BOYS.

Set down the litter and draw near!

The King of Bethlehem is here!
What ails the child, who seems to fear
That we shall do him harm?

THE BEARERS.

He climbed up to the robin's nest,
And out there darted, from his rest,
A serpent with a crimson crest,

And stung him in the arm.

JESUS.

Bring him to me, and let me feel

The wounded place; my touch can heal
The sting of serpents, and can steal
The poison from the bite!

He touches the wound, and the boy begins to cry.

Cease to lament! I can foresee

That thou hereafter known shalt be,

Among the men who follow me,

As Simon the Canaanite!

In the after part of the day

EPILOGUE.

Will be represented another play,
Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord,
Beginning directly after Nones!
At the close of which we shall accord,
By way of benison and reward,
The sight of a holy Martyr's bones!

IV.

THE ROAD TO HIRSCHAU.

PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE, with their attendants, on

horseback.

ELSIE.

ONWARD and onward the highway runs to the distant city, impatiently bearing

Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of hate, of doing and daring!

PRINCE HENRY.

This life of ours is a wild æolian harp of many a joyous strain, But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, as of souls

in pain.

ELSIE.

Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart that aches and bleeds with the stigma

Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can comprehend its dark enigma.

PRINCE HENRY.

Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure with little care of what may betide;

Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon that rides by an angel's side?

ELSIE.

All the hedges are white with dust, and the great dog under the creaking wain

Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the horses toil and strain.

PRINCE HENRY.

Now they stop at the way-side inn, and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter,

While out of the dripping trough the horses distend their leathern sides with water.

ELSIE.

All through life there are way-side inns, where man may refresh his soul with love;

Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed by springs from above.

PRINCE HENRY.

Yonder, where rises the cross of stone, our journey along the highway ends,

And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the broad green valley descends.

ELSIE.

I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten road with its dust and

heat;

The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer under our horses' feet.

They turn down a green lane.

ELSIE.

Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for miles below

Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, as if just covered with lightest snow.

PRINCE HENRY.

Over our heads a white cascade is gleaming against the distant

hill;

We cannot hear it, nor see it move, but it hangs like a banner when winds are still.

ELSIE.

Damp and cool is this deep ravine, and cool the sound of the brook by our side!

What is this castle that rises above us, and lords it over a land

so wide?

PRINCE HENRY.

It is the home of the Counts of Calva; well have I known these

scenes or old,

Well I remember each tower and turret, remember the brooklet, the wood, and the wold.

ELSIE.

Hark! from the little village below us the bells of the church are ringing for rain!

Priests and peasants in long procession come forth and kneel on the arid plain.

PRINCE HENRY.

They have not long to wait, for I see in the south uprising a little cloud,

That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky above us as with a shroud.

They pass on.

THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE BLACK

FOREST.

The Convent cellar. FRIAR CLAUS comes in with a light and a basket of empty flagons.

FRIAR CLAUS.

I ALWAYS enter this sacred place

With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace,

Pausing long enough on each stair

To breathe an ejaculatory prayer,

And a benediction on the vines

That produce these various sorts of wines!

For my part, I am well content

That we have got through with the tedious Lent!

Fasting is all very well for those

Who have to contend with invisible foes;

But I am quite sure it does not agree
With a quiet, peaceable man like me,

Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind
That are always distressed in body and mind!
And at times it really does me good
To come down among this brotherhood,
Dwelling for ever under ground,

Silent, contemplative, round and sound;
Each one old, and brown with mould,
But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth,
With the latent power and love of truth,
And with virtues fervent and manifold.

I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide,
When buds are swelling on every side,
And the sap begins to move in the vine,
Then in all the cellars, far and wide,
The oldest, as well as the newest, wine
Begins to stir itself, and ferment,
With a kind of revolt and discontent
At being so long in darkness pent,
And fain would burst from its sombre tun
To bask on the hill-side in the sun;
As in the bosom of us poor friars,
The tumult of half-subdued desires
For the world that we have left behind
Disturbs at times all peace of mind!
And now that we have lived through Lent,
My duty it is, as often before,

То open awhile the prison-door,
And give these restless spirits vent.

Now here is a cask that stands alone,
And has stood a hundred years or more,
Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar,
Trailing and sweeping along the floor,
Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave,
Longfellow. II.

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