square<br> +We were among the crowd that gathered there,<br> +And saw you play the Rabbi with great skill,<br> +As if, by leaning o'er so many years<br> +To walk with little children, your own will<br> +Had caught a childish attitude from theirs,<br> +A kind of stooping in its form and gait,<br> +And could no longer stand erect and straight.<br> +Whence come you now?<p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> From the old monastery<br> +Of Hirschau, in the forest; being sent<br> +Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent,<br> +To see the image of the Virgin Mary,<br> +That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks,<br> +And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks,<br> +To touch the hearts of the impenitent.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> O, had I faith, as in the days gone by,<br> +That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery!<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (at a distance).</i> Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert!<br><p></p> + + <i>Friar Cuthbert.</i> Farewell, Prince!<br> +I cannot stay to argue and convince.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> This is indeed the blessed Mary's land,<br> +Virgin and Mother of our dear Redeemer!<br> +All hearts are touched and softened at her name;<br> +Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand,<br> +The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant,<br> +The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer,<br> +Pay homage to her as one ever present!<br> +And even as children, who have much offended<br> +A too indulgent father, in great shame,<br> +Penitent, and yet not daring unattended<br> +To go into his presence, at the gate<br> +Speak with their sister, and confiding wait<br> +Till she goes in before and intercedes;<br> +So men, repenting of their evil deeds,<br> +And yet not venturing rashly to draw near<br> +With their requests an angry father's ear,<br> +Offer to her their prayers and their confession,<br> +And she for them in heaven makes intercession.<br> +And if our Faith had given us nothing more<br> +Than this example of all womanhood,<br> +So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good,<br> +So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure,<br> +This were enough to prove it higher and truer<br> +Than all the creeds the world had known before.<p></p> + +<i>Pilgrims (chaunting afar off)</i>. Urbs ccelestis, urbs beata,<br> + Supra petram collocata,<br> + Urbs in portu satis tuto<br> + De longinquo te saluto,<br> + Te saluto, te suspiro,<br> + Te affecto, te requiro!<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE INN AT GENOA.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<i>A terrace overlooking the sea. Night.</i><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> It is the sea, it is the sea,<br> +In all its vague immensity,<br> +Fading and darkening in the distance!<br> +Silent, majestical, and slow,<br> +The white ships haunt it to and fro,<br> +With all their ghostly sails unfurled,<br> +As phantoms from another world<br> +Haunt the dim confines of existence!<br> +But ah! how few can comprehend<br> +Their signals, or to what good end<br> +From land to land they come and go!<br> +Upon a sea more vast and dark<br> +The spirits of the dead embark,<br> +All voyaging to unknown coasts.<br> +We wave our farewells from the shore,<br> +And they depart, and come no more,<br> +Or come as phantoms and as ghosts.<p></p> + +Above the darksome sea of death<br> +Looms the great life that is to be,<br> +A land of cloud and mystery,<br> +A dim mirage, with shapes of men<br> +Long dead, and passed beyond our ken.<br> +Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath<br> +Till the fair pageant vanisheth,<br> +Leaving us in perplexity,<br> +And doubtful whether it has been<br> +A vision of the world unseen,<br> +Or a bright image of our own<br> +Against the sky in vapors thrown.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer (singing from the sea)</i>. Thou didst not make it, thou<br> + canst not mend it,<br> +But thou hast the power to end it!<br> +The sea is silent, the sea is discreet,<br> +Deep it lies at thy very feet;<br> +There is no confessor like unto Death!<br> +Thou canst not see him, but he is near;<br> +Thou needest not whisper above thy breath,<br> +And he will hear;<br> +He will answer the questions,<br> +The vague surmises and suggestions,<br> +That fill thy soul with doubt and fear!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry</i>. The fisherman, who lies afloat,<br> +With shadowy sail, in yonder boat,<br> +Is singing softly to the Night!<br> +But do I comprehend aright<br> +The meaning of the words he sung<br> +So sweetly in his native tongue?<br> +Ah, yes! the sea is still and deep.<br> +All things within its bosom sleep!<br> +A single step, and all is o'er;<br> +A plunge, a bubble, and no more;<br> +And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free<br> +From martyrdom and agony.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie (coming from her chamber upon the terrace).</i><br> +The night is calm and cloudless,<br> +And still as still can be,<br> +And the stars come forth to listen<br> +To the music of the sea.<br> +They gather, and gather, and gather,<br> +Until they crowd the sky,<br> +And listen, in breathless silence,<br> +To the solemn litany.<br> +It begins in rocky caverns,<br> +As a voice that chaunts alone<br> +To the pedals of the organ<br> +In monotonous undertone;<br> +And anon from shelving beaches,<br> +And shallow sands beyond,<br> +In snow-white robes uprising<br> +The ghostly choirs respond.<br> +And sadly and unceasing<br> +The mournful voice sings on,<br> +And the snow-white choirs still answer<br> +Christe eleison!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Angel of God! thy finer sense perceives<br> +Celestial and perpetual harmonies!<br> +Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes,<br> +Hears the archangel's trumpet in the breeze,<br> +And where the forest rolls, or ocean heaves,<br> +Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas,<br> +And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves.<br> +But I hear discord only and despair,<br> +And whispers as of demons in the air!<p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>AT SEA.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + + <i>Il Padrone.</i> The wind upon our quarter lies,<br> +And on before the freshening gale,<br> +That fills the snow-white lateen sail,<br> +Swiftly our light felucca flies.<br> +Around, the billows burst and foam;<br> +They lift her o'er the sunken rock,<br> +They beat her sides with many a shock,<br> +And then upon their flowing dome<br> +They poise her, like a weathercock!<br> +Between us and the western skies<br> +The hills of Corsica arise;<br> +Eastward, in yonder long, blue line,<br> +The summits of the Apennine,<br> +And southward, and still far away,<br> +Salerno, on its sunny bay.<br> +You cannot see it, where it lies.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Ah, would that never more mine eyes<br> +Might see its towers by night or day!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Behind us, dark and awfully,<br> +There comes a cloud out of the sea,<br> +That bears the form of a hunted deer,<br> +With hide of brown, and hoofs of black,<br> +And antlers laid upon its back,<br> +And fleeing fast and wild with fear,<br> +As if the hounds were on its track!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and falls<br> +In shapeless masses, like the walls<br> +Of a burnt city. Broad and red<br> +The fires of the descending sun<br> +Glare through the windows, and o'erhead,<br> +Athwart the vapors, dense and dun,<br> +Long shafts of silvery light arise,<br> +Like rafters that support the skies!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> See! from its summit the lurid levin<br> +Flashes downward without warning,<br> +As Lucifer, son of the morning,<br> +Fell from the battlements of heaven!<p></p> + + <i>Il Padrone.</i> I must entreat you, friends, below!<br> +The angry storm begins to blow,<br> +For the weather changes with the moon.<br> +All this morning, until noon,<br> +We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws<br> +Struck the sea with their cat's-paws.<br> +Only a little hour ago<br> +I was whistling to Saint Antonio<br> +For a capful of wind to fill our sail,<br> +And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale.<br> +Last night I saw St. Elmo's stars,<br> +With their glimmering lanterns, all at play<br> +On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars,<br> +And I knew we should have foul weather to-day.<br> +Cheerily, my hearties! yo heave ho!<br> +Brail up the mainsail, and let her go<br> +As the winds will and Saint Antonio!<p></p> + +Do you see that Livornese felucca,<br> +That vessel to the windward yonder,<br> +Running with her gunwale under?<br> +I was looking when the wind o'ertook her,<br> +She had all sail set, and the only wonder<br> +Is that at once the strength of the blast<br> +Did not carry away her mast.<br> +She is a galley of the Gran Duca,<br> +That, through the fear of the Algerines,<br> +Convoys those lazy brigantines,<br> +Laden with wine and oil from Lucca.<br> +Now all is ready, high and low;<br> +Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio!<p></p> + +Ha! that is the first dash of the rain,<br> +With a sprinkle of spray above the rails,<br> +Just enough to moisten our sails,<br> +And make them ready for the strain.<br> +See how she leaps, as the blasts o'ertake her,<br> +And speeds away with a bone in her mouth!<br> +Now keep her head toward the south,<br> +And there is no danger of bank or breaker.<br> +With the breeze behind us, on we go;<br> +Not too much, good Saint Antonio!<p></p> + + + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br> +<h2>VI.</h2> +<br> + +<h2>THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO.</h2> + +<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br> +<i>A traveling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate +of the College.</i><p></p> + + <i>Scholastic.</i> There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield,<br> +Hung up as a challenge to all the field!<br> +One hundred and twenty-five propositions,<br> +Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue<br> +Against all disputants, old and young.<br> +Let us see if doctors or dialecticians<br> +Will dare to dispute my definitions,<br> +Or attack any one of my learned theses.<br> +Here stand I; the end shall be as God pleases.<br> +I think I have proved, by profound research<br> +The error of all those doctrines so vicious<br> +Of the old Areopagite Dionysius,<br> +That are making such terrible work in the churches,<br> +By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East,<br> +And done into Latin by that Scottish beast,<br> +Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain,<br> +In the face of the truth, the error infernal,<br> +That the universe is and must be eternal;<br> +At first laying down, as a fact fundamental,<br> +That nothing with God can be accidental;<br> +Then asserting that God before the creation<br> +Could not have existed, because it is plain<br> +That, had he existed, he would have created;<br> +Which is begging the question that should be debated,<br> +And moveth me less to anger than laughter.<br> +All nature, he holds, is a respiration<br> +Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter<br> +Will inhale it into his bosom again,<br> +So that nothing but God alone will remain.<br> +And therein he contradicteth himself;<br> +For he opens the whole discussion by stating,<br> +That God can only exist in creating.<br> +That question I think I have laid on the shelf!<p></p> + + (<i>He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and followed by pupils.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Doctor Serafino.</i> I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain,<br> +That a word which is only conceived in the brain<br> +Is a type of eternal Generation;<br> +The spoken word is the Incarnation.<p></p> + + <i>Doctor Cherubino.</i> What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic,<br> +With all his wordy chaffer and traffic?<p></p> + + <i>Doctor Serafino.</i> You make but a paltry show of resistance;<br> +Universals have no real existence!<p></p> + + <i>Doctor Cherubino.</i> Your words are but idle and empty chatter;<br> +Ideas are eternally joined to matter!<p></p> + + <i>Doctor Serafino</i>. May the Lord have mercy on your position,<br> +You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs!<p></p> + + <i>Doctor Cherubino</i>. May he send your soul to eternal perdition,<br> +For your Treatise on the Irregular Verbs!<p></p> + + (<i>They rush out fighting. Two Scholars come in.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>First Scholar</i>. Monte Cassino, then, is your College.<br> +What think you of ours here at Salern?<p></p> + + <i>Second Scholar</i>. To tell the truth, I arrived so lately,<br> +I hardly yet have had time to discern.<br> +So much, at least, I am bound to acknowledge:<br> +The air seems healthy, the buildings stately,<br> +And on the whole I like it greatly.<p></p> + + <i>First Scholar</i>. Yes, the air is sweet; the Calabrian hills<br> +Send us down puffs of mountain air;<br> +And in summer time the sea-breeze fills<br> +With its coolness cloister, and court, and square.<br> +Then at every season of the year<br> +There are crowds of guests and travellers here;<br> +Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, and traders<br> +From the Levant, with figs and wine,<br> +And bands of wounded and sick Crusaders,<br> +Coming back from Palestine.<p></p> + + <i>Second Scholar</i>. And what are the studies you pursue?<br> +What is the course you here go through?<p></p> + + <i>First Scholar</i>. The first three years of the college course<br> +Are given to Logic alone, as the source<br> +Of all that is noble, and wise, and true.<p></p> + + <i>Second Scholar</i>. That seems rather strange, I must confess.<br> +In a Medical School; yet, nevertheless,<br> +You doubtless have reasons for that.<p></p> + + <i>First Scholar</i>. Oh yes!<br> +For none but a clever dialectician<br> +Can hope to become a great physician;<br> +That has been settled long ago.<br> +Logic makes an important part<br> +Of the mystery of the healing art;<br> +For without it how could you hope to show<br> +That nobody knows so much as you know?<br> +After this there are five years more<br> +Devoted wholly to medicine,<br> +With lectures on chirurgical lore,<br> +And dissections of the bodies of swine,<br> +As likest the human form divine.<p></p> + + <i>Second Scholar</i>. What are the books now most in vogue?<br><p></p> + + <i>First Scholar</i>. Quite an extensive catalogue;<br> +Mostly, however, books of our own;<br> +As Gariopontus' Passionarius,<br> +And the writings of Matthew Platearius;<br> +And a volume universally known<br> +As the Regimen of the School of Salern,<br> +For Robert of Normandy written in terse<br> +And very elegant Latin verse.<br> +Each of these writings has its turn.<br> +And when at length we have finished these,<br> +Then comes the struggle for degrees,<br> +With all the oldest and ablest critics;<br> +The public thesis and disputation,<br> +Question, and answer, and explanation<br> +Of a passage out of Hippocrates,<br> +Or Aristotle's Analytics.<br> +There the triumphant Magister stands!<br> +A book is solemnly placed in his hands,<br> +On which he swears to follow the rule<br> +And ancient forms of the good old School;<br> +To report if any confectionarius<br> +Mingles his drugs with matters various,<br> +And to visit his patients twice a day,<br> +And once in the night, if they live in town,<br> +And if they are poor, to take no pay.<br> +Having faithfully promised these,<br> +His head is crowned with a laurel crown;<br> +A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his hand,<br> +The Magister Artium et Physices<br> +Goes forth from the school like a lord of the land.<br> +And now, as we have the whole morning before us<br> +Let us go in, if you make no objection,<br> +And listen awhile to a learned prelection<br> +On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus.<p></p> + + (<i>They go in. Enter</i> LUCIFER <i>as a Doctor.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer</i>. This is the great School of Salern!<br> +A land of wrangling and of quarrels,<br> +Of brains that seethe, and hearts that burn,<br> +Where every emulous scholar hears,<br> +In every breath that comes to his ears,<br> +The rustling of another's laurels!<br> +The air of the place is called salubrious;<br> +The neighborhood of Vesuvius lends it<br> +An odor volcanic, that rather mends it,<br> +And the buildings have an aspect lugubrious,<br> +That inspires a feeling of awe and terror<br> +Into the heart of the beholder,<br> +And befits such an ancient homestead of error,<br> +Where the old falsehoods moulder and smoulder,<br> +And yearly by many hundred hands<br> +Are carried away, in the zeal of youth,<br> +And sown like tares in the field of truth,<br> +To blossom and ripen in other lands.<br> +What have we here, affixed to the gate?<br> +The challenge of some scholastic wight,<br> +Who wishes to hold a public debate<br> +On sundry questions wrong or right!<br> +Ah, now this is my great delight!<br> +For I have often observed of late<br> +That such discussions end in a fight.<br> +Let us see what the learned wag maintains<br> +With such a prodigal waste of brains.<p></p> + + (<i>Reads.</i>)<br><p></p> + +"Whether angels in moving from place to place<br> +Pass through the intermediate space.<br> +Whether God himself is the author of evil,<br> +Or whether that is the work of the Devil.<br> +When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell,<br> +And whether he now is chained in hell."<p></p> + +I think I can answer that question well!<br> +So long as the boastful human mind<br> +Consents in such mills as this to grind,<br> +I sit very firmly upon my throne!<br> +Of a truth it almost makes me laugh,<br> +To see men leaving the golden grain<br> +To gather in piles the pitiful chaff<br> +That old Peter Lombard thrashed with his brain,<br> +To have it caught up and tossed again<br> +On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Cologne!<p></p> + +But my guests approach! there is in the air<br> +A fragrance, like that of the Beautiful Garden<br> +Of Paradise, in the days that were!<br> +An odor of innocence, and of prayer,<br> +And of love, and faith that never fails,<br> +Which as the fresh-young heart exhales<br> +Before it begins to wither and harden!<br> +I cannot breathe such an atmosphere!<br> +My soul is filled with a nameless fear,<br> +That, after all my trouble and pain,<br> +After all my restless endeavor,<br> +The youngest, fairest soul of the twain,<br> +The most ethereal, most divine,<br> +Will escape from my hands forever and ever.<br> +But the other is already mine!<br> +Let him live to corrupt his race,<br> +Breathing among them, with every breath,<br> +Weakness, selfishness, and the base<br> +And pusillanimous fear of death.<br> +I know his nature, and I know<br> +That of all who in my ministry<br> +Wander the great earth to and fro,<br> +And on my errands come and go,<br> +The safest and subtlest are such as he.<p></p> + + (<i>Enter</i> PRINCE HENRY <i>and</i> ELSIE <i>with attendants</i>.)<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Can you direct us to Friar Angelo?<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> He stands before you.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Then you know our purpose.<br> +I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and this<br> +The maiden that I spake of in my letters.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> It is a very grave and solemn business!<br> +We must not be precipitate. Does she<br> +Without compulsion, of her own free will,<br> +Consent to this?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Against all opposition,<br> +Against all prayers, entreaties, protestations.<br> +She will not be persuaded.<p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> That is strange!<br> +Have you thought well of it?<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> I come not here<br> +To argue, but to die. Your business is not<br> +to question, but to kill me. I am ready.<br> +I am impatient to be gone from here<br> +Ere any thoughts of earth disturb again<br> +The spirit of tranquillity within me.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Would I had not come here<br> + Would I were dead,<br> +And thou wert in thy cottage in the forest,<br> +And hadst not known me! Why have I done this?<br> +Let me go back and die.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> It cannot be;<br> +Not if these cold, flat stones on which we tread<br> +Were coulters heated white, and yonder gateway<br> +Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold heat.<br> +I must fulfil my purpose.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> I forbid it!<br> +Not one step farther. For I only meant<br> +To put thus far thy courage to the proof.<br> +It is enough. I, too, have courage to die,<br> +For thou hast taught me!<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> O my Prince! remember<br> +Your promises. Let me fulfill my errand.<br> +You do not look on life and death as I do.<br> +There are two angels, that attend unseen<br> +Each one of us, and in great books record<br> +Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down<br> +The good ones, after every action closes<br> +His volume, and ascends with it to God.<br> +The other keeps his dreadful day-book open<br> +Till sunset, that we may repent; which doing,<br> +The record of the action fades away,<br> +And leaves a line of white across the page.<br> +Now if my act be good, as I believe it,<br> +It cannot be recalled. It is already<br> +Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished.<br> +The rest is yours. Why wait you? I am ready.<p></p> + + (<i>To her attendants.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Weep not, my friends! rather rejoice with me.<br> +I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone,<br> +And you will have another friend in heaven.<br> +Then start not at the creaking of the door<br> +Through which I pass. I see what lies beyond it.<p></p> + + (<i>To</i> PRINCE HENRY.)<br><p></p> + +And you, O Prince! bear back my benison<br> +Unto my father's house, and all within it.<br> +This morning in the church I prayed for them,<br> +After confession, after absolution,<br> +When my whole soul was white, I prayed for them.<br> +God will take care of them, they need me not.<br> +And in your life let my remembrance linger,<br> +As something not to trouble and disturb it,<br> +But to complete it, adding life to life.<br> +And if at times beside the evening fire<br> +You see my face among the other faces,<br> +Let it not be regarded as a ghost<br> +That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you.<br> +Nay, even as one of your own family,<br> +Without whose presence there were something wanting.<br> +I have no more to say. Let us go in.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Friar Angelo! I charge you on your life,<br> +Believe not what she says, for she is mad,<br> +And comes here not to die, but to be healed.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Alas! Prince Henry!<br><p></p> + + <i>Lucifer.</i> Come with me; this way.<br><p></p> + + (ELSIE <i>goes in with</i> LUCIFER, <i>who thrusts</i> PRINCE HENRY <i>back and closes the door.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Gone! and the light of all my life gone with her!<br> +A sudden darkness falls upon the world!<p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> News from the Prince!<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Of death or life?<br><p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> You put your questions eagerly!<br><p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Answer me, then! How is the Prince?<br><p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> I left him only two hours since<br> +Homeward returning down the river,<br> +As strong and well as if God, the Giver,<br> +Had given him back in his youth again.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula (despairing).</i> Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead!<br><p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> That, my good woman, I have not said.<br> +Don't cross the bridge till you come to it,<br> +Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Keep me no longer in this pain!<br><p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> It is true your daughter is no more;--<br> +That is, the peasant she was before.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Alas! I am simple and lowly bred<br> +I am poor, distracted, and forlorn.<br> +And it is not well that you of the court<br> +Should mock me thus, and make a sport<br> +Of a joyless mother whose child is dead,<br> +For you, too, were of mother, born!<p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well!<br> +You will learn ere long how it all befell.<br> +Her heart for a moment never failed;<br> +But when they reached Salerno's gate,<br> +The Prince's nobler self prevailed,<br> +And saved her for a nobler fate,<br> +And he was healed, in his despair,<br> +By the touch of St. Matthew's sacred bones;<br> +Though I think the long ride in the open air,<br> +That pilgrimage over stocks and stones,<br> +In the miracle must come in for a share!<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Virgin! who lovest the poor and lonely,<br> +If the loud cry of a mother's heart<br> +Can ever ascend to where thou art,<br> +Into thy blessed hands and holy<br> +Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving!<br> +Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it<br> +Into the awful presence of God;<br> +For thy feet with holiness are shod,<br> +And if thou bearest it he will hear it.<br> +Our child who was dead again is living!<p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> I did not tell you she was dead;<br> +If you thought so 'twas no fault of mine;<br> +At this very moment, while I speak,<br> +They are sailing homeward down the Rhine,<br> +In a splendid barge, with golden prow,<br> +And decked with banners white and red<br> +As the colors on your daughter's cheek.<br> +They call her the Lady Alicia now;<br> +For the Prince in Salerno made a vow<br> +That Elsie only would he wed.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> Jesu Maria! what a change!<br> +All seems to me so weird and strange!<p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> I saw her standing on the deck,<br> +Beneath an awning cool and shady;<br> +Her cap of velvet could not hold<br> +The tresses of her hair of gold,<br> +That flowed and floated like the stream,<br> +And fell in masses down her neck.<br> +As fair and lovely did she seem<br> +As in a story or a dream<br> +Some beautiful and foreign lady.<br> +And the Prince looked so grand and proud,<br> +And waved his hand thus to the crowd<br> +That gazed and shouted from the shore,<br> +All down the river, long and loud.<p></p> + + <i>Ursula.</i> We shall behold our child once more;<br> +She is not dead! She is not dead!<br> +God, listening, must have overheard<br> +The prayers, that, without sound or word,<br> +Our hearts in secrecy have said!<br> +O, bring me to her; for mine eyes<br> +Are hungry to behold her face;<br> +My very soul within me cries;<br> +My very hands seem to caress her,<br> +To see her, gaze at her, and bless her;<br> +Dear Elsie, child of God and grace!<p></p> + + (<i>Goes out toward the garden.</i>)<br><p></p> + + <i>Forester.</i> There goes the good woman out of her head;<br> +And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here;<br> +A very capacious flagon of beer,<br> +And a very portentous loaf of bread.<br> +One would say his grief did not much oppress him.<br> +Here's to the health of the Prince, God bless him!<p></p> + + (<i>He drinks.</i>)<br><p></p> + +Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet!<br> +And what a scene there, through the door!<br> +The forest behind and the garden before,<br> +And midway an old man of threescore,<br> +With a wife and children that caress him.<br> +Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it<br> +With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet!<p></p> + + (<i>Goes out blowing his horn.</i>)<br> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +PRINCE HENRY <i>and</i> ELSIE <i>standing on the terrace at +evening. The sound of bells heard from a distance.</i><p></p> + + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> We are alone. The wedding guests<br> +Ride down the hill, with plumes and cloaks,<br> +And the descending dark invests<br> +The Niederwald, and all the nests<br> +Among its hoar and haunted oaks.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> What bells are those, that ring so slow,<br> +So mellow, musical, and low?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> They are the bells of Geisenheim,<br> +That with their melancholy chime<br> +Ring out the curfew of the sun.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Listen, beloved.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> They are done!<br> +Dear Elsie! many years ago<br> +Those same soft bells at eventide<br> +Rang in the ears of Charlemagne,<br> +As, seated by Fastrada's side<br> +At Ingelheim, in all his pride<br> +He heard their sound with secret pain.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Their voices only speak to me<br> +Of peace and deep tranquillity,<br> +And endless confidence in thee!<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Thou knowest the story of her ring,<br> +How, when the court went back to Aix,<br> +Fastrada died; and how the king<br> +Sat watching by her night and day,<br> +Till into one of the blue lakes,<br> +That water that delicious land,<br> +They cast the ring, drawn from her hand;<br> +And the great monarch sat serene<br> +And sad beside the fated shore,<br> +Nor left the land forever more.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> That was true love.<br><p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> For him the queen<br> +Ne'er did what thou hast done for me.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Wilt thou as fond and faithful be?<br> +Wilt thou so love me after death?<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> In life's delight, in death's dismay,<br> +In storm and sunshine, night and day,<br> +In health, in sickness, in decay,<br> +Here and hereafter, I am thine!<br> +Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Beneath<br> +The calm, blue waters of thine eyes<br> +Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies,<br> +And, undisturbed by this world's breath,<br> +With magic light its jewels shine!<br> +This golden ring, which thou hast worn<br> +Upon thy finger since the morn,<br> +Is but a symbol and a semblance,<br> +An outward fashion, a remembrance,<br> +Of what thou wearest within unseen,<br> +O my Fastrada, O my queen!<br> +Behold! the hilltops all aglow<br> +With purple and with amethyst;<br> +While the whole valley deep below<br> +Is filled, and seems to overflow,<br> +With a fast-rising tide of mist.<br> +The evening air grows damp and chill;<br> +Let us go in.<p></p> + + <i>Elsie.</i> Ah, not so soon.<br> +See yonder fire! It is the moon<br> +Slow rising o'er the eastern hill.<br> +It glimmers on the forest tips,<br> +And through the dewy foliage drips<br> +In little rivulets of light,<br> +And makes the heart in love with night.<p></p> + + <i>Prince Henry.</i> Oft on this terrace, when the day<br> +Was closing, have I stood and gazed,<br> +And seen the landscape fade away,<br> +And the white vapors rise and drown<br> +Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town<br> +While far above the hilltops blazed.<br> +But men another hand than thine<br> +Was gently held and clasped in mine;<br> +Another head upon my breast<br> +Was laid, as thine is now, at rest.<br> +Why dost thou lift those tender eyes<br> +With so much sorrow and surprise?<br> +A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand,<br> +Was that which in my own was pressed.<br> +A manly form usurped thy place,<br> +A beautiful, but bearded face,<br> +That now is in the Holy Land,<br> +Yet in my memory from afar<br> +Is shining on us like a star.<br> +But linger not. For while I speak,<br> +A sheeted spectre white and tall,<br> +The cold mist climbs the castle wall,<br> +And lays his hand upon thy cheek!<p></p> + + (<i>They go in.</i>)<br><p></p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> +<br> + +<h2>EPILOGUE.</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + +<h2>THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;"> + <i>The Angel of Good Deeds</i> (<i>with closed book</i>). God sent his<br> + messenger the rain,<br> +And said unto the mountain brook,<br> +"Rise up, and from thy caverns look<br> +And leap, with naked, snow-white feet.<br> +From the cool hills into the heat<br> +Of the broad, arid plain."<p></p> + +God sent his messenger of faith,<br> +And whispered in the maiden's heart,<br> +"Rise up, and look from where thou art,<br> +And scatter with unselfish hands<br> +Thy freshness on the barren sands<br> +And solitudes of Death."<br> +O beauty of holiness,<br> +Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness!<br> +O power of meekness,<br> +Whose very gentleness and weakness<br> +Are like the yielding, but irresistible air!<br> +Upon the pages<br> +Of the sealed volume that I bear,<br> +The deed divine<br> +Is written in characters of gold,<br> +That never shall grow old,<br> +But all through ages<br> +Burn and shine,<br> +With soft effulgence!<br> +O God! it is thy indulgence<br> +That fills the world with the bliss<br> +Of a good deed like this!<p></p> + + <i>The Angel of Evil Deeds (with open book).</i> Not yet, not yet<br> +Is the red sun wholly set,<br> +But evermore recedes,<br> +While open still I bear<br> +The Book of Evil Deeds,<br> +To let the breathings of the upper air<br> +Visit its pages and erase<br> +The records from its face!<br> +Fainter and fainter as I gaze<br> +On the broad blaze<br> +The glimmering landscape shines,<br> +And below me the black river<br> +Is hidden by wreaths of vapor!<br> +Fainter and fainter the black lines<br> +Begin to quiver<br> +Along the whitening surface of the paper;<br> +Shade after shade<br> +The terrible words grow faint and fade,<br> +And in their place<br> +Runs a white space!<p></p> + +Down goes the sun!<br> +But the soul of one,<br> +Who by repentance<br> +Has escaped the dreadful sentence,<br> +Shines bright below me as I look.<br> +It is the end!<br> +With closed Book<br> +To God do I ascend.<p></p> + +Lo! over the mountain steeps<br> +A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps<br> +Beneath my feet;<br> +A blackness inwardly brightening<br> +With sullen heat,<br> +As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning.<br> +And a cry of lamentation,<br> +Repeated and again repeated,<br> +Deep and loud<br> +As the reverberation<br> +Of cloud answering unto cloud,<br> +Swells and rolls away in the distance,<br> +As if the sheeted<br> +Lightning retreated,<br> +Baffled and thwarted by the wind's resistance.<p></p> + +It is Lucifer,<br> +The son of mystery;<br> +And since God suffers him to be,<br> +He, too, is God's minister,<br> +And labors for some good<br> +By us not understood!<p></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Golden Legend, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN LEGEND *** + +***** This file should be named 10490-h.htm or 10490-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/9/10490/ + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Golden Legend + +Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +Release Date: December 18, 2003 [EBook #10490] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN LEGEND *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +THE + +GOLDEN LEGEND + +BY + +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW + + + + +THE GOLDEN LEGEND + + +PROLOGUE. + + + +THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL. + + +_Night and storm._ LUCIFER, _with the Powers of the +Air, trying to tear down the Cross._ + + _Lucifer._ HASTEN! hasten! +O ye spirits! +From its station drag the ponderous +Cross of iron, that to mock us +Is uplifted high in air! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +For around it +All the Saints and Guardian Angels +Throng in legions to protect it; +They defeat us everywhere! + + _The Bells._ Laudo Deum verum + Plebem voco! + Congrego clerum! + + _Lucifer._ Lower! lower! +Hover downward! +Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and +Clashing, clanging, to the pavement +Hurl them from their windy tower! + + _Voices._ All thy thunders +Here are harmless! +For these bells have been anointed, +And baptized with holy water! +They defy our utmost power. + + _The Bells._ Defunctos ploro! + Pestem fugo! + Festa decoro! + + _Lucifer._ Shake the casements! +Break the painted +Panes that flame with gold and crimson! +Scatter them like leaves of Autumn, +Swept away before the blast! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +The Archangel +Michael flames from every window, +With the sword of fire that drove us +Headlong, out of heaven, aghast! + + _The Bells._ Funera plango! + Fulgora frango! + Sabbata pango! + + _Lucifer._ Aim your lightnings +At the oaken, +Massive, iron-studded portals! +Sack the house of God, and scatter +Wide the ashes of the dead! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +The Apostles +And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, +Stand as wardens at the entrance, +Stand as sentinels o'erhead! + + _The Bells._ Excito lentos! + Dissipo ventos! + Paco cruentos! + + _Lucifer._ Baffled! baffled! +Inefficient, +Craven spirits! leave this labor +Unto Time, the great Destroyer! +Come away, ere night is gone! + + _Voices._ Onward! onward! +With the night-wind, +Over field and farm and forest, +Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, +Blighting all we breathe upon! + + (_They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant._) + + _Choir._ Nocte surgentes + Vig lemus omnes! + + * * * * * + +I. + + +THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE. + + * * * * * + +_A chamber in a tower._ PRINCE HENRY, _sitting alone, +ill and restless._ + + _Prince Henry._ I cannot sleep! my fervid brain +Calls up the vanished Past again, +And throws its misty splendors deep +Into the pallid realms of sleep! +A breath from that far-distant shore +Comes freshening ever more and more, +And wafts o'er intervening seas +Sweet odors from the Hesperides! +A wind, that through the corridor +Just stirs the curtain, and no more, +And, touching the aeolian strings, +Faints with the burden that it brings! +Come back! ye friendships long departed! +That like o'erflowing streamlets started, +And now are dwindled, one by one, +To stony channels in the sun! +Come back! ye friends, whose lives are ended! +Come back, with all that light attended, +Which seemed to darken and decay +When ye arose and went away! +They come, the shapes of joy and woe, +The airy crowds of long-ago, +The dreams and fancies known of yore, +That have been, and shall be no more. +They change the cloisters of the night +Into a garden of delight; +They make the dark and dreary hours +Open and blossom into flowers! +I would not sleep! I love to be +Again in their fair company; +But ere my lips can bid them stay, +They pass and vanish quite away! + +Alas! our memories may retrace +Each circumstance of time and place, +Season and scene come back again, +And outward things unchanged remain; +The rest we cannot reinstate; +Ourselves we cannot re-create, +Nor set our souls to the same key +Of the remembered harmony! + +Rest! rest! O, give me rest and peace! +The thought of life that ne'er shall cease +Has something in it like despair, +A weight I am too weak to bear! +Sweeter to this afflicted breast +The thought of never-ending rest! +Sweeter the undisturbed and deep +Tranquillity of endless sleep! + + +(_A flash of lightning, out of which_ LUCIFER _appears, +in the garb of a travelling Physician._) + + _Lucifer_. All hail Prince Henry! + + _Prince Henry_ (_starting_). Who is it speaks? +Who and what are you? + + _Lucifer_. One who seeks +A moment's audience with the Prince. + + _Prince Henry_. When came you in? + + _Lucifer_. A moment since. +I found your study door unlocked, +And thought you answered when I knocked. + + _Prince Henry_. I did not hear you. + + _Lucifer_. You heard the thunder; +It was loud enough to waken the dead. +And it is not a matter of special wonder +That, when God is walking overhead, +You should not have heard my feeble tread. + + _Prince Henry_. What may your wish or purpose be? + + _Lucifer_. Nothing or everything, as it pleases +Your Highness. You behold in me +Only a traveling Physician; +One of the few who have a mission +To cure incurable diseases, +Or those that are called so. + + _Prince Henry_. Can you bring +The dead to life? + + _Lucifer_. Yes; very nearly. +And, what is a wiser and better thing, +Can keep the living from ever needing +Such an unnatural, strange proceeding, +By showing conclusively and clearly +That death is a stupid blunder merely, +And not a necessity of our lives. +My being here is accidental; +The storm, that against your casement drives, +In the little village below waylaid me. +And there I heard, with a secret delight, +Of your maladies physical and mental, +Which neither astonished nor dismayed me. +And I hastened hither, though late in the night, +To proffer my aid! + + _Prince Henry (ironically)_ For this you came! +Ah, how can I ever hope to requite +This honor from one so erudite? + + _Lucifer_. The honor is mine, or will be when +I have cured your disease. + + _Prince Henry_. But not till then. + + _Lucifer_. What is your illness? + + _Prince Henry_. It has no name. +A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, +As in a kiln, burns in my veins, +Sending up vapors to the head, +My heart has become a dull lagoon, +Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains; +I am accounted as one who is dead, +And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon. + + _Lucifer_ And has Gordonius the Divine, +In his famous Lily of Medicine,-- +I see the book lies open before you,-- +No remedy potent enough to restore you? + + _Prince Henry_. None whatever! + + _Lucifer_ The dead are dead, +And their oracles dumb, when questioned +Of the new diseases that human life +Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. +Consult the dead upon things that were, +But the living only on things that are. +Have you done this, by the appliance +And aid of doctors? + + _Prince Henry_. Ay, whole schools +Of doctors, with their learned rules, +But the case is quite beyond their science. +Even the doctors of Salern +Send me back word they can discern +No cure for a malady like this, +Save one which in its nature is +Impossible, and cannot be! + + _Lucifer_ That sounds oracular! + + _Prince Henry_ Unendurable! + + _Lucifer_ What is their remedy? + + _Prince Henry_ You shall see; +Writ in this scroll is the mystery. + + _Lucifer (reading)._ "Not to be cured, yet not incurable! +The only remedy that remains +Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins, +Who of her own free will shall die, +And give her life as the price of yours!" +That is the strangest of all cures, +And one, I think, you will never try; +The prescription you may well put by, +As something impossible to find +Before the world itself shall end! +And yet who knows? One cannot say +That into some maiden's brain that kind +Of madness will not find its way. +Meanwhile permit me to recommend, +As the matter admits of no delay, +My wonderful Catholicon, +Of very subtile and magical powers! + + _Prince Henry._ Purge with your nostrums and drugs infernal +The spouts and gargoyles of these towers, +Not me! My faith is utterly gone +In every power but the Power Supernal! +Pray tell me, of what school are you? + + _Lucifer._ Both of the Old and of the New! +The school of Hermes Trismegistus, +Who uttered his oracles sublime +Before the Olympiads, in the dew +Of the early dawn and dusk of Time, +The reign of dateless old Hephaestus! +As northward, from its Nubian springs, +The Nile, forever new and old, +Among the living and the dead, +Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled; +So, starting from its fountain-head +Under the lotus-leaves of Isis, +From the dead demigods of eld, +Through long, unbroken lines of kings +Its course the sacred art has held, +Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices. +This art the Arabian Geber taught, +And in alembics, finely wrought, +Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered +The secret that so long had hovered +Upon the misty verge of Truth, +The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, +Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech! +Like him, this wondrous lore I teach! + + _Prince Henry._ What! an adept? + + _Lucifer._ Nor less, nor more! + + _Prince Henry._ I am a reader of such books, +A lover of that mystic lore! +With such a piercing glance it looks +Into great Nature's open eye, +And sees within it trembling lie +The portrait of the Deity! +And yet, alas! with all my pains, +The secret and the mystery +Have baffled and eluded me, +Unseen the grand result remains! + + _Lucifer (showing a flask)._ Behold it here! this little flask +Contains the wonderful quintessence, +The perfect flower and efflorescence, +Of all the knowledge man can ask! +Hold it up thus against the light! + + _Prince Henry._ How limpid, pure, and crystalline, +How quick, and tremulous, and bright +The little wavelets dance and shine, +As were it the Water of Life in sooth! + + _Lucifer._ It is! It assuages every pain, +Cures