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 bearing 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,

For ever gone! for ever 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 re-
main.

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 whieh 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 upgathers 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, for ever, 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 ab-

sence 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.

Waved and made the sign of the cross,
And whispered their Benedicites;
And from the ground

Rose an odour 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
Splendours 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

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 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 crea

tures.

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 ediñed.
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 labour 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 shalt hear sweet music,
And breathe the fragrance
Of flowers immortal!

Go now and place these flowers
Before her picture.

A room in the Farmhouse. 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.

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

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

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 up-
stairs.

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!