URSULA.
We shall behold our child once more; 105
She is not dead! She is not dead!
God, listening, must have overheard
The prayers, that, without sound or word,
Our hearts in secrecy have said!
Oh, bring me to her; for mine eyes 110
Are hungry to behold her face;
My very soul within me cries;
My very hands seem to caress her,
To see her, gaze at her, and bless her;
Dear Elsie, child of God and grace!
Goes out toward the garden. 115
FORESTER.
There goes the good woman out of her head;
And Gottlieb’s supper is waiting here;
A very capacious flagon of beer,
And a very portentous loaf of bread.
One would say his grief did not much oppress him. 120
Here ‘s to the health of the Prince, God bless him!
He drinks.
Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet!
And what a scene there, through the door!
The forest behind and the garden before,
And midway an old man of threescore, 125
With a wife and children that caress him.
Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it
With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet!
Goes out blowing his horn.
VI.
III. The Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine
PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE standing on the terrace at evening.
The sound of bells heard from a distance.
PRINCE HENRY.
WE are alone. The wedding guests
Ride down the hill, with plumes and cloaks,
And the descending dark invests
The Niederwald, and all the nests
Among its hoar and haunted oaks. 5
ELSIE.
What bells are those, that ring so slow,
So mellow, musical, and low?
PRINCE HENRY.
They are the bells of Geisenheim,
That with their melancholy chime
Ring out the curfew of the sun. 10
ELSIE.
Listen, beloved.
PRINCE HENRY.
They are done!
Dear Elsie! many years ago
Those same soft bells at eventide
Rang in the ears of Charlemagne,
As, seated by Fastrada’s side 15
At Ingelheim, in all his pride
He heard their sound with secret pain.
ELSIE.
Their voices only speak to me
Of peace and deep tranquillity,
And endless confidence in thee! 20
PRINCE HENRY.
Thou knowest the story of her ring,
How, when the court went back to Aix,
Fastrada died; and how the king
Sat watching by her night and day,
Till into one of the blue lakes, 25
Which water that delicious land,
They cast the ring, drawn from her hand:
And the great monarch sat serene
And sad beside the fated shore,
Nor left the land forevermore. 30
ELSIE.
That was true love.
PRINCE HENRY.
For him the queen
Ne’er did what thou hast done for me.
ELSIE.
Wilt thou as fond and faithful be?
Wilt thou so love me after death?
PRINCE HENRY.
In life’s delight, in death’s dismay, 35
In storm and sunshine, night and day,
In health, in sickness, in decay,
Here and hereafter, I am thine!
Thou hast Fastrada’s ring. Beneath
The calm, blue waters of thine eyes, 40
Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies,
And, undisturbed by this world’s breath,
With magic light its jewels shine!
This golden ring, which thou hast worn
Upon thy finger since the morn, 45
Is but a symbol and a semblance,
An outward fashion, a remembrance,
Of what thou wearest within unseen,
O my Fastrada, O my queen!
Behold! the hill-tops all aglow 50
With purple and with amethyst;
While the whole valley deep below
Is filled, and seems to overflow,
With a fast-rising tide of mist.
The evening air grows damp and chill; 55
Let us go in.
ELSIE.
Ah, not so soon.
See yonder fire! It is the moon
Slow rising o’er the eastern hill.
It glimmers on the forest tips,
And through the dewy foliage drips 60
In little rivulets of light,
And makes the heart in love with night.
PRINCE HENRY.
Oft on this terrace, when the day
Was closing, have I stood and gazed,
And seen the landscape fade away, 65
And the white vapors rise and drown
Hamlet and vineyard, tower and town,
While far above the hill-tops blazed.
But then another hand than thine
Was gently held and clasped in mine; 70
Another head upon my breast
Was laid, as thine is now, at rest.
Why dost thou lift those tender eyes
With so much sorrow and surprise?
A minstrel’s, not a maiden’s hand, 75
Was that which in my own was pressed.
A manly form usurped thy place,
A beautiful, but bearded face,
That now is in the Holy Land,
Yet in my memory from afar 80
Is shining on us like a star.
But linger not. For while I speak,
A sheeted spectre white and tall,
The cold mist climbs the castle wall,
And lays his hand upon thy cheek!
They go in. 85
Epilogue
The Two Recording Angels Ascending
THE ANGEL OF GOOD DEEDS, with closed book.
