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 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 those 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 absence more

Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er!

II.

A FARM IN THE ODENWALD.

▲ 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 twilight was like the Truce of God

With worldly woe and care;

Under him lay the golden moss;

And above him the boughs of hemlock-trees

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
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 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 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

When a hand suddenly

Is laid upon it, and removed!

Followed him to his Father's garden.

PRINCE HENRY.

Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie?