That flowed and floated like the stream,
And fell in masses down her neck.

As fair and lovely did she seem

As in a story or a dream

Some beautiful and foreign lady.

And the Prince looked so grand and proud,
And waved his hand thus to the crowd
That gazed and shouted from the shore,
All down the river, long and loud.

Ursula. We shall behold our child once more;
She is not dead! She is not dead!
God, listening, must have overheard

The prayers, that, without sound or word,
Our hearts in secresy have said!

Oh, bring me to her; for mine eyes
Are hungry to behold her face:

My very soul within me cries:

My very hands seem to caress her,

To see her, gaze at her, and bless her;

Dear Elsie, child of God and grace!

(Goes out toward the Garden.)

Forester. There goes the good woman out of her head
And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here;

A very capacious flagon of beer,

And a very portentous loaf of bread,

One would say his grief did not much oppress him.
Here's to the health of the Prince, God bless him!
(He drinks.)

Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet!

And what a scene there, through the door!
The forest behind and the garden before,

And midway an old man of threescore,

With a wife and children that caress him.
Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it
With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet!
(Goes out blowing his horn.)

The Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine. PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE standing on the terrace at evening. The sound of bells heard from a distance.

Prince Henry. We are alone. The wedding guests

Ride down the hill, with plumes and cloaks,

And the descending dark invests

The Niederwald, and all the nests
Among its hoar and haunted oaks.

Elsie. What bells are those, that ring so slow,

So mellow, musical, and low?

Prince Henry. They are the bells of Geisenheim,

That with their melancholy chime

Ring out the curfew of the sun.

Elsie. Listen, beloved.

Prince Henry.

They are done!

Dear Elsie! many years ago

Those same soft bells at eventide
Rang in the ears of Charlemagne,
As, seated by Fastrada's side
At Ingelheim, in all his pride,

He heard their sound with secret pain.
Elsie. Their voices only speak to me

Of peace and deep tranquillity,

And endless confidence in thee!

Prince Henry. Thou knowest the story of her ring: How, when the Court went back to Aix,

Fastrada died; and how the King

Sat watching by her night and day,
Till into one of the blue lakes,

Which water that delicious land,

They cast the ring, drawn from her hand;

And the great monarch sat serene,
And sat beside the fated shore,

Nor left the land for evermore.

Elsie. That was true love.

Prince Henry.

For him the queen

Ne'er did what thou hast done for me.

Elsie. Wilt thou as fond and faithful be?

Wilt thou so love me after death?

Prince Henry. In life's delight, in death's dismay,
In storm and sunshine, night and day,
In health, in sickness, in decay,
Here and hereafter, I am thine!
Thou hast Fastrada's ring. Beneath
The calm blue waters of thine eyes,

Deep in thy steadfast soul it lies,

And, undisturbed by this world's breath,
With magic light its jewels shine!
This golden ring, which thou hast worn
Upon thy finger since the morn,
Is but a symbol and a semblance,
An outward fashion, a remembrance
Of what thou wearest within unseen,
O my Fastrada! O my queen!
Behold! the hill-tops all aglow
With purple and with amethyst;
While the old valley deep below
Is filled, and seems to overflow,
With a fast-rising tide of mist.
The evening air grows damp and chill;
Let us go in.

Elsie.

Ah, not so soon.
See yonder fire! It is the moon
Slow rising o'er the eastern hill.

It glimmers on the forest tips,

And through the dewy foliage drips
In little rivulets of light,

And makes the heart in love with night.

Prince Henry. Oft on this terrace, when the day
Was closing, have I stood and gazed,
And seen the landscape fade away,
And the white vapours 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.
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,
A sheeted spectre, white and tall,
The cold mist climbs the castle wall,
And lays his hand upon thy cheek!
(They go in.)

EPILOGUE.

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,

And leap, with naked, snow-white feet,
From the cool hills into the heat,

Of the broad, arid plain."

God sent his messenger of faith,

And whispered in the maiden's heart,

"Rise up, and look from where thou art,

And scatter with unselfish hands

Thy freshness on the barren sands

And solitudes of Death."

O beauty of holiness,

Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness!

O power of meekness,

Whose very gentleness and weakness

Are like the yielding, but irresistible air!

Upon the pages

Of the sealed volume that I bear,

The deed divine

Is written in characters of gold

That never shall grow old,

But through all ages

Burn and shine

With soft effulgence!

O God! it is thy indulgence

That fills the world with the bliss

Of a good deed like this.

The Angel of Evil Deeds (with open book).

Not yet, not yet

Is the red sun wholly set,

But evermore recedes,

While open still I bear

The Book of Evil Deeds,

To let the breathings of the upper air

Visit its pages and erase

The records from its face!
Fainter and fainter as I gaze
In the broad blaze

The glimmering landscape shines,
And below me the black river

Is hidden by wreaths of vapour!
Fainter and fainter the black lines

Begin to quiver

Along the whitening surface of the paper;

Shade after shade

The terrible words grow faint and fade,

And in their place

Runs a white space!

Down goes the sun!

But the soul of one,

Who by repentance

Has escaped the dreadful sentence,

Shines bright below me as I look.

It is the end!

With closed Book

To God do I ascend.

Lo! over the mountain steeps

A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps

Beneath my feet;

A blackness inwardly brightening

With sullen heat,

As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning,

And a cry of lamentation,

Repeated and again repeated

Deep and loud

As the reverberation

Of cloud answering unto cloud,

Swells and rolls away in the distance,

As if the sheeted

Lightning retreated,

Baffled and thwarted by the wind's resistance.