Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.
ELSIE.
How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses Grow on these rocks.
PRINCE HENRY.
Yet are they not forgotten; Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them.
ELSIE.
See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me The body of St.Catherine, borne by angels! PRINCE HENRY.
Thou art St.Catherine, and invisible angels Bear thee across these chasms and precipices, Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone! ELSIE.
Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, Upon angelic shoulders! Even now I seem uplifted by them, light as air! What sound is that?
PRINCE HENRY.
The tumbling avalanches! ELSIE.
How awful, yet how beautiful! PRINCE HENRY.
These are The voices of the mountains! Thus they ope Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other, In the primeval language, lost to man.
ELSIE.
What land is this that spreads itself beneath us?
PRINCE HENRY.
Italy! Italy! ELSIE.
Land of the Madonna! How beautiful it is! It seems a garden Of Paradise! PRINCE HENRY.
Nay, of Gethsemane To thee and me, of passion and of prayer! Yet once of Paradise.

Long years ago I wandered as a youth among its bowers, And never from my heart has faded quite Its memory, that, like a summer sunset, Encircles with a ring of purple light All the horizon of my youth.
GUIDE.
O friends! The days are short, the way before us long: We must not linger, if we think to reach The inn at Belinzona before vespers! They pass on.
AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS A halt under the trees at noon.
PRINCE HENRY.
Here let us pause a moment in the trembling Shadow and sunshine of the roadside trees, And, our tired horses in a group assembling, Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze.
Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants; They lag behind us with a slower pace; We will await them under the green pendants Of the great willows in this shady place.
Ho, Barbarossa! how thy mottled haunches Sweat with this canter over hill and glade! Stand still, and let these overhanging branches Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade! ELSIE.
What a delightful landscape spreads before us, Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and there! And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o'er us, Blossoms of grape-vines scent the sunny air.
PRINCE HENRY.
Hark! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents holy Fill the warm noon with music sad and sweet! ELSIE.
It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly On their long journey, with uncovered feet.
PILGRIMS, chanting the Hymn of St.Hildebert.
Me receptet Sion illa, Sion David, urbs tranquilla, Cujus faber auctor lucis, Cujus portae lignum crucis, Cujus claves lingua Petri, Cujus cives semper laeti, Cujus muri lapis vivus, Cujus custos rex festivus! LUCIFER, as a Friar in the procession.
Here am I, too, in the pious band, In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed! The soles of my feet are as hard and tanned As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand, The Holy Satan, who made the wives Of the bishops lead such shameful lives, All day long I beat my breast, And chant with a most particular zest The Latin hymns, which I understand Quite as well, I think, as the rest.
And at night such lodging in barns and sheds, Such a hurly-burly in country inns, Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads, Such a helter-skelter of prayers and sins! Of all the contrivances of the time For sowing broadcast the seeds of crime, There is none so pleasing to me and mine As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine! PRINCE HENRY.
If from the outward man we judge the inner, And cleanliness is godliness, I fear A hopeless reprobate, a hardened Sinner, Must be that Carmelite now passing near.
LUCIFER.
There is my German Prince again, Thus far on his journey to Salern, And the lovesick girl, whose heated brain Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain; But it's a long road that has no turn! Let them quietly hold their way, I have also a part in the play.
But first I must act to my heart's content This mummery and this merriment, And drive this motley flock of sheep Into the fold, where drink and sleep The jolly old friars of Benevent.
Of a truth, it often provokes me to laugh To see these beggars hobble along, Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, Chanting their wonderful puff and paff, And, to make up for not understanding the song, Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong! Were it not for my magic garters and staff, And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, And the mischief I make in the idle throng, I should not continue the business long.
PILGRIMS, chanting.
In hac urbe, lux solennis, Ver aeternum, pax perennis; In hac odor implens caelos, In hac semper festum melos! PRINCE HENRY.
Do you observe that monk among the train, Who pours from his great throat the roaring bass, As a cathedral spout pours out the rain, And this way turns his rubicund, round face?
ELSIE.
It is the same who, on the Strasburg square, Preached to the people in the open air.
PRINCE HENRY.
And he has crossed o'er mountain, field, and fell, On that good steed, that seems to bear him well, The hackney of the Friars of Orders Gray, His own stout legs! He, too, was in the play, Both as King Herod and Ben Israel.
Good morrow, Friar! FRIAR CUTHBERT.
Good morrow, noble Sir! PRINCE HENRY.
I speak in German, for, unless I err, You are a German.
FRIAR CUTHBERT.
I cannot gainsay you.
