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(From The Golden Legend)
PRINCE HENRY GOD’S blessing on the architects who build | |
| The bridges o’er swift rivers and abysses | |
| Before impassable to human feet, | |
| No less than on the builders of cathedrals, | |
| Whose massive walls are bridges thrown across | 5 |
| The dark and terrible abyss of Death. | |
| Well has the name of Pontifex been given | |
| Unto the Church’s head, as the chief builder | |
| And architect of the invisible bridge | |
That leads from earth to heaven.
ELSIE How dark it grows! | 10 |
| What are these paintings on the walls around us? | |
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PRINCE HENRY The Dance Macaber!
ELSIE What?
PRINCE HENRY The Dance of Death! | |
| All that go to and fro must look upon it, | |
| Mindful of what they shall be, while beneath, | |
| Among the wooden piles, the turbulent river | 15 |
| Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, | |
| With dimpling eddies, ever green and bright, | |
| Save where the shadow of this bridge falls on it. | |
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ELSIE O, yes! I see it now!
PRINCE HENRY The grim musician | |
| Leads all men through the mazes of that dance, | 20 |
| To different sounds in different measures moving; | |
| Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum, | |
To tempt or terrify.
ELSIE What is this picture? | |
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PRINCE HENRY It is a young man singing to a nun, | |
| Who kneels at her devotions, but in kneeling | 25 |
| Turns round to look at him; and Death, meanwhile, | |
| Is putting out the candles on the altar! | |
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ELSIE Ah, what a pity ’t is that she should listen | |
| Unto such songs, when in her orisons | |
| She might have heard in heaven the angels singing! | 30 |
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PRINCE HENRY Here he has stolen a jester’s cap and bells, | |
And dances with the Queen.
ELSIE A foolish jest! | |
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PRINCE HENRY And here the heart of the new-wedded wife, | |
| Coming from church with her beloved lord, | |
| He startles with the rattle of his drum. | 35 |
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ELSIE Ah, that is sad! And yet perhaps ’t is best | |
| That she should die, with all the sunshine on her, | |
| And all the benedictions of the morning, | |
| Before this affluence of golden light | |
| Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray, | 40 |
Then into darkness!
PRINCE HENRY Under it is written, | |
| “Nothing but death shall separate thee and me!” | |
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ELSIE And what is this, that follows close upon it? | |
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PRINCE HENRY Death, playing on a dulcimer. Behind him, | |
| A poor old woman, with a rosary, | 45 |
| Follows the sound, and seems to wish her feet | |
| Were swifter to o’ertake him. Underneath, | |
| The inscription reads, “Better is Death than Life.” | |
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ELSIE Better is Death than Life! Ah yes! to thousands | |
| Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings | 50 |
| That song of consolation, till the air | |
| Rings with it, and they cannot choose but follow | |
| Whither he leads. And not the old alone, | |
| But the young also hear it, and are still. | |
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PRINCE HENRY Yes, in their sadder moments. ’T is the sound | 55 |
| Of their own hearts they hear, half full of tears, | |
| Which are like crystal cups, half filled with water, | |
| Responding to the pressure of a finger | |
| With music sweet and low and melancholy. | |
| Let us go forward, and no longer stay | 60 |
| In this great picture-gallery of Death! | |
| I hate it! ay, the very thought of it! | |
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ELSIE Why is it hateful to you?
PRINCE HENRY For the reason | |
| That life, and all that speaks of life, is lovely, | |
| And death, and all that speaks of death, is hateful. | 65 |
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ELSIE The grave itself is but a covered bridge, | |
| Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness! | |
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PRINCE HENRY, emerging from the bridge. I breathe again more freely! Ah, how pleasant | |
| To come once more into the light of day, | |
| Out of that shadow of death! To hear again | 70 |
| The hoof-beats of our horses on firm ground, | |
| And not upon those hollow planks, resounding | |
| With a sepulchral echo, like the clods | |
| On coffins in a churchyard! Yonder lies | |
| The Lake of the Four Forest-towns, apparelled | 75 |
| In light, and lingering, like a village maiden, | |
| Hid in the bosom of her native mountains, | |
| Then pouring all her life into another’s, | |
| Changing her name and being! Overhead, | |
| Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air, | 80 |
| Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. | |
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