all disease, and gives again +To age the swift delights of youth. +Inhale its fragrance. + + _Prince Henry._ It is sweet. +A thousand different odors meet +And mingle in its rare perfume, +Such as the winds of summer waft +At open windows through a room! + + _Lucifer._ Will you not taste it? + + _Prince Henry._ Will one draught +Suffice? + + _Lucifer._ If not, you can drink more. + + _Prince Henry._ Into this crystal goblet pour +So much as safely I may drink. + + _Lucifer (pouring)._ Let not the quantity alarm you: +You may drink all; it will not harm you. + + _Prince Henry._ I am as one who on the brink +Of a dark river stands and sees +The waters flow, the landscape dim +Around him waver, wheel, and swim, +And, ere he plunges, stops to think +Into what whirlpools he may sink; +One moment pauses, and no more, +Then madly plunges from the shore! +Headlong into the dark mysteries +Of life and death I boldly leap, +Nor fear the fateful current's sweep, +Nor what in ambush lurks below! +For death is better than disease! + + (_An_ ANGEL _with an aeolian harp hovers in the air_.) + + _Angel._ Woe! woe! eternal woe! +Not only the whispered prayer +Of love, +But the imprecations of hate, +Reverberate +Forever and ever through the air +Above! +This fearful curse +Shakes the great universe! + + _Lucifer (disappearing)._ Drink! drink! +And thy soul shall sink +Down into the dark abyss, +Into the infinite abyss, +From which no plummet nor rope +Ever drew up the silver sand of hope! + + _Prince Henry (drinking)._ It is like a draught of fire! +Through every vein +I feel again +The fever of youth, the soft desire; +A rapture that is almost pain +Throbs in my heart and fills my brain! +O joy! O joy! I feel +The band of steel +That so long and heavily has pressed +Upon my breast +Uplifted, and the malediction +Of my affliction +Is taken from me, and my weary breast +At length finds rest. + + _The Angel._ It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air + has been taken! +It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken! +It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow! +It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow! +With fiendish laughter, +Hereafter, +This false physician +Will mock thee in thy perdition. + + _Prince Henry._ Speak! speak! +Who says that I am ill? +I am not ill! I am not weak! +The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er! +I feel the chill of death no more! +At length, +I stand renewed in all my strength! +Beneath me I can feel +The great earth stagger and reel, +As it the feet of a descending God +Upon its surface trod, +And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel! +This, O brave physician! this +Is thy great Palingenesis! + + (_Drinks again_.) + + _The Angel._ Touch the goblet no more! +It will make thy heart sore +To its very core! +Its perfume is the breath +Of the Angel of Death, +And the light that within it lies +Is the flash of his evil eyes. +Beware! O, beware! +For sickness, sorrow, and care +All are there! + + _Prince Henry (sinking back)._ O thou voice within my breast! +Why entreat me, why upbraid me, +When the steadfast tongues of truth +And the flattering hopes of youth +Have all deceived me and betrayed me? +Give me, give me rest, O, rest! +Golden visions wave and hover, +Golden vapors, waters streaming, +Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming! +I am like a happy lover +Who illumines life with dreaming! +Brave physician! Rare physician! +Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission! + + (_His head falls On his book_.) + + _The Angel (receding)._ Alas! alas! +Like a vapor the golden vision +Shall fade and pass, +And thou wilt find in thy heart again +Only the blight of pain, +And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition! + + * * * * * + +COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE. + + * * * * * + +HUBERT _standing by the gateway._ + + _Hubert._ How sad the grand old castle looks! +O'erhead, the unmolested rooks +Upon the turret's windy top +Sit, talking of the farmer's crop; +Here in the court-yard springs the grass, +So few are now the feet that pass; +The stately peacocks, bolder grown, +Come hopping down the steps of stone, +As if the castle were their own; +And I, the poor old seneschal, +Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. +Alas! the merry guests no more +Crowd through the hospital door; +No eyes with youth and passion shine, +No cheeks glow redder than the wine; +No song, no laugh, no jovial din +Of drinking wassail to the pin; +But all is silent, sad, and drear, +And now the only sounds I hear +Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, +And horses stamping in their stalls! + + (_A horn sounds_.) + +What ho! that merry, sudden blast +Reminds me of the days long past! +And, as of old resounding, grate +The heavy hinges of the gate, +And, clattering loud, with iron clank, +Down goes the sounding bridge of plank, +As if it were in haste to greet +The pressure of a traveler's feet! + + (_Enter_ WALTER _the Minnesinger_.) + + _Walter._ How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely! +No banner flying from the walls, +No pages and no seneschals, +No wardens, and one porter only! +Is it you, Hubert? + + _Hubert._ Ah! Master Walter! + + _Walter._ Alas! how forms and faces alter! +I did not know you. You look older! +Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner, +And you stoop a little in the shoulder! + + _Hubert._ Alack! I am a poor old sinner, +And, like these towers, begin to moulder; +And you have been absent many a year! + + _Walter._ How is the Prince? + + _Hubert._ He is not here; +He has been ill: and now has fled. + +_Walter._ Speak it out frankly: say he's dead! +Is it not so? + + _Hubert._ No; if you please; +A strange, mysterious disease +Fell on him with a sudden blight. +Whole hours together he would stand +Upon the terrace, in a dream, +Resting his head upon his hand, +Best pleased when he was most alone, +Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone, +Looking down into a stream. +In the Round Tower, night after night, +He sat, and bleared his eyes with books; +Until one morning we found him there +Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon +He had fallen from his chair. +We hardly recognized his sweet looks! + + _Walter._ Poor Prince! + + _Hubert._ I think he might have mended; +And he did mend; but very soon +The Priests came flocking in, like rooks, +With all their crosiers and their crooks, +And so at last the matter ended. + + _Walter._ How did it end? + + _Hubert._ Why, in Saint Rochus +They made him stand, and wait his doom; +And, as if he were condemned to the tomb, +Began to mutter their hocus pocus. +First, the Mass for the Dead they chaunted. +Then three times laid upon his head +A shovelful of church-yard clay, +Saying to him, as he stood undaunted, +"This is a sign that thou art dead, +So in thy heart be penitent!" +And forth from the chapel door he went +Into disgrace and banishment, +Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, +And bearing a wallet, and a bell, +Whose sound should be a perpetual knell +To keep all travelers away. + + _Walter._ O, horrible fate! Outcast, rejected, +As one with pestilence infected! + + _Hubert._ Then was the family tomb unsealed, +And broken helmet, sword and shield, +Buried together, in common wreck, +As is the custom, when the last +Of any princely house has passed, +And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, +A herald shouted down the stair +The words of warning and despair,-- +"O Hoheneck! O Hoheneck!" + + _Walter_. Still in my soul that cry goes on,-- +Forever gone! forever gone! +Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, +Like a black shadow, would fall across +The hearts of all, if he should die! +His gracious presence upon earth +Was as a fire upon a hearth; +As pleasant songs, at morning sung, +The words that dropped from his sweet tongue +Strengthened our hearts; or, heard at night, +Made all our slumbers soft and light. +Where is he? + + _Hubert._ In the Odenwald. +Some of his tenants, unappalled +By fear of death, or priestly word,-- +A holy family, that make +Each meal a Supper of the Lord,-- +Have him beneath their watch and ward, +For love of him, and Jesus' sake! +Pray you come in. For why should I +With outdoor hospitality +My prince's friend thus entertain? + + _Walter._ I would a moment here remain. +But you, good Hubert, go before, +Fill me a goblet of May-drink, +As aromatic as the May +From which it steals the breath away, +And which he loved so well of yore; +It is of him that I would think +You shall attend me, when I call, +In the ancestral banquet hall. +Unseen companions, guests of air, +You cannot wait on, will be there; +They taste not food, they drink not wine, +But their soft eyes look into mine, +And their lips speak to me, and all +The vast and shadowy banquet-hall +Is full of looks and words divine! + + (_Leaning over the parapet_.) + +The day is done; and slowly from the scene +The stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, +And puts them back into his golden quiver! +Below me in the valley, deep and green +As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts +We drink its wine, the swift and mantling river +Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions, +Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent, +And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent! +Yes, there it flows, forever, broad and still, +As when the vanguard of the Roman legions +First saw it from the top of yonder hill! +How beautiful it is! Fresh fields of wheat, +Vineyard, and town, and tower with fluttering flag, +The consecrated chapel on the crag, +And the white hamlet gathered round its base, +Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet, +And looking up at his beloved face! +O friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more +Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er! + + + + +II. + +A FARM IN THE ODENWALD + + * * * * * + +_A garden; morning;_ PRINCE HENRY _seated, with a +book_. ELSIE, _at a distance, gathering flowers._ + + _Prince Henry (reading)._ One morning, all alone, +Out of his convent of gray stone, +Into the forest older, darker, grayer, +His lips moving as if in prayer, +His head sunken upon his breast +As in a dream of rest, +Walked the Monk Felix. All about +The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, +Filling the summer air; +And within the woodlands as he trod, +The twilight was like the Truce of God +With worldly woe and care; +Under him lay the golden moss; +And above him the boughs of hemlock-tree +Waved, and made the sign of the cross, +And whispered their Benedicites; +And from the ground +Rose an odor sweet and fragrant +Of the wild flowers and the vagrant +Vines that wandered, +Seeking the sunshine, round and round. +These he heeded not, but pondered +On the volume in his hand, +A volume of Saint Augustine; +Wherein he read of the unseen +Splendors of God's great town +In the unknown land, +And, with his eyes cast down +In humility, he said: +"I believe, O God, +What herein I have read, +But alas! I do not understand!" + +And lo! he heard +The sudden singing of a bird, +A snow-white bird, that from a cloud +Dropped down, +And among the branches brown +Sat singing +So sweet, and clear, and loud, +It seemed a thousand harp strings ringing. +And the Monk Felix closed his book, +And long, long, +With rapturous look, +He listened to the song, +And hardly breathed or stirred, +Until he saw, as in a vision, +The land Elysian, +And in the heavenly city heard +Angelic feet +Fall on the golden flagging of the street. +And he would fain +Have caught the wondrous bird, +But strove in vain; +For it flew away, away, +Far over hill and dell, +And instead of its sweet singing +He heard the convent bell +Suddenly in the silence ringing +For the service of noonday. +And he retraced +His pathway homeward sadly and in haste. + +In the convent there was a change! +He looked for each well known face, +But the faces were new and strange; +New figures sat in the oaken stalls, +New voices chaunted in the choir, +Yet the place was the same place, +The same dusky walls +Of cold, gray stone, +The same cloisters and belfry and spire. + +A stranger and alone +Among that brotherhood +The Monk Felix stood +"Forty years," said a Friar. +"Have I been Prior +Of this convent in the wood, +But for that space +Never have I beheld thy face!" + +The heart of the Monk Felix fell: +And he answered with submissive tone, +"This morning, after the hour of Prime, +I left my cell, +And wandered forth alone, +Listening all the time +To the melodious singing +Of a beautiful white bird, +Until I heard +The bells of the convent ringing +Noon from their noisy towers, +It was as if I dreamed; +For what to me had seemed +Moments only, had been hours!" + +"Years!" said a voice close by. +It was an aged monk who spoke, +From a bench of oak +Fastened against the wall;-- +He was the oldest monk of all. +For a whole century +Had he been there, +Serving God in prayer, +The meekest and humblest of his creatures. +He remembered well the features +Of Felix, and he said, +Speaking distinct and slow: +"One hundred years ago, +When I was a novice in this place, +There was here a monk, full of God's grace, +Who bore the name +Of Felix, and this man must be the same." + +And straightway +They brought forth to the light of day +A volume old and brown, +A huge tome, bound +With brass and wild-boar's hide, +Therein were written down +The names of all who had died +In the convent, since it was edified. +And there they found, +Just as the old monk said, +That on a certain day and date, +One hundred years before, +Had gone forth from the convent gate +The Monk Felix, and never more +Had entered that sacred door. +He had been counted among the dead! +And they knew, at last, +That, such had been the power +Of that celestial and immortal song, +A hundred years had passed, +And had not seemed so long +As a single hour! + + (ELSIE _comes in with flowers._) + + _Elsie._ Here are flowers for you, +But they are not all for you. +Some of them are for the Virgin +And for Saint Cecilia. + + _Prince Henry._ As thou standest there, +Thou seemest to me like the angel +That brought the immortal roses +To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. + + _Elsie._ But these will fade. + + _Prince Henry._ Themselves will fade, +But not their memory, +And memory has the power +To re-create them from the dust. +They remind me, too, +Of martyred Dorothea, +Who from celestial gardens sent +Flowers as her witnesses +To him who scoffed and doubted. + + _Elsie._ Do you know the story +Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter? +That is the prettiest legend of them all. + + _Prince Henry._ Then tell it to me. +But first come hither. +Lay the flowers down beside me. +And put both thy hands in mine. +Now tell me the story. + + _Elsie._ Early in the morning +The Sultan's daughter +Walked in her father's garden, +Gathering the bright flowers, +All full of dew. + + _Prince Henry._ Just as thou hast been doing +This morning, dearest Elsie. + + _Elsie._ And as she gathered them, +She wondered more and more +Who was the Master of the Flowers, +And made them grow +Out of the cold, dark earth. +"In my heart," she said, +"I love him; and for him +Would leave my father's palace, +To labor in his garden." + + _Prince Henry._ Dear, innocent child! +How sweetly thou recallest +The long-forgotten legend, +That in my early childhood +My mother told me! +Upon my brain +It reappears once more, +As a birth-mark on the forehead +When a hand suddenly +Is laid upon it, and removed! + + _Elsie._ And at midnight, +As she lay upon her bed, +She heard a voice +Call to her from the garden, +And, looking forth from her window, +She saw a beautiful youth +Standing among the flowers. +It was the Lord Jesus; +And she went down to him, +And opened the door for him; +And he said to her, "O maiden! +Thou hast thought of me with love, +And for thy sake +Out of my Father's kingdom +Have I come hither: +I am the Master of the Flowers. +My garden is in Paradise, +And if thou wilt go with me, +Thy bridal garland +Shall be of bright red flowers." +And then he took from his finger +A golden ring, +And asked the Sultan's daughter +If she would be his bride. +And when she answered him with love, +His wounds began to bleed, +And she said to him, +"O Love! how red thy heart is, +And thy hands are full of roses," +"For thy sake," answered he, +"For thy sake is my heart so red, +For thee I bring these roses. +I gathered them at the cross +Whereon I died for thee! +Come, for my Father calls. +Thou art my elected bride!" +And the Sultan's daughter +Followed him to his Father's garden. + + _Prince Henry._ Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie? + + _Elsie._ Yes, very gladly. + + _Prince Henry._ Then the Celestial Bridegroom +Will come for thee also. +Upon thy forehead he will place, +Not his crown of thorns, +But a crown of roses. +In thy bridal chamber, +Like Saint Cecilia, +Thou shall hear sweet music, +And breathe the fragrance +Of flowers immortal! +Go now and place these flowers +Before her picture. + + + * * * * * + + +A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. + + * * * * * + +_Twilight._ URSULA _spinning._ GOTTLIEB _asleep in his +chair._ + + _Ursula._ Darker and darker! Hardly a glimmer +Of light comes in at the window-pane; +Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer? +I cannot disentangle this skein, +Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. +Elsie! + + _Gottlieb (starting)_. The stopping of thy wheel +Has wakened me out of a pleasant dream. +I thought I was sitting beside a stream, +And heard the grinding of a mill, +When suddenly the wheels stood still, +And a voice cried "Elsie" in my ear! +It startled me, it seemed so near. + + _Ursula._ I was calling her: I want a light. +I cannot see to spin my flax. +Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear? + + _Elsie (within)._ In a moment! + + _Gottlieb._ Where are Bertha and Max? + + _Ursula._ They are sitting with Elsie at the door. +She is telling them stories of the wood, +And the Wolf, and Little Red Ridinghood. + + _Gottlieb_. And where is the Prince? + + _Ursula_. In his room overhead; +I heard him walking across the floor, +As he always does, with a heavy tread. + +(ELSIE _comes in with a lamp_. MAX _and_ BERTHA _follow her; +and they all sing the Evening Song on the lighting of the lamps_.) + + + EVENING SONG. + + O gladsome light + Of the Father Immortal, + And of the celestial + Sacred and blessed + Jesus, our Saviour! + + Now to the sunset + Again hast thou brought us; + And, seeing the evening + Twilight, we bless thee, + Praise thee, adore thee! + + Father omnipotent! + Son, the Life-giver! + Spirit, the Comforter! + Worthy at all times + Of worship and wonder! + + + _Prince Henry (at the door)_. Amen! + + _Ursula_. Who was it said Amen? + + _Elsie_. It was the Prince: he stood at the door, +And listened a moment, as we chaunted +The evening song. He is gone again. +I have often seen him there before. + + _Ursula_. Poor Prince! + + _Gottlieb_. I thought the house was haunted! +Poor Prince, alas! and yet as mild +And patient as the gentlest child! + + _Max._ I love him because he is so good, +And makes me such fine bows and arrows, +To shoot at the robins and the sparrows, +And the red squirrels in the wood! + + _Bertha._ I love him, too! + + _Gottlieb._ Ah, yes! we all +Love him, from the bottom of our hearts; +He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange, +He gave us the horses and the carts, +And the great oxen in the stall, +The vineyard, and the forest range! +We have nothing to give him but our love! + + _Bertha._ Did he give us the beautiful stork above +On the chimney-top, with its large, round nest? + + _Gottlieb._ No, not the stork; by God in heaven, +As a blessing, the dear, white stork was given; +But the Prince has given us all the rest. +God bless him, and make him well again. + + _Elsie._ Would I could do something for his sake, +Something to cure his sorrow and pain! + + _Gottlieb._ That no one can; neither thou nor I, +Nor any one else. + + _Elsie._ And must he die? + + _Ursula._ Yes; if the dear God does not take +Pity upon him, in his distress, +And work a miracle! + + _Gottlieb._ Or unless +Some maiden, of her own accord, +Offers her life for that of her lord, +And is willing to die in his stead. + + _Elsie._ I will! + + _Ursula._ Prithee, thou foolish child, be still! +Thou shouldst not say what thou dost not mean! + + _Elsie._ I mean it truly! + + _Max._ O father! this morning, +Down by the mill, in the ravine, +Hans killed a wolf, the very same +That in the night to the sheepfold came, +And ate up my lamb, that was left outside. + + _Gottlieb._ I am glad he is dead. It will be a warning +To the wolves in the forest, far and wide. + + _Max._ And I am going to have his hide! + + _Bertha._ I wonder if this is the wolf that ate +Little Red Ridinghood! + + _Ursula._ O, no! +That wolf was killed a long while ago. +Come, children, it is growing late. + + _Max._ Ah, how I wish I were a man, +As stout as Hans is, and as strong! +I would do nothing else, the whole day long, +But just kill wolves. + + _Gottlieb._ Then go to bed, +And grow as fast as a little boy can. +Bertha is half asleep already. +See how she nods her heavy head, +And her sleepy feet are so unsteady +She will hardly be able to creep upstairs. + + _Ursula._ Good-night, my children. Here's the light. +And do not forget to say your prayers +Before you sleep. + + _Gottlieb._ Good-night! + + _Max and Bertha._ Good-night! + + (_They go out with_ ELSIE.) + + _Ursula, (spinning)._ She is a strange and wayward child, +That Elsie of ours. She looks so old, +And thoughts and fancies weird and wild +Seem of late to have taken hold +Of her heart, that was once so docile and mild! + + _Gottlieb._ She is like all girls. + + _Ursula._ Ah no, forsooth! +Unlike all I have ever seen. +For she has visions and strange dreams, +And in all her words and ways, she seems +Much older than she is in truth. +Who would think her but fourteen? +And there has been of late such a change! +My heart is heavy with fear and doubt +That she may not live till the year is out. +She is so strange,--so strange,--so strange! + + _Gottlieb._ I am not troubled with any such fear! +She will live and thrive for many a year. + + * * * * * + +ELSIE'S CHAMBER. + + * * * * * + +_Night._ ELSIE _praying._ + + _Elsie._ My Redeemer and my Lord, +I beseech thee, I entreat thee, +Guide me in each act and word, +That hereafter I may meet thee, +Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning, +With my lamp well trimmed and burning! + +Interceding +With these bleeding +Wounds upon thy hands and side, +For all who have lived and erred +Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, +Scourged, and mocked, and crucified, +And in the grave hast thou been buried! + +If my feeble prayer can reach thee, +O my Saviour, I beseech thee, +Even as thou hast died for me, +More sincerely +Let me follow where thou leadest, +Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, +Die, if dying I may give +Life to one who asks to live, +And more nearly, +Dying thus, resemble thee! + + * * * * * + +THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND URSULA. + + * * * * * + +_Midnight._ ELSIE _standing by their bedside, weeping._ + + _Gottlieb._ The wind is roaring; the rushing rain +Is loud upon roof and window-pane, +As if the Wild Huntsman of Rodenstein, +Boding evil to me and mine, +Were abroad to-night with his ghostly train! +In the brief lulls of the tempest wild, +The dogs howl in the yard; and hark! +Some one is sobbing in the dark, +Here in the chamber! + + _Elsie._ It is I. + + _Ursula._ Elsie! what ails thee, my poor child? + + _Elsie._ I am disturbed and much distressed, +In thinking our dear Prince must die, +I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest. + + _Gottlieb._ What wouldst thou? In the Power Divine +His healing lies, not in our own; +It is in the hand of God alone. + + _Elsie._ Nay, he has put it into mine, +And into my heart! + + _Gottlieb._ Thy words are wild! + + _Ursula._ What dost thou mean? my child! my child! + + _Elsie._ That for our dear Prince Henry's sake +I will myself the offering make, +And give my life to purchase his. + + _Ursula_ Am I still dreaming, or awake? +Thou speakest carelessly of death, +And yet thou knowest not what it is. + + _Elsie._ 'T is the cessation of our breath. +Silent and motionless we lie; +And no one knoweth more than this. +I saw our little Gertrude die, +She left off breathing, and no more +I smoothed the pillow beneath her head. +She was more beautiful than before. +Like violets faded were her eyes; +By this we knew that she was dead. +Through the open window looked the skies +Into the chamber where she lay, +And the wind was like the sound of wings, +As if angels came to bear her away. +Ah! when I saw and felt these things, +I found it difficult to stay; +I longed to die, as she had died, +And go forth with her, side by side. +The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead, +And Mary, and our Lord, and I +Would follow in humility +The way by them illumined! + + _Ursula._ My child! my child! thou must not die! + + _Elsie_ Why should I live? Do I not know +The life of woman is full of woe? +Toiling on and on and on, +With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, +And silent lips, and in the soul +The secret longings that arise, +Which this world never satisfies! +Some more, some less, but of the whole +Not one quite happy, no, not one! + + _Ursula._ It is the malediction of Eve! + + _Elsie._ In place of it, let me receive +The benediction of Mary, then. + + _Gottlieb._ Ah, woe is me! Ah, woe is me! +Most wretched am I among men! + + _Ursula._ Alas! that I should live to see +Thy death, beloved, and to stand +Above thy grave! Ah, woe the day! + + _Elsie._ Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie +Beneath the flowers of another land, +For at Salerno, far away +Over the mountains, over the sea, +It is appointed me to die! +And it will seem no more to thee +Than if at the village on market-day +I should a little longer stay +Than I am used. + + _Ursula._ Even as thou sayest! +And how my heart beats, when thou stayest! +I cannot rest until my sight +Is satisfied with seeing thee. +What, then, if thou wert dead? + + _Gottlieb_ Ah me! +Of our old eyes thou art the light! +The joy of our old hearts art thou! +And wilt thou die? + + _Ursula._ Not now! not now! + + _Elsie_ Christ died for me, and shall not I +Be willing for my Prince to die? +You both are silent; you cannot speak. +This said I, at our Saviour's feast, +After confession, to the priest, +And even he made no reply. +Does he not warn us all to seek +The happier, better land on high, +Where flowers immortal never wither, +And could he forbid me to go thither? + + _Gottlieb._ In God's own time, my heart's delight! +When he shall call thee, not before! + + _Elsie._ I heard him call. When Christ ascended +Triumphantly, from star to star, +He left the gates of heaven ajar. +I had a vision in the night, +And saw him standing at the door +Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid, +And beckoning to me from afar. +I cannot stay! + + _Gottlieb._ She speaks almost +As if it were the Holy Ghost +Spake through her lips, and in her stead! +What if this were of God? + + _Ursula._ Ah, then +Gainsay it dare we not. + + _Gottlieb._ Amen! +Elsie! the words that thou hast said +Are strange and new for us to hear, +And fill our hearts with doubt and fear. +Whether it be a dark temptation +Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration, +We in our blindness cannot say. +We must think upon it, and pray; +For evil and good in both resembles. +If it be of God, his will be done! +May he guard us from the Evil One! +How hot thy hand is! how it trembles! +Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. + + _Ursula._ Kiss me. Good-night; and do not weep! + + (ELSIE _goes out._) + +Ah, what an awful thing is this! +I almost shuddered at her kiss. +As if a ghost had touched my cheek, +I am so childish and so weak! +As soon as I see the earliest gray +Of morning glimmer in the east, +I will go over to the priest, +And hear what the good man has to say! + + * * * * * + +A VILLAGE CHURCH. + + * * * * * + +_A woman kneeling at the confessional. + + The Parish Priest (from within)_. Go, sin no +more! Thy penance o'er, +A new and better life begin! +God maketh thee forever free +From the dominion of thy sin! +Go, sin no more! He will restore +The peace that filled thy heart before, +And pardon thine iniquity! + +(_The woman goes out. The Priest comes forth, and + walks slowly up and down the church_.) + +O blessed Lord! how much I need +Thy light to guide me on my way! +So many hands, that, without heed, +Still touch thy wounds, and make them bleed! +So many feet, that, day by day, +Still wander from thy fold astray! +Unless thou fill me with thy light, +I cannot lead thy flock aright; +Nor, without thy support, can bear +The burden of so great a care, +But am myself a castaway! + + (_A pause_.) + +The day is drawing to its close; +And what good deeds, since first it rose, +Have I presented, Lord, to thee, +As offerings of my ministry? +What wrong repressed, what right maintained +What struggle passed, what victory gained, +What good attempted and attained? +Feeble, at best, is my endeavor! +I see, but cannot reach, the height +That lies forever in the light, +And yet forever and forever, +When seeming just within my grasp, +I feel my feeble hands unclasp, +And sink discouraged into night! +For thine own purpose, thou hast sent +The strife and the discouragement! + + (_A pause_.) + +Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck? +Why keep me pacing to and fro +Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, +Counting my footsteps as I go, +And marking with each step a tomb? +Why should the world for thee make room, +And wait thy leisure and thy beck? +Thou comest in the hope to hear +Some word of comfort and of cheer. +What can I say? I cannot give +The counsel to do this and live; +But rather, firmly to deny +The tempter, though his power is strong, +And, inaccessible to wrong, +Still like a martyr live and die! + + (_A pause_.) + +The evening air grows dusk and brown; +I must go forth into the town, +To visit beds of pain and death, +Of restless limbs, and quivering breath, +And sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes +That see, through tears, the sun go down, +But never more shall see it rise. +The poor in body and estate, +The sick and the disconsolate. +Must not on man's convenience wait. + +(_Goes out. Enter_ LUCIFER, _as a Priest_. LUCIFER, + _with a genuflexion, mocking_.) + +This is the Black Pater-noster. +God was my foster, +He fostered me +Under the book of the Palm-tree! +St. Michael was my dame. +He was born at Bethlehem, +He was made of flesh and blood. +God send me my right food, +My right food, and shelter too, +That I may to yon kirk go, +To read upon yon sweet book +Which the mighty God of heaven shook. +Open, open, hell's gates! +Shut, shut, heaven's gates! +All the devils in the air +The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer! + + (_Looking round the church_.) + +What a darksome and dismal place! +I wonder that any man has the face +To call such a hole the House of the Lord, +And the Gate of Heaven,--yet such is the word. +Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, +Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould; +Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, +Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs! +The pulpit, from which such ponderous sermons +Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans, +With about as much real edification +As if a great Bible, bound in lead, +Had fallen, and struck them on the head; +And I ought to remember that sensation! +Here stands the holy water stoup! +Holy-water it may be to many, +But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehennae! +It smells like a filthy fast day soup! +Near it stands the box for the poor; +With its iron padlock, safe and sure, +I and the priest of the parish know +Whither all these charities go; +Therefore, to keep up the institution, +I will add my little contribution! + + (_He puts in money._) + +Underneath this mouldering tomb, +With statue of stone, and scutcheon of brass, +Slumbers a great lord of the village. +All his life was riot and pillage, +But at length, to escape the threatened doom +Of the everlasting, penal fire, +He died in the dress of a mendicant friar, +And bartered his wealth for a daily mass. +But all that afterward came to pass, +And whether he finds it dull or pleasant, +Is kept a secret for the present, +At his own particular desire. + +And here, in a corner of the wall, +Shadowy, silent, apart from all, +With its awful portal open wide, +And its latticed windows on either side, +And its step well worn by the bended knees +Of one or two pious centuries, +Stands the village confessional! +Within it, as an honored guest, +I will sit me down awhile and rest! + + (_Seats himself in the confessional_.) + +Here sits the priest, and faint and low, +Like the sighing of an evening breeze, +Comes through these painted lattices +The ceaseless sound of human woe, +Here, while her bosom aches and throbs +With deep and agonizing sobs, +That half are passion, half contrition, +The luckless daughter of perdition +Slowly confesses her secret shame! +The time, the place, the lover's name! +Here the grim murderer, with a groan, +From his bruised conscience rolls the stone, +Thinking that thus he can atone +For ravages of sword and flame! +Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly, +How a priest can sit here so sedately, +Reading, the whole year out and in, +Naught but the catalogue of sin, +And still keep any faith whatever +In human virtue! Never! never! + +I cannot repeat a thousandth part +Of the horrors and crimes and sins and woes +That arise, when with palpitating throes +The graveyard in the human heart +Gives up its dead, at the voice of the priest, +As if he were an archangel, at least. +It makes a peculiar atmosphere, +This odor of earthly passions and crimes, +Such as I like to breathe, at times, +And such as often brings me here +In the hottest and most pestilential season. +To-day, I come for another reason; +To foster and ripen an evil thought +In a heart that is almost to madness wrought, +And to make a murderer out of a prince, +A sleight of hand I learned long since! +He comes In the twilight he will not see +the difference between his priest and me! +In the same net was the mother caught! + + (_Prince Henry entering and kneeling at the confessional._) + +Remorseful, penitent, and lowly, +I come to crave, O Father holy, +Thy benediction on my head. + + _Lucifer_. The benediction shall be said +After confession, not before! +'T is a God speed to the parting guest, +Who stands already at the door, +Sandalled with holiness, and dressed +In garments pure from earthly stain. +Meanwhile, hast thou searched well thy breast? +Does the same madness fill thy brain? +Or have thy passion and unrest +Vanished forever from thy mind? + + _Prince Henry_. By the same madness still made blind, +By the same passion still possessed, +I come again to the house of prayer, +A man afflicted and distressed! +As in a cloudy atmosphere, +Through unseen sluices of the air, +A sudden and impetuous wind +Strikes the great forest white with fear, +And every branch, and bough, and spray +Points all its quivering leaves one way, +And meadows of grass, and fields of grain, +And the clouds above, and the slanting rain, +And smoke from chimneys of the town, +Yield themselves to it, and bow down, +So does this dreadful purpose press +Onward, with irresistible stress, +And all my thoughts and faculties, +Struck level by the strength of this, +From their true inclination turn, +And all stream forward to Salem! + + _Lucifer_. Alas! we are but eddies of dust, +Uplifted by the blast, and whirled +Along the highway of the world +A moment only, then to fall +Back to a common level all, +At the subsiding of the gust! + + _Prince Henry_. O holy Father! pardon in me +The oscillation of a mind +Unsteadfast, and that cannot find +Its centre of rest and harmony! +For evermore before mine eyes +This ghastly phantom flits and flies, +And as a madman through a crowd, +With frantic gestures and wild cries, +It hurries onward, and aloud +Repeats its awful prophecies! +Weakness is wretchedness! To be strong +Is to be happy! I am weak, +And cannot find the good I seek, +Because I feel and fear the wrong! + + _Lucifer_. Be not alarmed! The Church is kind-- +And in her mercy and her meekness +She meets half-way her children's weakness, +Writes their transgressions in the dust! +Though in the Decalogue we find +The mandate written, "Thou shalt not kill!" +Yet there are cases when we must. +In war, for instance, or from scathe +To guard and keep the one true Faith! +We must look at the Decalogue in the light +Of an ancient statute, that was meant +For a mild and general application, +To be understood with the reservation, +That, in certain instances, the Right +Must yield to the Expedient! +Thou art a Prince. If thou shouldst die, +What hearts and hopes would prostrate he! +What noble deeds, what fair renown, +Into the grave with thee go down! +What acts of valor and courtesy +Remain undone, and die with thee! +Thou art the last of all thy race! +With thee a noble name expires, +And vanishes from the earth's face +The glorious memory of thy sires! +She is a peasant. In her veins +Flows common and plebeian blood; +It is such as daily and hourly stains +The dust and the turf of battle plains, +By vassals shed, in a crimson flood, +Without reserve, and without reward, +At the slightest summons of their lord! +But thine is precious, the fore-appointed +Blood of kings, of God's anointed! +Moreover, what has the world in store +For one like her, but tears and toil? +Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, +A peasant's child and a peasant's wife, +And her soul within her sick and sore +With the roughness and barrenness of life! +I marvel not at the heart's recoil +From a fate like this, in one so tender, +Nor at its eagerness to surrender +All the wretchedness, want, and woe +That await it in this world below, +For the unutterable splendor +Of the world of rest beyond the skies. +So the Church sanctions the sacrifice: +Therefore inhale this healing balm, +And breathe this fresh life into thine; +Accept the comfort and the calm +She offers, as a gift divine, +Let her fall down and anoint thy feet +With the ointment costly and most sweet +Of her young blood, and thou shall live. + + _Prince Henry._ And will the righteous Heaven forgive? +No action, whether foul or fair, +Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere +A record, written by fingers ghostly, +As a blessing or a curse, and mostly +In the greater weakness or greater strength +Of the acts which follow it, till at length +The wrongs of ages are redressed, +And the justice of God made manifest! + + _Lucifer_ In ancient records it is stated +That, whenever an evil deed is done, +Another devil is created +To scourge and torment the offending one! +But evil is only good perverted, +And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light, +But an angel fallen and deserted, +Thrust from his Father's house with a curse +Into the black and endless night. + + _Prince Henry._ If justice rules the universe, +From the good actions of good men +Angels of light should be begotten, +And thus the balance restored again. + + _Lucifer._ Yes; if the world were not so rotten, +And so given over to the Devil! + + _Prince Henry._ But this deed, is it good or evil? +Have I thine absolution free +To do it, and without restriction? + + _Lucifer._ Ay; and from whatsoever sin +Lieth around it and within, +From all crimes in which it may involve thee, +I now release thee and absolve thee! + + _Prince Henry._ Give me thy holy benediction. + + _Lucifer._ (_stretching forth his hand and muttering_), + Maledictione perpetua + Maledicat vos + Pater eternus! + +_The Angel_ (_with the aeolian harp_). Take heed! take heed! +Noble art thou in thy birth, +By the good and the great of earth +Hast thou been taught! +Be noble in every thought +And in every deed! +Let not the illusion of thy senses +Betray thee to deadly offences. +Be strong! be good! be pure! +The right only shall endure, +All things else are but false pretences! +I entreat thee, I implore, +Listen no more +To the suggestions of an evil spirit, +That even now is there, +Making the foul seem fair, +And selfishness itself a virtue and a merit! + + + * * * * * + +A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. + + + * * * * * + + _Gottlieb_. It is decided! For many days, +And nights as many, we have had +A nameless terror in our breast, +Making us timid, and afraid +Of God, and his mysterious ways! +We have been sorrowful and sad; +Much have we suffered, much have prayed +That he would lead us as is best, +And show us what his will required. +It is decided; and we give +Our child, O Prince, that you may live! + + _Ursula_. It is of God. He has inspired +This purpose in her; and through pain, +Out of a world of sin and woe, +He takes her to himself again. +The mother's heart resists no longer; +With the Angel of the Lord in vain +It wrestled, for he was the stronger. + + _Gottlieb_. As Abraham offered long ago +His son unto the Lord, and even +The Everlasting Father in heaven +Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, +So do I offer up my daughter! + + (URSULA _hides her face_.) + + _Elsie_. My life is little, +Only a cup of water, +But pure and limpid. +Take it, O my Prince! +Let it refresh you, +Let it restore you. +It is given willingly, +It is given freely; +May God bless the gift! + + _Prince Henry._ And the giver! + + _Gottlieb._ Amen! + + _Prince Henry._ I accept it! + + _Gottlieb._ Where are the children? + + _Ursula._ They are already asleep. + + _Gottlieb._ What if they were dead? + + * * * * * + +IN THE GARDEN. + + * * * * * + + _Elsie._ I have one thing to ask of you. + + _Prince Henry._ What is it? +It is already granted. + + _Elsie._ Promise me, +When we are gone from here, and on our way +Are journeying to Salerno, you will not, +By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade me +And turn me from my purpose, but remember +That as a pilgrim to the Holy City +Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon +Occupied wholly, so would I approach +The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee, +With my petition, putting off from me +All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off my feet. +Promise me this. + + _Prince Henry._ Thy words fall from thy lips +Like roses from the lips of Angelo: and angels +Might stoop to pick them up! + + _Elsie._ Will you not promise? + + _Prince Henry._ If ever we depart upon this journey, +So long to one or both of us, I promise. + + _Elsie._ Shall we not go, then? Have you lifted me +Into the air, only to hurl me back +Wounded upon the ground? and offered me +The waters of eternal life, to bid me +Drink the polluted puddles of this world? + + _Prince Henry._ O Elsie! what a lesson thou dost teach me! +The life which is, and that which is to come, +Suspended hang in such nice equipoise +A breath disturbs the balance; and that scale +In which we throw our hearts preponderates, +And the other, like an empty one, flies up, +And is accounted vanity and air! +To me the thought of death is terrible, +Having such hold on life. To thee it is not +So much even as the lifting of a latch; +Only a step into the open air +Out of a tent already luminous +With light that shines through its transparent walls! +O pure in heart! from thy sweet dust shall grow +Lilies, upon whose petals will be written +"Ave Maria" in characters of gold! + + + + +III. + +A STREET IN STRASBURG. + + * * * * * + +_Night._ PRINCE HENRY _wandering alone, wrapped in a cloak._ + + _Prince Henry._ Still is the night. The sound of feet +Has died away from the empty street, +And like an artisan, bending down +His head on his anvil, the dark town +Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet. +Sleepless and restless, I alone, +In the dusk and damp of these wails of stone, +Wander and weep in my remorse! + + _Crier of the dead (ringing a bell)._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Hark! with what accents loud and hoarse +This warder on the walls of death +Sends forth the challenge of his breath! +I see the dead that sleep in the grave! +They rise up and their garments wave, +Dimly and spectral, as they rise, +With the light of another world in their eyes! + + _Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Why for the dead, who are at rest? +Pray for the living, in whose breast +The struggle between right and wrong +Is raging terrible and strong, +As when good angels war with devils! +This is the Master of the Revels, +Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes +The health of absent friends, and pledges, +Not in bright goblets crowned with roses, +And tinkling as we touch their edges, +But with his dismal, tinkling bell, +That mocks and mimics their funeral knell! + + _Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Wake not, beloved! be thy sleep +Silent as night is, and as deep! +There walks a sentinel at thy gate +Whose heart is heavy and desolate, +And the heavings of whose bosom number +The respirations of thy slumber, +As if some strange, mysterious fate +Had linked two hearts in one, and mine +Went madly wheeling about thine, +Only with wider and wilder sweep! + + _Crier of the dead (at a distance)._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Lo! with what depth of blackness thrown +Against the clouds, far up the skies, +The walls of the cathedral rise, +Like a mysterious grove of stone, +With fitful lights and shadows bleeding, +As from behind, the moon, ascending, +Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown! +The wind is rising; but the boughs +Rise not and fall not with the wind +That through their foliage sobs and soughs; +Only the cloudy rack behind, +Drifting onward, wild and ragged, +Gives to each spire and buttress jagged +A seeming motion undefined. +Below on the square, an armed knight, +Still as a statue and as white, +Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver +Upon the points of his armor bright +As on the ripples of a river. +He lifts the visor from his cheek, +And beckons, and makes as he would speak. + + _Walter the Minnesinger_ Friend! can you tell me where alight +Thuringia's horsemen for the night? +For I have lingered in the rear, +And wander vainly up and down. + + _Prince Henry_ I am a stranger in the town, +As thou art, but the voice I hear +Is not a stranger to mine ear. +Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid! + + _Walter_ Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy name +Is Henry of Hoheneck! + + _Prince Henry_ Ay, the same. + + _Walter_ (_embracing him_). Come closer, closer to my side! +What brings thee hither? What potent charm +Has drawn thee from thy German farm +Into the old Alsatian city? + + _Prince Henry_. A tale of wonder and of pity! +A wretched man, almost by stealth +Dragging my body to Salern, +In the vain hope and search for health, +And destined never to return. +Already thou hast heard the rest +But what brings thee, thus armed and dight +In the equipments of a knight? + + _Walter_. Dost thou not see upon my breast +The cross of the Crusaders shine? +My pathway leads to Palestine. + + _Prince Henry_. Ah, would that way were also mine! +O noble poet! thou whose heart +Is like a nest of singing birds +Rocked on the topmost bough of life, +Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, +And in the clangor of the strife +Mingle the music of thy words? + + _Walter_. My hopes are high, my heart is proud, +And like a trumpet long and loud, +Thither my thoughts all clang and ring! +My life is in my hand, and lo! +I grasp and bend it as a bow, +And shoot forth from its trembling string +An arrow, that shall be, perchance, +Like the arrow of the Israelite king +Shot from the window toward the east, +That of the Lord's deliverance! + + _Prince Henry_. My life, alas! is what thou seest! +O enviable fate! to be +Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee +With lyre and sword, with song and steel; +A hand to smite, a heart to feel! +Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy sword, +Thou givest all unto thy Lord, +While I, so mean and abject grown, +Am thinking of myself alone. + + _Walter_. Be patient: Time will reinstate +Thy health and fortunes. + + _Prince Henry_. 