"These are the three great chords of might, SUSPIRIA. TAKE them, O Death! and bear away HYMN FOR MY BROTHER'S ORDINATION. CHRIST to the young man said: "Yet one thing more: Sell all thou hast and give it to the poor, Within this temple Christ again, unseen, And his invisible hands to-day have been And evermore beside him on his way Beside him at the marriage feast shall be, Beside him in the dark Gethsemane O holy trust! O endless sense of rest: To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, The Golden Legend. THE old Legenda Aurea, or Golden Legend, was originally written in Latin, ir the thirteenth century, by Jacobus de Voragine, a Dominican friar, who after wards became Archbishop of Genoa, and died in 1292. He called his book simply "Legends of the Saints." The epithet of Golden was given it by his admirers; for, as Wynkin de Worde says, Like as passeth But gold in value all other metals, so this Legend exceedeth all other books." Edward Leigh, in much distress of mind, calls it "a book written by a man of a leaden heart for the basenesse of the errours, that are without wit or reason, and of a brazen forehead, for his impudent boldnesse in reporting things so fabulous and incredible.' This work, the great text-book of the legendary lore of the Middle Ages, was translated into French in the fourteenth century by Jean de Vignay, and in the fifteenth into English by William Caxton. It has lately been made more accessible by a new French translation: La Légende Dorée, traduite du Latin, par M. G. B. Paris, 1850. There is a copy of the original, with the Gesta Longobardorum appended, in the Harvard College Library, Cambridge, printed at Strasburg, 1496. The title-page is wanting; and the volume begins with the Tabula Legendorum. I have called this poem the Golden Legend, because the story upon which it is founded seems to me to surpass all other legends in beauty and significance. It exhibits, amid the corruptions of the Middle Ages, the virtue of disinterestedness and self-sacrifice, and the power of Faith, Hope, and Charity, sufficient for all the exigencies of life and death. The story is told, and perhaps invented, by Hartmann von der Aue, a Minnesinger of the twelfth century. The original may be found in Mailáth's Altdeutsche Gedichte, with a modern German version. There is another in Marbach's Volksbücher, No. 32. PROLOGUE. The Spire of Strasburg Cathedral. Night and Storm. LUCIFER, with the Powers of the Air, trying to tear down the Cross. Lucifer. Hasten! hasten! O ye spirits! From its station drag the ponderous Cross of iron, that to mock us Is uplifted high in air! Voices. Oh, we cannot! For around it All the saints and guardian angels The Bells. Laudo Deum verum! Plebem voco! Congrego clerum! Lucifer. Lower! lower! Hover downward! Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and Clashing, clanging to the pavement Hurl them from their windy tower! Voices. All thy thunders Here are harmless! For these bells have been anointed," The Bells. Festa decoro! Lucifer. Shake the casements! Break the painted Panes, that flame with gold and crimson: Voices. Oh, we cannot! The Archangel Michael flames from every window, With the sword of fire that drove us Headlong, out of heaven, aghast! Massive, iron-studded portals! Sack the house of God, and scatter Wide the ashes of the dead! Voices. Oh, we cannot! The Apostles And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, Stand as sentinels o'erhead! The Bells. Excito lentos! Dissipo ventos! Paco cruentos! Lucifer. Baffled! baffled! Inefficient, Craven spirits! leave this labour Voices. Onward! onward! With the night-wind, Over field and farm and forest, Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, (They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant.) Choir, Nocte surgentes Vigilemus omnes! I. The Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine. A chamber in a tower. PRINCE HENRY, sitting alone, ill and restless. Midnight. Prince Henry. I cannot sleep! my fervid brain A breath from that far-distant shore To stony channels in the sun! Come back! ye friends, whose lives are ended, Come back, with all that light attended, Which seemed to darken and decay When ye arose and went away! They come, the shapes of joy and woe, The dreams and fancies known of yore, They make the dark and dreary hours The rest we cannot reinstate; Rest! rest! Oh, give me rest and peace! (A flash of lightning, out of which LUCIFER appears, in the garb travelling Physician.) Lucifer. All hail, Prince Henry! Prince Henry (starting). Who and what are you? Lucifer. Who is it speaks? One who seeks A moment's audience with the Prince. A moment since. I found your study door unlocked, You heard the thunder, Your Highness. You behold in me Only a travelling physician; One of the few who have a mission To cure incurable diseases, Or those that are called so. Prince Henry. The dead to life? Lucifer. Can you bring Yes; very nearly. The storm, that against your casement drives, |