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! 160
Like him, this wondrous lore I teach!
PRINCE HENRY.
What! an adept?
LUCIFER.
Nor less, nor more!
PRINCE HENRY.
I am a reader of your books,
A lover of that mystic lore!
With such a piercing glance it looks 165
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 170
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, 175
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, 180
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. 185
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 190
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. 195
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 200
Into what whirlpools he may sink;
One moment pauses, and no more,
Then madly plunges from the shore!
Headlong into the mysteries
Of life and death I boldly leap, 205
Nor fear the fateful current’s sweep,
Nor what in ambush lurks below!
For death is better than disease!
An ANGEL with an æolian harp hovers in the air.
ANGEL.
Woe! woe! eternal woe!
Not only the whispered prayer 210
Of love,
But the imprecations of hate,
Reverberate
For ever and ever through the air
Above! 215
This fearful curse
Shakes the great universe!
LUCIFER, disappearing.
Drink! drink!
And thy soul shall sink
Down into the dark abyss, 220
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 225
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 230
The band of steel
That so long and heavily has pressed
Upon my breast
Uplifted, and the malediction
Of my affliction 235
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! 240
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. 245
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! 250
At length,
I stand renewed in all my strength!
Beneath me I can feel
The great earth stagger and reel,
As if the feet of a descending God 255
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! 260
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 265
Is the flash of his evil eyes.
Beware! Oh, beware!
For sickness, sorrow, and care
All are there!
PRINCE HENRY, sinking back.
O thou voice within my breast! 270
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, oh rest! 275
Golden visions wave and hover,
Golden vapors, waters streaming,
Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming!
I am like a happy lover,
Who illumines life with dreaming! 280
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, 285
And thou wilt find in thy heart again
Only the blight of pain,
And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition!
I.
II. 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, 5
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, 10
Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall.
Alas! the merry guests no more
Crowd through the hospitable door;
No eyes with youth and passion shine,
No cheeks glow redder than the wine; 15
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, 20
And horses stamping in their stalls!
&
nbsp; 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, 25
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 traveller’s feet!
Enter WALTER the Minnesinger.
WALTER.
How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely! 30
No banner flying from the walls,
No pages and no seneschals,
No warders, and one porter only!
Is it you, Hubert?
HUBERT.
Ah! Master Walter!
WALTER.
Alas! how forms and faces alter! 35
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; 40
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, 45
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, 50
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; 55
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; 60
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 65
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 chanted,
Then three times laid upon his head 70
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 75
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 travellers away. 80
WALTER.
Oh, 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, 85
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, — 90
“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 95
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 100
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, — 105
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 110
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, 115
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, 120
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, 125
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 up-gathers his spent shafts, 130
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, 135
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! 140
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, 145
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.
I. 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 5
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, 10
The dusk was like the Truce of God
With worldly woe and care;
Under him lay the golden moss;
And above him the boughs of hoary trees
Waved, and made the sign of the cross, 15
And whispered their Benedicites;
And from the ground
Rose an odor sweet an
d fragrant
Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant
Vines that wandered, 20
Seeking the sunshine, round and round.
These he heeded not, but pondered
On the volume in his hand,
Wherein amazed he read:
“A thousand years in thy sight 25
Are but as yesterday when it is past,
And as a watch in the night!”
And with his eyes downcast
In humility he said:
“I believe, O Lord, 30
What is written in thy Word,
But alas! I do not understand!”
And lo! he heard
The sudden singing of a bird,
A snow-white bird, that from a cloud 35
Dropped down,
And among the branches brown
Sat singing,
So sweet, and clear, and loud,
It seemed a thousand harp-strings ringing. 40
And the Monk Felix closed his book,
And long, long,
With rapturous look,
He listened to the song,
And hardly breathed or stirred, 45
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. 50
And he would fain
Have caught the wondrous bird,
But strove in vain;
For it flew away, away,
Far over hill and dell, 55
And instead of its sweet singing
He heard the convent bell
Suddenly in the silence ringing
For the service of noonday.
And he retraced 60
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, 65
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. 70
A stranger and alone
Among that brotherhood
The Monk Felix stood.
“Forty years,” said a Friar,
“Have I been Prior 75
Of this convent in the wood,
But for that space
Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Delphi Poets Series Book 13) Page 98