GOD sent his messenger the rain,
And said unto the mountain brook,
“Rise up, and from thy caverns look
And leap, with naked, snow-white feet,
From the cool hills into the heat 5
Of the broad, arid plain.”
God sent his messenger of faith,
And whispered in the maiden’s heart,
“Rise up, and look from where thou art,
And scatter with unselfish hands 10
Thy freshness on the barren sands
And solitudes of Death.”
O beauty of holiness,
Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness!
O power of meekness, 15
Whose very gentleness and weakness
Are like the yielding, but irresistible air!
Upon the pages
Of the sealed volume that I bear,
The deed divine 20
Is written in characters of gold,
That never shall grow old,
But through all ages
Burn and shine,
With soft effulgence! 25
O God! it is thy indulgence
That fills the world with the bliss
Of a good deed like this!
THE ANGEL OF EVIL DEEDS, with open book.
Not yet, not yet
Is the red sun wholly set, 30
But evermore recedes,
While open still I bear
The Book of Evil Deeds,
To let the breathings of the upper air
Visit its pages and erase 35
The records from its face!
Fainter and fainter as I gaze
In the broad blaze
The glimmering landscape shines,
A
nd below me the black river 40
Is hidden by wreaths of vapor!
Fainter and fainter the black lines
Begin to quiver
Along the whitening surface of the paper;
Shade after shade 45
The terrible words grow faint and fade,
And in their place
Runs a white space!
Down goes the sun!
But the soul of one, 50
Who by repentance
Hath escaped the dreadful sentence,
Shines bright below me as I look.
It is the end!
With closèd Book 55
To God do I ascend.
Lo! over the mountain steeps
A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps
Beneath my feet;
A blackness inwardly brightening 60
With sullen heat,
As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning.
And a cry of lamentation,
Repeated and again repeated,
Deep and loud 65
As the reverberation
Of cloud answering unto cloud,
Swells and rolls away in the distance,
As if the sheeted
Lightning retreated, 70
Baffled and thwarted by the wind’s resistance.
It is Lucifer,
The son of mystery;
And since God suffers him to be,
He, too, is God’s minister, 75
And labors for some good
By us not understood!
Second Interlude
Martin Luther
A Chamber in the Wartburg. Morning. Martin Luther Writing
MARTIN LUTHER.
Our God, a Tower of Strength is He,
A goodly wall and weapon;
From all our need He helps us free,
That now to us doth happen.
The old evil foe 5
Doth in earnest grow,
In grim armor dight,
Much guile and great might;
On earth there is none like him.
OH yes; a tower of strength indeed, 10
A present help in all our need,
A sword and buckler is our God.
Innocent men have walked unshod
O’er burning ploughshares, and have trod
Unharmed on serpents in their path, 15
And laughed to scorn the Devil’s wrath!
Safe in this Wartburg tower I stand
Where God hath led me by the hand,
And look down, with a heart at ease,
Over the pleasant neighborhoods, 20
Over the vast Thuringian Woods,
With flash of river, and gloom of trees,
With castles crowning the dizzy heights,
And farms and pastoral delights,
And the morning pouring everywhere 25
Its golden glory on the air.
Safe, yes, safe am I here at last,
Safe from the overwhelming blast
Of the mouths of Hell, that followed me fast,
And the howling demons of despair 30
That hunted me like a beast to his lair.
Of our own might we nothing can;
We soon are unprotected;
There fighteth for us the right Man,
Whom God himself elected. 35
Who is He; ye exclaim?
Christus is his name,
Lord of Sabaoth,
Very God in troth;
The field He holds forever. 40
Nothing can vex the Devil more
Than the name of Him whom we adore.
Therefore doth it delight me best
To stand in the choir among the rest,
With the great organ trumpeting 45
Through its metallic tubes, and sing:
Et verbum caro factum est!
These words the Devil cannot endure,
For he knoweth their meaning well!
Him they trouble and repel, 50
Us they comfort and allure,
And happy it were, if our delight
Were as great as his affright!
Yea, music is the Prophets’ art;
Among the gifts that God hath sent, 55
One of the most magnificent!
It calms the agitated heart;
Temptations, evil thoughts, and all
The passions that disturb the soul,
Are quelled by its divine control, 60
As the Evil Spirit fled from Saul,
And his distemper was allayed,
When David took his harp and played.
This world may full of Devils be,
All ready to devour us; 65
Yet not so sore afraid are we,
They shall not overpower us.
This World’s Prince, howe’er
Fierce he may appear,
He can harm us not, 70
He is doomed, God wot!
One little word can slay him!
Incredible it seems to some
And to myself a mystery,
That such weak flesh and blood as we, 75
Armed with no other shield or sword,
Or other weapon than the Word,
Should combat and should overcome
A spirit powerful as he!
He summons forth the Pope of Rome 80
With all his diabolic crew,
His shorn and shaven retinue
Of priests and children of the dark;
Kill! kill! they cry, the Heresiarch,
Who rouseth up all Christendom 85
Against us; and at one fell blow
Seeks the whole Church to overthrow!
Not yet; my hour is not yet come.
Yesterday in an idle mood,
Hunting with others in the wood, 90
I did not pass the hours in vain,
For in the very heart of all
The joyous tumult raised around,
Shouting of men, and baying of hound,
And the bugle’s blithe and cheery call, 95
And echoes answering back again,
From crags of the distant mountain chain, —
In the very heart of this, I found
A mystery of grief and pain.
It was an image of the power 100
Of Satan, hunting the world about,
With his nets and traps and well-trained dogs,
His bishops and priests and theologues,
And all the rest of the rabble rout,
Seeking whom he may devour! 105
Enough I have had of hunting hares,
Enough of these hours of idle mirth,
Enough of nets and traps and gins!
The only hunting of any worth
Is where I can pierce with javelins 110
The cunning foxes and wolves and bears,
The whole iniquitous troop of beasts,
The Roman Pope and the Roman priests
That sorely infest and afflict the earth!
Ye nuns, ye singing birds of the air! 115
The fowler hath caught you in his snare,
And keeps you safe in his gilded cage,
Singing the song that never tires,
To lure down others from their nests;
How ye flutter and beat your breasts, 120
Warm and soft with young desires
Against the cruel, pitiless wires,
Reclaiming your lost heritage!
Behold! a hand unbars the door,
Ye shall be captives held no more. 125
The Word they shall perforce let stand,
And little thanks they merit!
For He is with us in the land,
With gifts of his own Spirit!
Though they take our life, 130
Goods, honors, child and wife,
Let these pass away,
Little gain have they;
The Kingdom still remaineth!
Yea, it remaineth forevermore, 135
However Sata
n may rage and roar,
Though often he whispers in my ears:
What if thy doctrines false should be?
And wrings from me a bitter sweat.
Then I put him to flight with jeers, 140
Saying: Saint Satan! pray for me;
If thou thinkest I am not saved yet!
And my mortal foes that lie in wait
In every avenue and gate!
As to that odious monk John Tetzel, 145
Hawking about his hollow wares
Like a huckster at village fairs,
And those mischievous fellows, Wetzel,
Campanus, Carlstadt, Martin Cellarius,
And all the busy, multifarious 150
Heretics, and disciples of Arius,
Half-learned, dunce-bold, dry and hard,
They are not worthy of my regard,
Poor and humble as I am.
But ah! Erasmus of Rotterdam, 155
He is the vilest miscreant
That ever walked this world below!
A Momus, making his mock and mow,
At Papist and at Protestant,
Sneering at St. John and St. Paul, 160
At God and Man, at one and all;
And yet as hollow and false and drear,
As a cracked pitcher to the ear,
And ever growing worse and worse!
Whenever I pray, I pray for a curse 165
On Erasmus, the Insincere!
Philip Melancthon! thou alone
Faithful among the faithless known,
Thee I hail, and only thee!
Behold the record of us three! 170
Res et verba Philippus,
Res sine verbis Lutherus;
Erasmus verba sine re!
My Philip, prayest thou for me?
Lifted above all earthly care, 175
From these high regions of the air,
Among the birds that day and night
Upon the branches of tall trees
Sing their lauds and litanies,
Praising God with all their might, 180
My Philip, unto thee I write.
My Philip! thou who knowest best
All that is passing in this breast;
The spiritual agonies,
The inward deaths, the inward hell, 185
And the divine new births as well,
That surely follow after these,
As after winter follows spring;
My Philip, in the night-time sing
This song of the Lord I send to thee; 190
Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Delphi Poets Series Book 13) Page 109
