They will beg a shelter for the night. And try to see that face once more; It will do for the face of some beautiful Saint, Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. Goes out. THE CLOISTERS. The ABBOT ERNESTUS pacing to and fro. SLOWLY, slowly up the wall ABBOT. Steals the sunshine, steals the shade; Wheel the swallows home in crowds. Paint the dusky windows red; Christ is arisen! Enter PRINCE HENRY. PRINCE HENRY. ABBOT. Amen! he is arisen! His peace be with you! PRINCE HENRY. Here it reigns for ever! The peace of God, that passeth understanding, I am. ABBOT. PRINCE HENRY. And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck, Who crave your hospitality to-night. ABBOT. You are thrice welcome to our humble walls. I fear, but poorly, entertaining you With Paschal eggs, and our poor convent wine, PRINCE HENRY. How fares it with the holy monks of Hirschau? ABBOT. All things are well. PRINCE HENRY. A noble convent! I have known it long How all things pass. Your lands are rich and ample, ABBOT. By our charities We strive to merit it. Our Lord and Master, These we have always with us; had we not, Our hearts would grow as hard as are these stones. PRINCE HENRY. If I remember right, the Counts of Calva Founded your convent. ABBOT.. Even as you say. PRINCE HENRY. And, if I err not, it is very old. АВВОТ. Within these cloisters lie already buried PRINCE HENRY. And whose tomb is that, Which bears the brass escutcheon? ABBOT. A benefactor's. Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood Godfather to our bells. And holy men, I trust. Learned and holy men. PRINCE HENRY. ABBOT. There are among them And purify us like a mighty wind. The world is wicked, and sometimes I wonder And shatter it like glass! Even here, at times, PRINCE HENRY. We must all die, and not the old alone; АВВОТ. Ah, yes! the young may die, but the old must! That is the difference. PRINCE HENRY. I have heard much laud Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium ABBOT. That is indeed our boast. If you desire it, Your horses and attendants for the night. They go in. The Vesper-bell rings. THE CHAPEL. Vespers; after which the monks retire, a chorister leading an old monk who is blind. PRINCE HENRY. THEY are all gone, save one who lingers, Absorbed in deep and silent prayer. As if his heart could find no rest, THE BLIND MONK. Who is it that doth stand so near PRINCE HENRY. I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, THE BLIND MONK. Count Hugo once, but now the wreck The passionate will, the pride, the wrath |