Baby Jesus , who dost lie Far above that stormy sky , In Thy mother 's pure caress , Stoop and save the motherless . Happy birds ! whom Jesus leaves Underneath His sheltering eaves ; There they go to play and sleep , May not I go in to weep ? All without is mean and small , All within is vast and tall ; All without is harsh and shrill , All within is hushed and still . Jesus , let me enter in , Wrap me safe from noise and sin . Let me list the angels ’ songs , See the picture of Thy wrongs ; Let me kiss Thy wounded feet , Drink Thine incense , faint and sweet , While the clear bells call Thee down From Thine everlasting throne . At thy door-step low I bend , Who have neither kin nor friend ; Let me here a shelter find , Shield the shorn lamb from the wind . Jesu , Lord , my heart will break : Save me for Thy great love 's sake ! Go ! you despise me like the rest . Hush now , I 've heard all , nurse , A thousand times . I am most friendless . The Landgravine and Agnes — you may see them Begrudge the food I eat , and call me friend Of knaves and serving-maids ; the burly knights Freeze me with cold blue eyes : no saucy page But points and whispers , ‘ There goes our pet nun ; Would but her saintship leave her gold behind , We 'd give herself her furlough . ’ Save me ! save me ! All here are ghastly dreams ; dead masks of stone , And you and I , and Guta , only live : Your eyes alone have souls . I shall go mad ! Oh that they would but leave me all alone To teach poor girls , and work within my chamber , With mine own thoughts , and all the gentle angels Which glance about my dreams at morning-tide ! Then I should be as happy as the birds Which sing at my bower window . Once I longed To be beloved ,— now would they but forget me ! Most vile I must be , or they could not hate me ! But , Lewis , nurse ? If I love him ? What is this love ? Why , is he not my brother And I his sister ? Till these weary wars , The one of us without the other never Did weep or laugh : what is't should change us now ? You shake your head and smile . Alas ! here comes a knight across the court ; Oh , hide me , nurse ! What 's here ? this door is fast . How did my mother die , nurse ? But how ? Why turn away ? Too long I 've guessed at some dread mystery I may not hear : and in my restless dreams , Night after night , sweeps by a frantic rout Of grinning fiends , fierce horses , bodiless hands , Which clutch at one to whom my spirit yearns As to a mother . There 's some fearful tie Between me and that spirit-world , which God Brands with his terrors on my troubled mind . Speak ! tell me , nurse ! is she in heaven or hell ? But was she holy ?— Died she in the Lord ? Isen O God ! my child ! And if I told thee all , How couldst thou mend it ? Mend it ? O my Saviour ! I 'd die a saint ! Win heaven for her by prayers , and build great minsters , Chantries , and hospitals for her ; wipe out By mighty deeds our race 's guilt and shame — But thus , poor witless orphan ! Ah ! Count Walter ! you are too tall to kneel to little girls . To me ? Oh , peace , peace , peace ! I 'll go with him . Noble mother ! How could I flaunt this bauble in His face Who hung there , naked , bleeding , all for me — I felt it shamelessness to go so gay . And when will that be ? No , she speaks truth ! I should have been a nun . These are the wages of my cowardice ,— Too weak to face the world , too weak to leave it ! ‘ Twere but a moment 's work ,— To slip into the convent there below , And be at peace for ever . And you , my nurse ? Ah ! my brother ! No , I dare not — I dare not turn for ever from this hope , Though it be dwindled to a thread of mist . Oh that we two could flee and leave this Babel ! Oh if he were but some poor chapel-priest , In lonely mountain valleys far away ; And I his serving-maid , to work his vestments , And dress his scrap of food , and see him stand Before the altar like a rainbowed saint ; To take the blessed wafer from his hand , Confess my heart to him , and all night long Pray for him while he slept , or through the lattice Watch while he read , and see the holy thoughts Swell in his big deep eyes !— Alas ! that dream Is wilder than the one that 's fading even now ! Who 's here ? With me ? What 's this new terror ? Tell him I wait him . Isen Ah ! my old heart sinks — God send us rescue ! Here the champion comes . Tell him — tell him — God ! Have I grown mad , or a child , within the moment ? The earth has lost her gray sad hue , and blazes With her old life-light ; hark ! yon wind 's a song — Those clouds are angels ’ robes .— That fiery west Is paved with smiling faces .