of

The luckless daughter of perdition and
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!T
For ravages of sword and flame! AT
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 t

I cannot repeat a thousandth part
Of the horrors and crimes and sins and woes
That arise, when with palpitating throes
The grave-yard 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 odour 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 slight of hand I learned long since!

He comes. In the twilight he will not see
The difference beween his priest and me
In the same the mother caught!

IT

Prince Henry Vasen mond 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!

"Tis a God-speed to the parting guest,
Who stands already at the door,

Sandalled with holiness, and dressed
In garments pure from earthly stain.

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 statue, 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 thon shouldst die,
What hearts and hopes would prostrate lie!
What noble deeds, what fair renown,
Into the grave with thee go down!
What acts of valour 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; but
such and hourly

The dust and the turf of butt plains,
By vassals shed in a crimson flood.
Without reserve, and without reward.old or
At the slightest summons of their lord!defl
But thine is precious; the fore-apponited C
Blood of kings, of God's anointed! Totte
Moreover, what has the world in store, zitaan of
For one like her, but tears and toil?ew H
Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, freestr
A peasant's child and a peasant's wife, Jonna T

Does the same madness fill thy brain?

Or have thy passion and unrest
Vanished for ever 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 Salern!

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

With the roughness and barremess of life fo
I marvel not at the heart's recoil- 7: 25 T:21
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 splendour
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 shalt live,

Prince Henry. And will the righteous Heaven forgive?

No action, whether foul or fair,

Is ever done, bnt it leaves somewhere
A record, written by fingers ghostly,
As a blessing or a curse, and mostlynge the[77
In the greater weakness or greater strength 77
Of the acts which follow it, till at length ↑ Hire?
The wrongs of ages are redressed, Dino)
And the justice of God made manifest!om 7.
Lucifer. In ancient records it is stated rie vr ̃//
That, whenever an evil deed is done, ww bra
Another devil is created
11.09 BonT

To scourge and torment the offending one brost
But evil is only good perverted,

And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light, engros aff But an angel fallen and deserted, meditat Ju

Thrust from his Father's House with a curse T

Into the black and endless night.

And thus the balance restored again.

Prince Henry. If justice rules the universe,132 From the good actions of good men Angels of light should be begotten,

I I

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!

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 frsely:
May God bless the gift!

(URSULA hides her face.)

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.

When we are gone from here, and on our way
Are journeying to Salerno, you will not,
By word or deed, endeavour 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

Elste. I have one thing to ask of you. Prince Henry. It is already granted. Elsie

Promise me,

As when good angels war with devils! This is the Master of the Revels,

Pray for the Dead!

Pray for the Dead!

Rocked on the topmost bough of life,
Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart,
And in the clangour of the strife
Mingle the music of thy words?

Walter. My hopes are high, my heart is prond, 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

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 blending,
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 armour 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 wandered 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!

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.

I cannot strive against my fate!

'Tis too late!

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 dis

pede

Thine eager and impatient speed.

Besides my pathway leads me round

To Hirschau, 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;

name

Is Henry of Hoheneck!

Ay, the same.

Prince Henry.
Walter (embracing him) Come closer, 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

Laine!

O noble poet! thou whose heart Is like a nest of singing-birds.

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 froin 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 word 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 froin 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 churchsteps 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,
In 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.) Ah! here 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-hang, ing rein, Your spurs wet with blood, and your bridle with foum?

"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 ainong the crowd.)
The Cathedral bells ring.

But Hark; the bells are beginning to chime,.
And I feel that I am growing hoarse;
1 will put an end to my discourse,
And leave the rest for some other time.
For the bells themselves are the best of

Is the mind of man, that round and round
Sways, aud 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 honour 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 to 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 win-
dows.

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 laboured 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 the 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!