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-trips all aglow With purple and with amethyst;While the whole 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 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.
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 vapor!
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 hath 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.
It is Lucifer, The son of mystery;
And since God suffers him to be, He, too, is God's minister.
And labors for some good By us not understood!
SECOND INTERLUDE
MARTIN LUTHER
A CHAMBER IN THE WARTBURG.MORNING.MARTIN LUTHER WRITING.
MARTIN LUTHER.
Our God, a Tower of Strength is He, A goodly wall and weapon;From all our need He helps us free, That now to us doth happen.
The old evil foe Doth in earnest grow, In grim armor dight, Much guile and great might;On earth there is none like him.
Oh yes; a tower of strength indeed, A present help in all our need, A sword and buckler is our God.
Innocent men have walked unshod O'er burning ploughshares, and have trod Unharmed on serpents in their path, And laughed to scorn the Devil's wrath!
Safe in this Wartburg tower I stand Where God hath led me by the hand, And look down, with a heart at ease, Over the pleasant neighborhoods, Over the vast Thuringian Woods, With flash of river, and gloom of trees, With castles crowning the dizzy heights, And farms and pastoral delights, And the morning pouring everywhere Its golden glory on the air.
Safe, yes, safe am I here at last, Safe from the overwhelming blast Of the mouths of Hell, that followed me fast, And the howling demons of despair That hunted me like a beast to his lair.
Of our own might we nothing can;
We soon are unprotected:
There fighteth for us the right Man, Whom God himself elected.
Who is He; ye exclaim?
Christus is his name, Lord of Sabaoth, Very God in troth;The field He holds forever.
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!
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 Prophet's 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.