'T is too late! +I cannot strive against my fate! + + _Walter_. Come with me; for my steed is weary; +Our journey has been long and dreary, +And, dreaming of his stall, he dints +With his impatient hoofs the flints. + + _Prince Henry_ (_aside_). I am ashamed, in my disgrace, +To look into that noble face! +To-morrow, Walter, let it be. + + _Walter_. To-morrow, at the dawn of day, +I shall again be on my way +Come with me to the hostelry, +For I have many things to say. +Our journey into Italy +Perchance together we may make; +Wilt thou not do it for my sake? + + _Prince Henry_. A sick man's pace would but impede +Thine eager and impatient speed. +Besides, my pathway leads me round +To Hirsehau, in the forest's bound, +Where I assemble man and steed, +And all things for my journey's need. + + (_They go out_. LUCIFER, _flying over the city_.) + +Sleep, sleep, O city! till the light +Wakes you to sin and crime again, +Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain, +I scatter downward through the night +My maledictions dark and deep. +I have more martyrs in your walls +Than God has; and they cannot sleep; +They are my bondsmen and my thralls; +Their wretched lives are full of pain, +Wild agonies of nerve and brain; +And every heart-beat, every breath, +Is a convulsion worse than death! +Sleep, sleep, O city! though within +The circuit of your walls there lies +No habitation free from sin, +And all its nameless miseries; +The aching heart, the aching head, +Grief for the living and the dead, +And foul corruption of the time, +Disease, distress, and want, and woe, +And crimes, and passions that may grow +Until they ripen into, crime! + + + + +SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL. + + * * * * * + +_Easter Sunday_. FRIAR CUTHBERT _preaching to the +crowd from a pulpit in the open air_. PRINCE +HENRY _and_ ELSIE _crossing the square_. + + _Prince Henry_. This is the day, when from the dead +Our Lord arose; and everywhere, +Out of their darkness and despair, +Triumphant over fears and foes, +The hearts of his disciples rose, +When to the women, standing near, +The Angel in shining vesture said, +"The Lord is risen; he is not here!" +And, mindful that the day is come, +On all the hearths in Christendom +The fires are quenched, to be again +Rekindled from the sun, that high +Is dancing in the cloudless sky. +The churches are all decked with flowers. +The salutations among men +Are but the Angel's words divine, +"Christ is arisen!" and the bells +Catch the glad murmur, as it swells, +And chaunt together in their towers. +All hearts are glad; and free from care +The faces of the people shine. +See what a crowd is in the square, +Gaily and gallantly arrayed! + + _Elsie_. Let us go back; I am afraid! + + _Prince Henry_. Nay, let us mount the church-steps here, +Under the doorway's sacred shadow; +We can see all things, and be freer +From the crowd that madly heaves and presses! + + _Elsie._ What a gay pageant! what bright dresses! +It looks like a flower besprinkled meadow. +What is that yonder on the square? + + _Prince Henry_ A pulpit in the open air, +And a Friar, who is preaching to the crowd +With a voice so deep and clear and loud, +That, if we listen, and give heed, +His lowest words will reach the ear. + + _Friar Cuthbert (gesticulating and cracking a postilion's +whip)_ What ho! good people! do you not hear? +Dashing along at the top of his speed, +Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed, +A courier comes with words of cheer. +Courier! what is the news, I pray? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From court." +Then I do not believe it; you say it in sport. + + (_Cracks his whip again._) + +There comes another, riding this way; +We soon shall know what he has to say. +Courier! what are the tidings to-day? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From town." +Then I do not believe it; away with you, clown. + + (_Cracks his whip more violently._) + +And here comes a third, who is spurring amain; +What news do you bring, with your loose-hanging rein, +Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle with foam? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From Rome." +Ah, now I believe. He is risen, indeed. +Ride on with the news, at the top of your speed! + + (_Great applause among the crowd._) + +To come back to my text! When the news was first spread +That Christ was arisen indeed from the dead, +Very great was the joy of the angels in heaven; +And as great the dispute as to who should carry +The tidings, thereof to the Virgin Mary, +Pierced to the heart with sorrows seven. +Old Father Adam was first to propose, +As being the author of all our woes; +But he was refused, for fear, said they, +He would stop to eat apples on the way! +Abel came next, but petitioned in vain, +Because he might meet with his brother Cain! +Noah, too, was refused, lest his weakness for wine +Should delay him at every tavern sign; +And John the Baptist could not get a vote, +On account of his old fashioned, camel's-hair coat; +And the Penitent Thief, who died on the cross, +Was reminded that all his bones were broken! +Till at last, when each in turn had spoken, +The company being still at a loss, +The Angel, who had rolled away the stone, +Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone, +And filled with glory that gloomy prison, +And said to the Virgin, "The Lord is arisen!" + + (_The Cathedral bells ring_.) + +But hark! the bells are beginning to chime; +And I feel that I am growing hoarse. +I will put an end to my discourse, +And leave the rest for some other time. +For the bells themselves are the best of preachers; +Their brazen lips are learned teachers, +From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, +Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, +Shriller than trumpets under the Law, +Now a sermon and now a prayer. +The clangorous hammer is the tongue, +This way, that way, beaten and swung, +That from mouth of brass, as from Mouth of Gold, +May be taught the Testaments, New and Old. +And above it the great crossbeam of wood +Representeth the Holy Rood, +Upon which, like the bell, our hopes are hung. +And the wheel wherewith it is swayed and rung +Is the mind of man, that round and round +Sways, and maketh the tongue to sound! +And the rope, with its twisted cordage three, +Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity +Of Morals, and Symbols, and History; +And the upward and downward motions show +That we touch upon matters high and low; +And the constant change and transmutation +Of action and of contemplation, +Downward, the Scripture brought from on high, +Upward, exalted again to the sky; +Downward, the literal interpretation, +Upward, the Vision and Mystery! + +And now, my hearers, to make an end, +I have only one word more to say; +In the church, in honor of Easter day, +Will be represented a Miracle Play; +And I hope you will all have the grace to attend. +Christ bring us at last So his felicity! +Pax vobiscum! et Benedicite! + + + + +IN THE CATHEDRAL. + + * * * * * + +CHAUNT. + Kyrie Eleison! + Christe Eleison! + + _Elsie._ I am at home here in my Father's house! +These paintings of the Saints upon the walls +Have all familiar and benignant faces. + + _Prince Henry._ The portraits of the family of God! +Thine own hereafter shall be placed among them. + + _Elsie._ How very grand it is and wonderful! +Never have I beheld a church so splendid! +Such columns, and such arches, and such windows, +So many tombs and statues in the chapels, +And under them so many confessionals. +They must be for the rich. I should not like +To tell my sins in such a church as this. +Who built it? + + _Prince Henry._ A great master of his craft, +Erwin von Steinbach; but not he alone, +For many generations labored with him. +Children that came to see these Saints in stone, +As day by day out of the blocks they rose, +Grew old and died, and still the work went on, +And on, and on, and is not yet completed. +The generation that succeeds our own +Perhaps may finish it. The architect +Built his great heart into these sculptured stones, +And with him toiled his children, and their lives +Were builded, with his own, into the walls, +As offerings unto God. You see that statue +Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled eyes +Upon the Pillar of the Angels yonder. +That is the image of the master, carved +By the fair hand of his own child, Sabina. + + _Elsie._ How beautiful is the column that he looks at! + + _Prince Henry._ That, too, she sculptured. At the base of it +Stand the Evangelists; above their heads +Four Angels blowing upon marble trumpets, +And over them the blessed Christ, surrounded +By his attendant ministers, upholding +The instruments of his passion. + + _Elsie._ O my Lord! +Would I could leave behind me upon earth +Some monument to thy glory, such as this! + + _Prince Henry._ A greater monument than this thou leavest +In thine own life, all purity and love! +See, too, the Rose, above the western portal +Flamboyant with a thousand gorgeous colors, +The perfect flower of Gothic loveliness! + + _Elsie._ And, in the gallery, the long line of statues, +Christ with his twelve Apostles watching us. + +(_A_ BISHOP _in armor, booted and spurred, passes with +his train._) + +_Prince Henry._ But come away; we have not time to look. +The crowd already fills the church, and yonder +Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet, +Clad like The Angel Gabriel, proclaims +The Mystery that will now be represented. + + + + +THE NATIVITY. + + * * * * * + +A MIRACLE PLAY. + + * * * * * + +THE NATIVITY. + +INTROITUS. + + _Præco._ Come, good people, all and each, +Come and listen to our speech! +In your presence here I stand, +With a trumpet in my hand, +To announce the Easter Play, +Which we represent to-day! +First of all we shall rehearse, +In our action and our verse, +The Nativity of our Lord, +As written in the old record +Of the Protevangelion, +So that he who reads may run! + + (_Blows his trumpet._) + + * * * * * + +I. HEAVEN. + + _Mercy_ (_at the feet of God_). Have pity, Lord be not afraid +To save mankind, whom thou hast made, +Nor let the souls that were betrayed + Perish eternally! + + _Justice._ It cannot be, it must not be! +When in the garden placed by thee, +The fruit of the forbidden tree + He ate, and he must die! + + _Mercy._ Have pity, Lord! let penitence +Atone for disobedience, +Nor let the fruit of man's offence + Be endless misery! + + _Justice._ What penitence proportionate +Can e'er be felt for sin so great? +Of the forbidden fruit he ate, + And damned must he be! + + _God._ He shall be saved, if that within +The bounds of earth one free from sin +Be found, who for his kith and kin + Will suffer martyrdom. + + _The Four Virtues._ Lord! we have searched the world around, +From centre to the utmost bound, +But no such mortal can be found; + Despairing, back we come. + + _Wisdom._ No mortal, but a God made man, +Can ever carry out this plan, +Achieving what none other can, + Salvation unto all! + + _God._ Go, then, O my beloved Son; +It can by thee alone be done; +By thee the victory shall be won + O'er Satan and the Fall! + +(_Here the_ ANGEL GABRIEL _shall leave Paradise and +fly toward the earth; the jaws of Hell open below, +and the Devils walk about, making a great noise._) + + * * * * * + + +II. MARY AT THE WELL. + + _Mary._ Along the garden walk, and thence +Through the wicket in the garden fence, + I steal with quiet pace, +My pitcher at the well to fill, +That lies so deep and cool and still + In this sequestered place. +These sycamores keep guard around; +I see no face, I hear no sound, + Save babblings of the spring, +And my companions, who within +The threads of gold and scarlet spin, + And at their labor sing. + + _The Angel Gabriel._ Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace! + +(_Here_ MARY _looketh around her, trembling, and +then saith:_) + + _Mary._ Who is it speaketh in this place, +With such a gentle voice? + + _Gabriel._ The Lord of heaven is with thee now! +Blessed among all women thou, + Who art his holy choice! + + _Mary_ (setting down the pitcher). What can this mean? +No one is near, +And yet, such sacred words I hear, + I almost fear to stay. + + (_Here the_ ANGEL, _appearing to her, shall say:_) + + _Gabriel._ Fear not, O Mary! but believe! +For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive + A child this very day. + +Fear not, O Mary! from the sky +The majesty of the Most High + Shall overshadow thee! + + _Mary._ Behold the handmaid of the Lord! +According to thy holy word, + So be it unto me! + + (_Here the Devils shall again make a great noise, + under the stage._) + + + + +III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLANETS, + _bearing the Star of Bethlehem._ + + _The Angels._ The Angels of the Planets Seven +Across the shining fields of heaven + The natal star we bring! +Dropping our sevenfold virtues down, +As priceless jewels in the crown + Of Christ, our new-born King. + + _Raphael._ I am the Angel of the Sun, +Whose flaming wheels began to run + When God's almighty breath +Said to the darkness and the Night, +Let there be light! and there was light! + I bring the gift of Faith. + + _Gabriel._ I am the Angel of the Moon, +Darkened, to be rekindled soon + Beneath the azure cope! +Nearest to earth, it is my ray +That best illumes the midnight way. + I bring the gift of Hope! + + _Anael._ The Angel of the Star of Love, +The Evening Star, that shines above + The place where lovers be, +Above all happy hearths and homes, +On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, + I give him Charity! + + _Zobiachel._ The Planet Jupiter is mine! +The mightiest star of all that shine, + Except the sun alone! +He is the High Priest of the Dove, +And sends, from his great throne above, + Justice, that shall atone! + + _Michael._ The Planet Mercury, whose place +Is nearest to the sun in space, + Is my allotted sphere! +And with celestial ardor swift +I bear upon my hands the gift + Of heavenly Prudence here! + + _Uriel._ I am the Minister of Mars, +The strongest star among the stars! + My songs of power prelude +The march and battle of man's life, +And for the suffering and the strife, + I give him Fortitude! + + _Anachiel._ The Angel of the uttermost +Of all the shining, heavenly host, + From the far-off expanse +Of the Saturnian, endless space +I bring the last, the crowning grace, + The gift of Temperance! + + (_A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable + in the village below._) + + + + +IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. + + _The stable of the Inn. The_ VIRGIN _and_ CHILD. + _Three Gypsy Kings,_ GASPAR, MELCHIOR, _and_ BELSHAZZAR, + _shall come in._ + + _Gaspar._ Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth! +Though in a manger thou drawest thy breath, +Thou art greater than Life and Death, + Greater than Joy or Woe! +This cross upon the line of life +Portendeth struggle, toil, and strife, +And through a region with dangers rife + In darkness shall thou go! + + _Melchior._ Hail to thee, King of Jerusalem +Though humbly born in Bethlehem, +A sceptre and a diadem + Await thy brow and hand! +The sceptre is a simple reed, +The crown will make thy temples bleed, +And in thy hour of greatest need, + Abashed thy subjects stand! + +_Belshazzar_. Hail to thee, Christ of Christendom! +O'er all the earth thy kingdom come! +From distant Trebizond to Rome + Thy name shall men adore! +Peace and good-will among all men, +The Virgin has returned again, +Returned the old Saturnian reign + And Golden Age once more. + +_The Child Christ_. Jesus, the Son of God, am I, +Born here to suffer and to die +According to the prophecy, + That other men may live! + +_The Virgin_. And now these clothes, that wrapped him, take +And keep them precious, for his sake; +For benediction thus we make, + Naught else have we to give. + + (_She gives them swaddling-clothes and they depart_.) + + + + +V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. + + +_Here shall_ JOSEPH _come in, leading an ass, on which +are seated_ MARY _and the_ CHILD. + +_Mary_. Here will we rest us, under these +Underhanging branches of the trees, +Where robins chant their Litanies, + And canticles of joy. + +_Joseph_. My saddle-girths have given way +With trudging through the heat to-day +To you I think it is but play + To ride and hold the boy. + + _Mary_. Hark! how the robins shout and sing, +As if to hail their infant King! +I will alight at yonder spring + To wash his little coat. + + _Joseph_. And I will hobble well the ass, +Lest, being loose upon the grass, +He should escape; for, by the mass. + He is nimble as a goat. + + (_Here_ MARY _shall alight and go to the spring._) + + _Mary_. O Joseph! I am much afraid, +For men are sleeping in the shade; +I fear that we shall be waylaid, + And robbed and beaten sore! + + (_Here a band of robbers shall be seen sleeping, two of + whom shall rise and come forward_.) + + _Dumachus_. Cock's soul! deliver up your gold! + + _Joseph_. I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold! +Of wealth I have no store. + + _Dumachus_. Give up your money! + + _Titus_. Prithee cease! +Let these good people go in peace! + + _Dumachus_. First let them pay for their release, +And then go on their way. + + _Titus_. These forty groats I give in fee, +If thou wilt only silent be. + + _Mary_. May God be merciful to thee +Upon the Judgment Day! + + _Jesus_. When thirty years shall have gone by, +I at Jerusalem shall die, +By Jewish hands exalted high + On the accursed tree. +Then on my right and my left side, +These thieves shall both be crucified +And Titus thenceforth shall abide + In paradise with me. + + (_Here a great rumor of trumpets and horses, like the + noise of a king with his army, and the robbers shall + take flight._) + + + + +VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS. + + _King Herod._ Potz-tausend! Himmel-sacrament! +Filled am I with great wonderment + At this unwelcome news! +Am I not Herod? Who shall dare +My crown to take, my sceptre bear, + As king among the Jews? + + (_Here he shall stride up and down and flourish his sword._) + +What ho! I fain would drink a can +Of the strong wine of Canaan! + The wine of Helbon bring, +I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, +As red as blood, as hot as fire, + And fit for any king! + + (_He quaffs great goblets of wine._) + +Now at the window will I stand, +While in the street the armed band + The little children slay: +The babe just born in Bethlehem +Will surely slaughtered be with them, + Nor live another day! + + (_Here a voice of lamentation shall be heard in the street._) + + _Rachel._ O wicked king! O cruel speed! +To do this most unrighteous deed! + My children all are slain! + + _Herod._ Ho seneschal! another cup! +With wine of Sorek fill it up! + I would a bumper drain! + + _Rahab._ May maledictions fall and blast +Thyself and lineage, to the last + Of all thy kith and kin! + + _Herod._ Another goblet! quick! and stir +Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh + And calamus therein! + + _Soldiers (in the street)_. Give up thy child into our hands! +It is King Herod who commands + That he should thus be slain! + + _The Nurse Medusa._ O monstrous men! What have ye done! +It is King Herod's only son + That ye have cleft in twain! + + _Herod._ Ah, luckless day! What words of fear +Are these that smite upon my ear + With such a doleful sound! +What torments rack my heart and head! +Would I were dead! would I were dead, + And buried in the ground! + + (_He falls down and writhes as though eaten by worms. + Hell opens, and_ SATAN _and_ ASTAROTH _come forth, + and drag him down._) + + + + +VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOLMATES. + + _Jesus._ The shower is over. Let us play, +And make some sparrows out of clay, + Down by the river's side. + + _Judas._ See, how the stream has overflowed +Its banks, and o'er the meadow road + Is spreading far and wide! + + (_They draw water out of the river by channels, and + form little pools_ JESUS _makes twelve sparrows of + clay, and the other boys do the same._) + + _Jesus._ Look! look! how prettily I make +These little sparrows by the lake + Bend down their necks and drink! +Now will I make them sing and soar +So far, they shall return no more + Into this river's brink. + + _Judas._ That canst thou not! They are but clay, +They cannot sing, nor fly away + Above the meadow lands! + + _Jesus._ Fly, fly! ye sparrows! you are free! +And while you live, remember me, + Who made you with my hands. + + (_Here_ JESUS _shall clap his hands, and the sparrows + shall fly away, chirruping._) + + _Judas._ Thou art a sorcerer, I know; +Oft has my mother told me so, + I will not play with thee! + + (_He strikes_ JESUS _on the right side._) + + _Jesus._ Ah, Judas! thou has smote my side, +And when I shall be crucified, + There shall I pierced be! + + (_Here_ JOSEPH _shall come in, and say:_) + + _Joseph._ Ye wicked boys! why do ye play, +And break the holy Sabbath day? +What, think ye, will your mothers say + To see you in such plight! +In such a sweat and such a heat, +With all that mud-upon your feet! +There's not a beggar in the street + Makes such a sorry sight! + + + + +VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. + +_The_ RABBI BEN ISRAEL, _with a long beard, sitting on + a high stool, with a rod in his hand._ + + _Rabbi._ I am the Rabbi Ben Israel, +Throughout this village known full well, +And, as my scholars all will tell, + Learned in things divine; +The Kabala and Talmud hoar +Than all the prophets prize I more, +For water is all Bible lore, + But Mishna is strong wine. + +My fame extends from West to East, +And always, at the Purim feast, +I am as drunk as any beast + That wallows in his sty; +The wine it so elateth me, +That I no difference can see +Between "Accursed Haman be!" + And "Blessed be Mordecai!" + +Come hither, Judas Iscariot. +Say, if thy lesson thou hast got +From the Rabbinical Book or not. + Why howl the dogs at night? + + _Judas._ In the Rabbinical Book, it saith +The dogs howl, when with icy breath +Great Sammaël, the Angel of Death, + Takes through the town his flight! + + _Rabbi._ Well, boy! now say, if thou art wise, +When the Angel of Death, who is full of eyes, +Comes where a sick man dying lies, + What doth he to the wight? + + _Judas._ He stands beside him, dark and tall, +Holding a sword, from which doth fall +Into his mouth a drop of gall, + And so he turneth white. + + _Rabbi._ And now, my Judas, say to me +What the great Voices Four may be, +That quite across the world do flee, + And are not heard by men? + + _Judas._ The Voice of the Sun in heaven's dome, +The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome, +The Voice of a Soul that goeth home, + And the Angel of the Rain! + + _Rabbi._ Well have ye answered every one +Now little Jesus, the carpenter's son, +Let us see how thy task is done. + Canst thou thy letters say? + + _Jesus._ Aleph. + + _Rabbi._ What next? Do not stop yet! +Go on with all the alphabet. +Come, Aleph, Beth; dost thou forget? + Cock's soul! thou'dst rather play! + + _Jesus._ What Aleph means I fain would know, +Before I any farther go! + + _Rabbi._ O, by Saint Peter! wouldst thou so? +Come hither, boy, to me. +And surely as the letter Jod +Once cried aloud, and spake to God, +So surely shalt thou feel this rod, + And punished shalt thou be! + + (_Here_ RABBI BEN ISRAEL _shall lift up his rod to strike_ + JESUS, _and his right arm shall be paralyzed._) + + + + +IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS. + +JESUS _sitting among his playmates, crowned with +flowers as their King._ + + _Boys._ We spread our garments on the ground' +With fragrant flowers thy head is crowned, +While like a guard we stand around, + And hail thee as our King! +Thou art the new King of the Jews! +Nor let the passers-by refuse +To bring that homage which men use + To majesty to bring. + + (_Here a traveller shall go by, and the boys shall lay + hold of his garments and say:_) + + _Boys._ Come hither! and all reverence pay +Unto our monarch, crowned to-day! +Then go rejoicing on your way, + In all prosperity! + + _Traveller._ Hail to the King of Bethlehem, +Who weareth in his diadem +The yellow crocus for the gem + Of his authority! + + (_He passes by; and others come in, bearing on a litter + a sick child._) + + _Boys._ Set down the litter and draw near! +The King of Bethlehem is here! +What ails the child, who seems to fear + That we shall do him harm? + + _The Bearers._ He climbed up to the robin's nest, +And out there darted, from his rest, +A serpent with a crimson crest, + And stung him in the arm. + + _Jesus._ Bring him to me, and let me feel +The wounded place; my touch can heal +The sting of serpents, and can steal + The poison from the bite! + + (_He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry._) + +Cease to lament! I can foresee +That thou hereafter known shalt be, +Among the men who follow me, + As Simon the Canaanite! + + * * * * * + + + EPILOGUE. + +In the after part of the day +Will be represented another play, +Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord, +Beginning directly after Nones! +At the close of which we shall accord, +By way of benison and reward, +The sight of a holy Martyr's bones! + + + + +IV. THE ROAD HIRSCHAU. + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE, _with their attendants, on +horseback._ + + _Elsie._ Onward and onward the highway runs + to the distant city, impatiently bearing +Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of + hate, of doing and daring! + + _Prince Henry._ This life of ours is a wild aeolian + harp of many a joyous strain, +But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, + as of souls in pain. + + _Elsie._ Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart + that aches and bleeds with the stigma +Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can + comprehend its dark enigma. + + _Prince Henry._ Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure + with little care of what may betide; +Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon + that rides by an angel's side? + + _Elsie._ All the hedges are white with dust, and + the great dog under the creaking wain +Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the + horses toil and strain + + _Prince Henry._ Now they stop at the wayside inn, + and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter, +While out of the dripping trough the horses distend + their leathern sides with water. + + _Elsie._ All through life there are wayside inns, + where man may refresh his soul with love; +Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed + by springs from above. + + _Prince Henry._ Yonder, where rises the cross of + stone, our journey along the highway ends, +And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the + broad green valley descends. + + _Elsie._ I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten + road with its dust and heat; +The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer + under our horses' feet. + + (_They turn down a green lane._) + + _Elsie._ Sweet is the air with the budding haws, + and the valley stretching for miles below +Is white with blossoming cheery trees, as if just covered + with lightest snow. + + _Prince Henry._ Over our heads a white cascade is + gleaming against the distant hill; +We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like + a banner when winds are still. + + _Elsie._ Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and + cool the sound of the brook by our side! +What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it + over a land so wide? + +_Prince Henry._ It is the home of the Counts of + Calva; well have I known these scenes of old, +Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the + brooklet, the wood, and the wold. + + _Elsie._ Hark! from the little village below us the + bells of the church are ringing for rain! +Priests and peasants in long procession come forth + and kneel on the arid plain. + + _Prince Henry._ They have not long to wait, for I + see in the south uprising a little cloud, +That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky + above us as with a shroud. + + (_They pass on._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE +BLACK FOREST. + + * * * * * + +_The Convent cellar._ FRIAR CLAUS _comes in with a +light and a basket of empty flagons._ + + _Friar Claus._ I always enter this sacred place +With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace, +Pausing long enough on each stair +To breathe an ejaculatory prayer, +And a benediction on the vines +That produce these various sorts of wines! + +For my part, I am well content +That we have got through with the tedious Lent! +Fasting is all very well for those +Who have to contend with invisible foes; +But I am quite sure it does not agree +With a quiet, peaceable man like me, +Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind +That are always distressed in body and mind! +And at times it really does me good +To come down among this brotherhood, +Dwelling forever under ground, +Silent, contemplative, round and sound; +Each one old, and brown with mould, +But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth, +With the latent power and love of truth, +And with virtues fervent and manifold. + +I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, +When buds are swelling on every side, +And the sap begins to move in the vine. +Then in all the cellars, far and wide, +The oldest, as well as the newest, wine +Begins to stir itself, and ferment, +With a kind of revolt and discontent +At being so long in darkness pent, +And fain would burst from its sombre tun +To bask on the hillside in the sun; +As in the bosom of us poor friars, +The tumult of half-subdued desires +For the world that we have left behind +Disturbs at times all peace of mind! +And now that we have lived through Lent, +My duty it is, as often before, +To open awhile the prison-door, +And give these restless spirits vent. + +Now here is a cask that stands alone, +And has stood a hundred years or more, +Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, +Trailing and sweeping along the floor, +Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, +Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave, +Till his beard has grown through the table of stone! +It is of the quick and not of the dead! +In its veins the blood is hot and red, +And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak +That time may have tamed, but has not broke; +It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine, +Is one of the three best kinds of wine, +And costs some hundred florins the ohm; +But that I do not consider dear, +When I remember that every year +Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome. +And whenever a goblet thereof I drain, +The old rhyme keeps running in my brain: + + At Bacharach on the Rhine, + At Hochheim on the Main, + And at Würzburg on the Stein, + Grow the three best kinds of wine! + +They are all good wines, and better far +Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr +In particular, Würzburg well may boast +Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost, +Which of all wines I like the most. +This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking, +Who seems to be much of my way of thinking. + + (_Fills a flagon._) + +Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings! +What a delicious fragrance springs +From the deep flagon, while it fills, +As of hyacinths and daffodils! +Between this cask and the Abbot's lips +Many have been the sips and slips; +Many have been the draughts of wine, +On their way to his, that have stopped at mine; +And many a time my soul has hankered +For a deep draught out of his silver tankard, +When it should have been busy with other affairs, +Less with its longings and more with its prayers. +But now there is no such awkward condition, +No danger of death and eternal perdition; +So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all, +Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul! + + (_He drinks._) + +O cordial delicious! O soother of pain! +It flashes like sunshine into my brain! +A benison rest on the Bishop who sends +Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends! + +And now a flagon for such as may ask +A draught from the noble Bacharach cask, +And I will be gone, though I know full well +The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell. +Behold where he stands, all sound and good, +Brown and old in his oaken hood; +Silent he seems externally +As any Carthusian monk may be; +But within, what a spirit of deep unrest! +What a seething and simmering in his breast! +As if the heaving of his great heart +Would burst his belt of oak apart! +Let me unloose this button of wood, +And quiet a little his turbulent mood. + + (_Sets it running._) + +See! how its currents gleam and shine, +As if they had caught the purple hues +Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, +Descending and mingling with the dews; +Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood +Of the innocent boy, who, some years back, +Was taken and crucified by the Jews, +In that ancient town of Bacharach; +Perdition upon those infidel Jews, +In that ancient town of Bacharach! +The beautiful town, that gives us wine +With the fragrant odor of Muscadine! +I should deem it wrong to let this pass +Without first touching my lips to the glass, +For here in the midst of the current I stand, +Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river +Taking toll upon either hand, +And much more grateful to the giver. + + (_He drinks._) + +Here, now, is a very inferior kind, +Such as in any town you may find, +Such as one might imagine would suit +The rascal who drank wine out of a boot, +And, after all, it was not a crime, +For he won thereby Dorf Hüffelsheim. +A jolly old toper! who at a pull +Could drink a postilion's jack boot full, +And ask with a laugh, when that was done, +If the fellow had left the other one! +This wine is as good as we can afford +To the friars, who sit at the lower board, +And cannot distinguish bad from good, +And are far better off than if they could, +Being rather the rude disciples of beer +Than of anything more refined and dear! + + (_Fills the other flagon and departs._) + + * * * * * + + +THE SCRIPTORIUM. + +FRIAR PACIFICUS _transcribing and illuminating._ + + _Friar Pacificus_ It is growing dark! Yet one line more, +And then my work for today is o'er. +I come again to the name of the Lord! +Ere I that awful name record, +That is spoken so lightly among men, +Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen; +Pure from blemish and blot must it be +When it writes that word of mystery! + +Thus have I labored on and on, +Nearly through the Gospel of John. +Can it be that from the lips +Of this same gentle Evangelist, +That Christ himself perhaps has kissed, +Came the dread Apocalypse! +It has a very awful look, +As it stands there at the end of the book, +Like the sun in an eclipse. +Ah me! when I think of that vision divine, +Think of writing it, line by line, +I stand in awe of the terrible curse, +Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse! +God forgive me! if ever I +Take aught from the book of that Prophecy, +Lest my part too should be taken away +From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day. + +This is well written, though I say it! +I should not be afraid to display it, +In open day, on the selfsame shelf +With the writings of St Thecla herself, +Or of Theodosius, who of old +Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold! +That goodly folio standing yonder, +Without a single blot or blunder, +Would not bear away the palm from mine, +If we should compare them line for line. + +There, now, is an initial letter! +King René himself never made a better! +Finished down to the leaf and the snail, +Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail! +And now, as I turn the volume over, +And see what lies between cover and cover, +What treasures of art these pages hold, +All ablaze with crimson and gold, +God forgive me! I seem to feel +A certain satisfaction steal +Into my heart, and into my brain, +As if my talent had not lain +Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. +Yes, I might almost say to the Lord, +Here is a copy of thy Word, +Written out with much toil and pain; +Take it, O Lord, and let it be +As something I have done for thee! + + (_He looks from the window._) + +How sweet the air is! How fair the scene! +I wish I had as lovely a green +To paint my landscapes and my leaves! +How the swallows twitter under the eaves! +There, now, there is one in her nest; +I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast, +And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook, +In the margin of my Gospel book. + + (_He makes a sketch._) + +I can see no more. Through the valley yonder +A shower is passing; I hear the thunder +Mutter its curses in the air, +The Devil's own and only prayer! +The dusty road is brown with rain, +And speeding on with might and main, +Hitherward rides a gallant train. +They do not parley, they cannot wait, +But hurry in at the convent gate. +What a fair lady! and beside her +What a handsome, graceful, noble rider! +Now she gives him her hand to alight; +They will beg a shelter for the night. +I will go down to the corridor, +And try to see that face once more; +It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint, +Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. + + (_Goes out._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CLOISTERS. + + + * * * * * + +_The_ ABBOT ERNESTUS _pacing to and fro._ + + _Abbot._ Slowly, slowly up the wall +Steals the sunshine, steals the shade; +Evening damps begin to fall, +Evening shadows are displayed. +Round me, o'er me, everywhere, +All the sky is grand with clouds, +And athwart the evening air +Wheel the swallows home in crowds. +Shafts of sunshine from the west +Paint the dusky windows red; +Darker shadows, deeper rest, +Underneath and overhead. +Darker, darker, and more wan, +In my breast the shadows fall; +Upward steals the life of man, +As the sunshine from the wall. +From the wall into the sky, +From the roof along the spire; +Ah, the souls of those that die +Are but sunbeams lifted higher. + + (_Enter_ PRINCE HENRY.) + + _Prince Henry._ Christ is arisen! + + _Abbot._ Amen! he is arisen! +His peace be with you! + + _Prince Henry._ Here it reigns forever! +The peace of God, that passeth understanding, +Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors, +Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent? + + _Abbot._ I am. + + _Prince Henry._ And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, +Who crave your hospitality to-night. + + _Abbot._ You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. +You do us honor; and we shall requite it, +I fear, but poorly, entertaining you +With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine, +The remnants of our Easter holidays. + + _Prince Henry._ How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau? +Are all things well with them? + + _Abbot._ All things are well. + + _Prince Henry._ A noble convent! I have known it long +By the report of travellers. I now see +Their commendations lag behind the truth. +You lie here in the valley of the Nagold +As in a nest: and the still river, gliding +Along its bed, is like an admonition +How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample, +And your revenues large. God's benediction +Rests on your convent. + + _Abbot._ By our charities +We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, +When he departed, left us in his will, +As our best legacy on earth, the poor! +These we have always with us; had we not, +Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones. + + _Prince Henry._ If I remember right, the Counts of Calva +Founded your convent. + + _Abbot._ Even as you say. + + _Prince Henry._ And, if I err not, it is very old. + + _Abbot._ Within these cloisters lie already buried +Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags +On which we stand, the Abbot William lies, +Of blessed memory. + + _Prince Henry._ And whose tomb is that, +Which bears the brass escutcheon? + + _Abbot._ A benefactor's. +Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood +Godfather to our bells. + + _Prince Henry._ Your monks are learned +And holy men, I trust. + + _Abbot._ There are among them +Learned and holy men. Yet in this age +We need another Hildebrand, to shake +And purify us like a mighty wind. +The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder +God does not lose his patience with it wholly, +And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times, +Within these walls, where all should be at peace, +I have my trials. Time has laid his hand +Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, +But as a harper lays his open palm +Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. +Ashes are on my head, and on my lips +Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness +And weariness of life, that makes me ready +To say to the dead Abbots under us, +"Make room for me!" Only I see the dusk +Of evening twilight coming, and have not +Completed half my task; and so at times +The thought of my shortcomings in this life +Falls like a shadow on the life to come. + + _Prince Henry._ We must all die, and not the old alone; +The young have no exemption from that doom. + + _Abbot._ Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must! +That is the difference. + + _Prince Henry._ I have heard much laud +Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium +Is famous among all, your manuscripts +Praised for their beauty and their excellence. + + _Abbot._ That is indeed our boast. If you desire it, +You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile +Shall the Refectorarius bestow +Your horses and attendants for the night. + + (_They go in. The Vesper-bell rings._) + + * * * * * + +THE CHAPEL. + + * * * * * + +_Vespers; after which the monks retire, a chorister +leading an old monk who is blind_. + + _Prince Henry._ They are all gone, save one who lingers, +Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. +As if his heart could find no rest, +At times he beats his heaving breast +With clenched and convulsive fingers, +Then lifts them trembling in the air. +A chorister, with golden hair, +Guides hitherward his heavy pace. +Can it be so? Or does my sight +Deceive me in the uncertain light? +Ah no! I recognize that face, +Though Time has touched it in his flight, +And changed the auburn hair to white. +It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, +The deadliest foe of all our race, +And hateful unto me and mine! + + _The Blind Monk_. Who is it that doth stand so near +His whispered words I almost hear? + + _Prince Henry_. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, +And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine! +I know you, and I see the scar, +The brand upon your forehead, shine +And redden like a baleful star! + + _The Blind Monk_. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck +Of what I was. O Hoheneck! +The passionate will, the pride, the wrath +That bore me headlong on my path, +Stumbled and staggered into fear, +And failed me in my mad career, +As a tired steed some evil-doer, +Alone upon a desolate moor, +Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, +And hearing loud and close behind +The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer. +Then suddenly, from the dark there came +A voice that called me by my name, +And said to me, "Kneel down and pray!" +And so my terror passed away, +Passed utterly away forever. +Contrition, penitence, remorse, +Came on me, with o'erwhelming force; +A hope, a longing, an endeavor, +By days of penance and nights of prayer, +To frustrate and defeat despair! +Calm, deep, and still is now my heart. +With tranquil waters overflowed; +A lake whose unseen fountains start, +Where once the hot volcano glowed. +And you, O Prince of Hoheneck! +Have known me in that earlier time, +A man of violence and crime, +Whose passions brooked no curb nor check. +Behold me now, in gentler mood, +One of this holy brotherhood. +Give me your hand; here let me kneel; +Make your reproaches sharp as steel; +Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek; +No violence can harm the meek, +There is no wound Christ cannot heal! +Yes; lift your princely hand, and take +Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek, +Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake! + + _Prince Henry._ Arise, Count Hugo! let there be +No farther strife nor enmity +Between us twain; we both have erred! +Too rash in act, too wroth in word, +From the beginning have we stood +In fierce, defiant attitude, +Each thoughtless of the other's right, +And each reliant on his might. +But now our souls are more subdued; +The hand of God, and not in vain, +Has touched us with the fire of pain. +Let us kneel down, and side by side +Pray, till our souls are purified, +And pardon will not be denied! + + (_They kneel._) + + * * * * * + +THE REFECTORY. + + * * * * * + +_Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. LUCIFER disguised +as a Friar._ + +_Friar Paul (sings)._ Ave! color vini clari, + Dulcis potus, non aman, + Tua nos inebriari + Digneris potentia! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Not so much noise, my worthy freres, +You'll disturb the Abbot at his prayers. + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ O! quam placens in colore! + O! quam fragrans in odore! + O! quam sapidum in ore! + Dulce linguse vinculum! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I should think your tongue had +broken its chain! + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ Felix venter quern intrabis! + Felix guttur quod rigabis! + Felix os quod tu lavabis! + Et beata labia! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Peace! I say, peace! +Will you never cease! +You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again! + + _Friar John._ No danger! to-night he will let us alone, +As I happen to know he has guests of his own. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Who are they? + + _Friar John._ A German Prince and his train, +Who arrived here just before the rain. +There is with him a damsel fair to see, +As slender and graceful as a reed! +When she alighted from her steed, +It seemed like a blossom blown from a tree. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ None of your pale-faced girls for me! + + + (_Kisses the girl at his side_.) + + _Friar John._ Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg! +do not drink any farther, I beg! + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ In the days of gold, + The days of old, + Cross of wood + And bishop of gold! + + _Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)._ What an infernal racket and din! +No need not blush so, that's no sin. +You look very holy in this disguise, +Though there's something wicked in your eyes! + + _Friar Paul (continues.)_ Now we have changed + That law so good, + To cross of gold + And bishop of wood! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I like your sweet face under a hood. +Sister! how came you into this way? + + _Girl._ It was you, Friar Cuthbert, who led me astray. +Have you forgotten that day in June, +When the church was so cool in the afternoon, +And I came in to confess my sins? +That is where my ruin begins. + + _Friar John._ What is the name of yonder friar, +With an eye that glows like a coal of fire, +And such a black mass of tangled hair? + + _Friar Paul._ He who is sitting there, +With a rollicking, +Devil may care, +Free and easy look and air, +As if he were used to such feasting and frollicking? + + _Friar John._ The same. + + _Friar Paul._ He's a stranger. You had better ask his name, +And where he is going, and whence he came. + + _Friar John._ Hallo! Sir Friar! + + _Friar Paul._ You must raise your voice a little higher, +He does not seem to hear what you say. +Now, try again! He is looking this way. + + _Friar John._ Hallo! Sir Friar, +We wish to inquire +Whence you came, and where you are going, +And anything else that is worth the knowing. +So be so good as to open your head. + + _Lucifer._ I am a Frenchman born and bred, +Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. +My home +Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, +Of which, very like, you never have heard. + + _Monks._ Never a word! + + _Lucifer._ You must know, then, it is in the diocese +Called the Diocese of Vannes, +In the province of Brittany. +From the gray rocks of Morbihan +It overlooks the angry sea; +The very seashore where, +In his great despair, +Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, +Filling the night with woe, +And wailing aloud to the merciless seas +The name of his sweet Heloise! +Whilst overhead +The convent windows gleamed as red +As the fiery eyes of the monks within, +Who with jovial din +Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin! +Ha! that is a convent! that is an abbey! +Over the doors, +None of your death-heads carved in wood, +None of your Saints looking pious and good, +None of your Patriarchs old and shabby! +But the heads and tusks of boars, +And the cells +Hung all round with the fells +of the fallow-deer, +And then what cheer! +What jolly, fat friars, +Sitting round the great, roaring fires, +Roaring louder than they, +With their strong wines, +And their concubines, +And never a bell, +With its swagger and swell, +Calling you up with a start of affright +In the dead of night, +To send you grumbling down dark stairs, +To mumble your prayers, +But the cheery crow +Of cocks in the yard below, +After daybreak, an hour or so, +And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds, +These are the sounds +That, instead of bells, salute the ear. +And then all day +Up and away +Through the forest, hunting the deer! +Ah, my friends! I'm afraid that here +You are a little too pious, a little too tame, +And the more is the shame, +It is the greatest folly +Not to be jolly; +That's what I think! +Come, drink, drink, +Drink, and die game! + + _Monks,_ And your Abbot What's-his-name? + + _Lucifer._ Abelard! + + _Monks._ Did he drink hard? + + _Lucifer._ O, no! Not he! +He was a dry old fellow, +Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow. +There he stood, +Lowering at us in sullen mood, +As if he had come into Brittany +Just to reform our brotherhood! + + (_A roar of laughter_.) + +But you see +It never would do! +For some of us knew a thing or two, +In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys! +For instance, the great ado +With old Fulbert's niece, +The young and lovely Heloise! + + _Friar John._ Stop there, if you please, +Till we drink to the fair Heloise. + + _All (drinking and shouting)._ Heloise! Heloise! + + (_The Chapel-bell tolls_.) + + _Lucifer (starting)._ What is that bell for? Are you such asses +As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses? + +_Friar Cuthbert._ It is only a poor, unfortunate brother, +Who is gifted with most miraculous powers +Of getting up at all sorts of hours, +And, by way of penance and Christian meekness, +Of creeping silently out of his cell +To take a pull at that hideous bell; +So that all the monks who are lying awake +May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake, +And adapted to his peculiar weakness! + + _Friar John._ From frailty and fall-- + + _All._ Good Lord, deliver us all! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ And before the bell for matins sounds, +He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds, +Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, +Merely to say it is time to arise. +But enough of that. Go on, if you please, +With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys. + + _Lucifer._ Well, it finally came to pass +That, half in fun and half in malice, +One Sunday at Mass +We put some poison into the chalice. +But, either by accident or design, +Peter Abelard kept away +From the chapel that day, +And a poor, young friar, who in his stead +Drank the sacramental wine, +Fell on the steps of the altar, dead! +But look! do you see at the window there +That face, with a look of grief and despair, +That ghastly face, as of one in pain? + + _Monks._ Who? where? + + _Lucifer._ As I spoke, it vanished away again. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ It is that nefarious +Siebald the Refectorarius. +That fellow is always playing the scout, +Creeping and peeping and prowling about; +And then he regales +The Abbot with Scandalous tales. + + _Lucifer_. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers +Telling scandalous tales of the others? +Out upon him, the lazy loon! +I would put a stop to that pretty soon, +In a way he should rue it. + + _Monks_. How shall we do it? + + _Lucifer_. Do you, brother Paul, +Creep under the window, close to the wall, +And open it suddenly when I call. +Then seize the villain by the hair, +And hold him there, +And punish him soundly, once for all. + + _Friar Cuthbert_. As St. Dustan of old, +We are told, +Once caught the Devil by the nose! + + _Lucifer_. Ha! ha! that story is very clever, +But has no foundation whatsoever. +Quick! for I see his face again +Glaring in at the window pane; +Now! now! and do not spare your blows. + + (FRIAR PAUL _opens the window suddenly, and seizes_ + SIEBALD. _They beat him._) + + _Friar Siebald_. Help! help! are you going to slay me? + + _Friar Paul_. That will teach you again to betray me! + + _Friar Siebald_. Mercy! mercy! + + _Friar Paul_ (_shouting and beating_). Rumpas bellorum lorum, + Vim confer amorum + Morum verorum, rorun. + Tu plena polorum! + + _Lucifer_. Who stands in the doorway yonder, +Stretching out his trembling hand, +Just as Abelard used to stand, +The flash of his keen, black eyes +Forerunning the thunder? + + _The Monks (in confusion)_. The Abbot! the +Abbot! + + _Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)_. Put on your disguise! + + _Friar Francis_. Hide the great flagon +From the eyes of the dragon! + + _Friar Cuthbert_. Pull the brown hood over your face, +Lest you bring me into disgrace! + + _Abbot_. What means this revel and carouse? +Is this a tavern and drinking-house? +Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils, +To pollute this convent with your revels? +Were Peter Damian still upon earth, +To be shocked by such ungodly mirth, +He would write your names, with pen of gall, +In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all! +Away, you drunkards! to your cells, +And pray till you hear the matin-bells; +You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul! +And as a penance mark each prayer +With the scourge upon your shoulders bare; +Nothing atones for such a sin +But the blood that follows the discipline. +And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me +Alone into the sacristy; +You, who should be a guide to your brothers, +And are ten times worse than all the others, +For you I've a draught that has long been brewing +You shall do a penance worth the doing! +Away to your prayers, then, one and all! +I wonder the very, convent wall +Does not crumble and crush you in its fall! + + * * * * * + + +THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY. + + * * * * * + +_The_ ABBESS IRMINGARD _sitting with_ ELSIE _in the +moonlight._ + + _Irmingard_ The night is silent, the wind is still, +The moon is looking from yonder hill +Down upon convent, and grove, and garden; +The clouds have passed away from her face, +Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace, +Only the tender and quiet grace +Of one, whose heart had been healed with pardon! + +And such am I. My soul within +Was dark with passion and soiled with sin. +But now its wounds are healed again; +Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain; +For across that desolate land of woe, +O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go, +A wind from heaven began to blow; +And all my being trembled and shook, +As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field, +And I was healed, as the sick are healed, +When fanned by the leaves of the Holy Book! + +As thou sittest in the moonlight there, +Its glory flooding thy golden hair, +And the only darkness that which lies +In the haunted chambers of thine eyes, +I feel my soul drawn unto thee, +Strangely, and strongly, and more and more, +As to one I have known and loved before; +For every soul is akin to me +That dwells in the land of mystery! +I am the Lady Irmingard, +Born of a noble race and name! +Many a wandering Suabian bard, +Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard, +Has found through me the way to fame. +Brief and bright were those days, and the night +Which followed was full of a lurid light. +Love, that of every woman's heart +Will have the whole, and not a part, +That is to her, in Nature's plan, +More than ambition is to man, +Her light, her life, her very breath, +With no alternative but death, +Found me a maiden soft and young, +Just from the convent's cloistered school, +And seated on my lowly stool, +Attentive while the minstrels sung. + +Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, +Fairest, noblest, best of all, +Was Walter of the Vogelweid, +And, whatsoever may betide, +Still I think of him with pride! +His song was of the summer-time +The very birds sang in his rhyme; +The sunshine, the delicious air, +The fragrance of the flowers, were there, +And I grew restless as I heard, +Restless and buoyant as a bird, +Down soft, aërial currents sailing, +O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom, +And through the momentary gloom +Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, +Yielding and borne I knew not where, +But feeling resistance unavailing. + +And thus, unnoticed and apart, +And more by accident than choice. +I listened to that single voice +Until the chambers of my heart +Were filled with it by night and day, +One night,--it was a night in May,-- +Within the garden, unawares, +Under the blossoms in the gloom, +I heard it utter my own name +With protestations and wild prayers; +And it rang through me, and became +Like the archangel's trump of doom, +Which the soul hears, and must obey; +And mine arose as from a tomb. +My former life now seemed to me +Such as hereafter death may be, +When in the great Eternity +We shall awake and find it day. + +It was a dream, and would not stay; +A dream, that in a single night +Faded and vanished out of sight. +My father's anger followed fast +This passion, as a freshening blast +Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage +It may increase, but not assuage. +And he exclaimed: "No wandering bard +Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard! +For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck +By messenger and letter sues." + +Gently, but firmly, I replied: +"Henry of Hoheneck I discard! +Never the hand of Irmingard +Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride!" +This said I, Walter, for thy sake: +This said I, for I could not choose. +After a pause, my father spake +In that cold and deliberate tone +Which turns the hearer into stone, +And seems itself the act to be +That follows with such dread certainty; +"This, or the cloister and the veil!" +No other words than these he said, +But they were like a funeral wail; +My life was ended, my heart was dead. + +That night from the castle-gate went down, +With silent, slow, and stealthy pace, +Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds, +Taking the narrow path that leads +Into the forest dense and brown, +In the leafy darkness of the place, +One could not distinguish form nor face, +Only a bulk without a shape, +A darker shadow in the shade; +One scarce could say it moved or stayed, +Thus it was we made our escape! +A foaming brook, with many a bound, +Followed us like a playful hound; +Then leaped before us, and in the hollow +Paused, and waited for us to follow, +And seemed impatient, and afraid +That our tardy flight should be betrayed +By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made, +And when we reached the plain below, +He paused a moment and drew rein +To look back at the castle again; +And we saw the windows all aglow +With lights, that were passing to and fro; +Our hearts with terror ceased to beat; +The brook crept silent to our feet; +We knew what most we feared to know. +Then suddenly horns began to blow; +And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp, +And our horses snorted in the damp +Night-air of the meadows green and wide, +And in a moment, side by side, +So close, they must have seemed but one, +The shadows across the moonlight run, +And another came, and swept behind, +Like the shadow of clouds before the wind! + +How I remember that breathless flight +Across the moors, in the summer night! +How under our feet the long, white road +Backward like a river flowed, +Sweeping with it fences and hedges, +Whilst farther away, and overhead, +Paler than I, with fear and dread, +The moon fled with us, as we fled +Along the forest's jagged edges! + +All this I can remember well; +But of what afterward befell +I nothing farther can recall +Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall; +The rest is a blank and darkness all. +When I awoke out of this swoon, +The sun was shining, not the moon, +Making a cross upon the wall +With the bars of my windows narrow and tall; +And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray, +From early childhood, day by day, +Each morning, as in bed I lay! +I was lying again in my own room! +And I thanked God, in my fever and pain, +That those shadows on the midnight plain +Were gone, and could not come again! +I struggled no longer with my doom! +This happened many years ago. +I left my father's home to come +Like Catherine to her martyrdom, +For blindly I esteemed it so. +And when I heard the convent door +Behind me close, to ope no more, +I felt it smite me like a blow, +Through all my limbs a shudder ran, +And on my bruised spirit fell +The dampness of my narrow cell +As night-air on a wounded man, +Giving intolerable pain. + +But now a better life began, +I felt the agony decrease +By slow degrees, then wholly cease, +Ending in perfect rest and peace! +It was not apathy, nor dulness, +That weighed and pressed upon my brain, +But the same passion I had given +To earth before, now turned to heaven +With all its overflowing fulness. + +Alas! the world is full of peril! +The path that runs through the fairest meads, +On the sunniest side of the valley, leads +Into a region bleak and sterile! +Alike in the high-born and the lowly, +The will is feeble, and passion strong. +We cannot sever right from wrong; +Some falsehood mingles with all truth; +Nor is it strange the heart of youth +Should waver and comprehend but slowly +The things that are holy and unholy! + +But in this sacred and calm retreat, +We are all well and safely shielded +From winds that blow, and waves that beat, +From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat, +To which the strongest hearts have yielded. +Here we stand as the Virgins Seven, +For our celestial bridegroom yearning; +Our hearts are lamps forever burning, +With a steady and unwavering flame, +Pointing upward, forever the same, +Steadily upward toward the Heaven! + +The moon is hidden behind a cloud; +A sudden darkness fills the room, +And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, +Shine like jewels in a shroud. +On the leaves is a sound of falling rain; +A bird, awakened in its nest, +Gives a faint twitter of unrest, +Then smoothes its plumes and sleeps again. + +No other sounds than these I hear; +The hour of midnight must be near. +Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue +Of riding many a dusty league; +Sink, then, gently to thy slumber; +Me so many cares encumber, +So many ghosts, and forms of fright, +Have started from their graves to-night, +They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: +I will go down to the chapel and pray. + + * * * * * + +V. + +A COVERED BRIDGE AT LUCERNE. + + + * * * * * + + + _Prince Henry_. God's blessing on the architects who build +The bridges o'er swift rivers and abysses +Before impassable to human feet, +No less than on the builders of cathedrals, +Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across +The dark and terrible abyss of Death. +Well has the name of Pontifex been given +Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder +And architect of the invisible bridge +That leads from earth to heaven. + + _Elsie_ How dark it grows! +What are these paintings on the walls around us? + + _Prince Henry_ The Dance Macaber! + + _Elsie_ What? + + _Prince Henry_ The Dance of Death! +All that go to and fro must look upon it, +Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath, +Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river +Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, +With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright, +Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it. + + _Elsie._ O, yes! I see it now! + + _Prince Henry_ The grim musician +Leads all men through the mazes of that dance, +To different sounds in different measures moving; +Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum, +To tempt or terrify. + + _Elsie_ What is this picture? + + _Prince Henry_ It is a young man singing to a nun, +Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling +Turns round to look at him, and Death, meanwhile, +Is putting out the candles on the altar! + + _Elsie_ Ah, what a pity 't is that she should listen +to such songs, when in her orisons +She might have heard in heaven the angels singing! + + _Prince Henry_ Here he has stolen a jester's cap and bells, +And dances with the Queen. + + _Elsie_ A foolish jest! + + _Prince Henry_ And here the heart of the new-wedded wife, +Coming from church with her beloved lord, +He startles with the rattle of his drum. + + _Elsie_ Ah, that is sad! And yet perhaps 't is best +That she should die, with all the sunshine on her, +And all the benedictions of the morning, +Before this affluence of golden light +Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray, +Then into darkness! + + _Prince Henry_ Under it is written, +"Nothing but death shall separate thee and me!" + + _Elsie._ And what is this, that follows close upon it? + + _Prince Henry_ Death, playing on a ducimer. Behind him, +A poor old woman, with a rosary, +Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet +Were swifter to o'ertake him. Underneath, +The inscription reads, "Better is Death than Life." + + _Elsie._ Better is Death than Life! Ah yes! to thousands +Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings +That song of consolation, till the air +Rings with it, and they cannot choose but follow +Whither he leads. And not the old alone, +But the young also hear it, and are still. + + _Prince Henry_ Yes, in their sadder moments. 'T is the sound +Of their own hearts they hear, half full of tears, +Which are like crystal cups, half filled with water. +Responding to the pressure of a finger +With music sweet and low and melancholy. +Let us go forward, and no longer stay +In this great picture-gallery of Death! +I hate it! ay, the very thought of it! + + _Elsie._ Why is it hateful to you? + + _Prince Henry._ For the reason +That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely, +And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful. + + _Elsie._ The grave is but a covered bridge, +leading from light to light, through a brief darkness! + + _Prince Henry (emerging from the bridge)._ I breathe again more + freely! Ah, how pleasant +To come once more into the light of day, +Out of that shadow of death! To hear again +The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground, +And not upon those hollow planks, resounding +With a sepulchral echo, like the clods +On coffins in a churchyard! Yonder lies +The Lake of the Four Forest-Towns, apparelled +In light, and lingering, like a village maiden, +Hid in the bosom of her native mountains, +Then pouring all her life into another's, +Changing her name and being! Overhead, +Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air, +Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. + + (_They pass on_.) + + * * * * * + + +THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE. + + * * * * * + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _crossing, with attendants._ + + _Guide._ This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge. +With a single arch, from ridge to ridge, +It leaps across the terrible chasm +Yawning beneath us, black and deep, +As if, in some convulsive spasm, +the summits of the hills had cracked, +and made a road for the cataract, +That raves and rages down the steep! + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ Never any bridge but this +Could stand across the wild abyss; +All the rest, of wood or stone, +By the Devil's hand were overthrown. +He toppled crags from the precipice, +And whatsoe'er was built by day +In the night was swept away; +None could stand but this alone. + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ I showed you in the valley a boulder +Marked with the imprint of his shoulder; +As he was bearing it up this way, +A peasant, passing, cried, "Herr Jé!" +And the Devil dropped it in his fright, +And vanished suddenly out of sight! + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, +For pilgrims on their way to Rome, +Built this at last, with a single arch, +Under which, on its endless march, +Runs the river, white with foam, +Like a thread through the eye of a needle. +And the Devil promised to let it stand, +Under compact and condition +That the first living thing which crossed +Should be surrendered into his hand, +And be beyond redemption lost. + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! perdition! + + _Guide._ At length, the bridge being all completed, +The Abbot, standing at its head, +Threw across it a loaf of bread, +Which a hungry dog sprang after, +And the rocks reechoed with peals of laughter +To see the Devil thus defeated! + + (_They pass on_) + + _Lucifer_ (_under the bridge_) Ha! ha! defeated! +For journeys and for crimes like this +To let the bridge stand o'er the abyss! + + * * * * * + + +THE ST. GOTHARD PASS. + + + * * * * * + + _Prince Henry._ This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers +Leap down to different seas, and as they roll +Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence +Becomes a benefaction to the towns +They visit, wandering silently among them, +Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. + + _Elsie._ How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses +Grow on these rocks. + + _Prince Henry._ Yet are they not forgotten; +Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them. + + _Elsie._ See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft +So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away +Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me +The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels! + + _Prince Henry._ Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels +Bear thee across these chasms and precipices, +Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone! + + _Elsie._ Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, +Upon angelic shoulders! Even now +I Seem uplifted by them, light as air! +What sound is that? + + _Prince Henry_. The tumbling avalanches! + + _Elsie_ How awful, yet how beautiful! + + _Prince Henry_. These are +The voices of the mountains! Thus they ope +Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other, +In the primeval language, lost to man. + + _Elsie_. What land is this that spreads itself beneath us? + + _Prince Henry_ Italy! Italy! + + _Elsie_ Land of the Madonna! +How beautiful it is! It seems a garden +Of Paradise! + + _Prince Henry_. Nay, of Gethsemane +To thee and me, of passion and of prayer! +Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago +I wandered as a youth among its bowers, +And never from my heart has faded quite +Its memory, that, like a summer sunset, +Encircles with a ring of purple light +All the horizon of my youth. + + _Guide_. O friends! +The days are short, the way before us long; +We must not linger, if we think to reach +The inn at Belinzona before vespers! + + (_They pass on_.) + + * * * * * + +AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS. + + * * * * * + +_A halt under the trees at noon_. + + _Prince Henry_ Here let us pause a moment in the trembling +Shadow and sunshine of the roadside trees, +And, our tired horses in a group assembling, +Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze +Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants; +They lag behind us with a slower pace; +We will await them under the green pendants +Of the great willows in this shady place. +Ho, Barbarossa! how thy mottled haunches +Sweat with this canter over hill and glade! +Stand still, and let these overhanging branches +Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade! + + _Elsie._ What a delightful landscape spreads before us, +Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and there! +And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o'er us, +Blossoms of grapevines scent the sunny air. + + _Prince Henry._ Hark! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents holy +Fill the warm noon with music sad and sweet! + + _Elsie._ It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly +On their long journey, with uncovered feet. + + _Pilgrims (chaunting the Hymn of St. Hildebert)_ + Me receptet Sion illa, + Sion David, urbs tranquilla, + Cujus faber auctor lucis, + Cujus portae lignum crucis, + Cujus claves lingua Petri, + Cujus cives semper laeti, + Cujus muri lapis vivus, + Cujus custos Rex festivus! + + _Lucifer (as a Friar in the procession)._ Here am I, too, in the + pious band, +In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed! +The soles of my feet are as hard and tanned +As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand, +The Holy Satan, who made the wives +Of the bishops lead such shameful lives. +All day long I beat my breast, +And chaunt with a most particular zest +The Latin hymns, which I understand +Quite as well, I think, as the rest. +And at night such lodging in barns and sheds, +Such a hurly-burly in country inns, +Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads, +Such a helter-skelter of prayers and sins! +Of all the contrivances of the time +For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime, +There is none so pleasing to me and mine +As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine! + + _Prince Henry._ If from the outward man we judge the inner, +And cleanliness is godliness, I fear +A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sinner, +Must be that Carmelite now passing near. + + _Lucifer._ There is my German Prince again, +Thus far on his journey to Salern, +And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain +Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain; +But it's a long road that has no turn! +Let them quietly hold their way, +I have also a part in the play. +But first I must act to my heart's content +This mummery and this merriment, +And drive this motley flock of sheep +Into the fold, where drink and sleep +The jolly old friars of Benevent. +Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh +To see these beggars hobble along, +Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, +Chanting their wonderful piff and paff, +And, to make up for not understanding the song, +Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong! +Were it not for my magic garters and staff, +And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, +And the mischief I make in the idle throng, +I should not continue the business long. + + _Pilgrims (chaunting)._ In hâc uibe, lux solennis, + Ver aeternum, pax perennis, + In hâc odor implens caelos, + In hâc semper festum melos! + + _Prince Henry._ Do you observe that monk among the train, +Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass, +As a cathedral spout pours out the rain, +And this way turns his rubicund, round face? + + _Elsie._ It is the same who, on the Strasburg square, +Preached to the people in the open air. + + _Prince Henry._ And he has crossed o'er mountain, field, and fell, +On that good steed, that seems to bear him well, +The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray, +His own stout legs! He, too, was in the play, +Both as King Herod and Ben Israel. +Good morrow, Friar! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Good morrow, noble Sir! + + _Prince Henry._ I speak in German, for, unless I err, +You are a German. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I cannot gainsay you. +But by what instinct, or what secret sign, +Meeting me here, do you straightway divine +That northward of the Alps my country lies? + + _Prince Henry._ Your accent, like St, Peter's, would betray you, +Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes, +Moreover, we have seen your face before, +And heard you preach at the Cathedral door +On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg square +We were among the crowd that gathered there, +And saw you play the Rabbi with great skill, +As if, by leaning o'er so many years +To walk with little children, your own will +Had caught a childish attitude from theirs, +A kind of stooping in its form and gait, +And could no longer stand erect and straight. +Whence come you now? + + _Friar Cuthbert._ From the old monastery +Of Hirschau, in the forest; being sent +Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent, +To see the image of the Virgin Mary, +That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks, +And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks, +To touch the hearts of the impenitent. + + _Prince Henry._ O, had I faith, as in the days gone by, +That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery! + + _Lucifer (at a distance)._ Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Farewell, Prince! +I cannot stay to argue and convince. + + _Prince Henry._ This is indeed the blessed Mary's land, +Virgin and Mother of our dear Redeemer! +All hearts are touched and softened at her name; +Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand, +The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant, +The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer, +Pay homage to her as one ever present! +And even as children, who have much offended +A too indulgent father, in great shame, +Penitent, and yet not daring unattended +To go into his presence, at the gate +Speak with their sister, and confiding wait +Till she goes in before and intercedes; +So men, repenting of their evil deeds, +And yet not venturing rashly to draw near +With their requests an angry father's ear, +Offer to her their prayers and their confession, +And she for them in heaven makes intercession. +And if our Faith had given us nothing more +Than this example of all womanhood, +So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, +So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, +This were enough to prove it higher and truer +Than all the creeds the world had known before. + +_Pilgrims (chaunting afar off)_. Urbs ccelestis, urbs beata, + Supra petram collocata, + Urbs in portu satis tuto + De longinquo te saluto, + Te saluto, te suspiro, + Te affecto, te requiro! + + * * * * * + + +THE INN AT GENOA. + + + * * * * * + +_A terrace overlooking the sea. Night._ + + _Prince Henry._ It is the sea, it is the sea, +In all its vague immensity, +Fading and darkening in the distance! +Silent, majestical, and slow, +The white ships haunt it to and fro, +With all their ghostly sails unfurled, +As phantoms from another world +Haunt the dim confines of existence! +But ah! how few can comprehend +Their signals, or to what good end +From land to land they come and go! +Upon a sea more vast and dark +The spirits of the dead embark, +All voyaging to unknown coasts. +We wave our farewells from the shore, +And they depart, and come no more, +Or come as phantoms and as ghosts. + +Above the darksome sea of death +Looms the great life that is to be, +A land of cloud and mystery, +A dim mirage, with shapes of men +Long dead, and passed beyond our ken. +Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath +Till the fair pageant vanisheth, +Leaving us in perplexity, +And doubtful whether it has been +A vision of the world unseen, +Or a bright image of our own +Against the sky in vapors thrown. + + _Lucifer (singing from the sea)_. Thou didst not make it, thou + canst not mend it, +But thou hast the power to end it! +The sea is silent, the sea is discreet, +Deep it lies at thy very feet; +There is no confessor like unto Death! +Thou canst not see him, but he is near; +Thou needest not whisper above thy breath, +And he will hear; +He will answer the questions, +The vague surmises and suggestions, +That fill thy soul with doubt and fear! + + _Prince Henry_. The fisherman, who lies afloat, +With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, +Is singing softly to the Night! +But do I comprehend aright +The meaning of the words he sung +So sweetly in his native tongue? +Ah, yes! the sea is still and deep. +All things within its bosom sleep! +A single step, and all is o'er; +A plunge, a bubble, and no more; +And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free +From martyrdom and agony. + + _Elsie (coming from her chamber upon the terrace)._ +The night is calm and cloudless, +And still as still can be, +And the stars come forth to listen +To the music of the sea. +They gather, and gather, and gather, +Until they crowd the sky, +And listen, in breathless silence, +To the solemn litany. +It begins in rocky caverns, +As a voice that chaunts alone +To the pedals of the organ +In monotonous undertone; +And anon from shelving beaches, +And shallow sands beyond, +In snow-white robes uprising +The ghostly choirs respond. +And sadly and unceasing +The mournful voice sings on, +And the snow-white choirs still answer +Christe eleison! + + _Prince Henry._ Angel of God! thy finer sense perceives +Celestial and perpetual harmonies! +Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes, +Hears the archangel's trumpet in the breeze, +And where the forest rolls, or ocean heaves, +Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas, +And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves. +But I hear discord only and despair, +And whispers as of demons in the air! + + * * * * * + + +AT SEA. + + + * * * * * + + _Il Padrone._ The wind upon our quarter lies, +And on before the freshening gale, +That fills the snow-white lateen sail, +Swiftly our light felucca flies. +Around, the billows burst and foam; +They lift her o'er the sunken rock, +They beat her sides with many a shock, +And then upon their flowing dome +They poise her, like a weathercock! +Between us and the western skies +The hills of Corsica arise; +Eastward, in yonder long, blue line, +The summits of the Apennine, +And southward, and still far away, +Salerno, on its sunny bay. +You cannot see it, where it lies. + + _Prince Henry._ Ah, would that never more mine eyes +Might see its towers by night or day! + + _Elsie._ Behind us, dark and awfully, +There comes a cloud out of the sea, +That bears the form of a hunted deer, +With hide of brown, and hoofs of black, +And antlers laid upon its back, +And fleeing fast and wild with fear, +As if the hounds were on its track! + + _Prince Henry._ Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and falls +In shapeless masses, like the walls +Of a burnt city. Broad and red +The fires of the descending sun +Glare through the windows, and o'erhead, +Athwart the vapors, dense and dun, +Long shafts of silvery light arise, +Like rafters that support the skies! + + _Elsie._ See! from its summit the lurid levin +Flashes downward without warning, +As Lucifer, son of the morning, +Fell from the battlements of heaven! + + _Il Padrone._ I must entreat you, friends, below! +The angry storm begins to blow, +For the weather changes with the moon. +All this morning, until noon, +We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws +Struck the sea with their cat's-paws. +Only a little hour ago +I was whistling to Saint Antonio +For a capful of wind to fill our sail, +And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale. +Last night I saw St. Elmo's stars, +With their glimmering lanterns, all at play +On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars, +And I knew we should have foul weather to-day. +Cheerily, my hearties! yo heave ho! +Brail up the mainsail, and let her go +As the winds will and Saint Antonio! + +Do you see that Livornese felucca, +That vessel to the windward yonder, +Running with her gunwale under? +I was looking when the wind o'ertook her, +She had all sail set, and the only wonder +Is that at once the strength of the blast +Did not carry away her mast. +She is a galley of the Gran Duca, +That, through the fear of the Algerines, +Convoys those lazy brigantines, +Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. +Now all is ready, high and low; +Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio! + +Ha! that is the first dash of the rain, +With a sprinkle of spray above the rails, +Just enough to moisten our sails, +And make them ready for the strain. +See how she leaps, as the blasts o'ertake her, +And speeds away with a bone in her mouth! +Now keep her head toward the south, +And there is no danger of bank or breaker. +With the breeze behind us, on we go; +Not too much, good Saint Antonio! + + + + +VI. + + +THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO. + +_A traveling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate +of the College._ + + _Scholastic._ There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield, +Hung up as a challenge to all the field! +One hundred and twenty-five propositions, +Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue +Against all disputants, old and young. +Let us see if doctors or dialecticians +Will dare to dispute my definitions, +Or attack any one of my learned theses. +Here stand I; the end shall be as God pleases. +I think I have proved, by profound research +The error of all those doctrines so vicious +Of the old Areopagite Dionysius, +That are making such terrible work in the churches, +By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East, +And done into Latin by that Scottish beast, +Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain, +In the face of the truth, the error infernal, +That the universe is and must be eternal; +At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, +That nothing with God can be accidental; +Then asserting that God before the creation +Could not have existed, because it is plain +That, had he existed, he would have created; +Which is begging the question that should be debated, +And moveth me less to anger than laughter. +All nature, he holds, is a respiration +Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter +Will inhale it into his bosom again, +So that nothing but God alone will remain. +And therein he contradicteth himself; +For he opens the whole discussion by stating, +That God can only exist in creating. +That question I think I have laid on the shelf! + + (_He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and + followed by pupils._) + + _Doctor Serafino._ I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain, +That a word which is only conceived in the brain +Is a type of eternal Generation; +The spoken word is the Incarnation. + + _Doctor Cherubino._ What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic, +With all his wordy chaffer and traffic? + + _Doctor Serafino._ You make but a paltry show of resistance; +Universals have no real existence! + + _Doctor Cherubino._ Your words are but idle and empty chatter; +Ideas are eternally joined to matter! + + _Doctor Serafino_. May the Lord have mercy on your position, +You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs! + + _Doctor Cherubino_. May he send your soul to eternal perdition, +For your Treatise on the Irregular Verbs! + + (_They rush out fighting. Two Scholars come in._) + + _First Scholar_. Monte Cassino, then, is your College. +What think you of ours here at Salern? + + _Second Scholar_. To tell the truth, I arrived so lately, +I hardly yet have had time to discern. +So much, at least, I am bound to acknowledge: +The air seems healthy, the buildings stately, +And on the whole I like it greatly. + + _First Scholar_. Yes, the air is sweet; the Calabrian hills +Send us down puffs of mountain air; +And in summer time the sea-breeze fills +With its coolness cloister, and court, and square. +Then at every season of the year +There are crowds of guests and travellers here; +Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, and traders +From the Levant, with figs and wine, +And bands of wounded and sick Crusaders, +Coming back from Palestine. + + _Second Scholar_. And what are the studies you pursue? +What is the course you here go through? + + _First Scholar_. The first three years of the college course +Are given to Logic alone, as the source +Of all that is noble, and wise, and true. + + _Second Scholar_. That seems rather strange, I must confess. +In a Medical School; yet, nevertheless, +You doubtless have reasons for that. + + _First Scholar_. Oh yes! +For none