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 recognised 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 croziers 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 churchyard 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 hell,
Whose sound should be a perpetual knell
To keep all travellers 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,-
For ever gone! for ever gone!
Ah, what a cruel sense of loss,

Like 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.

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 out door 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 golfen 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 those lovely re-
gions,

Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent,
And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent!
Yes, there it flows, for ever, 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

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 covenant 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-trees
Waved, and made the sign of the cross,
And whispered their Benedicites;

And from the ground

Rose an odour 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
Splendours 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 ring
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.'

He had been counted among the dead!
And they knew, ut 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 make 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 labour 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,

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 shalt 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 glim

mer

Of light comes in at the window-pane;
Or 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.

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

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 up-stairs.

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 way

ward 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!

For she has visions and strange dreams,
And in all her words and waye, 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
Thon 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 thon 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.

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 my eyes, nor rest..

Elste. Why should I live? Do I not know The life of woman is full of woention 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! woen
Ursula. It is the malediction of Eve!
Elsie. In place of it, let me receive bare
The benediction of Mary, then. Allibo) Joike
Gottlieb. Ah! woe is me! Ah, woe is me!
Most wretched am I among men! LATI
Ursula. Alas! that I should like to see wh
Thy death, beloved, and to standel has 700
Above thy grave! Ah, woe the day! To no
Elsie. Thou wilt not see it. I shall lie
Beneath the flowers of another land;
For at Salerno, far away TTO
Over the mountains, over the
It is appointed me to diet
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! ww And how my heart beats when thou stayest! I cannot rest until my sight

Is satisfied with seeing thee. Sarbjodow
What, then, if thou wert dead?Wor
Gottlieb.
Ah me
Of our old eyes thou art the light ad
The joy of our old hearts art thou ov
And wilt thou die?
9t boltate
Ursula. Not now not how! bluar
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-ther

Where flowers immortal neyer

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. 'Tis the cessation of our breath.

Silent and motionless we lle:

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.

Gottheb. In God's own time, my heart's de

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 a-jar,

I had a vision in the night,

And saw him standing at the door O

Of his Father's mansion, vast and splendid,
And beckoning to me from afar,o bia
I cannot stay! hoaasid bita boto
Gottheb She speaks almost as
As if it were the Holy Ghost

Spake through her lips. iind în her stend!
if this were God?

And yet for ever and for ever, wob in god to
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!

All the devils in the air 10) 91T
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 of 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 Gehennæ!
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!

And marking with each step a tomb or bir
Why should the world for thee make room,
And wait thy leisure and thy beck Budad T
Thou comest in the hope to hear live oilton A
Some word of comfort and of cheer; g008 T
What can I say? I cannot give vino ai live a
The counsel to do this and live potion /
But rather, firmly to deny nailal loans an
The tempter, though his power is strong, erT
And, inaccessible to wrong, ban dould odiodif
Still like a martyr live and die! TSH son

no ho pause.lion bous ont mort The evening alt grows dusk and browns alon I must go forth into the town,"