text:  Vain-glory doth thy soul betray-- Begone--thy conquest is thy loss: No breast too haughty to obey Is worthy of the Christian's cross!" From their cold awe the crowds awaken As with some storm the halls are shaken; The noble brethren plead for grace-- Mute stands the doom'd with downward face; And mutely loosen'd from its band The badge and kiss'd the Master's hand And meekly turn'd him to depart: A moist eye follow'd "To my heart Come back my son!"--the Master cries: "Thy grace a harder fight obtains; When Valour risks the Christian's prize Lo how Humility regains!" [In the ballad just presented to the reader Schiller designed as he wrote to Goethe to depict the old Christian chivalry--half-knightly half-monastic