but a clever dialectician +Can hope to become a great physician; +That has been settled long ago. +Logic makes an important part +Of the mystery of the healing art; +For without it how could you hope to show +That nobody knows so much as you know? +After this there are five years more +Devoted wholly to medicine, +With lectures on chirurgical lore, +And dissections of the bodies of swine, +As likest the human form divine. + + _Second Scholar_. What are the books now most in vogue? + + _First Scholar_. Quite an extensive catalogue; +Mostly, however, books of our own; +As Gariopontus' Passionarius, +And the writings of Matthew Platearius; +And a volume universally known +As the Regimen of the School of Salern, +For Robert of Normandy written in terse +And very elegant Latin verse. +Each of these writings has its turn. +And when at length we have finished these, +Then comes the struggle for degrees, +With all the oldest and ablest critics; +The public thesis and disputation, +Question, and answer, and explanation +Of a passage out of Hippocrates, +Or Aristotle's Analytics. +There the triumphant Magister stands! +A book is solemnly placed in his hands, +On which he swears to follow the rule +And ancient forms of the good old School; +To report if any confectionarius +Mingles his drugs with matters various, +And to visit his patients twice a day, +And once in the night, if they live in town, +And if they are poor, to take no pay. +Having faithfully promised these, +His head is crowned with a laurel crown; +A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his hand, +The Magister Artium et Physices +Goes forth from the school like a lord of the land. +And now, as we have the whole morning before us +Let us go in, if you make no objection, +And listen awhile to a learned prelection +On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus. + + (_They go in. Enter_ LUCIFER _as a Doctor._) + + _Lucifer_. This is the great School of Salern! +A land of wrangling and of quarrels, +Of brains that seethe, and hearts that burn, +Where every emulous scholar hears, +In every breath that comes to his ears, +The rustling of another's laurels! +The air of the place is called salubrious; +The neighborhood of Vesuvius lends it +An odor volcanic, that rather mends it, +And the buildings have an aspect lugubrious, +That inspires a feeling of awe and terror +Into the heart of the beholder, +And befits such an ancient homestead of error, +Where the old falsehoods moulder and smoulder, +And yearly by many hundred hands +Are carried away, in the zeal of youth, +And sown like tares in the field of truth, +To blossom and ripen in other lands. +What have we here, affixed to the gate? +The challenge of some scholastic wight, +Who wishes to hold a public debate +On sundry questions wrong or right! +Ah, now this is my great delight! +For I have often observed of late +That such discussions end in a fight. +Let us see what the learned wag maintains +With such a prodigal waste of brains. + + (_Reads._) + +"Whether angels in moving from place to place +Pass through the intermediate space. +Whether God himself is the author of evil, +Or whether that is the work of the Devil. +When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell, +And whether he now is chained in hell." + +I think I can answer that question well! +So long as the boastful human mind +Consents in such mills as this to grind, +I sit very firmly upon my throne! +Of a truth it almost makes me laugh, +To see men leaving the golden grain +To gather in piles the pitiful chaff +That old Peter Lombard thrashed with his brain, +To have it caught up and tossed again +On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Cologne! + +But my guests approach! there is in the air +A fragrance, like that of the Beautiful Garden +Of Paradise, in the days that were! +An odor of innocence, and of prayer, +And of love, and faith that never fails, +Which as the fresh-young heart exhales +Before it begins to wither and harden! +I cannot breathe such an atmosphere! +My soul is filled with a nameless fear, +That, after all my trouble and pain, +After all my restless endeavor, +The youngest, fairest soul of the twain, +The most ethereal, most divine, +Will escape from my hands forever and ever. +But the other is already mine! +Let him live to corrupt his race, +Breathing among them, with every breath, +Weakness, selfishness, and the base +And pusillanimous fear of death. +I know his nature, and I know +That of all who in my ministry +Wander the great earth to and fro, +And on my errands come and go, +The safest and subtlest are such as he. + + (_Enter_ PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _with + attendants_.) + + _Prince Henry._ Can you direct us to Friar Angelo? + + _Lucifer._ He stands before you. + + _Prince Henry._ Then you know our purpose. +I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and this +The maiden that I spake of in my letters. + + _Lucifer._ It is a very grave and solemn business! +We must not be precipitate. Does she +Without compulsion, of her own free will, +Consent to this? + + _Prince Henry._ Against all opposition, +Against all prayers, entreaties, protestations. +She will not be persuaded. + + _Lucifer._ That is strange! +Have you thought well of it? + + _Elsie._ I come not here +To argue, but to die. Your business is not +to question, but to kill me. I am ready. +I am impatient to be gone from here +Ere any thoughts of earth disturb again +The spirit of tranquillity within me. + + _Prince Henry._ Would I had not come here + Would I were dead, +And thou wert in thy cottage in the forest, +And hadst not known me! Why have I done this? +Let me go back and die. + + _Elsie._ It cannot be; +Not if these cold, flat stones on which we tread +Were coulters heated white, and yonder gateway +Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold heat. +I must fulfil my purpose. + + _Prince Henry._ I forbid it! +Not one step farther. For I only meant +To put thus far thy courage to the proof. +It is enough. I, too, have courage to die, +For thou hast taught me! + + _Elsie._ O my Prince! remember +Your promises. Let me fulfill my errand. +You do not look on life and death as I do. +There are two angels, that attend unseen +Each one of us, and in great books record +Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down +The good ones, after every action closes +His volume, and ascends with it to God. +The other keeps his dreadful day-book open +Till sunset, that we may repent; which doing, +The record of the action fades away, +And leaves a line of white across the page. +Now if my act be good, as I believe it, +It cannot be recalled. It is already +Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished. +The rest is yours. Why wait you? I am ready. + + (_To her attendants._) + +Weep not, my friends! rather rejoice with me. +I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone, +And you will have another friend in heaven. +Then start not at the creaking of the door +Through which I pass. I see what lies beyond it. + + (_To_ PRINCE HENRY.) + +And you, O Prince! bear back my benison +Unto my father's house, and all within it. +This morning in the church I prayed for them, +After confession, after absolution, +When my whole soul was white, I prayed for them. +God will take care of them, they need me not. +And in your life let my remembrance linger, +As something not to trouble and disturb it, +But to complete it, adding life to life. +And if at times beside the evening fire +You see my face among the other faces, +Let it not be regarded as a ghost +That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you. +Nay, even as one of your own family, +Without whose presence there were something wanting. +I have no more to say. Let us go in. + + _Prince Henry._ Friar Angelo! I charge you on your life, +Believe not what she says, for she is mad, +And comes here not to die, but to be healed. + + _Elsie._ Alas! Prince Henry! + + _Lucifer._ Come with me; this way. + + (ELSIE _goes in with_ LUCIFER, _who thrusts_ PRINCE + HENRY _back and closes the door._) + + _Prince Henry._ Gone! and the light of all my life gone with her! +A sudden darkness falls upon the world! + + _Forester._ News from the Prince! + + _Ursula._ Of death or life? + + _Forester._ You put your questions eagerly! + + _Ursula._ Answer me, then! How is the Prince? + + _Forester._ I left him only two hours since +Homeward returning down the river, +As strong and well as if God, the Giver, +Had given him back in his youth again. + + _Ursula (despairing)._ Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead! + + _Forester._ That, my good woman, I have not said. +Don't cross the bridge till you come to it, +Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit. + + _Ursula._ Keep me no longer in this pain! + + _Forester._ It is true your daughter is no more;-- +That is, the peasant she was before. + + _Ursula._ Alas! I am simple and lowly bred +I am poor, distracted, and forlorn. +And it is not well that you of the court +Should mock me thus, and make a sport +Of a joyless mother whose child is dead, +For you, too, were of mother, born! + + _Forester._ Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well! +You will learn ere long how it all befell. +Her heart for a moment never failed; +But when they reached Salerno's gate, +The Prince's nobler self prevailed, +And saved her for a nobler fate, +And he was healed, in his despair, +By the touch of St. Matthew's sacred bones; +Though I think the long ride in the open air, +That pilgrimage over stocks and stones, +In the miracle must come in for a share! + + _Ursula._ Virgin! who lovest the poor and lonely, +If the loud cry of a mother's heart +Can ever ascend to where thou art, +Into thy blessed hands and holy +Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving! +Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it +Into the awful presence of God; +For thy feet with holiness are shod, +And if thou bearest it he will hear it. +Our child who was dead again is living! + + _Forester._ I did not tell you she was dead; +If you thought so 'twas no fault of mine; +At this very moment, while I speak, +They are sailing homeward down the Rhine, +In a splendid barge, with golden prow, +And decked with banners white and red +As the colors on your daughter's cheek. +They call her the Lady Alicia now; +For the Prince in Salerno made a vow +That Elsie only would he wed. + + _Ursula._ Jesu Maria! what a change! +All seems to me so weird and strange! + + _Forester._ I saw her standing on the deck, +Beneath an awning cool and shady; +Her cap of velvet could not hold +The tresses of her hair of gold, +That flowed and floated like the stream, +And fell in masses down her neck. +As fair and lovely did she seem +As in a story or a dream +Some beautiful and foreign lady. +And the Prince looked so grand and proud, +And waved his hand thus to the crowd +That gazed and shouted from the shore, +All down the river, long and loud. + + _Ursula._ We shall behold our child once more; +She is not dead! She is not dead! +God, listening, must have overheard +The prayers, that, without sound or word, +Our hearts in secrecy have said! +O, bring me to her; for mine eyes +Are hungry to behold her face; +My very soul within me cries; +My very hands seem to caress her, +To see her, gaze at her, and bless her; +Dear Elsie, child of God and grace! + + (_Goes out toward the garden._) + + _Forester._ There goes the good woman out of her head; +And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here; +A very capacious flagon of beer, +And a very portentous loaf of bread. +One would say his grief did not much oppress him. +Here's to the health of the Prince, God bless him! + + (_He drinks._) + +Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet! +And what a scene there, through the door! +The forest behind and the garden before, +And midway an old man of threescore, +With a wife and children that caress him. +Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it +With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet! + + (_Goes out blowing his horn._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE. + + + * * * * * + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _standing on the terrace at +evening. The sound of bells heard from a distance._ + + + _Prince Henry._ We are alone. The wedding guests +Ride down the hill, with plumes and cloaks, +And the descending dark invests +The Niederwald, and all the nests +Among its hoar and haunted oaks. + + _Elsie._ What bells are those, that ring so slow, +So mellow, musical, and low? + + _Prince Henry._ They are the bells of Geisenheim, +That with their melancholy chime +Ring out the curfew of the sun. + + _Elsie._ Listen, beloved. + + _Prince Henry._ They are done! +Dear Elsie! many years ago +Those same soft bells at eventide +Rang in the ears of Charlemagne, +As, seated by Fastrada's side +At Ingelheim, in all his pride +He heard their sound with secret pain. + + _Elsie._ Their voices only speak to me +Of peace and deep tranquillity, +And endless confidence in thee! + + _Prince Henry._ Thou knowest the story of her ring, +How, when the court went back to Aix, +Fastrada died; and how the king +Sat watching by her night and day, +Till into one of the blue lakes, +That water that delicious land, +They cast the ring, drawn from her hand; +And the great monarch sat serene +And sad beside the fated shore, +Nor left the land forever more. + + _Elsie._ That was true love. + + _Prince Henry._ For him the queen +Ne'er did what thou hast done for me. + + _Elsie._ Wilt thou as fond and faithful be? +Wilt thou so love me after death? + + _Prince Henry._ In life's delight, in death's dismay, +In storm and sunshine, night and day, +In health, in sickness, in decay, +Here and hereafter, I am thine! +Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Beneath +The calm, blue waters of thine eyes +Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies, +And, undisturbed by this world's breath, +With magic light its jewels shine! +This golden ring, which thou hast worn +Upon thy finger since the morn, +Is but a symbol and a semblance, +An outward fashion, a remembrance, +Of what thou wearest within unseen, +O my Fastrada, O my queen! +Behold! the hilltops all aglow +With purple and with amethyst; +While the whole valley deep below +Is filled, and seems to overflow, +With a fast-rising tide of mist. +The evening air grows damp and chill; +Let us go in. + + _Elsie._ Ah, not so soon. +See yonder fire! It is the moon +Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. +It glimmers on the forest tips, +And through the dewy foliage drips +In little rivulets of light, +And makes the heart in love with night. + + _Prince Henry._ Oft on this terrace, when the day +Was closing, have I stood and gazed, +And seen the landscape fade away, +And the white vapors rise and drown +Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town +While far above the hilltops blazed. +But men another hand than thine +Was gently held and clasped in mine; +Another head upon my breast +Was laid, as thine is now, at rest. +Why dost thou lift those tender eyes +With so much sorrow and surprise? +A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand, +Was that which in my own was pressed. +A manly form usurped thy place, +A beautiful, but bearded face, +That now is in the Holy Land, +Yet in my memory from afar +Is shining on us like a star. +But linger not. For while I speak, +A sheeted spectre white and tall, +The cold mist climbs the castle wall, +And lays his hand upon thy cheek! + + (_They go in._) + + * * * * * + + +EPILOGUE. + + + * * * * * + +THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING. + + _The Angel of Good Deeds (with closed book_). God sent his + messenger the rain, +And said unto the mountain brook, +"Rise up, and from thy caverns look +And leap, with naked, snow-white feet. +From the cool hills into the heat +Of the broad, arid plain." + +God sent his messenger of faith, +And whispered in the maiden's heart, +"Rise up, and look from where thou art, +And scatter with unselfish hands +Thy freshness on the barren sands +And solitudes of Death." +O beauty of holiness, +Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness! +O power of meekness, +Whose very gentleness and weakness +Are like the yielding, but irresistible air! +Upon the pages +Of the sealed volume that I bear, +The deed divine +Is written in characters of gold, +That never shall grow old, +But all through ages +Burn and shine, +With soft effulgence! +O God! it is thy indulgence +That fills the world with the bliss +Of a good deed like this! + + _The Angel of Evil Deeds (with open book)._ Not yet, not yet +Is the red sun wholly set, +But evermore recedes, +While open still I bear +The Book of Evil Deeds, +To let the breathings of the upper air +Visit its pages and erase +The records from its face! +Fainter and fainter as I gaze +On the broad blaze +The glimmering landscape shines, +And below me the black river +Is hidden by wreaths of vapor! +Fainter and fainter the black lines +Begin to quiver +Along the whitening surface of the paper; +Shade after shade +The terrible words grow faint and fade, +And in their place +Runs a white space! + +Down goes the sun! +But the soul of one, +Who by repentance +Has escaped the dreadful sentence, +Shines bright below me as I look. +It is the end! +With closed Book +To God do I ascend. + +Lo! over the mountain steeps +A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps +Beneath my feet; +A blackness inwardly brightening +With sullen heat, +As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning. +And a cry of lamentation, +Repeated and again repeated, +Deep and loud +As the reverberation +Of cloud answering unto cloud, +Swells and rolls away in the distance, +As if the sheeted +Lightning retreated, +Baffled and thwarted by the wind's resistance. + +It is Lucifer, +The son of mystery; +And since God suffers him to be, +He, too, is God's minister, +And labors for some good +By us not understood! + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Golden Legend, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN LEGEND *** + +***** This file should be named 10490-8.txt or 10490-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/9/10490/ + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Golden Legend + +Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +Release Date: December 18, 2003 [EBook #10490] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN LEGEND *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +THE + +GOLDEN LEGEND + +BY + +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW + + + + +THE GOLDEN LEGEND + + +PROLOGUE. + + + +THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL. + + +_Night and storm._ LUCIFER, _with the Powers of the +Air, trying to tear down the Cross._ + + _Lucifer._ HASTEN! hasten! +O ye spirits! +From its station drag the ponderous +Cross of iron, that to mock us +Is uplifted high in air! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +For around it +All the Saints and Guardian Angels +Throng in legions to protect it; +They defeat us everywhere! + + _The Bells._ Laudo Deum verum + Plebem voco! + Congrego clerum! + + _Lucifer._ Lower! lower! +Hover downward! +Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and +Clashing, clanging, to the pavement +Hurl them from their windy tower! + + _Voices._ All thy thunders +Here are harmless! +For these bells have been anointed, +And baptized with holy water! +They defy our utmost power. + + _The Bells._ Defunctos ploro! + Pestem fugo! + Festa decoro! + + _Lucifer._ Shake the casements! +Break the painted +Panes that flame with gold and crimson! +Scatter them like leaves of Autumn, +Swept away before the blast! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +The Archangel +Michael flames from every window, +With the sword of fire that drove us +Headlong, out of heaven, aghast! + + _The Bells._ Funera plango! + Fulgora frango! + Sabbata pango! + + _Lucifer._ Aim your lightnings +At the oaken, +Massive, iron-studded portals! +Sack the house of God, and scatter +Wide the ashes of the dead! + + _Voices._ O, we cannot! +The Apostles +And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, +Stand as wardens at the entrance, +Stand as sentinels o'erhead! + + _The Bells._ Excito lentos! + Dissipo ventos! + Paco cruentos! + + _Lucifer._ Baffled! baffled! +Inefficient, +Craven spirits! leave this labor +Unto Time, the great Destroyer! +Come away, ere night is gone! + + _Voices._ Onward! onward! +With the night-wind, +Over field and farm and forest, +Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, +Blighting all we breathe upon! + + (_They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant._) + + _Choir._ Nocte surgentes + Vig lemus omnes! + + * * * * * + +I. + + +THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE. + + * * * * * + +_A chamber in a tower._ PRINCE HENRY, _sitting alone, +ill and restless._ + + _Prince Henry._ I cannot sleep! my fervid brain +Calls up the vanished Past again, +And throws its misty splendors deep +Into the pallid realms of sleep! +A breath from that far-distant shore +Comes freshening ever more and more, +And wafts o'er intervening seas +Sweet odors from the Hesperides! +A wind, that through the corridor +Just stirs the curtain, and no more, +And, touching the aeolian strings, +Faints with the burden that it brings! +Come back! ye friendships long departed! +That like o'erflowing streamlets started, +And now are dwindled, one by one, +To stony channels in the sun! +Come back! ye friends, whose lives are ended! +Come back, with all that light attended, +Which seemed to darken and decay +When ye arose and went away! +They come, the shapes of joy and woe, +The airy crowds of long-ago, +The dreams and fancies known of yore, +That have been, and shall be no more. +They change the cloisters of the night +Into a garden of delight; +They make the dark and dreary hours +Open and blossom into flowers! +I would not sleep! I love to be +Again in their fair company; +But ere my lips can bid them stay, +They pass and vanish quite away! + +Alas! our memories may retrace +Each circumstance of time and place, +Season and scene come back again, +And outward things unchanged remain; +The rest we cannot reinstate; +Ourselves we cannot re-create, +Nor set our souls to the same key +Of the remembered harmony! + +Rest! rest! O, give me rest and peace! +The thought of life that ne'er shall cease +Has something in it like despair, +A weight I am too weak to bear! +Sweeter to this afflicted breast +The thought of never-ending rest! +Sweeter the undisturbed and deep +Tranquillity of endless sleep! + + +(_A flash of lightning, out of which_ LUCIFER _appears, +in the garb of a travelling Physician._) + + _Lucifer_. All hail Prince Henry! + + _Prince Henry_ (_starting_). Who is it speaks? +Who and what are you? + + _Lucifer_. One who seeks +A moment's audience with the Prince. + + _Prince Henry_. When came you in? + + _Lucifer_. A moment since. +I found your study door unlocked, +And thought you answered when I knocked. + + _Prince Henry_. I did not hear you. + + _Lucifer_. You heard the thunder; +It was loud enough to waken the dead. +And it is not a matter of special wonder +That, when God is walking overhead, +You should not have heard my feeble tread. + + _Prince Henry_. What may your wish or purpose be? + + _Lucifer_. Nothing or everything, as it pleases +Your Highness. You behold in me +Only a traveling Physician; +One of the few who have a mission +To cure incurable diseases, +Or those that are called so. + + _Prince Henry_. Can you bring +The dead to life? + + _Lucifer_. Yes; very nearly. +And, what is a wiser and better thing, +Can keep the living from ever needing +Such an unnatural, strange proceeding, +By showing conclusively and clearly +That death is a stupid blunder merely, +And not a necessity of our lives. +My being here is accidental; +The storm, that against your casement drives, +In the little village below waylaid me. +And there I heard, with a secret delight, +Of your maladies physical and mental, +Which neither astonished nor dismayed me. +And I hastened hither, though late in the night, +To proffer my aid! + + _Prince Henry (ironically)_ For this you came! +Ah, how can I ever hope to requite +This honor from one so erudite? + + _Lucifer_. The honor is mine, or will be when +I have cured your disease. + + _Prince Henry_. But not till then. + + _Lucifer_. What is your illness? + + _Prince Henry_. It has no name. +A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, +As in a kiln, burns in my veins, +Sending up vapors to the head, +My heart has become a dull lagoon, +Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains; +I am accounted as one who is dead, +And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon. + + _Lucifer_ And has Gordonius the Divine, +In his famous Lily of Medicine,-- +I see the book lies open before you,-- +No remedy potent enough to restore you? + + _Prince Henry_. None whatever! + + _Lucifer_ The dead are dead, +And their oracles dumb, when questioned +Of the new diseases that human life +Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. +Consult the dead upon things that were, +But the living only on things that are. +Have you done this, by the appliance +And aid of doctors? + + _Prince Henry_. Ay, whole schools +Of doctors, with their learned rules, +But the case is quite beyond their science. +Even the doctors of Salern +Send me back word they can discern +No cure for a malady like this, +Save one which in its nature is +Impossible, and cannot be! + + _Lucifer_ That sounds oracular! + + _Prince Henry_ Unendurable! + + _Lucifer_ What is their remedy? + + _Prince Henry_ You shall see; +Writ in this scroll is the mystery. + + _Lucifer (reading)._ "Not to be cured, yet not incurable! +The only remedy that remains +Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins, +Who of her own free will shall die, +And give her life as the price of yours!" +That is the strangest of all cures, +And one, I think, you will never try; +The prescription you may well put by, +As something impossible to find +Before the world itself shall end! +And yet who knows? One cannot say +That into some maiden's brain that kind +Of madness will not find its way. +Meanwhile permit me to recommend, +As the matter admits of no delay, +My wonderful Catholicon, +Of very subtile and magical powers! + + _Prince Henry._ Purge with your nostrums and drugs infernal +The spouts and gargoyles of these towers, +Not me! My faith is utterly gone +In every power but the Power Supernal! +Pray tell me, of what school are you? + + _Lucifer._ Both of the Old and of the New! +The school of Hermes Trismegistus, +Who uttered his oracles sublime +Before the Olympiads, in the dew +Of the early dawn and dusk of Time, +The reign of dateless old Hephaestus! +As northward, from its Nubian springs, +The Nile, forever new and old, +Among the living and the dead, +Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled; +So, starting from its fountain-head +Under the lotus-leaves of Isis, +From the dead demigods of eld, +Through long, unbroken lines of kings +Its course the sacred art has held, +Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices. +This art the Arabian Geber taught, +And in alembics, finely wrought, +Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered +The secret that so long had hovered +Upon the misty verge of Truth, +The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, +Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech! +Like him, this wondrous lore I teach! + + _Prince Henry._ What! an adept? + + _Lucifer._ Nor less, nor more! + + _Prince Henry._ I am a reader of such books, +A lover of that mystic lore! +With such a piercing glance it looks +Into great Nature's open eye, +And sees within it trembling lie +The portrait of the Deity! +And yet, alas! with all my pains, +The secret and the mystery +Have baffled and eluded me, +Unseen the grand result remains! + + _Lucifer (showing a flask)._ Behold it here! this little flask +Contains the wonderful quintessence, +The perfect flower and efflorescence, +Of all the knowledge man can ask! +Hold it up thus against the light! + + _Prince Henry._ How limpid, pure, and crystalline, +How quick, and tremulous, and bright +The little wavelets dance and shine, +As were it the Water of Life in sooth! + + _Lucifer._ It is! It assuages every pain, +Cures all disease, and gives again +To age the swift delights of youth. +Inhale its fragrance. + + _Prince Henry._ It is sweet. +A thousand different odors meet +And mingle in its rare perfume, +Such as the winds of summer waft +At open windows through a room! + + _Lucifer._ Will you not taste it? + + _Prince Henry._ Will one draught +Suffice? + + _Lucifer._ If not, you can drink more. + + _Prince Henry._ Into this crystal goblet pour +So much as safely I may drink. + + _Lucifer (pouring)._ Let not the quantity alarm you: +You may drink all; it will not harm you. + + _Prince Henry._ I am as one who on the brink +Of a dark river stands and sees +The waters flow, the landscape dim +Around him waver, wheel, and swim, +And, ere he plunges, stops to think +Into what whirlpools he may sink; +One moment pauses, and no more, +Then madly plunges from the shore! +Headlong into the dark mysteries +Of life and death I boldly leap, +Nor fear the fateful current's sweep, +Nor what in ambush lurks below! +For death is better than disease! + + (_An_ ANGEL _with an aeolian harp hovers in the air_.) + + _Angel._ Woe! woe! eternal woe! +Not only the whispered prayer +Of love, +But the imprecations of hate, +Reverberate +Forever and ever through the air +Above! +This fearful curse +Shakes the great universe! + + _Lucifer (disappearing)._ Drink! drink! +And thy soul shall sink +Down into the dark abyss, +Into the infinite abyss, +From which no plummet nor rope +Ever drew up the silver sand of hope! + + _Prince Henry (drinking)._ It is like a draught of fire! +Through every vein +I feel again +The fever of youth, the soft desire; +A rapture that is almost pain +Throbs in my heart and fills my brain! +O joy! O joy! I feel +The band of steel +That so long and heavily has pressed +Upon my breast +Uplifted, and the malediction +Of my affliction +Is taken from me, and my weary breast +At length finds rest. + + _The Angel._ It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air + has been taken! +It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken! +It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow! +It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow! +With fiendish laughter, +Hereafter, +This false physician +Will mock thee in thy perdition. + + _Prince Henry._ Speak! speak! +Who says that I am ill? +I am not ill! I am not weak! +The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er! +I feel the chill of death no more! +At length, +I stand renewed in all my strength! +Beneath me I can feel +The great earth stagger and reel, +As it the feet of a descending God +Upon its surface trod, +And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel! +This, O brave physician! this +Is thy great Palingenesis! + + (_Drinks again_.) + + _The Angel._ Touch the goblet no more! +It will make thy heart sore +To its very core! +Its perfume is the breath +Of the Angel of Death, +And the light that within it lies +Is the flash of his evil eyes. +Beware! O, beware! +For sickness, sorrow, and care +All are there! + + _Prince Henry (sinking back)._ O thou voice within my breast! +Why entreat me, why upbraid me, +When the steadfast tongues of truth +And the flattering hopes of youth +Have all deceived me and betrayed me? +Give me, give me rest, O, rest! +Golden visions wave and hover, +Golden vapors, waters streaming, +Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming! +I am like a happy lover +Who illumines life with dreaming! +Brave physician! Rare physician! +Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission! + + (_His head falls On his book_.) + + _The Angel (receding)._ Alas! alas! +Like a vapor the golden vision +Shall fade and pass, +And thou wilt find in thy heart again +Only the blight of pain, +And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition! + + * * * * * + +COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE. + + * * * * * + +HUBERT _standing by the gateway._ + + _Hubert._ How sad the grand old castle looks! +O'erhead, the unmolested rooks +Upon the turret's windy top +Sit, talking of the farmer's crop; +Here in the court-yard springs the grass, +So few are now the feet that pass; +The stately peacocks, bolder grown, +Come hopping down the steps of stone, +As if the castle were their own; +And I, the poor old seneschal, +Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. +Alas! the merry guests no more +Crowd through the hospital door; +No eyes with youth and passion shine, +No cheeks glow redder than the wine; +No song, no laugh, no jovial din +Of drinking wassail to the pin; +But all is silent, sad, and drear, +And now the only sounds I hear +Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, +And horses stamping in their stalls! + + (_A horn sounds_.) + +What ho! that merry, sudden blast +Reminds me of the days long past! +And, as of old resounding, grate +The heavy hinges of the gate, +And, clattering loud, with iron clank, +Down goes the sounding bridge of plank, +As if it were in haste to greet +The pressure of a traveler's feet! + + (_Enter_ WALTER _the Minnesinger_.) + + _Walter._ How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely! +No banner flying from the walls, +No pages and no seneschals, +No wardens, and one porter only! +Is it you, Hubert? + + _Hubert._ Ah! Master Walter! + + _Walter._ Alas! how forms and faces alter! +I did not know you. You look older! +Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner, +And you stoop a little in the shoulder! + + _Hubert._ Alack! I am a poor old sinner, +And, like these towers, begin to moulder; +And you have been absent many a year! + + _Walter._ How is the Prince? + + _Hubert._ He is not here; +He has been ill: and now has fled. + +_Walter._ Speak it out frankly: say he's dead! +Is it not so? + + _Hubert._ No; if you please; +A strange, mysterious disease +Fell on him with a sudden blight. +Whole hours together he would stand +Upon the terrace, in a dream, +Resting his head upon his hand, +Best pleased when he was most alone, +Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone, +Looking down into a stream. +In the Round Tower, night after night, +He sat, and bleared his eyes with books; +Until one morning we found him there +Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon +He had fallen from his chair. +We hardly recognized his sweet looks! + + _Walter._ Poor Prince! + + _Hubert._ I think he might have mended; +And he did mend; but very soon +The Priests came flocking in, like rooks, +With all their crosiers and their crooks, +And so at last the matter ended. + + _Walter._ How did it end? + + _Hubert._ Why, in Saint Rochus +They made him stand, and wait his doom; +And, as if he were condemned to the tomb, +Began to mutter their hocus pocus. +First, the Mass for the Dead they chaunted. +Then three times laid upon his head +A shovelful of church-yard clay, +Saying to him, as he stood undaunted, +"This is a sign that thou art dead, +So in thy heart be penitent!" +And forth from the chapel door he went +Into disgrace and banishment, +Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, +And bearing a wallet, and a bell, +Whose sound should be a perpetual knell +To keep all travelers away. + + _Walter._ O, horrible fate! Outcast, rejected, +As one with pestilence infected! + + _Hubert._ Then was the family tomb unsealed, +And broken helmet, sword and shield, +Buried together, in common wreck, +As is the custom, when the last +Of any princely house has passed, +And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, +A herald shouted down the stair +The words of warning and despair,-- +"O Hoheneck! O Hoheneck!" + + _Walter_. Still in my soul that cry goes on,-- +Forever gone! forever gone! +Ah, what a cruel sense of loss, +Like a black shadow, would fall across +The hearts of all, if he should die! +His gracious presence upon earth +Was as a fire upon a hearth; +As pleasant songs, at morning sung, +The words that dropped from his sweet tongue +Strengthened our hearts; or, heard at night, +Made all our slumbers soft and light. +Where is he? + + _Hubert._ In the Odenwald. +Some of his tenants, unappalled +By fear of death, or priestly word,-- +A holy family, that make +Each meal a Supper of the Lord,-- +Have him beneath their watch and ward, +For love of him, and Jesus' sake! +Pray you come in. For why should I +With outdoor hospitality +My prince's friend thus entertain? + + _Walter._ I would a moment here remain. +But you, good Hubert, go before, +Fill me a goblet of May-drink, +As aromatic as the May +From which it steals the breath away, +And which he loved so well of yore; +It is of him that I would think +You shall attend me, when I call, +In the ancestral banquet hall. +Unseen companions, guests of air, +You cannot wait on, will be there; +They taste not food, they drink not wine, +But their soft eyes look into mine, +And their lips speak to me, and all +The vast and shadowy banquet-hall +Is full of looks and words divine! + + (_Leaning over the parapet_.) + +The day is done; and slowly from the scene +The stooping sun upgathers his spent shafts, +And puts them back into his golden quiver! +Below me in the valley, deep and green +As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts +We drink its wine, the swift and mantling river +Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions, +Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent, +And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent! +Yes, there it flows, forever, broad and still, +As when the vanguard of the Roman legions +First saw it from the top of yonder hill! +How beautiful it is! Fresh fields of wheat, +Vineyard, and town, and tower with fluttering flag, +The consecrated chapel on the crag, +And the white hamlet gathered round its base, +Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet, +And looking up at his beloved face! +O friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more +Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er! + + + + +II. + +A FARM IN THE ODENWALD + + * * * * * + +_A garden; morning;_ PRINCE HENRY _seated, with a +book_. ELSIE, _at a distance, gathering flowers._ + + _Prince Henry (reading)._ One morning, all alone, +Out of his convent of gray stone, +Into the forest older, darker, grayer, +His lips moving as if in prayer, +His head sunken upon his breast +As in a dream of rest, +Walked the Monk Felix. All about +The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, +Filling the summer air; +And within the woodlands as he trod, +The twilight was like the Truce of God +With worldly woe and care; +Under him lay the golden moss; +And above him the boughs of hemlock-tree +Waved, and made the sign of the cross, +And whispered their Benedicites; +And from the ground +Rose an odor sweet and fragrant +Of the wild flowers and the vagrant +Vines that wandered, +Seeking the sunshine, round and round. +These he heeded not, but pondered +On the volume in his hand, +A volume of Saint Augustine; +Wherein he read of the unseen +Splendors of God's great town +In the unknown land, +And, with his eyes cast down +In humility, he said: +"I believe, O God, +What herein I have read, +But alas! I do not understand!" + +And lo! he heard +The sudden singing of a bird, +A snow-white bird, that from a cloud +Dropped down, +And among the branches brown +Sat singing +So sweet, and clear, and loud, +It seemed a thousand harp strings ringing. +And the Monk Felix closed his book, +And long, long, +With rapturous look, +He listened to the song, +And hardly breathed or stirred, +Until he saw, as in a vision, +The land Elysian, +And in the heavenly city heard +Angelic feet +Fall on the golden flagging of the street. +And he would fain +Have caught the wondrous bird, +But strove in vain; +For it flew away, away, +Far over hill and dell, +And instead of its sweet singing +He heard the convent bell +Suddenly in the silence ringing +For the service of noonday. +And he retraced +His pathway homeward sadly and in haste. + +In the convent there was a change! +He looked for each well known face, +But the faces were new and strange; +New figures sat in the oaken stalls, +New voices chaunted in the choir, +Yet the place was the same place, +The same dusky walls +Of cold, gray stone, +The same cloisters and belfry and spire. + +A stranger and alone +Among that brotherhood +The Monk Felix stood +"Forty years," said a Friar. +"Have I been Prior +Of this convent in the wood, +But for that space +Never have I beheld thy face!" + +The heart of the Monk Felix fell: +And he answered with submissive tone, +"This morning, after the hour of Prime, +I left my cell, +And wandered forth alone, +Listening all the time +To the melodious singing +Of a beautiful white bird, +Until I heard +The bells of the convent ringing +Noon from their noisy towers, +It was as if I dreamed; +For what to me had seemed +Moments only, had been hours!" + +"Years!" said a voice close by. +It was an aged monk who spoke, +From a bench of oak +Fastened against the wall;-- +He was the oldest monk of all. +For a whole century +Had he been there, +Serving God in prayer, +The meekest and humblest of his creatures. +He remembered well the features +Of Felix, and he said, +Speaking distinct and slow: +"One hundred years ago, +When I was a novice in this place, +There was here a monk, full of God's grace, +Who bore the name +Of Felix, and this man must be the same." + +And straightway +They brought forth to the light of day +A volume old and brown, +A huge tome, bound +With brass and wild-boar's hide, +Therein were written down +The names of all who had died +In the convent, since it was edified. +And there they found, +Just as the old monk said, +That on a certain day and date, +One hundred years before, +Had gone forth from the convent gate +The Monk Felix, and never more +Had entered that sacred door. +He had been counted among the dead! +And they knew, at last, +That, such had been the power +Of that celestial and immortal song, +A hundred years had passed, +And had not seemed so long +As a single hour! + + (ELSIE _comes in with flowers._) + + _Elsie._ Here are flowers for you, +But they are not all for you. +Some of them are for the Virgin +And for Saint Cecilia. + + _Prince Henry._ As thou standest there, +Thou seemest to me like the angel +That brought the immortal roses +To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. + + _Elsie._ But these will fade. + + _Prince Henry._ Themselves will fade, +But not their memory, +And memory has the power +To re-create them from the dust. +They remind me, too, +Of martyred Dorothea, +Who from celestial gardens sent +Flowers as her witnesses +To him who scoffed and doubted. + + _Elsie._ Do you know the story +Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter? +That is the prettiest legend of them all. + + _Prince Henry._ Then tell it to me. +But first come hither. +Lay the flowers down beside me. +And put both thy hands in mine. +Now tell me the story. + + _Elsie._ Early in the morning +The Sultan's daughter +Walked in her father's garden, +Gathering the bright flowers, +All full of dew. + + _Prince Henry._ Just as thou hast been doing +This morning, dearest Elsie. + + _Elsie._ And as she gathered them, +She wondered more and more +Who was the Master of the Flowers, +And made them grow +Out of the cold, dark earth. +"In my heart," she said, +"I love him; and for him +Would leave my father's palace, +To labor in his garden." + + _Prince Henry._ Dear, innocent child! +How sweetly thou recallest +The long-forgotten legend, +That in my early childhood +My mother told me! +Upon my brain +It reappears once more, +As a birth-mark on the forehead +When a hand suddenly +Is laid upon it, and removed! + + _Elsie._ And at midnight, +As she lay upon her bed, +She heard a voice +Call to her from the garden, +And, looking forth from her window, +She saw a beautiful youth +Standing among the flowers. +It was the Lord Jesus; +And she went down to him, +And opened the door for him; +And he said to her, "O maiden! +Thou hast thought of me with love, +And for thy sake +Out of my Father's kingdom +Have I come hither: +I am the Master of the Flowers. +My garden is in Paradise, +And if thou wilt go with me, +Thy bridal garland +Shall be of bright red flowers." +And then he took from his finger +A golden ring, +And asked the Sultan's daughter +If she would be his bride. +And when she answered him with love, +His wounds began to bleed, +And she said to him, +"O Love! how red thy heart is, +And thy hands are full of roses," +"For thy sake," answered he, +"For thy sake is my heart so red, +For thee I bring these roses. +I gathered them at the cross +Whereon I died for thee! +Come, for my Father calls. +Thou art my elected bride!" +And the Sultan's daughter +Followed him to his Father's garden. + + _Prince Henry._ Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie? + + _Elsie._ Yes, very gladly. + + _Prince Henry._ Then the Celestial Bridegroom +Will come for thee also. +Upon thy forehead he will place, +Not his crown of thorns, +But a crown of roses. +In thy bridal chamber, +Like Saint Cecilia, +Thou shall hear sweet music, +And breathe the fragrance +Of flowers immortal! +Go now and place these flowers +Before her picture. + + + * * * * * + + +A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. + + * * * * * + +_Twilight._ URSULA _spinning._ GOTTLIEB _asleep in his +chair._ + + _Ursula._ Darker and darker! Hardly a glimmer +Of light comes in at the window-pane; +Or is it my eyes are growing dimmer? +I cannot disentangle this skein, +Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. +Elsie! + + _Gottlieb (starting)_. The stopping of thy wheel +Has wakened me out of a pleasant dream. +I thought I was sitting beside a stream, +And