— I am a woman , And all things bid me love ! my dignity Is thus to cast my virgin pride away ; And find my strength in weakness .— Busy brain ! Thou keep'st pace with my heart ; old lore , old fancies , Buried for years , leap from their tombs , and proffer Their magic service to my new-born spirit . I 'll go — I am not mistress of myself — Send for him — bring him to me — he is mine ! I come ,Here , Guta , take those monks a fee — Tell them I thank them — bid them pray for me . I am half mazed with trembling joy within , And noisy wassail round . ‘ Tis well , for else The spectre of my duties and my dangers Would whelm my heart with terror . Ah ! poor self ! Thou took'st this for the term and bourne of troubles — And now ‘ tis here , thou findest it the gate Of new sin-cursed infinities of labour , Where thou must do , or die !Lead on . I 'll follow . No streak yet in the blank and eyeless east — More weary hours to ache , and smart , and shiver On these bare boards , within a step of bliss . Why peevish ? ‘ Tis mine own will keeps me here — And yet I hate myself for that same will : Fightings within and out ! How easy ‘ twere , now , Just to be like the rest , and let life run — To use up to the rind what joys God sends us , Not thus forestall His rod : What ! and so lose The strength which comes by suffering ? Well , if grief Be gain , mine 's double — fleeing thus the snare Of yon luxurious and unnerving down , And widowed from mine Eden . And why widowed ? Because they tell me , love is of the flesh , And that 's our house-bred foe , the adder in our bosoms , Which warmed to life , will sting us . They must know — I do confess mine ignorance , O Lord ! Mine earnest will these painful limbs may prove . . . . . . And yet I swore to love him .— So I do No more than I have sworn . Am I to blame If God makes wedlock that , which if it be not , It were a shame for modest lips to speak it , And silly doves are better mates than we ? And yet our love is Jesus ’ due ,— and all things Which share with Him divided empery Are snares and idols — ‘ To love , to cherish , and to obey ! ’ . . . . . O deadly riddle ! Rent and twofold life ! O cruel troth ! To keep thee or to break thee Alike seems sin ! O thou beloved tempter ,Who first didst teach me love , why on thyself From God divert thy lesson ? Wilt provoke Him ? What if mine heavenly Spouse in jealous ire Should smite mine earthly spouse ? Have I two husbands ? The words are horror — yet they are orthodox !How many many brows of happy lovers The fragrant lips of night even now are kissing ! Some wandering hand in hand through arched lanes ; Some listening for loved voices at the lattice ; Some steeped in dainty dreams of untried bliss ; Some nestling soft and deep in well-known arms , Whose touch makes sleep rich life . The very birds Within their nests are wooing ! So much love ! All seek their mates , or finding , rest in peace ; The earth seems one vast bride-bed . Doth God tempt us ? Is't all a veil to blind our eyes from him ? A fire-fly at the candle . ‘ Tis love leads him ; Love 's light , and light is love : O Eden ! Eden ! Eve was a virgin there , they say ; God knows . Must all this be as it had never been ? Is it all a fleeting type of higher love ? Why , if the lesson 's pure , is not the teacher Pure also ? Is it my shame to feel no shame ? Am I more clean , the more I scent uncleanness ? Shall base emotions picture Christ 's embrace ? Rest , rest , torn heart ! Yet where ? in earth or heaven ? Still , from out the bright abysses , gleams our Lady 's silver footstool , Still the light-world sleeps beyond her , though the night-clouds fleet below . Oh that I were walking , far above , upon that dappled pavement , Heaven 's floor , which is the ceiling of the dungeon where we lie . Ah , what blessed Saints might meet me , on that platform , sliding silent , Past us in its airy travels , angel-wafted , mystical ! They perhaps might tell me all things , opening up the secret fountains Which now struggle , dark and turbid , through their dreary prison clay . Love ! art thou an earth-born streamlet , that thou seek'st the lowest hollows ? Sure some vapours float up from thee , mingling with the highest blue . Spirit-love in spirit-bodies , melted into one existence — Joining praises through the ages — Is it all a minstrel 's dream ? Alas ! he wakes . Forgive ! ‘ twas I — my maidens — Not so , not so — They wept When I did bid them , as I bid thee now To think of nought but love . Beloved , thou hast heard how godly souls , In every age , have tamed the rebel flesh By such sharp lessons . I must tread their paths , If I would climb the mountains where they rest . Grief is the gate of bliss — why wedlock — knighthood — A mother 's joy — a hard-earned field of glory — By tribulation come — so doth God 's kingdom . What ! Am I not as gay a lady-love As ever clipt in arms a noble knight ? Am I not blithe as bird the live-long day ? It pleases me to bear what you call pain , Therefore to me ‘ tis pleasure : joy and grief Are the will 's creatures ; martyrs kiss the stake — The moorland colt enjoys the thorny furze — The dullest boor will seek a fight , and count His pleasure by his wounds ; you must forget , love , Eve 's curse lays suffering , as their natural lot , On womankind , till custom makes it light . I know the use of pain : bar not the leech Because his cure is bitter — ‘ Tis such medicine Which breeds that paltry strength , that weak devotion , For which you say you love me .— Ay , which brings Even when most sharp , a stern and awful joy As its attendant angel — I 'll say no more — Not even to thee — command , and I 'll obey thee . You would have loved me still ? I think , mine own , I am forgiven at last ? That 's a sweet song , and yet it does not chime With my heart 's inner voice . Where had you it , Guta ? Where then , Fool ? Far too well sung for such a saucy song . So go . Guta , there is sense in that knave 's ribaldry : We must not thus baptize our idleness , And call it resignation : Which is love ? To do God 's will , or merely suffer it ? I do not love that contemplative life : No ! I must headlong into seas of toil , Leap forth from self , and spend my soul on others . Oh ! contemplation palls upon the spirit , Like the chill silence of an autumn sun : While action , like the roaring south-west wind , Sweeps laden with elixirs , with rich draughts Quickening the wombed earth . Hast thou felt this ? Oh , happy Guta ! Mine eyes are dim — and what if I mistook For God 's own self , the phantoms of my brain ? And who am I , that my own will 's intent Should put me face to face with the living God ? I , thus thrust down from the still lakes of thought Upon a boiling crater-field of labour . No ! He must come to me , not I to Him ; If I see God , beloved , I must see Him In mine own self :— Why start , my sister ? God is revealed in the crucified : The crucified must be revealed in me :— I must put on His righteousness ; show forth His sorrow 's glory ; hunger , weep with Him ; Writhe with His stripes , and let this aching flesh Sink through His fiery baptism into death , That I may rise with Him , and in His likeness May ceaseless heal the sick , and soothe the sad , And give away like Him this flesh and blood To feed His lambs — ay — we must die with Him To sense — and love — I know it — so speak not of them . Oh ! that 's the flow , the chasm in all my longings , Which I have spanned with cobweb arguments , Yet yawns before me still , where'er I turn , To bar me from perfection ; had I given My virgin all to Christ ! I was not worthy ! I could not stand alone ! He comes ! my sun ! and every thrilling vein Proclaims my weakness . Oh , let us hear him ! We too need warning ; shame , if we let pass , Unentertained , God 's angels on their way . Send for him , brother . Now go , my ladies , both — Prepare fit lodgings ,— let your courtesies Retain in our poor courts the man of God . Now hear me , best beloved :— I have marked this man : And that which hath scared others , draws me towards him : He has the graces which I want ; his sternness I envy for its strength ; his fiery boldness I call the earnestness which dares not trifle With life 's huge stake ; his coldness but the calm Of one who long hath found , and keeps unwavering , Clear purpose still ; he hath the gift which speaks The deepest things most simply ; in his eye I dare be happy — weak I dare not be . With such a guide ,— to save this little heart — The burden of self-rule — Oh — half my work Were eased , and I could live for thee and thine , And take no thought of self . Oh , be not jealous , Mine own , mine idol ! For thy sake I ask it — I would but be a mate and help more meet For all thy knightly virtues . I ? beloved ! This load more ? Strengthen , Lord , the feeble knees ! Oh , kneel not — But grant my prayer — If we shall find this man , As well I know him , worthy , let him be Director of my conscience and my actions With all but thee — Within love 's inner shrine We shall be still alone — But joy ! here comes Our embassy , successful . Hail to your holiness . Bless us doubly , master , With holy doctrine , and with holy prayers . You shall be where you will — Do what you will ; unquestioned , unobserved , Enjoy , refrain ; silence and solitude , The better