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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/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 *** |