heard the grinding of a mill, +When suddenly the wheels stood still, +And a voice cried "Elsie" in my ear! +It startled me, it seemed so near. + + _Ursula._ I was calling her: I want a light. +I cannot see to spin my flax. +Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear? + + _Elsie (within)._ In a moment! + + _Gottlieb._ Where are Bertha and Max? + + _Ursula._ They are sitting with Elsie at the door. +She is telling them stories of the wood, +And the Wolf, and Little Red Ridinghood. + + _Gottlieb_. And where is the Prince? + + _Ursula_. In his room overhead; +I heard him walking across the floor, +As he always does, with a heavy tread. + +(ELSIE _comes in with a lamp_. MAX _and_ BERTHA _follow her; +and they all sing the Evening Song on the lighting of the lamps_.) + + + EVENING SONG. + + O gladsome light + Of the Father Immortal, + And of the celestial + Sacred and blessed + Jesus, our Saviour! + + Now to the sunset + Again hast thou brought us; + And, seeing the evening + Twilight, we bless thee, + Praise thee, adore thee! + + Father omnipotent! + Son, the Life-giver! + Spirit, the Comforter! + Worthy at all times + Of worship and wonder! + + + _Prince Henry (at the door)_. Amen! + + _Ursula_. Who was it said Amen? + + _Elsie_. It was the Prince: he stood at the door, +And listened a moment, as we chaunted +The evening song. He is gone again. +I have often seen him there before. + + _Ursula_. Poor Prince! + + _Gottlieb_. I thought the house was haunted! +Poor Prince, alas! and yet as mild +And patient as the gentlest child! + + _Max._ I love him because he is so good, +And makes me such fine bows and arrows, +To shoot at the robins and the sparrows, +And the red squirrels in the wood! + + _Bertha._ I love him, too! + + _Gottlieb._ Ah, yes! we all +Love him, from the bottom of our hearts; +He gave us the farm, the house, and the grange, +He gave us the horses and the carts, +And the great oxen in the stall, +The vineyard, and the forest range! +We have nothing to give him but our love! + + _Bertha._ Did he give us the beautiful stork above +On the chimney-top, with its large, round nest? + + _Gottlieb._ No, not the stork; by God in heaven, +As a blessing, the dear, white stork was given; +But the Prince has given us all the rest. +God bless him, and make him well again. + + _Elsie._ Would I could do something for his sake, +Something to cure his sorrow and pain! + + _Gottlieb._ That no one can; neither thou nor I, +Nor any one else. + + _Elsie._ And must he die? + + _Ursula._ Yes; if the dear God does not take +Pity upon him, in his distress, +And work a miracle! + + _Gottlieb._ Or unless +Some maiden, of her own accord, +Offers her life for that of her lord, +And is willing to die in his stead. + + _Elsie._ I will! + + _Ursula._ Prithee, thou foolish child, be still! +Thou shouldst not say what thou dost not mean! + + _Elsie._ I mean it truly! + + _Max._ O father! this morning, +Down by the mill, in the ravine, +Hans killed a wolf, the very same +That in the night to the sheepfold came, +And ate up my lamb, that was left outside. + + _Gottlieb._ I am glad he is dead. It will be a warning +To the wolves in the forest, far and wide. + + _Max._ And I am going to have his hide! + + _Bertha._ I wonder if this is the wolf that ate +Little Red Ridinghood! + + _Ursula._ O, no! +That wolf was killed a long while ago. +Come, children, it is growing late. + + _Max._ Ah, how I wish I were a man, +As stout as Hans is, and as strong! +I would do nothing else, the whole day long, +But just kill wolves. + + _Gottlieb._ Then go to bed, +And grow as fast as a little boy can. +Bertha is half asleep already. +See how she nods her heavy head, +And her sleepy feet are so unsteady +She will hardly be able to creep upstairs. + + _Ursula._ Good-night, my children. Here's the light. +And do not forget to say your prayers +Before you sleep. + + _Gottlieb._ Good-night! + + _Max and Bertha._ Good-night! + + (_They go out with_ ELSIE.) + + _Ursula, (spinning)._ She is a strange and wayward child, +That Elsie of ours. She looks so old, +And thoughts and fancies weird and wild +Seem of late to have taken hold +Of her heart, that was once so docile and mild! + + _Gottlieb._ She is like all girls. + + _Ursula._ Ah no, forsooth! +Unlike all I have ever seen. +For she has visions and strange dreams, +And in all her words and ways, she seems +Much older than she is in truth. +Who would think her but fourteen? +And there has been of late such a change! +My heart is heavy with fear and doubt +That she may not live till the year is out. +She is so strange,--so strange,--so strange! + + _Gottlieb._ I am not troubled with any such fear! +She will live and thrive for many a year. + + * * * * * + +ELSIE'S CHAMBER. + + * * * * * + +_Night._ ELSIE _praying._ + + _Elsie._ My Redeemer and my Lord, +I beseech thee, I entreat thee, +Guide me in each act and word, +That hereafter I may meet thee, +Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning, +With my lamp well trimmed and burning! + +Interceding +With these bleeding +Wounds upon thy hands and side, +For all who have lived and erred +Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, +Scourged, and mocked, and crucified, +And in the grave hast thou been buried! + +If my feeble prayer can reach thee, +O my Saviour, I beseech thee, +Even as thou hast died for me, +More sincerely +Let me follow where thou leadest, +Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, +Die, if dying I may give +Life to one who asks to live, +And more nearly, +Dying thus, resemble thee! + + * * * * * + +THE CHAMBER OF GOTTLIEB AND URSULA. + + * * * * * + +_Midnight._ ELSIE _standing by their bedside, weeping._ + + _Gottlieb._ The wind is roaring; the rushing rain +Is loud upon roof and window-pane, +As if the Wild Huntsman of Rodenstein, +Boding evil to me and mine, +Were abroad to-night with his ghostly train! +In the brief lulls of the tempest wild, +The dogs howl in the yard; and hark! +Some one is sobbing in the dark, +Here in the chamber! + + _Elsie._ It is I. + + _Ursula._ Elsie! what ails thee, my poor child? + + _Elsie._ I am disturbed and much distressed, +In thinking our dear Prince must die, +I cannot close mine eyes, nor rest. + + _Gottlieb._ What wouldst thou? In the Power Divine +His healing lies, not in our own; +It is in the hand of God alone. + + _Elsie._ Nay, he has put it into mine, +And into my heart! + + _Gottlieb._ Thy words are wild! + + _Ursula._ What dost thou mean? my child! my child! + + _Elsie._ That for our dear Prince Henry's sake +I will myself the offering make, +And give my life to purchase his. + + _Ursula_ Am I still dreaming, or awake? +Thou speakest carelessly of death, +And yet thou knowest not what it is. + + _Elsie._ 'T is the cessation of our breath. +Silent and motionless we lie; +And no one knoweth more than this. +I saw our little Gertrude die, +She left off breathing, and no more +I smoothed the pillow beneath her head. +She was more beautiful than before. +Like violets faded were her eyes; +By this we knew that she was dead. +Through the open window looked the skies +Into the chamber where she lay, +And the wind was like the sound of wings, +As if angels came to bear her away. +Ah! when I saw and felt these things, +I found it difficult to stay; +I longed to die, as she had died, +And go forth with her, side by side. +The Saints are dead, the Martyrs dead, +And Mary, and our Lord, and I +Would follow in humility +The way by them illumined! + + _Ursula._ My child! my child! thou must not die! + + _Elsie_ Why should I live? Do I not know +The life of woman is full of woe? +Toiling on and on and on, +With breaking heart, and tearful eyes, +And silent lips, and in the soul +The secret longings that arise, +Which this world never satisfies! +Some more, some less, but of the whole +Not one quite happy, no, not one! + + _Ursula._ It is the malediction of Eve! + + _Elsie._ In place of it, let me receive +The benediction of Mary, then. + + _Gottlieb._ Ah, woe is me! Ah, woe is me! +Most wretched am I among men! + + _Ursula._ Alas! that I should live to see +Thy death, beloved, and to stand +Above thy grave! Ah, woe the day! + + _Elsie._ Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie +Beneath the flowers of another land, +For at Salerno, far away +Over the mountains, over the sea, +It is appointed me to die! +And it will seem no more to thee +Than if at the village on market-day +I should a little longer stay +Than I am used. + + _Ursula._ Even as thou sayest! +And how my heart beats, when thou stayest! +I cannot rest until my sight +Is satisfied with seeing thee. +What, then, if thou wert dead? + + _Gottlieb_ Ah me! +Of our old eyes thou art the light! +The joy of our old hearts art thou! +And wilt thou die? + + _Ursula._ Not now! not now! + + _Elsie_ Christ died for me, and shall not I +Be willing for my Prince to die? +You both are silent; you cannot speak. +This said I, at our Saviour's feast, +After confession, to the priest, +And even he made no reply. +Does he not warn us all to seek +The happier, better land on high, +Where flowers immortal never wither, +And could he forbid me to go thither? + + _Gottlieb._ In God's own time, my heart's delight! +When he shall call thee, not before! + + _Elsie._ I heard him call. When Christ ascended +Triumphantly, from star to star, +He left the gates of heaven ajar. +I had a vision in the night, +And saw him standing at the door +Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid, +And beckoning to me from afar. +I cannot stay! + + _Gottlieb._ She speaks almost +As if it were the Holy Ghost +Spake through her lips, and in her stead! +What if this were of God? + + _Ursula._ Ah, then +Gainsay it dare we not. + + _Gottlieb._ Amen! +Elsie! the words that thou hast said +Are strange and new for us to hear, +And fill our hearts with doubt and fear. +Whether it be a dark temptation +Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration, +We in our blindness cannot say. +We must think upon it, and pray; +For evil and good in both resembles. +If it be of God, his will be done! +May he guard us from the Evil One! +How hot thy hand is! how it trembles! +Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. + + _Ursula._ Kiss me. Good-night; and do not weep! + + (ELSIE _goes out._) + +Ah, what an awful thing is this! +I almost shuddered at her kiss. +As if a ghost had touched my cheek, +I am so childish and so weak! +As soon as I see the earliest gray +Of morning glimmer in the east, +I will go over to the priest, +And hear what the good man has to say! + + * * * * * + +A VILLAGE CHURCH. + + * * * * * + +_A woman kneeling at the confessional. + + The Parish Priest (from within)_. Go, sin no +more! Thy penance o'er, +A new and better life begin! +God maketh thee forever free +From the dominion of thy sin! +Go, sin no more! He will restore +The peace that filled thy heart before, +And pardon thine iniquity! + +(_The woman goes out. The Priest comes forth, and + walks slowly up and down the church_.) + +O blessed Lord! how much I need +Thy light to guide me on my way! +So many hands, that, without heed, +Still touch thy wounds, and make them bleed! +So many feet, that, day by day, +Still wander from thy fold astray! +Unless thou fill me with thy light, +I cannot lead thy flock aright; +Nor, without thy support, can bear +The burden of so great a care, +But am myself a castaway! + + (_A pause_.) + +The day is drawing to its close; +And what good deeds, since first it rose, +Have I presented, Lord, to thee, +As offerings of my ministry? +What wrong repressed, what right maintained +What struggle passed, what victory gained, +What good attempted and attained? +Feeble, at best, is my endeavor! +I see, but cannot reach, the height +That lies forever in the light, +And yet forever and forever, +When seeming just within my grasp, +I feel my feeble hands unclasp, +And sink discouraged into night! +For thine own purpose, thou hast sent +The strife and the discouragement! + + (_A pause_.) + +Why stayest thou, Prince of Hoheneck? +Why keep me pacing to and fro +Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, +Counting my footsteps as I go, +And marking with each step a tomb? +Why should the world for thee make room, +And wait thy leisure and thy beck? +Thou comest in the hope to hear +Some word of comfort and of cheer. +What can I say? I cannot give +The counsel to do this and live; +But rather, firmly to deny +The tempter, though his power is strong, +And, inaccessible to wrong, +Still like a martyr live and die! + + (_A pause_.) + +The evening air grows dusk and brown; +I must go forth into the town, +To visit beds of pain and death, +Of restless limbs, and quivering breath, +And sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes +That see, through tears, the sun go down, +But never more shall see it rise. +The poor in body and estate, +The sick and the disconsolate. +Must not on man's convenience wait. + +(_Goes out. Enter_ LUCIFER, _as a Priest_. LUCIFER, + _with a genuflexion, mocking_.) + +This is the Black Pater-noster. +God was my foster, +He fostered me +Under the book of the Palm-tree! +St. Michael was my dame. +He was born at Bethlehem, +He was made of flesh and blood. +God send me my right food, +My right food, and shelter too, +That I may to yon kirk go, +To read upon yon sweet book +Which the mighty God of heaven shook. +Open, open, hell's gates! +Shut, shut, heaven's gates! +All the devils in the air +The stronger be, that hear the Black Prayer! + + (_Looking round the church_.) + +What a darksome and dismal place! +I wonder that any man has the face +To call such a hole the House of the Lord, +And the Gate of Heaven,--yet such is the word. +Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, +Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould; +Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, +Dust on the benches, and stalls, and chairs! +The pulpit, from which such ponderous sermons +Have fallen down on the brains of the Germans, +With about as much real edification +As if a great Bible, bound in lead, +Had fallen, and struck them on the head; +And I ought to remember that sensation! +Here stands the holy water stoup! +Holy-water it may be to many, +But to me, the veriest Liquor Gehennae! +It smells like a filthy fast day soup! +Near it stands the box for the poor; +With its iron padlock, safe and sure, +I and the priest of the parish know +Whither all these charities go; +Therefore, to keep up the institution, +I will add my little contribution! + + (_He puts in money._) + +Underneath this mouldering tomb, +With statue of stone, and scutcheon of brass, +Slumbers a great lord of the village. +All his life was riot and pillage, +But at length, to escape the threatened doom +Of the everlasting, penal fire, +He died in the dress of a mendicant friar, +And bartered his wealth for a daily mass. +But all that afterward came to pass, +And whether he finds it dull or pleasant, +Is kept a secret for the present, +At his own particular desire. + +And here, in a corner of the wall, +Shadowy, silent, apart from all, +With its awful portal open wide, +And its latticed windows on either side, +And its step well worn by the bended knees +Of one or two pious centuries, +Stands the village confessional! +Within it, as an honored guest, +I will sit me down awhile and rest! + + (_Seats himself in the confessional_.) + +Here sits the priest, and faint and low, +Like the sighing of an evening breeze, +Comes through these painted lattices +The ceaseless sound of human woe, +Here, while her bosom aches and throbs +With deep and agonizing sobs, +That half are passion, half contrition, +The luckless daughter of perdition +Slowly confesses her secret shame! +The time, the place, the lover's name! +Here the grim murderer, with a groan, +From his bruised conscience rolls the stone, +Thinking that thus he can atone +For ravages of sword and flame! +Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly, +How a priest can sit here so sedately, +Reading, the whole year out and in, +Naught but the catalogue of sin, +And still keep any faith whatever +In human virtue! Never! never! + +I cannot repeat a thousandth part +Of the horrors and crimes and sins and woes +That arise, when with palpitating throes +The graveyard in the human heart +Gives up its dead, at the voice of the priest, +As if he were an archangel, at least. +It makes a peculiar atmosphere, +This odor of earthly passions and crimes, +Such as I like to breathe, at times, +And such as often brings me here +In the hottest and most pestilential season. +To-day, I come for another reason; +To foster and ripen an evil thought +In a heart that is almost to madness wrought, +And to make a murderer out of a prince, +A sleight of hand I learned long since! +He comes In the twilight he will not see +the difference between his priest and me! +In the same net was the mother caught! + + (_Prince Henry entering and kneeling at the confessional._) + +Remorseful, penitent, and lowly, +I come to crave, O Father holy, +Thy benediction on my head. + + _Lucifer_. The benediction shall be said +After confession, not before! +'T is a God speed to the parting guest, +Who stands already at the door, +Sandalled with holiness, and dressed +In garments pure from earthly stain. +Meanwhile, hast thou searched well thy breast? +Does the same madness fill thy brain? +Or have thy passion and unrest +Vanished forever from thy mind? + + _Prince Henry_. By the same madness still made blind, +By the same passion still possessed, +I come again to the house of prayer, +A man afflicted and distressed! +As in a cloudy atmosphere, +Through unseen sluices of the air, +A sudden and impetuous wind +Strikes the great forest white with fear, +And every branch, and bough, and spray +Points all its quivering leaves one way, +And meadows of grass, and fields of grain, +And the clouds above, and the slanting rain, +And smoke from chimneys of the town, +Yield themselves to it, and bow down, +So does this dreadful purpose press +Onward, with irresistible stress, +And all my thoughts and faculties, +Struck level by the strength of this, +From their true inclination turn, +And all stream forward to Salem! + + _Lucifer_. Alas! we are but eddies of dust, +Uplifted by the blast, and whirled +Along the highway of the world +A moment only, then to fall +Back to a common level all, +At the subsiding of the gust! + + _Prince Henry_. O holy Father! pardon in me +The oscillation of a mind +Unsteadfast, and that cannot find +Its centre of rest and harmony! +For evermore before mine eyes +This ghastly phantom flits and flies, +And as a madman through a crowd, +With frantic gestures and wild cries, +It hurries onward, and aloud +Repeats its awful prophecies! +Weakness is wretchedness! To be strong +Is to be happy! I am weak, +And cannot find the good I seek, +Because I feel and fear the wrong! + + _Lucifer_. Be not alarmed! The Church is kind-- +And in her mercy and her meekness +She meets half-way her children's weakness, +Writes their transgressions in the dust! +Though in the Decalogue we find +The mandate written, "Thou shalt not kill!" +Yet there are cases when we must. +In war, for instance, or from scathe +To guard and keep the one true Faith! +We must look at the Decalogue in the light +Of an ancient statute, that was meant +For a mild and general application, +To be understood with the reservation, +That, in certain instances, the Right +Must yield to the Expedient! +Thou art a Prince. If thou shouldst die, +What hearts and hopes would prostrate he! +What noble deeds, what fair renown, +Into the grave with thee go down! +What acts of valor and courtesy +Remain undone, and die with thee! +Thou art the last of all thy race! +With thee a noble name expires, +And vanishes from the earth's face +The glorious memory of thy sires! +She is a peasant. In her veins +Flows common and plebeian blood; +It is such as daily and hourly stains +The dust and the turf of battle plains, +By vassals shed, in a crimson flood, +Without reserve, and without reward, +At the slightest summons of their lord! +But thine is precious, the fore-appointed +Blood of kings, of God's anointed! +Moreover, what has the world in store +For one like her, but tears and toil? +Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, +A peasant's child and a peasant's wife, +And her soul within her sick and sore +With the roughness and barrenness of life! +I marvel not at the heart's recoil +From a fate like this, in one so tender, +Nor at its eagerness to surrender +All the wretchedness, want, and woe +That await it in this world below, +For the unutterable splendor +Of the world of rest beyond the skies. +So the Church sanctions the sacrifice: +Therefore inhale this healing balm, +And breathe this fresh life into thine; +Accept the comfort and the calm +She offers, as a gift divine, +Let her fall down and anoint thy feet +With the ointment costly and most sweet +Of her young blood, and thou shall live. + + _Prince Henry._ And will the righteous Heaven forgive? +No action, whether foul or fair, +Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere +A record, written by fingers ghostly, +As a blessing or a curse, and mostly +In the greater weakness or greater strength +Of the acts which follow it, till at length +The wrongs of ages are redressed, +And the justice of God made manifest! + + _Lucifer_ In ancient records it is stated +That, whenever an evil deed is done, +Another devil is created +To scourge and torment the offending one! +But evil is only good perverted, +And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light, +But an angel fallen and deserted, +Thrust from his Father's house with a curse +Into the black and endless night. + + _Prince Henry._ If justice rules the universe, +From the good actions of good men +Angels of light should be begotten, +And thus the balance restored again. + + _Lucifer._ Yes; if the world were not so rotten, +And so given over to the Devil! + + _Prince Henry._ But this deed, is it good or evil? +Have I thine absolution free +To do it, and without restriction? + + _Lucifer._ Ay; and from whatsoever sin +Lieth around it and within, +From all crimes in which it may involve thee, +I now release thee and absolve thee! + + _Prince Henry._ Give me thy holy benediction. + + _Lucifer._ (_stretching forth his hand and muttering_), + Maledictione perpetua + Maledicat vos + Pater eternus! + +_The Angel_ (_with the aeolian harp_). Take heed! take heed! +Noble art thou in thy birth, +By the good and the great of earth +Hast thou been taught! +Be noble in every thought +And in every deed! +Let not the illusion of thy senses +Betray thee to deadly offences. +Be strong! be good! be pure! +The right only shall endure, +All things else are but false pretences! +I entreat thee, I implore, +Listen no more +To the suggestions of an evil spirit, +That even now is there, +Making the foul seem fair, +And selfishness itself a virtue and a merit! + + + * * * * * + +A ROOM IN THE FARM-HOUSE. + + + * * * * * + + _Gottlieb_. It is decided! For many days, +And nights as many, we have had +A nameless terror in our breast, +Making us timid, and afraid +Of God, and his mysterious ways! +We have been sorrowful and sad; +Much have we suffered, much have prayed +That he would lead us as is best, +And show us what his will required. +It is decided; and we give +Our child, O Prince, that you may live! + + _Ursula_. It is of God. He has inspired +This purpose in her; and through pain, +Out of a world of sin and woe, +He takes her to himself again. +The mother's heart resists no longer; +With the Angel of the Lord in vain +It wrestled, for he was the stronger. + + _Gottlieb_. As Abraham offered long ago +His son unto the Lord, and even +The Everlasting Father in heaven +Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, +So do I offer up my daughter! + + (URSULA _hides her face_.) + + _Elsie_. My life is little, +Only a cup of water, +But pure and limpid. +Take it, O my Prince! +Let it refresh you, +Let it restore you. +It is given willingly, +It is given freely; +May God bless the gift! + + _Prince Henry._ And the giver! + + _Gottlieb._ Amen! + + _Prince Henry._ I accept it! + + _Gottlieb._ Where are the children? + + _Ursula._ They are already asleep. + + _Gottlieb._ What if they were dead? + + * * * * * + +IN THE GARDEN. + + * * * * * + + _Elsie._ I have one thing to ask of you. + + _Prince Henry._ What is it? +It is already granted. + + _Elsie._ Promise me, +When we are gone from here, and on our way +Are journeying to Salerno, you will not, +By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade me +And turn me from my purpose, but remember +That as a pilgrim to the Holy City +Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon +Occupied wholly, so would I approach +The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee, +With my petition, putting off from me +All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off my feet. +Promise me this. + + _Prince Henry._ Thy words fall from thy lips +Like roses from the lips of Angelo: and angels +Might stoop to pick them up! + + _Elsie._ Will you not promise? + + _Prince Henry._ If ever we depart upon this journey, +So long to one or both of us, I promise. + + _Elsie._ Shall we not go, then? Have you lifted me +Into the air, only to hurl me back +Wounded upon the ground? and offered me +The waters of eternal life, to bid me +Drink the polluted puddles of this world? + + _Prince Henry._ O Elsie! what a lesson thou dost teach me! +The life which is, and that which is to come, +Suspended hang in such nice equipoise +A breath disturbs the balance; and that scale +In which we throw our hearts preponderates, +And the other, like an empty one, flies up, +And is accounted vanity and air! +To me the thought of death is terrible, +Having such hold on life. To thee it is not +So much even as the lifting of a latch; +Only a step into the open air +Out of a tent already luminous +With light that shines through its transparent walls! +O pure in heart! from thy sweet dust shall grow +Lilies, upon whose petals will be written +"Ave Maria" in characters of gold! + + + + +III. + +A STREET IN STRASBURG. + + * * * * * + +_Night._ PRINCE HENRY _wandering alone, wrapped in a cloak._ + + _Prince Henry._ Still is the night. The sound of feet +Has died away from the empty street, +And like an artisan, bending down +His head on his anvil, the dark town +Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet. +Sleepless and restless, I alone, +In the dusk and damp of these wails of stone, +Wander and weep in my remorse! + + _Crier of the dead (ringing a bell)._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Hark! with what accents loud and hoarse +This warder on the walls of death +Sends forth the challenge of his breath! +I see the dead that sleep in the grave! +They rise up and their garments wave, +Dimly and spectral, as they rise, +With the light of another world in their eyes! + + _Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Why for the dead, who are at rest? +Pray for the living, in whose breast +The struggle between right and wrong +Is raging terrible and strong, +As when good angels war with devils! +This is the Master of the Revels, +Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes +The health of absent friends, and pledges, +Not in bright goblets crowned with roses, +And tinkling as we touch their edges, +But with his dismal, tinkling bell, +That mocks and mimics their funeral knell! + + _Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Wake not, beloved! be thy sleep +Silent as night is, and as deep! +There walks a sentinel at thy gate +Whose heart is heavy and desolate, +And the heavings of whose bosom number +The respirations of thy slumber, +As if some strange, mysterious fate +Had linked two hearts in one, and mine +Went madly wheeling about thine, +Only with wider and wilder sweep! + + _Crier of the dead (at a distance)._ Wake! wake! + All ye that sleep! + Pray for the Dead! + Pray for the Dead! + + _Prince Henry._ Lo! with what depth of blackness thrown +Against the clouds, far up the skies, +The walls of the cathedral rise, +Like a mysterious grove of stone, +With fitful lights and shadows bleeding, +As from behind, the moon, ascending, +Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown! +The wind is rising; but the boughs +Rise not and fall not with the wind +That through their foliage sobs and soughs; +Only the cloudy rack behind, +Drifting onward, wild and ragged, +Gives to each spire and buttress jagged +A seeming motion undefined. +Below on the square, an armed knight, +Still as a statue and as white, +Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver +Upon the points of his armor bright +As on the ripples of a river. +He lifts the visor from his cheek, +And beckons, and makes as he would speak. + + _Walter the Minnesinger_ Friend! can you tell me where alight +Thuringia's horsemen for the night? +For I have lingered in the rear, +And wander vainly up and down. + + _Prince Henry_ I am a stranger in the town, +As thou art, but the voice I hear +Is not a stranger to mine ear. +Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid! + + _Walter_ Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy name +Is Henry of Hoheneck! + + _Prince Henry_ Ay, the same. + + _Walter_ (_embracing him_). Come closer, closer to my side! +What brings thee hither? What potent charm +Has drawn thee from thy German farm +Into the old Alsatian city? + + _Prince Henry_. A tale of wonder and of pity! +A wretched man, almost by stealth +Dragging my body to Salern, +In the vain hope and search for health, +And destined never to return. +Already thou hast heard the rest +But what brings thee, thus armed and dight +In the equipments of a knight? + + _Walter_. Dost thou not see upon my breast +The cross of the Crusaders shine? +My pathway leads to Palestine. + + _Prince Henry_. Ah, would that way were also mine! +O noble poet! thou whose heart +Is like a nest of singing birds +Rocked on the topmost bough of life, +Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, +And in the clangor of the strife +Mingle the music of thy words? + + _Walter_. My hopes are high, my heart is proud, +And like a trumpet long and loud, +Thither my thoughts all clang and ring! +My life is in my hand, and lo! +I grasp and bend it as a bow, +And shoot forth from its trembling string +An arrow, that shall be, perchance, +Like the arrow of the Israelite king +Shot from the window toward the east, +That of the Lord's deliverance! + + _Prince Henry_. My life, alas! is what thou seest! +O enviable fate! to be +Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee +With lyre and sword, with song and steel; +A hand to smite, a heart to feel! +Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy sword, +Thou givest all unto thy Lord, +While I, so mean and abject grown, +Am thinking of myself alone. + + _Walter_. Be patient: Time will reinstate +Thy health and fortunes. + + _Prince Henry_. 'T is too late! +I cannot strive against my fate! + + _Walter_. Come with me; for my steed is weary; +Our journey has been long and dreary, +And, dreaming of his stall, he dints +With his impatient hoofs the flints. + + _Prince Henry_ (_aside_). I am ashamed, in my disgrace, +To look into that noble face! +To-morrow, Walter, let it be. + + _Walter_. To-morrow, at the dawn of day, +I shall again be on my way +Come with me to the hostelry, +For I have many things to say. +Our journey into Italy +Perchance together we may make; +Wilt thou not do it for my sake? + + _Prince Henry_. A sick man's pace would but impede +Thine eager and impatient speed. +Besides, my pathway leads me round +To Hirsehau, in the forest's bound, +Where I assemble man and steed, +And all things for my journey's need. + + (_They go out_. LUCIFER, _flying over the city_.) + +Sleep, sleep, O city! till the light +Wakes you to sin and crime again, +Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain, +I scatter downward through the night +My maledictions dark and deep. +I have more martyrs in your walls +Than God has; and they cannot sleep; +They are my bondsmen and my thralls; +Their wretched lives are full of pain, +Wild agonies of nerve and brain; +And every heart-beat, every breath, +Is a convulsion worse than death! +Sleep, sleep, O city! though within +The circuit of your walls there lies +No habitation free from sin, +And all its nameless miseries; +The aching heart, the aching head, +Grief for the living and the dead, +And foul corruption of the time, +Disease, distress, and want, and woe, +And crimes, and passions that may grow +Until they ripen into, crime! + + + + +SQUARE IN FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL. + + * * * * * + +_Easter Sunday_. FRIAR CUTHBERT _preaching to the +crowd from a pulpit in the open air_. PRINCE +HENRY _and_ ELSIE _crossing the square_. + + _Prince Henry_. This is the day, when from the dead +Our Lord arose; and everywhere, +Out of their darkness and despair, +Triumphant over fears and foes, +The hearts of his disciples rose, +When to the women, standing near, +The Angel in shining vesture said, +"The Lord is risen; he is not here!" +And, mindful that the day is come, +On all the hearths in Christendom +The fires are quenched, to be again +Rekindled from the sun, that high +Is dancing in the cloudless sky. +The churches are all decked with flowers. +The salutations among men +Are but the Angel's words divine, +"Christ is arisen!" and the bells +Catch the glad murmur, as it swells, +And chaunt together in their towers. +All hearts are glad; and free from care +The faces of the people shine. +See what a crowd is in the square, +Gaily and gallantly arrayed! + + _Elsie_. Let us go back; I am afraid! + + _Prince Henry_. Nay, let us mount the church-steps here, +Under the doorway's sacred shadow; +We can see all things, and be freer +From the crowd that madly heaves and presses! + + _Elsie._ What a gay pageant! what bright dresses! +It looks like a flower besprinkled meadow. +What is that yonder on the square? + + _Prince Henry_ A pulpit in the open air, +And a Friar, who is preaching to the crowd +With a voice so deep and clear and loud, +That, if we listen, and give heed, +His lowest words will reach the ear. + + _Friar Cuthbert (gesticulating and cracking a postilion's +whip)_ What ho! good people! do you not hear? +Dashing along at the top of his speed, +Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed, +A courier comes with words of cheer. +Courier! what is the news, I pray? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From court." +Then I do not believe it; you say it in sport. + + (_Cracks his whip again._) + +There comes another, riding this way; +We soon shall know what he has to say. +Courier! what are the tidings to-day? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From town." +Then I do not believe it; away with you, clown. + + (_Cracks his whip more violently._) + +And here comes a third, who is spurring amain; +What news do you bring, with your loose-hanging rein, +Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle with foam? +"Christ is arisen!" Whence come you? "From Rome." +Ah, now I believe. He is risen, indeed. +Ride on with the news, at the top of your speed! + + (_Great applause among the crowd._) + +To come back to my text! When the news was first spread +That Christ was arisen indeed from the dead, +Very great was the joy of the angels in heaven; +And as great the dispute as to who should carry +The tidings, thereof to the Virgin Mary, +Pierced to the heart with sorrows seven. +Old Father Adam was first to propose, +As being the author of all our woes; +But he was refused, for fear, said they, +He would stop to eat apples on the way! +Abel came next, but petitioned in vain, +Because he might meet with his brother Cain! +Noah, too, was refused, lest his weakness for wine +Should delay him at every tavern sign; +And John the Baptist could not get a vote, +On account of his old fashioned, camel's-hair coat; +And the Penitent Thief, who died on the cross, +Was reminded that all his bones were broken! +Till at last, when each in turn had spoken, +The company being still at a loss, +The Angel, who had rolled away the stone, +Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone, +And filled with glory that gloomy prison, +And said to the Virgin, "The Lord is arisen!" + + (_The Cathedral bells ring_.) + +But hark! the bells are beginning to chime; +And I feel that I am growing hoarse. +I will put an end to my discourse, +And leave the rest for some other time. +For the bells themselves are the best of preachers; +Their brazen lips are learned teachers, +From their pulpits of stone, in the upper air, +Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, +Shriller than trumpets under the Law, +Now a sermon and now a prayer. +The clangorous hammer is the tongue, +This way, that way, beaten and swung, +That from mouth of brass, as from Mouth of Gold, +May be taught the Testaments, New and Old. +And above it the great crossbeam of wood +Representeth the Holy Rood, +Upon which, like the bell, our hopes are hung. +And the wheel wherewith it is swayed and rung +Is the mind of man, that round and round +Sways, and maketh the tongue to sound! +And the rope, with its twisted cordage three, +Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity +Of Morals, and Symbols, and History; +And the upward and downward motions show +That we touch upon matters high and low; +And the constant change and transmutation +Of action and of contemplation, +Downward, the Scripture brought from on high, +Upward, exalted again to the sky; +Downward, the literal interpretation, +Upward, the Vision and Mystery! + +And now, my hearers, to make an end, +I have only one word more to say; +In the church, in honor of Easter day, +Will be represented a Miracle Play; +And I hope you will all have the grace to attend. +Christ bring us at last So his felicity! +Pax vobiscum! et Benedicite! + + + + +IN THE CATHEDRAL. + + * * * * * + +CHAUNT. + Kyrie Eleison! + Christe Eleison! + + _Elsie._ I am at home here in my Father's house! +These paintings of the Saints upon the walls +Have all familiar and benignant faces. + + _Prince Henry._ The portraits of the family of God! +Thine own hereafter shall be placed among them. + + _Elsie._ How very grand it is and wonderful! +Never have I beheld a church so splendid! +Such columns, and such arches, and such windows, +So many tombs and statues in the chapels, +And under them so many confessionals. +They must be for the rich. I should not like +To tell my sins in such a church as this. +Who built it? + + _Prince Henry._ A great master of his craft, +Erwin von Steinbach; but not he alone, +For many generations labored with him. +Children that came to see these Saints in stone, +As day by day out of the blocks they rose, +Grew old and died, and still the work went on, +And on, and on, and is not yet completed. +The generation that succeeds our own +Perhaps may finish it. The architect +Built his great heart into these sculptured stones, +And with him toiled his children, and their lives +Were builded, with his own, into the walls, +As offerings unto God. You see that statue +Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled eyes +Upon the Pillar of the Angels yonder. +That is the image of the master, carved +By the fair hand of his own child, Sabina. + + _Elsie._ How beautiful is the column that he looks at! + + _Prince Henry._ That, too, she sculptured. At the base of it +Stand the Evangelists; above their heads +Four Angels blowing upon marble trumpets, +And over them the blessed Christ, surrounded +By his attendant ministers, upholding +The instruments of his passion. + + _Elsie._ O my Lord! +Would I could leave behind me upon earth +Some monument to thy glory, such as this! + + _Prince Henry._ A greater monument than this thou leavest +In thine own life, all purity and love! +See, too, the Rose, above the western portal +Flamboyant with a thousand gorgeous colors, +The perfect flower of Gothic loveliness! + + _Elsie._ And, in the gallery, the long line of statues, +Christ with his twelve Apostles watching us. + +(_A_ BISHOP _in armor, booted and spurred, passes with +his train._) + +_Prince Henry._ But come away; we have not time to look. +The crowd already fills the church, and yonder +Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet, +Clad like The Angel Gabriel, proclaims +The Mystery that will now be represented. + + + + +THE NATIVITY. + + * * * * * + +A MIRACLE PLAY. + + * * * * * + +THE NATIVITY. + +INTROITUS. + + _Praeco._ Come, good people, all and each, +Come and listen to our speech! +In your presence here I stand, +With a trumpet in my hand, +To announce the Easter Play, +Which we represent to-day! +First of all we shall rehearse, +In our action and our verse, +The Nativity of our Lord, +As written in the old record +Of the Protevangelion, +So that he who reads may run! + + (_Blows his trumpet._) + + * * * * * + +I. HEAVEN. + + _Mercy_ (_at the feet of God_). Have pity, Lord be not afraid +To save mankind, whom thou hast made, +Nor let the souls that were betrayed + Perish eternally! + + _Justice._ It cannot be, it must not be! +When in the garden placed by thee, +The fruit of the forbidden tree + He ate, and he must die! + + _Mercy._ Have pity, Lord! let penitence +Atone for disobedience, +Nor let the fruit of man's offence + Be endless misery! + + _Justice._ What penitence proportionate +Can e'er be felt for sin so great? +Of the forbidden fruit he ate, + And damned must he be! + + _God._ He shall be saved, if that within +The bounds of earth one free from sin +Be found, who for his kith and kin + Will suffer martyrdom. + + _The Four Virtues._ Lord! we have searched the world around, +From centre to the utmost bound, +But no such mortal can be found; + Despairing, back we come. + + _Wisdom._ No mortal, but a God made man, +Can ever carry out this plan, +Achieving what none other can, + Salvation unto all! + + _God._ Go, then, O my beloved Son; +It can by thee alone be done; +By thee the victory shall be won + O'er Satan and the Fall! + +(_Here the_ ANGEL GABRIEL _shall leave Paradise and +fly toward the earth; the jaws of Hell open below, +and the Devils walk about, making a great noise._) + + * * * * * + + +II. MARY AT THE WELL. + + _Mary._ Along the garden walk, and thence +Through the wicket in the garden fence, + I steal with quiet pace, +My pitcher at the well to fill, +That lies so deep and cool and still + In this sequestered place. +These sycamores keep guard around; +I see no face, I hear no sound, + Save babblings of the spring, +And my companions, who within +The threads of gold and scarlet spin, + And at their labor sing. + + _The Angel Gabriel._ Hail, Virgin Mary, full of grace! + +(_Here_ MARY _looketh around her, trembling, and +then saith:_) + + _Mary._ Who is it speaketh in this place, +With such a gentle voice? + + _Gabriel._ The Lord of heaven is with thee now! +Blessed among all women thou, + Who art his holy choice! + + _Mary_ (setting down the pitcher). What can this mean? +No one is near, +And yet, such sacred words I hear, + I almost fear to stay. + + (_Here the_ ANGEL, _appearing to her, shall say:_) + + _Gabriel._ Fear not, O Mary! but believe! +For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive + A child this very day. + +Fear not, O Mary! from the sky +The majesty of the Most High + Shall overshadow thee! + + _Mary._ Behold the handmaid of the Lord! +According to thy holy word, + So be it unto me! + + (_Here the Devils shall again make a great noise, + under the stage._) + + + + +III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLANETS, + _bearing the Star of Bethlehem._ + + _The Angels._ The Angels of the Planets Seven +Across the shining fields of heaven + The natal star we bring! +Dropping our sevenfold virtues down, +As priceless jewels in the crown + Of Christ, our new-born King. + + _Raphael._ I am the Angel of the Sun, +Whose flaming wheels began to run + When God's almighty breath +Said to the darkness and the Night, +Let there be light! and there was light! + I bring the gift of Faith. + + _Gabriel._ I am the Angel of the Moon, +Darkened, to be rekindled soon + Beneath the azure cope! +Nearest to earth, it is my ray +That best illumes the midnight way. + I bring the gift of Hope! + + _Anael._ The Angel of the Star of Love, +The Evening Star, that shines above + The place where lovers be, +Above all happy hearths and homes, +On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, + I give him Charity! + + _Zobiachel._ The Planet Jupiter is mine! +The mightiest star of all that shine, + Except the sun alone! +He is the High Priest of the Dove, +And sends, from his great throne above, + Justice, that shall atone! + + _Michael._ The Planet Mercury, whose place +Is nearest to the sun in space, + Is my allotted sphere! +And with celestial ardor swift +I bear upon my hands the gift + Of heavenly Prudence here! + + _Uriel._ I am the Minister of Mars, +The strongest star among the stars! + My songs of power prelude +The march and battle of man's life, +And for the suffering and the strife, + I give him Fortitude! + + _Anachiel._ The Angel of the uttermost +Of all the shining, heavenly host, + From the far-off expanse +Of the Saturnian, endless space +I bring the last, the crowning grace, + The gift of Temperance! + + (_A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable + in the village below._) + + + + +IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. + + _The stable of the Inn. The_ VIRGIN _and_ CHILD. + _Three Gypsy Kings,_ GASPAR, MELCHIOR, _and_ BELSHAZZAR, + _shall come in._ + + _Gaspar._ Hail to thee, Jesus of Nazareth! +Though in a manger thou drawest thy breath, +Thou art greater than Life and Death, + Greater than Joy or Woe! +This cross upon the line of life +Portendeth struggle, toil, and strife, +And through a region with dangers rife + In darkness shall thou go! + + _Melchior._ Hail to thee, King of Jerusalem +Though humbly born in Bethlehem, +A sceptre and a diadem + Await thy brow and hand! +The sceptre is a simple reed, +The crown will make thy temples bleed, +And in thy hour of greatest need, + Abashed thy