Ursula. Virgin! who lovest the poor and lowly,
If the loud cry of a mother's heart

Can ever ascend to where thou art,
Into thy blessed hands and holy

Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving!
Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it
Into the awful presence of God;

For thy feet with holiness are shod,
And if thou bearest it He will hear it.
Our child who was dead, again is living.
Forester, I did not tell you she was dead;
If you thought so 'twas no fault of mine;
At this very moment, while I speak,
They are sailing homeward down the Rhine,
In a splendid barge, with golden prow,
And decked with banners white and red
As the colours on your daughter's cheek.
They call her the Lady Alicia now;
For the Prince in Salerno made a vow
That Elsie only would he wed.

Ursula. Jesu Maria! what a change!
All seems to me so weird and strange!
Forester. I saw her standing on the deck,
Beneath an awning cool and shady;
Her cap of velvet could not hold

The tresses of her hair of gold,

That flowed and floated like the stream,

And fell in masses down her reck.

As fair and lovely did she seem

As in a story or a dream

Some beautiful and foreign lady.

And the Prince looked so grand and proud,

And waved his hand thus to the crowd

That gazed and shouted from the shore,

All down the river, long and loud.

Ursula. We shall behold our child once more;

She is not dead! She is not dead!

God, listening, must have overheard

The prayers, that, without sound or word,
Our hearts in secrecy have said!
O, bring me to her; for mine eyes
Are hungry to behold her face;
My very soul within me cries;
My very hands seem to caress her,
To see her, gaze at her, and bless her;
Dear Elsie, child of God and grace!

[Goes out towards the garden.]

Forester. There goes the good woman out of her head; And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here;

A very capacious flagon of beer,

And a very portentous loaf of bread.

One would say his grief did not much oppress him.
Here's to the health of the Prince, God bless him.

[He drinks.]

Ha! it buzzes and stings like a hornet!
And what a scene there, through the door.
The forest behind and the garden before,
And midway an old man of threescore,
With a wife and children that caress him.
Let me try still further to cheer and adorn it
With a merry, echoing blast of my cornet!

[Goes out blowing his horn.]

The Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine. PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE standing on the terrace at evening. The sound of bells heard from a distance.

Prince Henry. We are alone. The wedding guests
Ride down the hill with plumes and cloaks,

And the descending dark invests

The Niederwald, and all the nests

Among its hoar and haunted oaks.

Elsie. What bells are those, that ring so slow,

So mellow, musical, and low?

Prince Henry. They are the bells of Geisenheim,
That with their melancholy chime

Ring out the curfew of the sun.

Elsie. Listen, beloved.

Prince Henry.

They are done!

Dear Elsie! many years ago

Those same soft bells at eventide

Rang in the ears of Charlemagne,

As, seated by Fastrada's side

At Ingelheim, in all his pride,

He heard their sound with secret pain.
Elsie. Their voices only speak to me

Of peace and deep tranquillity,

And endless confidence in thee!

Prince Henry. Thou knowest the story of her ring,

How, when the court went back to Aix,

Fastrada died; and how the king

Sat watching by her night and day,

Till into one of the blue lakes,

Which water that delicious land,

They cast the ring, drawn from her hand;

And the great monarch sat serene

And sad beside the fated shore,

Nor left the land for evermore.

Elsie. That was true love.

Prince Henry.

For him the queen

Ne'er did what thou hast done for me.

Elsie. Wilt thou as fond and faithful be ?

Wilt thou so love me after death?

Prince Henry. In life's delight, in death's dismay

In storm and sunshine, night and day,
In health, in sickness, in decay,

Here and hereafter, I am thine!
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-tops 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 vapours 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,