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URSULA spinning. A summer afternoon. A table spread.
URSULA. I HAVE marked it well,—it must be true,— | |
| Death never takes one alone, but two! | |
| Whenever he enters in at a door, | |
| Under roof of gold or roof of thatch, | |
| He always leaves it upon the latch, | 5 |
| And comes again ere the year is o’er. | |
| Never one of a household only! | |
| Perhaps it is a mercy of God, | |
| Lest the dead there under the sod, | |
| In the land of strangers, should be lonely! | 10 |
| Ah me! I think I am lonelier here! | |
| It is hard to go,—but harder to stay! | |
| Were it not for the children, I should pray | |
| That Death would take me within the year! | |
| And Gottlieb!—he is at work all day, | 15 |
| In the sunny field, or the forest murk, | |
| But I know that his thoughts are far away, | |
| I know that his heart is not in his work! | |
| And when he comes home to me at night | |
| He is not cheery, but sits and sighs, | 20 |
| And I see the great tears in his eyes, | |
| And try to be cheerful for his sake. | |
| Only the children’s hearts are light. | |
| Mine is weary, and ready to break. | |
| God help us! I hope we have done right; | 25 |
| We thought we were acting for the best! Looking through the open door. | |
| Who is it coming under the trees? | |
| A man, in the Prince’s livery dressed! | |
| He looks about him with doubtful face, | |
| As if uncertain of the place. | 30 |
| He stops at the beehives;—now he sees | |
| The garden gate;—he is going past! | |
| Can he be afraid of the bees? | |
| No; he is coming in at last! | |
| He fills my heart with strange alarm! Enter a Forester. | 35 |
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FORESTER. Is this the tenant Gottlieb’s farm? | |
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URSULA. This is his farm, and I his wife. | |
| Pray sit. What may your business be! | |
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FORESTER. News from the Prince!
URSULA. Of death or life? | |
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FORESTER. You put your questions eagerly! | 40 |
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URSULA. Answer me, then! How is the Prince? | |
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FORESTER. I left him only two hours since | |
| Homeward returning down the river, | |
| As strong and well as if God, the Giver, | |
| Had given him back his youth again. | 45 |
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URSULA, despairing. Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead! | |
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FORESTER. That, my good woman, I have not said. | |
| Don’t cross the bridge till you come to it, | |
| Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit. | |
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URSULA. Keep me no longer in this pain! | 50 |
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FORESTER. It is true your daughter is no more;— | |
| That is, the peasant she was before. | |
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URSULA. Alas! I am simple and lowly bred, | |
| I am poor, distracted, and forlorn. | |
| And it is not well that you of the court | 55 |
| Should mock me thus, and make a sport | |
| Of a joyless mother whose child is dead, | |
| For you, too, were of mother born! | |
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FORESTER. Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well! | |
| You will learn erelong how it all befell. | 60 |
| Her heart for a moment never failed; | |
| But when they reached Salerno’s gate, | |
| The Prince’s nobler self prevailed, | |
| And saved her for a noble fate. | |
| And he was healed, in his despair, | 65 |
| By the touch of St. Matthew’s sacred bones; | |
| Though I think the long ride in the open air, | |
| That pilgrimage over stocks and stones, | |
| In the miracle must come in for a share! | |
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URSULA. Virgin! who lovest the poor and lowly, | 70 |
| 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 thanks-giving! | |
| Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it | 75 |
| 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! | |
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FORESTER. I did not tell you she was dead; | 80 |
| If you thought so ’t was 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 | 85 |
| As the colors 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. | |
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URSULA. Jesu Maria! what a change! | 90 |
| All seems to me so weird and strange! | |
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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, | 95 |
| That flowed and floated like the stream, | |
| And fell in masses down her neck. | |
| As fair and lovely did she seem | |
| As in a story or a dream | |
| Some beautiful and foreign lady. | 100 |
| 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. | |
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URSULA. We shall behold our child once more; | 105 |
| 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! | |
| Oh, bring me to her; for mine eyes | 110 |
| 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 toward the garden. | 115 |
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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. | 120 |
| 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, | 125 |
| 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. | |
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