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; 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, 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, Looking down into a stream.
In the Round Tower, night after night, He sat and bleared his eyes with books; 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; 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 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 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 Into disgrace and banishment, Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, And hearing a wallet, and a bell, Whose sound should be a perpetual knell To keep all travellers away.
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, 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,-- "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 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 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,-- 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 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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! 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, 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 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 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, 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, Wherein amazed he read: "A thousand years in thy sight 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, 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 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 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.
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 In brass and wild-boar's hide, Wherein 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 raised 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! I 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 shalt 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! GOTTLIER, starting.
The stopping of thy wheel Has awakened 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.