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 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!
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 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!
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!
Golden visions wave and hover, Golden vapors, waters streaming, Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming!
I am like a happy lover, Who illumines life with dreaming!
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, And thou wilt find in thy heart again Only the blight of pain, And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition!
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, 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 senesehal, 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;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, And horses stamping in their stalls!
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, 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!
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!
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;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!