As if the feet of a descending God

Upon its surface trod,

And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel!

This, O brave physician! this

Is thy great Palingenesis!

PRINCE HENRY, sinking back.

O thou voice within my breast!
Why entreat me, why upbraid me,
When the steadfast tongues of truth

And the flattering hopes of youth

Have all deceived me and betrayed me?

Give me, give me rest, O, rest!

Golden visions wave and hover,

Golden vapours, waters streaming,

Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming!

I am like a happy lover

Who illumines life with dreaming!

Brave physician! Rare physician!

Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission!

Alas! alas!

His head falls on his book.

THE ANGEL, receding.

Like a vapour 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.

How sad the grand old castle looks!

O'erhead, the unmolested rooks

Upon the turret's windy top

Sit, talking of the farmer's crop ;

Here in the court-yard springs the grass,
So few are now the feet that pass;

The stately peacocks, bolder grown,

Come hopping down the steps of stone,

As if the castle were their own;
And I, the poor old seneschal,

Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall.
Alas! the merry guests no more
Crowd through the hospitable door;
No eyes with youth and passion shine,
No cheeks grow redder than the wine;
No song, no laugh, no jovial din
Of drinking wassail to the pin;

But all is silent, sad, and drear,

And now the only sounds I hear
Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls,
And horses stamping in their stalls!

A horn sounds.

What ho! that merry, sudden blast
Reminds me of the days long past!
And, as of old resounding, grate
The heavy hinges of the gate,

And, clattering loud, with iron clank,

Down goes the sounding bridge of plank,

As if it were in haste to greet

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!

Is it you, Hubert?

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;
And you have been absent many a year!

WALTER.

How is the Prince?

HUBERT.

He is not here;

He has been ill: and now has fled.

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.