But by what instinct, or what secret sign, Meeting me here, do you straightway divine That northward of the Alps my country lies?
PRINCE HENRY.
Your accent, like St.Peter's, would betray you, Did not your yellow beard and your blue eyes.
Moreover, we have seen your face before, And heard you preach at the Cathedral door On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg square.
We were among the crowd that gathered there, And saw you play the Rabbi with great skill, As if, by leaning o'er so many years To walk with little children, your own will Had caught a childish attitude from theirs, A kind of stooping in its form and gait, And could no longer stand erect and straight.
Whence come you now?
FRIAR CUTHBERT.
From the old monastery Of Hirschau, in the forest; being sent Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent, To see the image of the Virgin Mary, That moves its holy eyes, and sometimes speaks, And lets the piteous tears run down its cheeks, To touch the hearts of the impenitent.
PRINCE HENRY.
Oh, had I faith, as in the days gone by, That knew no doubt, and feared no mystery! LUCIFER, at a distance.
Ho, Cuthbert! Friar Cuthbert! FRIAR CUTHBERT.
Fare well, Prince; I cannot stay to argue and convince.
PRINCE HENRY.
This is indeed the blessed Mary's land, Virgin and mother of our dear redeemer! All hearts are touched and softened at her name, Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand, The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the peasant, The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer, Pay homage to her as one ever present! And even as children, who have much offended A too indulgent father, in great shame, Penitent, and yet not daring unattended To go into his presence, at the gate Speak with their sister, and confiding wait Till she goes in before and intercedes; So men, repenting of their evil deeds, And yet not venturing rashly to draw near With their requests an angry father's ear, Offer to her their prayers and their confession, And she for them in heaven makes intercession.
And if our faith had given us nothing more Than this example of all womanhood, So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, This were enough to prove it higher and truer Than all the creeds the world had known before.
PILGRIMS, chanting afar off.
Urbs coelestis, urbs beata, Supra petram collocata, Urbs in portu satis tuto De longinquo te saluto, Te saluto, te suspiro, Te affecto, te requiro! THE INN AT GENOA A terrace overlooking the sea.

Night.
PRINCE HENRY.
It is the sea, it is the sea, In all its vague immensity, Fading and darkening in the distance! Silent, majestical, and slow, The white ships haunt it to and fro, With all their ghostly sails unfurled, As phantoms from another world Haunt the dim confines of existence! But ah! how few can comprehend Their signals, or to what good end From land to land they come and go! Upon a sea more vast and dark The spirits of the dead embark, All voyaging to unknown coasts.
We wave our farewells from the shore, And they depart, and come no more, Or come as phantoms and as ghosts.
Above the darksome sea of death Looms the great life that is to be, A land of cloud and mystery, A dim mirage, with shapes of men Long dead and passed beyond our ken, Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath Till the fair pageant vanisheth, Leaving us in perplexity, And doubtful whether it has been A vision of the world unseen, Or a bright image of our own Against the sky in vapors thrown.
LUCIFER, singing from the sea.
Thou didst not make it, thou canst not mend it, But thou hast the power to end it! The sea is silent, the sea is discreet, Deep it lies at thy very feet; There is no confessor like unto Death! Thou canst not see him, but he is near; Thou needst not whisper above thy breath, And he will hear; He will answer the questions, The vague surmises and suggestions, That fill thy soul with doubt and fear! PRINCE HENRY.
The fisherman, who lies afloat, With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, Is singing softly to the Night! But do I comprehend aright The meaning of the words he sung So sweetly in his native tongue?
Ah yes! the sea is still and deep.
All things within its bosom sleep! A single step, and all is o'er; A plunge, a bubble an no more; And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be free From martyrdom and agony.
ELSIE, coming from her chamber upon the terrace.
The night is calm and cloudless, And still as still can be, And the stars come forth to listen To the music of the sea.
They gather, and gather, and gather, Until they crowd the sky, And listen, in breathless silence, To the solemn litany.
It begins in rocky caverns, As a voice that chants alone To the pedals of the organ In monotonous undertone; And anon from shelving beaches, And shallow sands beyond, In snow-white robes uprising The ghostly choirs respond.
And sadly and unceasing The mournful voice sings on, And the snow-white choirs still answer Christe eleison! PRINCE HENRY.
Angel of God! thy finer sense perceives Celestial and perpetual harmonies! Thy purer soul, that trembles and believes, Hears the archangel's trumpet in the breeze, And where the forest rolls, or ocean heaves, Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas, And tongues of prophets speaking in the leaves.
But I hear discord only and despair, And whispers as of demons in the air! AT SEA IL PADRONE.
