And, like these towers, begin to With all their crosiers and their

Speak it out frankly: say he's First, the Mass for the Dead they

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,
340

Looking down into a stream.

chanted,

Then three times laid upon his

head

A shovelful of churchyard clay, Saying to him, as he stood undaunted,

360

'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 perpet
ual knell

In the Round Tower, night after To keep all travellers away.

night,

Like a black shadow, would fall The vast and shadowy banquet

The hearts of all, if he should Is full of looks and words di

From which it steals the breath And the white hamlet gathered

And which he loved so well of Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's

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 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,

And within the woodlands as he The land Elysian,

trod,

IO

And in the heavenly city heard

The dusk was like the Truce of Angelic feet

God

With worldly woe and care;
Under him lay the golden moss;
And above him the boughs of

hoary trees

Fall on the golden flagging of the street.

And he would fain

Have caught the wondrous bird,
But strove in vain;

Waved, and made the sign of the For it flew away, away,

cross,

Far over hill and dell,

And whispered their Benedici- | And instead of its sweet singing

6a

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 chanted 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.

This morning, after the hour of The Monk Felix, and never more

Of Felix, and this man must be And memory has the power

Of Christ and the Sultan's daugh- Call to her from the garden,