ANGEL. Woe! woe! eternal woe! Not only the whispered prayer But the imprecations of hate, For ever and ever through the air This fearful curse Shakes the great universe! Drink! drink! LUCIFER, disappearing. And thy soul shall sink Down into the dark abyss, Into the infinite abyss, From which no plummet nor rope Ever drew up the silver sand of hope! PRINCE HENRY, drinking. It is like a draught of fire! Through every vein I feel again The fever of youth, the soft desire; Throbs in my heart and fills my brain! It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air has been taken! It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken! It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow! It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow! With fiendish laughter, Hereafter, This false physician Will mock thee in thy perdition. Speak! speak! Who says that I am ill? PRINCE HENRY. I am not ill! I am not weak! The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er! At length, I stand renewed in all my strength! The great earth stagger and reel, Upon its surface trod, And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel! This, O brave physician! this Is thy great Palingenesis! Drinks again. THE ANGEL. Touch the goblet no more! Its perfume is the breath And the light that within it lies For sickness, sorrow, and care PRINCE HENRY, sinking back. O thou voice within my breast! Why entreat me, why upbraid me, When the steadfast tongues of truth Who illumines life with dreaming! Alas! alas! His head falls on his book. THE ANGEL, receding. Like a vapor the golden vision Shall fade and pass, And thou wilt find in thy heart again Only the blight of pain, And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition! COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE. HUBERT standing by the gateway. HUBERT. How sad the grand old castle looks! O'erhead, the unmolested rooks Upon the turret's windy top And I, the poor old seneschal, Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. What ho! that merry, sudden blast The pressure of a traveller's feet! Enter WALTER the Minnesinger. WALTER. How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely! No banner flying from the walls, No pages and no seneschals, No warders, and one porter only! HUBERT. Ah! Master Walter! WALTER. Alas! how forms and faces alter! I did not know you. You look older! Your hair has grown much grayer and thinner, And you stoop a little in the shoulder! HUBERT. Alack! I am a poor old sinner, And, like these towers, begin to moulder; have been absent many a year! And you How is the Prince? WALTER. HUBERT. He is not here; He has been ill: and now has filed. WALTER. Speak it out frankly: say he's dead! Is it not so? HUBERT. No; if you please; A strange, mysterious disease Fell on him with a sudden blight. Whole hours together he would stand In the Round Tower, night after night, We hardly recognized his sweet looks! Poor Prince! WALTER. HUBERT. I think he might have mended; And he did mend; but very soon The Priests came flocking in, like rooks, |