The Golden Legend: 2. 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!