subjects stand! + +_Belshazzar_. Hail to thee, Christ of Christendom! +O'er all the earth thy kingdom come! +From distant Trebizond to Rome + Thy name shall men adore! +Peace and good-will among all men, +The Virgin has returned again, +Returned the old Saturnian reign + And Golden Age once more. + +_The Child Christ_. Jesus, the Son of God, am I, +Born here to suffer and to die +According to the prophecy, + That other men may live! + +_The Virgin_. And now these clothes, that wrapped him, take +And keep them precious, for his sake; +For benediction thus we make, + Naught else have we to give. + + (_She gives them swaddling-clothes and they depart_.) + + + + +V. THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. + + +_Here shall_ JOSEPH _come in, leading an ass, on which +are seated_ MARY _and the_ CHILD. + +_Mary_. Here will we rest us, under these +Underhanging branches of the trees, +Where robins chant their Litanies, + And canticles of joy. + +_Joseph_. My saddle-girths have given way +With trudging through the heat to-day +To you I think it is but play + To ride and hold the boy. + + _Mary_. Hark! how the robins shout and sing, +As if to hail their infant King! +I will alight at yonder spring + To wash his little coat. + + _Joseph_. And I will hobble well the ass, +Lest, being loose upon the grass, +He should escape; for, by the mass. + He is nimble as a goat. + + (_Here_ MARY _shall alight and go to the spring._) + + _Mary_. O Joseph! I am much afraid, +For men are sleeping in the shade; +I fear that we shall be waylaid, + And robbed and beaten sore! + + (_Here a band of robbers shall be seen sleeping, two of + whom shall rise and come forward_.) + + _Dumachus_. Cock's soul! deliver up your gold! + + _Joseph_. I pray you, Sirs, let go your hold! +Of wealth I have no store. + + _Dumachus_. Give up your money! + + _Titus_. Prithee cease! +Let these good people go in peace! + + _Dumachus_. First let them pay for their release, +And then go on their way. + + _Titus_. These forty groats I give in fee, +If thou wilt only silent be. + + _Mary_. May God be merciful to thee +Upon the Judgment Day! + + _Jesus_. When thirty years shall have gone by, +I at Jerusalem shall die, +By Jewish hands exalted high + On the accursed tree. +Then on my right and my left side, +These thieves shall both be crucified +And Titus thenceforth shall abide + In paradise with me. + + (_Here a great rumor of trumpets and horses, like the + noise of a king with his army, and the robbers shall + take flight._) + + + + +VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS. + + _King Herod._ Potz-tausend! Himmel-sacrament! +Filled am I with great wonderment + At this unwelcome news! +Am I not Herod? Who shall dare +My crown to take, my sceptre bear, + As king among the Jews? + + (_Here he shall stride up and down and flourish his sword._) + +What ho! I fain would drink a can +Of the strong wine of Canaan! + The wine of Helbon bring, +I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, +As red as blood, as hot as fire, + And fit for any king! + + (_He quaffs great goblets of wine._) + +Now at the window will I stand, +While in the street the armed band + The little children slay: +The babe just born in Bethlehem +Will surely slaughtered be with them, + Nor live another day! + + (_Here a voice of lamentation shall be heard in the street._) + + _Rachel._ O wicked king! O cruel speed! +To do this most unrighteous deed! + My children all are slain! + + _Herod._ Ho seneschal! another cup! +With wine of Sorek fill it up! + I would a bumper drain! + + _Rahab._ May maledictions fall and blast +Thyself and lineage, to the last + Of all thy kith and kin! + + _Herod._ Another goblet! quick! and stir +Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh + And calamus therein! + + _Soldiers (in the street)_. Give up thy child into our hands! +It is King Herod who commands + That he should thus be slain! + + _The Nurse Medusa._ O monstrous men! What have ye done! +It is King Herod's only son + That ye have cleft in twain! + + _Herod._ Ah, luckless day! What words of fear +Are these that smite upon my ear + With such a doleful sound! +What torments rack my heart and head! +Would I were dead! would I were dead, + And buried in the ground! + + (_He falls down and writhes as though eaten by worms. + Hell opens, and_ SATAN _and_ ASTAROTH _come forth, + and drag him down._) + + + + +VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOLMATES. + + _Jesus._ The shower is over. Let us play, +And make some sparrows out of clay, + Down by the river's side. + + _Judas._ See, how the stream has overflowed +Its banks, and o'er the meadow road + Is spreading far and wide! + + (_They draw water out of the river by channels, and + form little pools_ JESUS _makes twelve sparrows of + clay, and the other boys do the same._) + + _Jesus._ Look! look! how prettily I make +These little sparrows by the lake + Bend down their necks and drink! +Now will I make them sing and soar +So far, they shall return no more + Into this river's brink. + + _Judas._ That canst thou not! They are but clay, +They cannot sing, nor fly away + Above the meadow lands! + + _Jesus._ Fly, fly! ye sparrows! you are free! +And while you live, remember me, + Who made you with my hands. + + (_Here_ JESUS _shall clap his hands, and the sparrows + shall fly away, chirruping._) + + _Judas._ Thou art a sorcerer, I know; +Oft has my mother told me so, + I will not play with thee! + + (_He strikes_ JESUS _on the right side._) + + _Jesus._ Ah, Judas! thou has smote my side, +And when I shall be crucified, + There shall I pierced be! + + (_Here_ JOSEPH _shall come in, and say:_) + + _Joseph._ Ye wicked boys! why do ye play, +And break the holy Sabbath day? +What, think ye, will your mothers say + To see you in such plight! +In such a sweat and such a heat, +With all that mud-upon your feet! +There's not a beggar in the street + Makes such a sorry sight! + + + + +VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. + +_The_ RABBI BEN ISRAEL, _with a long beard, sitting on + a high stool, with a rod in his hand._ + + _Rabbi._ I am the Rabbi Ben Israel, +Throughout this village known full well, +And, as my scholars all will tell, + Learned in things divine; +The Kabala and Talmud hoar +Than all the prophets prize I more, +For water is all Bible lore, + But Mishna is strong wine. + +My fame extends from West to East, +And always, at the Purim feast, +I am as drunk as any beast + That wallows in his sty; +The wine it so elateth me, +That I no difference can see +Between "Accursed Haman be!" + And "Blessed be Mordecai!" + +Come hither, Judas Iscariot. +Say, if thy lesson thou hast got +From the Rabbinical Book or not. + Why howl the dogs at night? + + _Judas._ In the Rabbinical Book, it saith +The dogs howl, when with icy breath +Great Sammael, the Angel of Death, + Takes through the town his flight! + + _Rabbi._ Well, boy! now say, if thou art wise, +When the Angel of Death, who is full of eyes, +Comes where a sick man dying lies, + What doth he to the wight? + + _Judas._ He stands beside him, dark and tall, +Holding a sword, from which doth fall +Into his mouth a drop of gall, + And so he turneth white. + + _Rabbi._ And now, my Judas, say to me +What the great Voices Four may be, +That quite across the world do flee, + And are not heard by men? + + _Judas._ The Voice of the Sun in heaven's dome, +The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome, +The Voice of a Soul that goeth home, + And the Angel of the Rain! + + _Rabbi._ Well have ye answered every one +Now little Jesus, the carpenter's son, +Let us see how thy task is done. + Canst thou thy letters say? + + _Jesus._ Aleph. + + _Rabbi._ What next? Do not stop yet! +Go on with all the alphabet. +Come, Aleph, Beth; dost thou forget? + Cock's soul! thou'dst rather play! + + _Jesus._ What Aleph means I fain would know, +Before I any farther go! + + _Rabbi._ O, by Saint Peter! wouldst thou so? +Come hither, boy, to me. +And surely as the letter Jod +Once cried aloud, and spake to God, +So surely shalt thou feel this rod, + And punished shalt thou be! + + (_Here_ RABBI BEN ISRAEL _shall lift up his rod to strike_ + JESUS, _and his right arm shall be paralyzed._) + + + + +IX. CROWNED WITH FLOWERS. + +JESUS _sitting among his playmates, crowned with +flowers as their King._ + + _Boys._ We spread our garments on the ground' +With fragrant flowers thy head is crowned, +While like a guard we stand around, + And hail thee as our King! +Thou art the new King of the Jews! +Nor let the passers-by refuse +To bring that homage which men use + To majesty to bring. + + (_Here a traveller shall go by, and the boys shall lay + hold of his garments and say:_) + + _Boys._ Come hither! and all reverence pay +Unto our monarch, crowned to-day! +Then go rejoicing on your way, + In all prosperity! + + _Traveller._ Hail to the King of Bethlehem, +Who weareth in his diadem +The yellow crocus for the gem + Of his authority! + + (_He passes by; and others come in, bearing on a litter + a sick child._) + + _Boys._ Set down the litter and draw near! +The King of Bethlehem is here! +What ails the child, who seems to fear + That we shall do him harm? + + _The Bearers._ He climbed up to the robin's nest, +And out there darted, from his rest, +A serpent with a crimson crest, + And stung him in the arm. + + _Jesus._ Bring him to me, and let me feel +The wounded place; my touch can heal +The sting of serpents, and can steal + The poison from the bite! + + (_He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry._) + +Cease to lament! I can foresee +That thou hereafter known shalt be, +Among the men who follow me, + As Simon the Canaanite! + + * * * * * + + + EPILOGUE. + +In the after part of the day +Will be represented another play, +Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord, +Beginning directly after Nones! +At the close of which we shall accord, +By way of benison and reward, +The sight of a holy Martyr's bones! + + + + +IV. THE ROAD HIRSCHAU. + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE, _with their attendants, on +horseback._ + + _Elsie._ Onward and onward the highway runs + to the distant city, impatiently bearing +Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of + hate, of doing and daring! + + _Prince Henry._ This life of ours is a wild aeolian + harp of many a joyous strain, +But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, + as of souls in pain. + + _Elsie._ Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart + that aches and bleeds with the stigma +Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can + comprehend its dark enigma. + + _Prince Henry._ Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure + with little care of what may betide; +Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon + that rides by an angel's side? + + _Elsie._ All the hedges are white with dust, and + the great dog under the creaking wain +Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the + horses toil and strain + + _Prince Henry._ Now they stop at the wayside inn, + and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter, +While out of the dripping trough the horses distend + their leathern sides with water. + + _Elsie._ All through life there are wayside inns, + where man may refresh his soul with love; +Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed + by springs from above. + + _Prince Henry._ Yonder, where rises the cross of + stone, our journey along the highway ends, +And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the + broad green valley descends. + + _Elsie._ I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten + road with its dust and heat; +The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer + under our horses' feet. + + (_They turn down a green lane._) + + _Elsie._ Sweet is the air with the budding haws, + and the valley stretching for miles below +Is white with blossoming cheery trees, as if just covered + with lightest snow. + + _Prince Henry._ Over our heads a white cascade is + gleaming against the distant hill; +We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like + a banner when winds are still. + + _Elsie._ Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and + cool the sound of the brook by our side! +What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it + over a land so wide? + +_Prince Henry._ It is the home of the Counts of + Calva; well have I known these scenes of old, +Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the + brooklet, the wood, and the wold. + + _Elsie._ Hark! from the little village below us the + bells of the church are ringing for rain! +Priests and peasants in long procession come forth + and kneel on the arid plain. + + _Prince Henry._ They have not long to wait, for I + see in the south uprising a little cloud, +That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky + above us as with a shroud. + + (_They pass on._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE +BLACK FOREST. + + * * * * * + +_The Convent cellar._ FRIAR CLAUS _comes in with a +light and a basket of empty flagons._ + + _Friar Claus._ I always enter this sacred place +With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace, +Pausing long enough on each stair +To breathe an ejaculatory prayer, +And a benediction on the vines +That produce these various sorts of wines! + +For my part, I am well content +That we have got through with the tedious Lent! +Fasting is all very well for those +Who have to contend with invisible foes; +But I am quite sure it does not agree +With a quiet, peaceable man like me, +Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind +That are always distressed in body and mind! +And at times it really does me good +To come down among this brotherhood, +Dwelling forever under ground, +Silent, contemplative, round and sound; +Each one old, and brown with mould, +But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth, +With the latent power and love of truth, +And with virtues fervent and manifold. + +I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, +When buds are swelling on every side, +And the sap begins to move in the vine. +Then in all the cellars, far and wide, +The oldest, as well as the newest, wine +Begins to stir itself, and ferment, +With a kind of revolt and discontent +At being so long in darkness pent, +And fain would burst from its sombre tun +To bask on the hillside in the sun; +As in the bosom of us poor friars, +The tumult of half-subdued desires +For the world that we have left behind +Disturbs at times all peace of mind! +And now that we have lived through Lent, +My duty it is, as often before, +To open awhile the prison-door, +And give these restless spirits vent. + +Now here is a cask that stands alone, +And has stood a hundred years or more, +Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, +Trailing and sweeping along the floor, +Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, +Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave, +Till his beard has grown through the table of stone! +It is of the quick and not of the dead! +In its veins the blood is hot and red, +And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak +That time may have tamed, but has not broke; +It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine, +Is one of the three best kinds of wine, +And costs some hundred florins the ohm; +But that I do not consider dear, +When I remember that every year +Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome. +And whenever a goblet thereof I drain, +The old rhyme keeps running in my brain: + + At Bacharach on the Rhine, + At Hochheim on the Main, + And at Wuerzburg on the Stein, + Grow the three best kinds of wine! + +They are all good wines, and better far +Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr +In particular, Wuerzburg well may boast +Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost, +Which of all wines I like the most. +This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking, +Who seems to be much of my way of thinking. + + (_Fills a flagon._) + +Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings! +What a delicious fragrance springs +From the deep flagon, while it fills, +As of hyacinths and daffodils! +Between this cask and the Abbot's lips +Many have been the sips and slips; +Many have been the draughts of wine, +On their way to his, that have stopped at mine; +And many a time my soul has hankered +For a deep draught out of his silver tankard, +When it should have been busy with other affairs, +Less with its longings and more with its prayers. +But now there is no such awkward condition, +No danger of death and eternal perdition; +So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all, +Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul! + + (_He drinks._) + +O cordial delicious! O soother of pain! +It flashes like sunshine into my brain! +A benison rest on the Bishop who sends +Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends! + +And now a flagon for such as may ask +A draught from the noble Bacharach cask, +And I will be gone, though I know full well +The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell. +Behold where he stands, all sound and good, +Brown and old in his oaken hood; +Silent he seems externally +As any Carthusian monk may be; +But within, what a spirit of deep unrest! +What a seething and simmering in his breast! +As if the heaving of his great heart +Would burst his belt of oak apart! +Let me unloose this button of wood, +And quiet a little his turbulent mood. + + (_Sets it running._) + +See! how its currents gleam and shine, +As if they had caught the purple hues +Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, +Descending and mingling with the dews; +Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood +Of the innocent boy, who, some years back, +Was taken and crucified by the Jews, +In that ancient town of Bacharach; +Perdition upon those infidel Jews, +In that ancient town of Bacharach! +The beautiful town, that gives us wine +With the fragrant odor of Muscadine! +I should deem it wrong to let this pass +Without first touching my lips to the glass, +For here in the midst of the current I stand, +Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river +Taking toll upon either hand, +And much more grateful to the giver. + + (_He drinks._) + +Here, now, is a very inferior kind, +Such as in any town you may find, +Such as one might imagine would suit +The rascal who drank wine out of a boot, +And, after all, it was not a crime, +For he won thereby Dorf Hueffelsheim. +A jolly old toper! who at a pull +Could drink a postilion's jack boot full, +And ask with a laugh, when that was done, +If the fellow had left the other one! +This wine is as good as we can afford +To the friars, who sit at the lower board, +And cannot distinguish bad from good, +And are far better off than if they could, +Being rather the rude disciples of beer +Than of anything more refined and dear! + + (_Fills the other flagon and departs._) + + * * * * * + + +THE SCRIPTORIUM. + +FRIAR PACIFICUS _transcribing and illuminating._ + + _Friar Pacificus_ It is growing dark! Yet one line more, +And then my work for today is o'er. +I come again to the name of the Lord! +Ere I that awful name record, +That is spoken so lightly among men, +Let me pause awhile, and wash my pen; +Pure from blemish and blot must it be +When it writes that word of mystery! + +Thus have I labored on and on, +Nearly through the Gospel of John. +Can it be that from the lips +Of this same gentle Evangelist, +That Christ himself perhaps has kissed, +Came the dread Apocalypse! +It has a very awful look, +As it stands there at the end of the book, +Like the sun in an eclipse. +Ah me! when I think of that vision divine, +Think of writing it, line by line, +I stand in awe of the terrible curse, +Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse! +God forgive me! if ever I +Take aught from the book of that Prophecy, +Lest my part too should be taken away +From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day. + +This is well written, though I say it! +I should not be afraid to display it, +In open day, on the selfsame shelf +With the writings of St Thecla herself, +Or of Theodosius, who of old +Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold! +That goodly folio standing yonder, +Without a single blot or blunder, +Would not bear away the palm from mine, +If we should compare them line for line. + +There, now, is an initial letter! +King Rene himself never made a better! +Finished down to the leaf and the snail, +Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail! +And now, as I turn the volume over, +And see what lies between cover and cover, +What treasures of art these pages hold, +All ablaze with crimson and gold, +God forgive me! I seem to feel +A certain satisfaction steal +Into my heart, and into my brain, +As if my talent had not lain +Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. +Yes, I might almost say to the Lord, +Here is a copy of thy Word, +Written out with much toil and pain; +Take it, O Lord, and let it be +As something I have done for thee! + + (_He looks from the window._) + +How sweet the air is! How fair the scene! +I wish I had as lovely a green +To paint my landscapes and my leaves! +How the swallows twitter under the eaves! +There, now, there is one in her nest; +I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast, +And will sketch her thus, in her quiet nook, +In the margin of my Gospel book. + + (_He makes a sketch._) + +I can see no more. Through the valley yonder +A shower is passing; I hear the thunder +Mutter its curses in the air, +The Devil's own and only prayer! +The dusty road is brown with rain, +And speeding on with might and main, +Hitherward rides a gallant train. +They do not parley, they cannot wait, +But hurry in at the convent gate. +What a fair lady! and beside her +What a handsome, graceful, noble rider! +Now she gives him her hand to alight; +They will beg a shelter for the night. +I will go down to the corridor, +And try to see that face once more; +It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint, +Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. + + (_Goes out._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CLOISTERS. + + + * * * * * + +_The_ ABBOT ERNESTUS _pacing to and fro._ + + _Abbot._ Slowly, slowly up the wall +Steals the sunshine, steals the shade; +Evening damps begin to fall, +Evening shadows are displayed. +Round me, o'er me, everywhere, +All the sky is grand with clouds, +And athwart the evening air +Wheel the swallows home in crowds. +Shafts of sunshine from the west +Paint the dusky windows red; +Darker shadows, deeper rest, +Underneath and overhead. +Darker, darker, and more wan, +In my breast the shadows fall; +Upward steals the life of man, +As the sunshine from the wall. +From the wall into the sky, +From the roof along the spire; +Ah, the souls of those that die +Are but sunbeams lifted higher. + + (_Enter_ PRINCE HENRY.) + + _Prince Henry._ Christ is arisen! + + _Abbot._ Amen! he is arisen! +His peace be with you! + + _Prince Henry._ Here it reigns forever! +The peace of God, that passeth understanding, +Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors, +Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the convent? + + _Abbot._ I am. + + _Prince Henry._ And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, +Who crave your hospitality to-night. + + _Abbot._ You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. +You do us honor; and we shall requite it, +I fear, but poorly, entertaining you +With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine, +The remnants of our Easter holidays. + + _Prince Henry._ How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau? +Are all things well with them? + + _Abbot._ All things are well. + + _Prince Henry._ A noble convent! I have known it long +By the report of travellers. I now see +Their commendations lag behind the truth. +You lie here in the valley of the Nagold +As in a nest: and the still river, gliding +Along its bed, is like an admonition +How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample, +And your revenues large. God's benediction +Rests on your convent. + + _Abbot._ By our charities +We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, +When he departed, left us in his will, +As our best legacy on earth, the poor! +These we have always with us; had we not, +Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones. + + _Prince Henry._ If I remember right, the Counts of Calva +Founded your convent. + + _Abbot._ Even as you say. + + _Prince Henry._ And, if I err not, it is very old. + + _Abbot._ Within these cloisters lie already buried +Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the flags +On which we stand, the Abbot William lies, +Of blessed memory. + + _Prince Henry._ And whose tomb is that, +Which bears the brass escutcheon? + + _Abbot._ A benefactor's. +Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood +Godfather to our bells. + + _Prince Henry._ Your monks are learned +And holy men, I trust. + + _Abbot._ There are among them +Learned and holy men. Yet in this age +We need another Hildebrand, to shake +And purify us like a mighty wind. +The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder +God does not lose his patience with it wholly, +And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times, +Within these walls, where all should be at peace, +I have my trials. Time has laid his hand +Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, +But as a harper lays his open palm +Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. +Ashes are on my head, and on my lips +Sackcloth, and in my breast a heaviness +And weariness of life, that makes me ready +To say to the dead Abbots under us, +"Make room for me!" Only I see the dusk +Of evening twilight coming, and have not +Completed half my task; and so at times +The thought of my shortcomings in this life +Falls like a shadow on the life to come. + + _Prince Henry._ We must all die, and not the old alone; +The young have no exemption from that doom. + + _Abbot._ Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must! +That is the difference. + + _Prince Henry._ I have heard much laud +Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium +Is famous among all, your manuscripts +Praised for their beauty and their excellence. + + _Abbot._ That is indeed our boast. If you desire it, +You shall behold these treasures. And meanwhile +Shall the Refectorarius bestow +Your horses and attendants for the night. + + (_They go in. The Vesper-bell rings._) + + * * * * * + +THE CHAPEL. + + * * * * * + +_Vespers; after which the monks retire, a chorister +leading an old monk who is blind_. + + _Prince Henry._ They are all gone, save one who lingers, +Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. +As if his heart could find no rest, +At times he beats his heaving breast +With clenched and convulsive fingers, +Then lifts them trembling in the air. +A chorister, with golden hair, +Guides hitherward his heavy pace. +Can it be so? Or does my sight +Deceive me in the uncertain light? +Ah no! I recognize that face, +Though Time has touched it in his flight, +And changed the auburn hair to white. +It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, +The deadliest foe of all our race, +And hateful unto me and mine! + + _The Blind Monk_. Who is it that doth stand so near +His whispered words I almost hear? + + _Prince Henry_. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, +And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine! +I know you, and I see the scar, +The brand upon your forehead, shine +And redden like a baleful star! + + _The Blind Monk_. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck +Of what I was. O Hoheneck! +The passionate will, the pride, the wrath +That bore me headlong on my path, +Stumbled and staggered into fear, +And failed me in my mad career, +As a tired steed some evil-doer, +Alone upon a desolate moor, +Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, +And hearing loud and close behind +The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer. +Then suddenly, from the dark there came +A voice that called me by my name, +And said to me, "Kneel down and pray!" +And so my terror passed away, +Passed utterly away forever. +Contrition, penitence, remorse, +Came on me, with o'erwhelming force; +A hope, a longing, an endeavor, +By days of penance and nights of prayer, +To frustrate and defeat despair! +Calm, deep, and still is now my heart. +With tranquil waters overflowed; +A lake whose unseen fountains start, +Where once the hot volcano glowed. +And you, O Prince of Hoheneck! +Have known me in that earlier time, +A man of violence and crime, +Whose passions brooked no curb nor check. +Behold me now, in gentler mood, +One of this holy brotherhood. +Give me your hand; here let me kneel; +Make your reproaches sharp as steel; +Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek; +No violence can harm the meek, +There is no wound Christ cannot heal! +Yes; lift your princely hand, and take +Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek, +Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake! + + _Prince Henry._ Arise, Count Hugo! let there be +No farther strife nor enmity +Between us twain; we both have erred! +Too rash in act, too wroth in word, +From the beginning have we stood +In fierce, defiant attitude, +Each thoughtless of the other's right, +And each reliant on his might. +But now our souls are more subdued; +The hand of God, and not in vain, +Has touched us with the fire of pain. +Let us kneel down, and side by side +Pray, till our souls are purified, +And pardon will not be denied! + + (_They kneel._) + + * * * * * + +THE REFECTORY. + + * * * * * + +_Gaudiolum of Monks at midnight. LUCIFER disguised +as a Friar._ + +_Friar Paul (sings)._ Ave! color vini clari, + Dulcis potus, non aman, + Tua nos inebriari + Digneris potentia! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Not so much noise, my worthy freres, +You'll disturb the Abbot at his prayers. + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ O! quam placens in colore! + O! quam fragrans in odore! + O! quam sapidum in ore! + Dulce linguse vinculum! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I should think your tongue had +broken its chain! + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ Felix venter quern intrabis! + Felix guttur quod rigabis! + Felix os quod tu lavabis! + Et beata labia! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Peace! I say, peace! +Will you never cease! +You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell you again! + + _Friar John._ No danger! to-night he will let us alone, +As I happen to know he has guests of his own. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Who are they? + + _Friar John._ A German Prince and his train, +Who arrived here just before the rain. +There is with him a damsel fair to see, +As slender and graceful as a reed! +When she alighted from her steed, +It seemed like a blossom blown from a tree. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ None of your pale-faced girls for me! + + + (_Kisses the girl at his side_.) + + _Friar John._ Come, old fellow, drink down to your peg! +do not drink any farther, I beg! + + _Friar Paul (sings)._ In the days of gold, + The days of old, + Cross of wood + And bishop of gold! + + _Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)._ What an infernal racket and din! +No need not blush so, that's no sin. +You look very holy in this disguise, +Though there's something wicked in your eyes! + + _Friar Paul (continues.)_ Now we have changed + That law so good, + To cross of gold + And bishop of wood! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I like your sweet face under a hood. +Sister! how came you into this way? + + _Girl._ It was you, Friar Cuthbert, who led me astray. +Have you forgotten that day in June, +When the church was so cool in the afternoon, +And I came in to confess my sins? +That is where my ruin begins. + + _Friar John._ What is the name of yonder friar, +With an eye that glows like a coal of fire, +And such a black mass of tangled hair? + + _Friar Paul._ He who is sitting there, +With a rollicking, +Devil may care, +Free and easy look and air, +As if he were used to such feasting and frollicking? + + _Friar John._ The same. + + _Friar Paul._ He's a stranger. You had better ask his name, +And where he is going, and whence he came. + + _Friar John._ Hallo! Sir Friar! + + _Friar Paul._ You must raise your voice a little higher, +He does not seem to hear what you say. +Now, try again! He is looking this way. + + _Friar John._ Hallo! Sir Friar, +We wish to inquire +Whence you came, and where you are going, +And anything else that is worth the knowing. +So be so good as to open your head. + + _Lucifer._ I am a Frenchman born and bred, +Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. +My home +Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, +Of which, very like, you never have heard. + + _Monks._ Never a word! + + _Lucifer._ You must know, then, it is in the diocese +Called the Diocese of Vannes, +In the province of Brittany. +From the gray rocks of Morbihan +It overlooks the angry sea; +The very seashore where, +In his great despair, +Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, +Filling the night with woe, +And wailing aloud to the merciless seas +The name of his sweet Heloise! +Whilst overhead +The convent windows gleamed as red +As the fiery eyes of the monks within, +Who with jovial din +Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin! +Ha! that is a convent! that is an abbey! +Over the doors, +None of your death-heads carved in wood, +None of your Saints looking pious and good, +None of your Patriarchs old and shabby! +But the heads and tusks of boars, +And the cells +Hung all round with the fells +of the fallow-deer, +And then what cheer! +What jolly, fat friars, +Sitting round the great, roaring fires, +Roaring louder than they, +With their strong wines, +And their concubines, +And never a bell, +With its swagger and swell, +Calling you up with a start of affright +In the dead of night, +To send you grumbling down dark stairs, +To mumble your prayers, +But the cheery crow +Of cocks in the yard below, +After daybreak, an hour or so, +And the barking of deep-mouthed hounds, +These are the sounds +That, instead of bells, salute the ear. +And then all day +Up and away +Through the forest, hunting the deer! +Ah, my friends! I'm afraid that here +You are a little too pious, a little too tame, +And the more is the shame, +It is the greatest folly +Not to be jolly; +That's what I think! +Come, drink, drink, +Drink, and die game! + + _Monks,_ And your Abbot What's-his-name? + + _Lucifer._ Abelard! + + _Monks._ Did he drink hard? + + _Lucifer._ O, no! Not he! +He was a dry old fellow, +Without juice enough to get thoroughly mellow. +There he stood, +Lowering at us in sullen mood, +As if he had come into Brittany +Just to reform our brotherhood! + + (_A roar of laughter_.) + +But you see +It never would do! +For some of us knew a thing or two, +In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys! +For instance, the great ado +With old Fulbert's niece, +The young and lovely Heloise! + + _Friar John._ Stop there, if you please, +Till we drink to the fair Heloise. + + _All (drinking and shouting)._ Heloise! Heloise! + + (_The Chapel-bell tolls_.) + + _Lucifer (starting)._ What is that bell for? Are you such asses +As to keep up the fashion of midnight masses? + +_Friar Cuthbert._ It is only a poor, unfortunate brother, +Who is gifted with most miraculous powers +Of getting up at all sorts of hours, +And, by way of penance and Christian meekness, +Of creeping silently out of his cell +To take a pull at that hideous bell; +So that all the monks who are lying awake +May murmur some kind of prayer for his sake, +And adapted to his peculiar weakness! + + _Friar John._ From frailty and fall-- + + _All._ Good Lord, deliver us all! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ And before the bell for matins sounds, +He takes his lantern, and goes the rounds, +Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, +Merely to say it is time to arise. +But enough of that. Go on, if you please, +With your story about St. Gildas de Rhuys. + + _Lucifer._ Well, it finally came to pass +That, half in fun and half in malice, +One Sunday at Mass +We put some poison into the chalice. +But, either by accident or design, +Peter Abelard kept away +From the chapel that day, +And a poor, young friar, who in his stead +Drank the sacramental wine, +Fell on the steps of the altar, dead! +But look! do you see at the window there +That face, with a look of grief and despair, +That ghastly face, as of one in pain? + + _Monks._ Who? where? + + _Lucifer._ As I spoke, it vanished away again. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ It is that nefarious +Siebald the Refectorarius. +That fellow is always playing the scout, +Creeping and peeping and prowling about; +And then he regales +The Abbot with Scandalous tales. + + _Lucifer_. A spy in the convent? One of the brothers +Telling scandalous tales of the others? +Out upon him, the lazy loon! +I would put a stop to that pretty soon, +In a way he should rue it. + + _Monks_. How shall we do it? + + _Lucifer_. Do you, brother Paul, +Creep under the window, close to the wall, +And open it suddenly when I call. +Then seize the villain by the hair, +And hold him there, +And punish him soundly, once for all. + + _Friar Cuthbert_. As St. Dustan of old, +We are told, +Once caught the Devil by the nose! + + _Lucifer_. Ha! ha! that story is very clever, +But has no foundation whatsoever. +Quick! for I see his face again +Glaring in at the window pane; +Now! now! and do not spare your blows. + + (FRIAR PAUL _opens the window suddenly, and seizes_ + SIEBALD. _They beat him._) + + _Friar Siebald_. Help! help! are you going to slay me? + + _Friar Paul_. That will teach you again to betray me! + + _Friar Siebald_. Mercy! mercy! + + _Friar Paul_ (_shouting and beating_). Rumpas bellorum lorum, + Vim confer amorum + Morum verorum, rorun. + Tu plena polorum! + + _Lucifer_. Who stands in the doorway yonder, +Stretching out his trembling hand, +Just as Abelard used to stand, +The flash of his keen, black eyes +Forerunning the thunder? + + _The Monks (in confusion)_. The Abbot! the +Abbot! + + _Friar Cuthbert (to the girl)_. Put on your disguise! + + _Friar Francis_. Hide the great flagon +From the eyes of the dragon! + + _Friar Cuthbert_. Pull the brown hood over your face, +Lest you bring me into disgrace! + + _Abbot_. What means this revel and carouse? +Is this a tavern and drinking-house? +Are you Christian monks, or heathen devils, +To pollute this convent with your revels? +Were Peter Damian still upon earth, +To be shocked by such ungodly mirth, +He would write your names, with pen of gall, +In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all! +Away, you drunkards! to your cells, +And pray till you hear the matin-bells; +You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother Paul! +And as a penance mark each prayer +With the scourge upon your shoulders bare; +Nothing atones for such a sin +But the blood that follows the discipline. +And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with me +Alone into the sacristy; +You, who should be a guide to your brothers, +And are ten times worse than all the others, +For you I've a draught that has long been brewing +You shall do a penance worth the doing! +Away to your prayers, then, one and all! +I wonder the very, convent wall +Does not crumble and crush you in its fall! + + * * * * * + + +THE NEIGHBORING NUNNERY. + + * * * * * + +_The_ ABBESS IRMINGARD _sitting with_ ELSIE _in the +moonlight._ + + _Irmingard_ The night is silent, the wind is still, +The moon is looking from yonder hill +Down upon convent, and grove, and garden; +The clouds have passed away from her face, +Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace, +Only the tender and quiet grace +Of one, whose heart had been healed with pardon! + +And such am I. My soul within +Was dark with passion and soiled with sin. +But now its wounds are healed again; +Gone are the anguish, the terror, and pain; +For across that desolate land of woe, +O'er whose burning sands I was forced to go, +A wind from heaven began to blow; +And all my being trembled and shook, +As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of the field, +And I was healed, as the sick are healed, +When fanned by the leaves of the Holy Book! + +As thou sittest in the moonlight there, +Its glory flooding thy golden hair, +And the only darkness that which lies +In the haunted chambers of thine eyes, +I feel my soul drawn unto thee, +Strangely, and strongly, and more and more, +As to one I have known and loved before; +For every soul is akin to me +That dwells in the land of mystery! +I am the Lady Irmingard, +Born of a noble race and name! +Many a wandering Suabian bard, +Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and hard, +Has found through me the way to fame. +Brief and bright were those days, and the night +Which followed was full of a lurid light. +Love, that of every woman's heart +Will have the whole, and not a part, +That is to her, in Nature's plan, +More than ambition is to man, +Her light, her life, her very breath, +With no alternative but death, +Found me a maiden soft and young, +Just from the convent's cloistered school, +And seated on my lowly stool, +Attentive while the minstrels sung. + +Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, +Fairest, noblest, best of all, +Was Walter of the Vogelweid, +And, whatsoever may betide, +Still I think of him with pride! +His song was of the summer-time +The very birds sang in his rhyme; +The sunshine, the delicious air, +The fragrance of the flowers, were there, +And I grew restless as I heard, +Restless and buoyant as a bird, +Down soft, aerial currents sailing, +O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in bloom, +And through the momentary gloom +Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, +Yielding and borne I knew not where, +But feeling resistance unavailing. + +And thus, unnoticed and apart, +And more by accident than choice. +I listened to that single voice +Until the chambers of my heart +Were filled with it by night and day, +One night,--it was a night in May,-- +Within the garden, unawares, +Under the blossoms in the gloom, +I heard it utter my own name +With protestations and wild prayers; +And it rang through me, and became +Like the archangel's trump of doom, +Which the soul hears, and must obey; +And mine arose as from a tomb. +My former life now seemed to me +Such as hereafter death may be, +When in the great Eternity +We shall awake and find it day. + +It was a dream, and would not stay; +A dream, that in a single night +Faded and vanished out of sight. +My father's anger followed fast +This passion, as a freshening blast +Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage +It may increase, but not assuage. +And he exclaimed: "No wandering bard +Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard! +For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck +By messenger and letter sues." + +Gently, but firmly, I replied: +"Henry of Hoheneck I discard! +Never the hand of Irmingard +Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride!" +This said I, Walter, for thy sake: +This said I, for I could not choose. +After a pause, my father spake +In that cold and deliberate tone +Which turns the hearer into stone, +And seems itself the act to be +That follows with such dread certainty; +"This, or the cloister and the veil!" +No other words than these he said, +But they were like a funeral wail; +My life was ended, my heart was dead. + +That night from the castle-gate went down, +With silent, slow, and stealthy pace, +Two shadows, mounted on shadowy steeds, +Taking the narrow path that leads +Into the forest dense and brown, +In the leafy darkness of the place, +One could not distinguish form nor face, +Only a bulk without a shape, +A darker shadow in the shade; +One scarce could say it moved or stayed, +Thus it was we made our escape! +A foaming brook, with many a bound, +Followed us like a playful hound; +Then leaped before us, and in the hollow +Paused, and waited for us to follow, +And seemed impatient, and afraid +That our tardy flight should be betrayed +By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made, +And when we reached the plain below, +He paused a moment and drew rein +To look back at the castle again; +And we saw the windows all aglow +With lights, that were passing to and fro; +Our hearts with terror ceased to beat; +The brook crept silent to our feet; +We knew what most we feared to know. +Then suddenly horns began to blow; +And we heard a shout, and a heavy tramp, +And our horses snorted in the damp +Night-air of the meadows green and wide, +And in a moment, side by side, +So close, they must have seemed but one, +The shadows across the moonlight run, +And another came, and swept behind, +Like the shadow of clouds before the wind! + +How I remember that breathless flight +Across the moors, in the summer night! +How under our feet the long, white road +Backward like a river flowed, +Sweeping with it fences and hedges, +Whilst farther away, and overhead, +Paler than I, with fear and dread, +The moon fled with us, as we fled +Along the forest's jagged edges! + +All this I can remember well; +But of what afterward befell +I nothing farther can recall +Than a blind, desperate, headlong fall; +The rest is a blank and darkness all. +When I awoke out of this swoon, +The sun was shining, not the moon, +Making a cross upon the wall +With the bars of my windows narrow and tall; +And I prayed to it, as I had been wont to pray, +From early childhood, day by day, +Each morning, as in bed I lay! +I was lying again in my own room! +And I thanked God, in my fever and pain, +That those shadows on the midnight plain +Were gone, and could not come again! +I struggled no longer with my doom! +This happened many years ago. +I left my father's home to come +Like Catherine to her martyrdom, +For blindly I esteemed it so. +And when I heard the convent door +Behind me close, to ope no more, +I felt it smite me like a blow, +Through all my limbs a shudder ran, +And on my bruised spirit fell +The dampness of my narrow cell +As night-air on a wounded man, +Giving intolerable pain. + +But now a better life began, +I felt the agony decrease +By slow degrees, then wholly cease, +Ending in perfect rest and peace! +It was not apathy, nor dulness, +That weighed and pressed upon my brain, +But the same passion I had given +To earth before, now turned to heaven +With all its overflowing fulness. + +Alas! the world is full of peril! +The path that runs through the fairest meads, +On the sunniest side of the valley, leads +Into a region bleak and sterile! +Alike in the high-born and the lowly, +The will is feeble, and passion strong. +We cannot sever right from wrong; +Some falsehood mingles with all truth; +Nor is it strange the heart of youth +Should waver and comprehend but slowly +The things that are holy and unholy! + +But in this sacred and calm retreat, +We are all well and safely shielded +From winds that blow, and waves that beat, +From the cold, and rain, and blighting heat, +To which the strongest hearts have yielded. +Here we stand as the Virgins Seven, +For our celestial bridegroom yearning; +Our hearts are lamps forever burning, +With a steady and unwavering flame, +Pointing upward, forever the same, +Steadily upward toward the Heaven! + +The moon is hidden behind a cloud; +A sudden darkness fills the room, +And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, +Shine like jewels in a shroud. +On the leaves is a sound of falling rain; +A bird, awakened in its nest, +Gives a faint twitter of unrest, +Then smoothes its plumes and sleeps again. + +No other sounds than these I hear; +The hour of midnight must be near. +Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue +Of riding many a dusty league; +Sink, then, gently to thy slumber; +Me so many cares encumber, +So many ghosts, and forms of fright, +Have started from their graves to-night, +They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: +I will go down to the chapel and pray. + + * * * * * + +V. + +A COVERED BRIDGE AT LUCERNE. + + + * * * * * + + + _Prince Henry_. God's blessing on the architects who build +The bridges o'er swift rivers and abysses +Before impassable to human feet, +No less than on the builders of cathedrals, +Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across +The dark and terrible abyss of Death. +Well has the name of Pontifex been given +Unto the Church's head, as the chief builder +And architect of the invisible bridge +That leads from earth to heaven. + + _Elsie_ How dark it grows! +What are these paintings on the walls around us? + + _Prince Henry_ The Dance Macaber! + + _Elsie_ What? + + _Prince Henry_ The Dance of Death! +All that go to and fro must look upon it, +Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath, +Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river +Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, +With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright, +Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it. + + _Elsie._ O, yes! I see it now! + + _Prince Henry_ The grim musician +Leads all men through the mazes of that dance, +To different sounds in different measures moving; +Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum, +To tempt or terrify. + + _Elsie_ What is this picture? + + _Prince Henry_ It is a young man singing to a nun, +Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling +Turns round to look at him, and Death, meanwhile, +Is putting out the candles on the altar! + + _Elsie_ Ah, what a pity 't is that she should listen +to such songs, when in her orisons +She might have heard in heaven the angels singing! + + _Prince Henry_ Here he has stolen a jester's cap and bells, +And dances with the Queen. + + _Elsie_ A foolish jest! + + _Prince Henry_ And here the heart of the new-wedded wife, +Coming from church with her beloved lord, +He startles with the rattle of his drum. + + _Elsie_ Ah, that is sad! And yet perhaps 't is best +That she should die, with all the sunshine on her, +And all the benedictions of the morning, +Before this affluence of golden light +Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray, +Then into darkness! + + _Prince Henry_ Under it is written, +"Nothing but death shall separate thee and me!" + + _Elsie._ And what is this, that follows close upon it? + + _Prince Henry_ Death, playing on a ducimer. Behind him, +A poor old woman, with a rosary, +Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet +Were swifter to o'ertake him. Underneath, +The inscription reads, "Better is Death than Life." + + _Elsie._ Better is Death than Life! Ah yes! to thousands +Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings +That song of consolation, till the air +Rings with it, and they cannot choose but follow +Whither he leads. And not the old alone, +But the young also hear it, and are still. + + _Prince Henry_ Yes, in their sadder moments. 