I come again to the name of the Lord! That is spoken so lightly among men, Thus have I laboured on and on, It has a very awful look, As it stands there at the end of the book, Ah me! when I think of that vision divine, I stand in awe of the terrible curse, Like the trump of doom, in the closing verse. Take aught from the book of that Prophecy, This is well written, though I say it! Would not bear away the palm from mine, There, now, is an initial letter! Saint Ulric himself never made a better! God forgive me! I seem to feel Into my heart, and into my brain, Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. As something I have done for thee! [He looks from the window.] How sweet the air is! How fair the scene! To paint my landscapes and my leaves! I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast, [He makes a sketch.] I can see no more. Through the valley yonder The Devil's own and only prayer! And try to see that face once more; It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint, Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. [Goes out.] The Cloisters. The ABBOT ERNESTUS pacing to and fro. Abbot. Slowly, slowly up the wall Steals the sunshine, steals the shade; Evening damps begin to fall, Wheel the swallows home in crowds. Paint the dusky windows red; Are but sunbeams lifted higher. Enter PRINCE HENRY. Prince Henry. Christ is arisen! Abbot. His peace be with you! Prince Henry. Amen! he is arisen! Here it reigns for ever. The peace of God that passeth understanding, Prince Henry. And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, Who crave your hospitality to-night. Abbot. You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. You do us honour; and we shall requite it, I fear, but poorly, entertaining you With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine, The remnants of our Easter holidays. Prince Henry. How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau? Are all things well with them? Abbot. All things are well. Prince Henry. A noble convent! I have known it long By the report of travellers. I now see Their commendations lag behind the truth. Along its bed, is like an admonition How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample, Rests on your convent. God's benediction By our charities Abbot. We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, As our best legacy on earth, the poor! These we have always with us; had we not, Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones. Prince Henry. If I remember right, the Counts of Calva Founded your convent. Abbot. Even as you say. Prince Henry. And, if I err not, it is very old. Prince Henry. Which bears the brass escutcheon? Abbot. And whose tomb is that A benefactor's, Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood Godfather to our bells. Prince Henry. Learned and holy men. Your monks are learned There are among them We need another Hildebrand, to shake The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder The thought of my shortcomings in this life Prince Henry. We must all die, and not the old alone; Abbot. Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must! That is the difference. Prince Henry. I have heard much laud Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium Is famous among all, your manuscripts Praised for their beauty and their excellence. Abbot. That is indeed our boast. If you desire it, You shall behold these treasures. Shall the Refectorarius bestow And meanwhile Your horses and attendants for the night. [They go in. The Vesper-bell rings.] The Chapel. Vespers; after which the monks retire, a chorister leading an old monk who is blind. Prince Henry. They are all gone, save one who lingers, Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. As if his heart could find no rest, The deadliest foe of all our race, And hateful unto me and mine! The Blind Monk. Who is it that doth stand so near, His whispered words I almost hear? Prince Henry. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine! I know you, and I see the scar, The brand upon your forehead, shine The Blind Monk. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck Of what I was. O Hoheneck! |