The wind upon our quarter lies, And on before the freshening gale, That fills the snow-white lateen sail, Swiftly our light felucca flies, Around the billows burst and foam; They lift her o'er the sunken rock, They beat her sides with many a shock, And then upon their flowing dome They poise her, like a weathercock! Between us and the western skies The hills of Corsica arise; Eastward in yonder long blue line, The summits of the Apennine, And southward, and still far away, Salerno, on its sunny bay.
You cannot see it, where it lies.
PRINCE HENRY.
Ah, would that never more mine eyes Might see its towers by night or day! ELSIE.
Behind us, dark and awfully, There comes a cloud out of the sea, That bears the form of a hunted deer, With hide of brown, and hoofs of black And antlers laid upon its back, And fleeing fast and wild with fear, As if the hounds were on its track! PRINCE HENRY.
Lo! while we gaze, it breaks and falls In shapeless masses, like the walls Of a burnt city.

Broad and red The flies of the descending sun Glare through the windows, and o'erhead, Athwart the vapors, dense and dun, Long shafts of silvery light arise, Like rafters that support the skies! ELSIE.
See! from its summit the lurid levin Flashes downward without warning, As Lucifer, son of the morning, Fell from the battlements of heaven! IL PADRONE.
I must entreat you, friends, below! The angry storm begins to blow, For the weather changes with the moon.
All this morning, until noon, We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws Struck the sea with their cat's-paws.
Only a little hour ago I was whistling to Saint Antonio For a capful of wind to fill our sail, And instead of a breeze he has sent a gale.
Last night I saw St.Elmo's stars, With their glimmering lanterns, all at play On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars, And I knew we should have foul weather to-day.
Cheerily, my hearties! yo heave ho! Brail up the mainsail, and let her go As the winds will and Saint Antonio! Do you see that Livornese felucca, That vessel to the windward yonder, Running with her gunwale under?
I was looking when the wind o'ertook her, She had all sail set, and the only wonder Is that at once the strength of the blast Did not carry away her mast.
She is a galley of the Gran Duca, That, through the fear of the Algerines, Convoys those lazy brigantines, Laden with wine and oil from Lucca.
Now all is ready, high and low; Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio! Ha! that is the first dash of the rain, With a sprinkle of spray above the rails, Just enough to moisten our sails, And make them ready for the strain.
See how she leaps, as the blasts o'ertake her, And speeds away with a bone in her mouth! Now keep her head toward the south, And there is no danger of bank or breaker.
With the breeze behind us, on we go; Not too much, good Saint Antonio! VI THE SCHOOL OF SALERNO A travelling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate of the College.
SCHOLASTIC.
There, that is my gauntlet, my banner, my shield, Hung up as a challenge to all the field! One hundred and twenty-five propositions, Which I will maintain with the sword of the tongue Against all disputants, old and young.
Let us see if doctors or dialecticians Will dare to dispute my definitions, Or attack any one of my learned theses.
Here stand I; the end shall be as God pleases.
I think I have proved, by profound researches, The error of all those doctrines so vicious Of the old Areopagite Dionysius, That are making such terrible work in the churches, By Michael the Stammerer sent from the East, And done into Latin by that Scottish beast, Johannes Duns Scotus, who dares to maintain, In the face of the truth, the error infernal, That the universe is and must be eternal; At first laying down, as a fact fundamental, That nothing with God can be accidental; Then asserting that God before the creation Could not have existed, because it is plain That, had He existed, He would have created; Which is begging the question that should be debated, And moveth me less to anger than laughter.
All nature, he holds, is a respiration Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing, hereafter Will inhale it into his bosom again, So that nothing but God alone will remain.
And therein he contradicteth himself; For he opens the whole discussion by stating, That God can only exist in creating.
That question I think I have laid on the shelf! He goes out.

Two Doctors come in disputing, and followed by pupils.
DOCTOR SERAFINO.
I, with the Doctor Seraphic, maintain, That a word which is only conceived in the brain Is a type of eternal Generation; The spoken word is the Incarnation.
DOCTOR CHERUBINO.
What do I care for the Doctor Seraphic, With all his wordy chaffer and traffic?
DOCTOR SERAFINO.
You make but a paltry show of resistance; Universals have no real existence! DOCTOR CHERUBINO.
Your words are but idle and empty chatter; Ideas are eternally joined to matter! DOCTOR SERAFINO.
May the Lord have mercy on your position, You wretched, wrangling culler of herbs! DOCTOR CHERUBINO.
May he send your soul to eternal perdition, For your Treatise on the Irregular verbs! They rush out fighting.