Oft on this terrace, when the day
Was closing, have I stood and gazed,
And seen the landscape fade away,
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;
Another head upon my breast
Was laid, as thine is now, at rest. 470
Why dost thou lift those tender eyes
With so much sorrow and surprise?
A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand,
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
Is shining on us like a star.

But linger not. For while I speak, 480
A sheeted spectre white and tall,
The cold mist climbs the castle wall,
And lays his hand upon thy cheek!
They go in.

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

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
Through its metallic tubes, and sing:
Et verbum caro factum est!

50

These words the Devil cannot endure,
For he knoweth their meaning well!
Him they trouble and repel,
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,
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,
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;

60

That such weak flesh and blood as we, Armed with no other shield or sword, Or other weapon than the Word, Should combat and should overcome A spirit powerful as he!

79

He summons forth the Pope of Rome
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
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,
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
hound,

90

of

And the bugle's blithe and cheery call, And echoes answering back again, From crags of the distant mountain chain,

100

In the very heart of this, I found
A mystery of grief and pain.
It was an image of the power
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! 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!

|

Yea, it remaineth forevermore,
However Satan may rage and roa",
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, Hawking about his hollow wares Like a huckster at village fairs,

And those mischievous fellows, Wetzel,

Campanus, Carlstadt, Martin Cellarius,