'T is the sound +Of their own hearts they hear, half full of tears, +Which are like crystal cups, half filled with water. +Responding to the pressure of a finger +With music sweet and low and melancholy. +Let us go forward, and no longer stay +In this great picture-gallery of Death! +I hate it! ay, the very thought of it! + + _Elsie._ Why is it hateful to you? + + _Prince Henry._ For the reason +That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely, +And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful. + + _Elsie._ The grave is but a covered bridge, +leading from light to light, through a brief darkness! + + _Prince Henry (emerging from the bridge)._ I breathe again more + freely! Ah, how pleasant +To come once more into the light of day, +Out of that shadow of death! To hear again +The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground, +And not upon those hollow planks, resounding +With a sepulchral echo, like the clods +On coffins in a churchyard! Yonder lies +The Lake of the Four Forest-Towns, apparelled +In light, and lingering, like a village maiden, +Hid in the bosom of her native mountains, +Then pouring all her life into another's, +Changing her name and being! Overhead, +Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air, +Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. + + (_They pass on_.) + + * * * * * + + +THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE. + + * * * * * + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _crossing, with attendants._ + + _Guide._ This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge. +With a single arch, from ridge to ridge, +It leaps across the terrible chasm +Yawning beneath us, black and deep, +As if, in some convulsive spasm, +the summits of the hills had cracked, +and made a road for the cataract, +That raves and rages down the steep! + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ Never any bridge but this +Could stand across the wild abyss; +All the rest, of wood or stone, +By the Devil's hand were overthrown. +He toppled crags from the precipice, +And whatsoe'er was built by day +In the night was swept away; +None could stand but this alone. + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ I showed you in the valley a boulder +Marked with the imprint of his shoulder; +As he was bearing it up this way, +A peasant, passing, cried, "Herr Je!" +And the Devil dropped it in his fright, +And vanished suddenly out of sight! + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! + + _Guide._ Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, +For pilgrims on their way to Rome, +Built this at last, with a single arch, +Under which, on its endless march, +Runs the river, white with foam, +Like a thread through the eye of a needle. +And the Devil promised to let it stand, +Under compact and condition +That the first living thing which crossed +Should be surrendered into his hand, +And be beyond redemption lost. + + _Lucifer (under the bridge)._ Ha! ha! perdition! + + _Guide._ At length, the bridge being all completed, +The Abbot, standing at its head, +Threw across it a loaf of bread, +Which a hungry dog sprang after, +And the rocks reechoed with peals of laughter +To see the Devil thus defeated! + + (_They pass on_) + + _Lucifer_ (_under the bridge_) Ha! ha! defeated! +For journeys and for crimes like this +To let the bridge stand o'er the abyss! + + * * * * * + + +THE ST. GOTHARD PASS. + + + * * * * * + + _Prince Henry._ This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers +Leap down to different seas, and as they roll +Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence +Becomes a benefaction to the towns +They visit, wandering silently among them, +Like patriarchs old among their shining tents. + + _Elsie._ How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses +Grow on these rocks. + + _Prince Henry._ Yet are they not forgotten; +Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them. + + _Elsie._ See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft +So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away +Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me +The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels! + + _Prince Henry._ Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels +Bear thee across these chasms and precipices, +Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone! + + _Elsie._ Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, +Upon angelic shoulders! Even now +I Seem uplifted by them, light as air! +What sound is that? + + _Prince Henry_. The tumbling avalanches! + + _Elsie_ How awful, yet how beautiful! + + _Prince Henry_. These are +The voices of the mountains! Thus they ope +Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other, +In the primeval language, lost to man. + + _Elsie_. What land is this that spreads itself beneath us? + + _Prince Henry_ Italy! Italy! + + _Elsie_ Land of the Madonna! +How beautiful it is! It seems a garden +Of Paradise! + + _Prince Henry_. Nay, of Gethsemane +To thee and me, of passion and of prayer! +Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago +I wandered as a youth among its bowers, +And never from my heart has faded quite +Its memory, that, like a summer sunset, +Encircles with a ring of purple light +All the horizon of my youth. + + _Guide_. O friends! +The days are short, the way before us long; +We must not linger, if we think to reach +The inn at Belinzona before vespers! + + (_They pass on_.) + + * * * * * + +AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS. + + * * * * * + +_A halt under the trees at noon_. + + _Prince Henry_ Here let us pause a moment in the trembling +Shadow and sunshine of the roadside trees, +And, our tired horses in a group assembling, +Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze +Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants; +They lag behind us with a slower pace; +We will await them under the green pendants +Of the great willows in this shady place. +Ho, Barbarossa! how thy mottled haunches +Sweat with this canter over hill and glade! +Stand still, and let these overhanging branches +Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade! + + _Elsie._ What a delightful landscape spreads before us, +Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and there! +And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o'er us, +Blossoms of grapevines scent the sunny air. + + _Prince Henry._ Hark! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents holy +Fill the warm noon with music sad and sweet! + + _Elsie._ It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly +On their long journey, with uncovered feet. + + _Pilgrims (chaunting the Hymn of St. Hildebert)_ + Me receptet Sion illa, + Sion David, urbs tranquilla, + Cujus faber auctor lucis, + Cujus portae lignum crucis, + Cujus claves lingua Petri, + Cujus cives semper laeti, + Cujus muri lapis vivus, + Cujus custos Rex festivus! + + _Lucifer (as a Friar in the procession)._ Here am I, too, in the + pious band, +In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed! +The soles of my feet are as hard and tanned +As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand, +The Holy Satan, who made the wives +Of the bishops lead such shameful lives. +All day long I beat my breast, +And chaunt with a most particular zest +The Latin hymns, which I understand +Quite as well, I think, as the rest. +And at night such lodging in barns and sheds, +Such a hurly-burly in country inns, +Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads, +Such a helter-skelter of prayers and sins! +Of all the contrivances of the time +For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime, +There is none so pleasing to me and mine +As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine! + + _Prince Henry._ If from the outward man we judge the inner, +And cleanliness is godliness, I fear +A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sinner, +Must be that Carmelite now passing near. + + _Lucifer._ There is my German Prince again, +Thus far on his journey to Salern, +And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain +Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain; +But it's a long road that has no turn! +Let them quietly hold their way, +I have also a part in the play. +But first I must act to my heart's content +This mummery and this merriment, +And drive this motley flock of sheep +Into the fold, where drink and sleep +The jolly old friars of Benevent. +Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh +To see these beggars hobble along, +Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, +Chanting their wonderful piff and paff, +And, to make up for not understanding the song, +Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong! +Were it not for my magic garters and staff, +And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, +And the mischief I make in the idle throng, +I should not continue the business long. + + _Pilgrims (chaunting)._ In hac uibe, lux solennis, + Ver aeternum, pax perennis, + In hac odor implens caelos, + In hac semper festum melos! + + _Prince Henry._ Do you observe that monk among the train, +Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass, +As a cathedral spout pours out the rain, +And this way turns his rubicund, round face? + + _Elsie._ It is the same who, on the Strasburg square, +Preached to the people in the open air. + + _Prince Henry._ And he has crossed o'er mountain, field, and fell, +On that good steed, that seems to bear him well, +The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray, +His own stout legs! He, too, was in the play, +Both as King Herod and Ben Israel. +Good morrow, Friar! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Good morrow, noble Sir! + + _Prince Henry._ I speak in German, for, unless I err, +You are a German. + + _Friar Cuthbert._ I cannot gainsay you. +But by what instinct, or what secret sign, +Meeting me here, do you straightway divine +That northward of the Alps my country lies? + + _Prince Henry._ Your accent, like St, Peter's, would betray you, +Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes, +Moreover, we have seen your face before, +And heard you preach at the Cathedral door +On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg square +We were among the crowd that gathered there, +And saw you play the Rabbi with great skill, +As if, by leaning o'er so many years +To walk with little children, your own will +Had caught a childish attitude from theirs, +A kind of stooping in its form and gait, +And could no longer stand erect and straight. +Whence come you now? + + _Friar Cuthbert._ From the old monastery +Of Hirschau, in the forest; being sent +Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent, +To see the image of the Virgin Mary, +That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks, +And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks, +To touch the hearts of the impenitent. + + _Prince Henry._ O, had I faith, as in the days gone by, +That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery! + + _Lucifer (at a distance)._ Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert! + + _Friar Cuthbert._ Farewell, Prince! +I cannot stay to argue and convince. + + _Prince Henry._ This is indeed the blessed Mary's land, +Virgin and Mother of our dear Redeemer! +All hearts are touched and softened at her name; +Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand, +The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant, +The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer, +Pay homage to her as one ever present! +And even as children, who have much offended +A too indulgent father, in great shame, +Penitent, and yet not daring unattended +To go into his presence, at the gate +Speak with their sister, and confiding wait +Till she goes in before and intercedes; +So men, repenting of their evil deeds, +And yet not venturing rashly to draw near +With their requests an angry father's ear, +Offer to her their prayers and their confession, +And she for them in heaven makes intercession. +And if our Faith had given us nothing more +Than this example of all womanhood, +So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, +So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, +This were enough to prove it higher and truer +Than all the creeds the world had known before. + +_Pilgrims (chaunting afar off)_. Urbs ccelestis, urbs beata, + Supra petram collocata, + Urbs in portu satis tuto + De longinquo te saluto, + Te saluto, te suspiro, + Te affecto, te requiro! + + * * * * * + + +THE INN AT GENOA. + + + * * * * * + +_A terrace overlooking the sea. Night._ + + _Prince Henry._ It is the sea, it is the sea, +In all its vague immensity, +Fading and darkening in the distance! +Silent, majestical, and slow, +The white ships haunt it to and fro, +With all their ghostly sails unfurled, +As phantoms from another world +Haunt the dim confines of existence! +But ah! how few can comprehend +Their signals, or to what good end +From land to land they come and go! +Upon a sea more vast and dark +The spirits of the dead embark, +All voyaging to unknown coasts. +We wave our farewells from the shore, +And they depart, and come no more, +Or come as phantoms and as ghosts. + +Above the darksome sea of death +Looms the great life that is to be, +A land of cloud and mystery, +A dim mirage, with shapes of men +Long dead, and passed beyond our ken. +Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath +Till the fair pageant vanisheth, +Leaving us in perplexity, +And doubtful whether it has been +A vision of the world unseen, +Or a bright image of our own +Against the sky in vapors thrown. + + _Lucifer (singing from the sea)_. Thou didst not make it, thou + canst not mend it, +But thou hast the power to end it! +The sea is silent, the sea is discreet, +Deep it lies at thy very feet; +There is no confessor like unto Death! +Thou canst not see him, but he is near; +Thou needest not whisper above thy breath, +And he will hear; +He will answer the questions, +The vague surmises and suggestions, +That fill thy soul with doubt and fear! + + _Prince Henry_. The fisherman, who lies afloat, +With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, +Is singing softly to the Night! +But do I comprehend aright +The meaning of the words he sung +So sweetly in his native tongue? +Ah, yes! the sea is still and deep. +All things within its bosom sleep! +A single step, and all is o'er; +A plunge, a bubble, and no more; +And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free +From martyrdom and agony. + + _Elsie (coming from her chamber upon the terrace)._ +The night is calm and cloudless, +And still as still can be, +And the stars come forth to listen +To the music of the sea. +They gather, and gather, and gather, +Until they crowd the sky, +And listen, in breathless silence, +To the solemn litany. +It begins in rocky caverns, +As a voice that chaunts alone +To the pedals of the organ +In monotonous undertone; +And anon from shelving beaches, +And shallow sands beyond, +In snow-white robes uprising +The ghostly choirs respond. +And sadly and unceasing +The mournful voice sings on, +And the snow-white choirs still answer +Christe eleison! + + _Prince Henry._ Angel of God! thy finer sense perceives +Celestial and perpetual harmonies! +Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes, +Hears the archangel's trumpet in the breeze, +And where the forest rolls, or ocean heaves, +Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas, +And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves. +But I hear discord only and despair, +And whispers as of demons in the air! + + * * * * * + + +AT SEA. + + + * * * * * + + _Il Padrone._ The wind upon our quarter lies, +And on before the freshening gale, +That fills the snow-white lateen sail, +Swiftly our light felucca flies. +Around, the billows burst and foam; +They lift her o'er the sunken rock, +They beat her sides with many a shock, +And then upon their flowing dome +They poise her, like a weathercock! +Between us and the western skies +The hills of Corsica arise; +Eastward, in yonder long, blue line, +The summits of the Apennine, +And southward, and still far away, +Salerno, on its sunny bay. +You cannot see it, where it lies. + + _Prince Henry._ Ah, would that never more mine eyes +Might see its towers by night or day! + + _Elsie._ Behind us, dark and awfully, +There comes a cloud out of the sea, +That bears the form of a hunted deer, +With hide of brown, and hoofs of black, +And antlers laid upon its back, +And fleeing fast and wild with fear, +As if the hounds were on its track! + + _Prince Henry._ Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and falls +In shapeless masses, like the walls +Of a burnt city. Broad and red +The fires of the descending sun +Glare through the windows, and o'erhead, +Athwart the vapors, dense and dun, +Long shafts of silvery light arise, +Like rafters that support the skies! + + _Elsie._ See! from its summit the lurid levin +Flashes downward without warning, +As Lucifer, son of the morning, +Fell from the battlements of heaven! + + _Il Padrone._ I must entreat you, friends, below! +The angry storm begins to blow, +For the weather changes with the moon. +All this morning, until noon, +We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws +Struck the sea with their cat's-paws. +Only a little hour ago +I was whistling to Saint Antonio +For a capful of wind to fill our sail, +And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale. +Last night I saw St. Elmo's stars, +With their glimmering lanterns, all at play +On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars, +And I knew we should have foul weather to-day. +Cheerily, my hearties! yo heave ho! +Brail up the mainsail, and let her go +As the winds will and Saint Antonio! + +Do you see that Livornese felucca, +That vessel to the windward yonder, +Running with her gunwale under? +I was looking when the wind o'ertook her, +She had all sail set, and the only wonder +Is that at once the strength of the blast +Did not carry away her mast. +She is a galley of the Gran Duca, +That, through the fear of the Algerines, +Convoys those lazy brigantines, +Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. +Now all is ready, high and low; +Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio! + +Ha! that is the first dash of the rain, +With a sprinkle of spray above the rails, +Just enough to moisten our sails, +And make them ready for the strain. +See how she leaps, as the blasts o'ertake her, +And speeds away with a bone in her mouth! +Now keep her head toward the south, +And there is no danger of bank or breaker. +With the breeze behind us, on we go; +Not too much, good Saint Antonio! + + + + +VI. + + +THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO. + +_A traveling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate +of the College._ + + _Scholastic._ There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield, +Hung up as a challenge to all the field! +One hundred and twenty-five propositions, +Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue +Against all disputants, old and young. +Let us see if doctors or dialecticians +Will dare to dispute my definitions, +Or attack any one of my learned theses. +Here stand I; the end shall be as God pleases. +I think I have proved, by profound research +The error of all those doctrines so vicious +Of the old Areopagite Dionysius, +That are making such terrible work in the churches, +By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East, +And done into Latin by that Scottish beast, +Erigena Johannes, who dares to maintain, +In the face of the truth, the error infernal, +That the universe is and must be eternal; +At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, +That nothing with God can be accidental; +Then asserting that God before the creation +Could not have existed, because it is plain +That, had he existed, he would have created; +Which is begging the question that should be debated, +And moveth me less to anger than laughter. +All nature, he holds, is a respiration +Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter +Will inhale it into his bosom again, +So that nothing but God alone will remain. +And therein he contradicteth himself; +For he opens the whole discussion by stating, +That God can only exist in creating. +That question I think I have laid on the shelf! + + (_He goes out. Two Doctors come in disputing, and + followed by pupils._) + + _Doctor Serafino._ I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain, +That a word which is only conceived in the brain +Is a type of eternal Generation; +The spoken word is the Incarnation. + + _Doctor Cherubino._ What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic, +With all his wordy chaffer and traffic? + + _Doctor Serafino._ You make but a paltry show of resistance; +Universals have no real existence! + + _Doctor Cherubino._ Your words are but idle and empty chatter; +Ideas are eternally joined to matter! + + _Doctor Serafino_. May the Lord have mercy on your position, +You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs! + + _Doctor Cherubino_. May he send your soul to eternal perdition, +For your Treatise on the Irregular Verbs! + + (_They rush out fighting. Two Scholars come in._) + + _First Scholar_. Monte Cassino, then, is your College. +What think you of ours here at Salern? + + _Second Scholar_. To tell the truth, I arrived so lately, +I hardly yet have had time to discern. +So much, at least, I am bound to acknowledge: +The air seems healthy, the buildings stately, +And on the whole I like it greatly. + + _First Scholar_. Yes, the air is sweet; the Calabrian hills +Send us down puffs of mountain air; +And in summer time the sea-breeze fills +With its coolness cloister, and court, and square. +Then at every season of the year +There are crowds of guests and travellers here; +Pilgrims, and mendicant friars, and traders +From the Levant, with figs and wine, +And bands of wounded and sick Crusaders, +Coming back from Palestine. + + _Second Scholar_. And what are the studies you pursue? +What is the course you here go through? + + _First Scholar_. The first three years of the college course +Are given to Logic alone, as the source +Of all that is noble, and wise, and true. + + _Second Scholar_. That seems rather strange, I must confess. +In a Medical School; yet, nevertheless, +You doubtless have reasons for that. + + _First Scholar_. Oh yes! +For none but a clever dialectician +Can hope to become a great physician; +That has been settled long ago. +Logic makes an important part +Of the mystery of the healing art; +For without it how could you hope to show +That nobody knows so much as you know? +After this there are five years more +Devoted wholly to medicine, +With lectures on chirurgical lore, +And dissections of the bodies of swine, +As likest the human form divine. + + _Second Scholar_. What are the books now most in vogue? + + _First Scholar_. Quite an extensive catalogue; +Mostly, however, books of our own; +As Gariopontus' Passionarius, +And the writings of Matthew Platearius; +And a volume universally known +As the Regimen of the School of Salern, +For Robert of Normandy written in terse +And very elegant Latin verse. +Each of these writings has its turn. +And when at length we have finished these, +Then comes the struggle for degrees, +With all the oldest and ablest critics; +The public thesis and disputation, +Question, and answer, and explanation +Of a passage out of Hippocrates, +Or Aristotle's Analytics. +There the triumphant Magister stands! +A book is solemnly placed in his hands, +On which he swears to follow the rule +And ancient forms of the good old School; +To report if any confectionarius +Mingles his drugs with matters various, +And to visit his patients twice a day, +And once in the night, if they live in town, +And if they are poor, to take no pay. +Having faithfully promised these, +His head is crowned with a laurel crown; +A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his hand, +The Magister Artium et Physices +Goes forth from the school like a lord of the land. +And now, as we have the whole morning before us +Let us go in, if you make no objection, +And listen awhile to a learned prelection +On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus. + + (_They go in. Enter_ LUCIFER _as a Doctor._) + + _Lucifer_. This is the great School of Salern! +A land of wrangling and of quarrels, +Of brains that seethe, and hearts that burn, +Where every emulous scholar hears, +In every breath that comes to his ears, +The rustling of another's laurels! +The air of the place is called salubrious; +The neighborhood of Vesuvius lends it +An odor volcanic, that rather mends it, +And the buildings have an aspect lugubrious, +That inspires a feeling of awe and terror +Into the heart of the beholder, +And befits such an ancient homestead of error, +Where the old falsehoods moulder and smoulder, +And yearly by many hundred hands +Are carried away, in the zeal of youth, +And sown like tares in the field of truth, +To blossom and ripen in other lands. +What have we here, affixed to the gate? +The challenge of some scholastic wight, +Who wishes to hold a public debate +On sundry questions wrong or right! +Ah, now this is my great delight! +For I have often observed of late +That such discussions end in a fight. +Let us see what the learned wag maintains +With such a prodigal waste of brains. + + (_Reads._) + +"Whether angels in moving from place to place +Pass through the intermediate space. +Whether God himself is the author of evil, +Or whether that is the work of the Devil. +When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell, +And whether he now is chained in hell." + +I think I can answer that question well! +So long as the boastful human mind +Consents in such mills as this to grind, +I sit very firmly upon my throne! +Of a truth it almost makes me laugh, +To see men leaving the golden grain +To gather in piles the pitiful chaff +That old Peter Lombard thrashed with his brain, +To have it caught up and tossed again +On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Cologne! + +But my guests approach! there is in the air +A fragrance, like that of the Beautiful Garden +Of Paradise, in the days that were! +An odor of innocence, and of prayer, +And of love, and faith that never fails, +Which as the fresh-young heart exhales +Before it begins to wither and harden! +I cannot breathe such an atmosphere! +My soul is filled with a nameless fear, +That, after all my trouble and pain, +After all my restless endeavor, +The youngest, fairest soul of the twain, +The most ethereal, most divine, +Will escape from my hands forever and ever. +But the other is already mine! +Let him live to corrupt his race, +Breathing among them, with every breath, +Weakness, selfishness, and the base +And pusillanimous fear of death. +I know his nature, and I know +That of all who in my ministry +Wander the great earth to and fro, +And on my errands come and go, +The safest and subtlest are such as he. + + (_Enter_ PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _with + attendants_.) + + _Prince Henry._ Can you direct us to Friar Angelo? + + _Lucifer._ He stands before you. + + _Prince Henry._ Then you know our purpose. +I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and this +The maiden that I spake of in my letters. + + _Lucifer._ It is a very grave and solemn business! +We must not be precipitate. Does she +Without compulsion, of her own free will, +Consent to this? + + _Prince Henry._ Against all opposition, +Against all prayers, entreaties, protestations. +She will not be persuaded. + + _Lucifer._ That is strange! +Have you thought well of it? + + _Elsie._ I come not here +To argue, but to die. Your business is not +to question, but to kill me. I am ready. +I am impatient to be gone from here +Ere any thoughts of earth disturb again +The spirit of tranquillity within me. + + _Prince Henry._ Would I had not come here + Would I were dead, +And thou wert in thy cottage in the forest, +And hadst not known me! Why have I done this? +Let me go back and die. + + _Elsie._ It cannot be; +Not if these cold, flat stones on which we tread +Were coulters heated white, and yonder gateway +Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold heat. +I must fulfil my purpose. + + _Prince Henry._ I forbid it! +Not one step farther. For I only meant +To put thus far thy courage to the proof. +It is enough. I, too, have courage to die, +For thou hast taught me! + + _Elsie._ O my Prince! remember +Your promises. Let me fulfill my errand. +You do not look on life and death as I do. +There are two angels, that attend unseen +Each one of us, and in great books record +Our good and evil deeds. He who writes down +The good ones, after every action closes +His volume, and ascends with it to God. +The other keeps his dreadful day-book open +Till sunset, that we may repent; which doing, +The record of the action fades away, +And leaves a line of white across the page. +Now if my act be good, as I believe it, +It cannot be recalled. It is already +Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed accomplished. +The rest is yours. Why wait you? I am ready. + + (_To her attendants._) + +Weep not, my friends! rather rejoice with me. +I shall not feel the pain, but shall be gone, +And you will have another friend in heaven. +Then start not at the creaking of the door +Through which I pass. I see what lies beyond it. + + (_To_ PRINCE HENRY.) + +And you, O Prince! bear back my benison +Unto my father's house, and all within it. +This morning in the church I prayed for them, +After confession, after absolution, +When my whole soul was white, I prayed for them. +God will take care of them, they need me not. +And in your life let my remembrance linger, +As something not to trouble and disturb it, +But to complete it, adding life to life. +And if at times beside the evening fire +You see my face among the other faces, +Let it not be regarded as a ghost +That haunts your house, but as a guest that loves you. +Nay, even as one of your own family, +Without whose presence there were something wanting. +I have no more to say. Let us go in. + + _Prince Henry._ Friar Angelo! I charge you on your life, +Believe not what she says, for she is mad, +And comes here not to die, but to be healed. + + _Elsie._ Alas! Prince Henry! + + _Lucifer._ Come with me; this way. + + (ELSIE _goes in with_ LUCIFER, _who thrusts_ PRINCE + HENRY _back and closes the door._) + + _Prince Henry._ Gone! and the light of all my life gone with her! +A sudden darkness falls upon the world! + + _Forester._ News from the Prince! + + _Ursula._ Of death or life? + + _Forester._ You put your questions eagerly! + + _Ursula._ Answer me, then! How is the Prince? + + _Forester._ I left him only two hours since +Homeward returning down the river, +As strong and well as if God, the Giver, +Had given him back in his youth again. + + _Ursula (despairing)._ Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead! + + _Forester._ That, my good woman, I have not said. +Don't cross the bridge till you come to it, +Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit. + + _Ursula._ Keep me no longer in this pain! + + _Forester._ It is true your daughter is no more;-- +That is, the peasant she was before. + + _Ursula._ Alas! I am simple and lowly bred +I am poor, distracted, and forlorn. +And it is not well that you of the court +Should mock me thus, and make a sport +Of a joyless mother whose child is dead, +For you, too, were of mother, born! + + _Forester._ Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well! +You will learn ere long how it all befell. +Her heart for a moment never failed; +But when they reached Salerno's gate, +The Prince's nobler self prevailed, +And saved her for a nobler fate, +And he was healed, in his despair, +By the touch of St. Matthew's sacred bones; +Though I think the long ride in the open air, +That pilgrimage over stocks and stones, +In the miracle must come in for a share! + + _Ursula._ Virgin! who lovest the poor and lonely, +If the loud cry of a mother's heart +Can ever ascend to where thou art, +Into thy blessed hands and holy +Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving! +Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it +Into the awful presence of God; +For thy feet with holiness are shod, +And if thou bearest it he will hear it. +Our child who was dead again is living! + + _Forester._ I did not tell you she was dead; +If you thought so 'twas no fault of mine; +At this very moment, while I speak, +They are sailing homeward down the Rhine, +In a splendid barge, with golden prow, +And decked with banners white and red +As the colors on your daughter's cheek. +They call her the Lady Alicia now; +For the Prince in Salerno made a vow +That Elsie only would he wed. + + _Ursula._ Jesu Maria! what a change! +All seems to me so weird and strange! + + _Forester._ I saw her standing on the deck, +Beneath an awning cool and shady; +Her cap of velvet could not hold +The tresses of her hair of gold, +That flowed and floated like the stream, +And fell in masses down her neck. +As fair and lovely did she seem +As in a story or a dream +Some beautiful and foreign lady. +And the Prince looked so grand and proud, +And waved his hand thus to the crowd +That gazed and shouted from the shore, +All down the river, long and loud. + + _Ursula._ We shall behold our child once more; +She is not dead! She is not dead! +God, listening, must have overheard +The prayers, that, without sound or word, +Our hearts in secrecy have said! +O, bring me to her; for mine eyes +Are hungry to behold her face; +My very soul within me cries; +My very hands seem to caress her, +To see her, gaze at her, and bless her; +Dear Elsie, child of God and grace! + + (_Goes out toward the garden._) + + _Forester._ There goes the good woman out of her head; +And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here; +A very capacious flagon of beer, +And a very portentous loaf of bread. +One would say his grief did not much oppress him. +Here's to the health of the Prince, God bless him! + + (_He drinks._) + +Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet! +And what a scene there, through the door! +The forest behind and the garden before, +And midway an old man of threescore, +With a wife and children that caress him. +Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it +With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet! + + (_Goes out blowing his horn._) + + * * * * * + + +THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE. + + + * * * * * + +PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE _standing on the terrace at +evening. The sound of bells heard from a distance._ + + + _Prince Henry._ We are alone. The wedding guests +Ride down the hill, with plumes and cloaks, +And the descending dark invests +The Niederwald, and all the nests +Among its hoar and haunted oaks. + + _Elsie._ What bells are those, that ring so slow, +So mellow, musical, and low? + + _Prince Henry._ They are the bells of Geisenheim, +That with their melancholy chime +Ring out the curfew of the sun. + + _Elsie._ Listen, beloved. + + _Prince Henry._ They are done! +Dear Elsie! many years ago +Those same soft bells at eventide +Rang in the ears of Charlemagne, +As, seated by Fastrada's side +At Ingelheim, in all his pride +He heard their sound with secret pain. + + _Elsie._ Their voices only speak to me +Of peace and deep tranquillity, +And endless confidence in thee! + + _Prince Henry._ Thou knowest the story of her ring, +How, when the court went back to Aix, +Fastrada died; and how the king +Sat watching by her night and day, +Till into one of the blue lakes, +That water that delicious land, +They cast the ring, drawn from her hand; +And the great monarch sat serene +And sad beside the fated shore, +Nor left the land forever more. + + _Elsie._ That was true love. + + _Prince Henry._ For him the queen +Ne'er did what thou hast done for me. + + _Elsie._ Wilt thou as fond and faithful be? +Wilt thou so love me after death? + + _Prince Henry._ In life's delight, in death's dismay, +In storm and sunshine, night and day, +In health, in sickness, in decay, +Here and hereafter, I am thine! +Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Beneath +The calm, blue waters of thine eyes +Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies, +And, undisturbed by this world's breath, +With magic light its jewels shine! +This golden ring, which thou hast worn +Upon thy finger since the morn, +Is but a symbol and a semblance, +An outward fashion, a remembrance, +Of what thou wearest within unseen, +O my Fastrada, O my queen! +Behold! the hilltops all aglow +With purple and with amethyst; +While the whole valley deep below +Is filled, and seems to overflow, +With a fast-rising tide of mist. +The evening air grows damp and chill; +Let us go in. + + _Elsie._ Ah, not so soon. +See yonder fire! It is the moon +Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. +It glimmers on the forest tips, +And through the dewy foliage drips +In little rivulets of light, +And makes the heart in love with night. + + _Prince Henry._ Oft on this terrace, when the day +Was closing, have I stood and gazed, +And seen the landscape fade away, +And the white vapors rise and drown +Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town +While far above the hilltops blazed. +But men another hand than thine +Was gently held and clasped in mine; +Another head upon my breast +Was laid, as thine is now, at rest. +Why dost thou lift those tender eyes +With so much sorrow and surprise? +A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand, +Was that which in my own was pressed. +A manly form usurped thy place, +A beautiful, but bearded face, +That now is in the Holy Land, +Yet in my memory from afar +Is shining on us like a star. +But linger not. For while I speak, +A sheeted spectre white and tall, +The cold mist climbs the castle wall, +And lays his hand upon thy cheek! + + (_They go in._) + + * * * * * + + +EPILOGUE. + + + * * * * * + +THE TWO RECORDING ANGELS ASCENDING. + + _The Angel of Good Deeds (with closed book_). God sent his + messenger the rain, +And said unto the mountain brook, +"Rise up, and from thy caverns look +And leap, with naked, snow-white feet. +From the cool hills into the heat +Of the broad, arid plain." + +God sent his messenger of faith, +And whispered in the maiden's heart, +"Rise up, and look from where thou art, +And scatter with unselfish hands +Thy freshness on the barren sands +And solitudes of Death." +O beauty of holiness, +Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness! +O power of meekness, +Whose very gentleness and weakness +Are like the yielding, but irresistible air! +Upon the pages +Of the sealed volume that I bear, +The deed divine +Is written in characters of gold, +That never shall grow old, +But all through ages +Burn and shine, +With soft effulgence! +O God! it is thy indulgence +That fills the world with the bliss +Of a good deed like this! + + _The Angel of Evil Deeds (with open book)._ Not yet, not yet +Is the red sun wholly set, +But evermore recedes, +While open still I bear +The Book of Evil Deeds, +To let the breathings of the upper air +Visit its pages and erase +The records from its face! +Fainter and fainter as I gaze +On the broad blaze +The glimmering landscape shines, +And below me the black river +Is hidden by wreaths of vapor! +Fainter and fainter the black lines +Begin to quiver +Along the whitening surface of the paper; +Shade after shade +The terrible words grow faint and fade, +And in their place +Runs a white space! + +Down goes the sun! +But the soul of one, +Who by repentance +Has escaped the dreadful sentence, +Shines bright below me as I look. +It is the end! +With closed Book +To God do I ascend. + +Lo! over the mountain steeps +A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps +Beneath my feet; +A blackness inwardly brightening +With sullen heat, +As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning. +And a cry of lamentation, +Repeated and again repeated, +Deep and loud +As the reverberation +Of cloud answering unto cloud, +Swells and rolls away in the distance, +As if the sheeted +Lightning retreated, +Baffled and thwarted by the wind's resistance. + +It is Lucifer, +The son of mystery; +And since God suffers him to be, +He, too, is God's minister, +And labors for some good +By us not understood! + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Golden Legend, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN LEGEND *** + +***** This file should be named 10490.txt or 10490.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/9/10490/ + +Produced by Ted Garvin, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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