part which such like spirits choose , We will provide ; only be you our master , And we your servants , for a few short days : Oh , blessed days ! Then your prayers Shall drive home your rebukes ; for both we need you — Our snares are many , and our sins are more . So say not nay — I 'll speak with you apart . Lewis Well , Walter mine , how like you the good legate ? I would be taught — I would know more — I would be holy , master — I would know how to rule — I will . I saw him just before us : let us onward ; We must not seem to loiter . In all I can , And be a wife . So do I — This servitude shall free me — from myself . Therefore I 'll swear . I know not wholly : But this I know , that I shall swear to-night To yield my will unto a wiser will ; To see God 's truth through eyes which , like the eagle 's , From higher Alps undazzled eye the sun . Compelled to discipline from which my sloth Would shrink , unbidden ,— to deep devious paths Which my dull sight would miss , I now can plunge , And dare life 's eddies fearless . I do repent , even now . Therefore I 'll swear . And bind myself to that , which once being light , Will not be less right , when I shrink from it . No ; if the end be gained — if I be raised To freer , nobler use , I 'll dare , I 'll welcome Him and his means , though they were racks and flames . Come , ladies , let us in , and to the chapel . How ? What wrong is mine , fair dame ? Oh ! chide not , nurse — My heart is full — and yet I went not far — Even here , close by , where my own bower looks down Upon that unknown sea of wavy roofs , I turned into an alley ‘ neath the wall — And stepped from earth to hell .— The light of heaven , The common air , was narrow , gross , and dun ; The tiles did drop from the eaves ; the unhinged doors Tottered o'er inky pools , where reeked and curdled The offal of a life ; the gaunt-haunched swine Growled at their christened playmates o'er the scraps . Shrill mothers cursed ; wan children wailed ; sharp coughs Rang through the crazy chambers ; hungry eyes Glared dumb reproach , and old perplexity , Too stale for words ; o'er still and webless looms The listless craftsmen through their elf-locks scowled ; These were my people ! all I had , I gave — They snatched it thankless ; Or in the new delight of rare possession , Forgot the giver ; one did sit apart , And shivered on a stone ; beneath her rags Nestled two impish , fleshless , leering boys , Grown old before their youth ; they cried for bread — She chid them down , and hid her face and wept ; I had given all — I took my cloak , my shoes , And clothed her bare gaunt arms and purpled feet , Then slunk ashamed away to wealth and honour . What ! Conrad ? unannounced ! This is too bold ! Peace ! I have lent myself — and I must take The usury of that loan : your pleasure , master ? O God ! What have I done ? I have cast off the clue of this world 's maze , And , like an idiot , let my boat adrift Above the waterfall !— I had no message — How 's this ? No moment ! ‘ Tis enough to have driven him forth — And that 's enough to damn me : I 'll not chide you — I can see nothing but my loss ; I 'll to him — I 'll go in sackcloth , bathe his feet with tears — And know nor sleep nor food till I am forgiven — And you must with me , ladies . Come and find him . Ah , my honoured master ! That name speaks pardon , sure . I have been washing these poor people 's feet . So I meant it — And use it as a penance for my pride ; And yet , alas , through my own vulgar likings Or stubborn self-conceit , ‘ tis none to me . I marvel how the Saints thus tamed their spirits : Sure to be humbled by such toil , but proves , Not cures , our lofty mind . Could I see My Saviour in His poor ! Why ! thine eyes flash fire ! As when rich chanting ceases suddenly — And the rapt sense collapses !— Oh that Lewis Could feed my soul thus ! But to work — to work — What wilt thou , little maid ? Ah , I forgot thee — Thy mother lies in childbed — Say , in time I 'll bring the baby to the font myself . It knits them unto me , and me to them , That bond of sponsorship — How now , good dame — Whence then so sad ? I will come to them . What ? where I am afraid To go myself , send others ? That 's strange doctrine . I 'll be with you anon . Ay , bread — Where is it , knights and servants ? Why butler , seneschal , this food forthcomes not ! My good dame — That which you bear , I bear : for food , God knows , I have not tasted food this live-long day — Nor will till you are served . I sent for wheat From Koln and from the Rhine-land , days ago : O God ! why comes it not ? Oh ! give him all he asks . Nay , Count ; the corn is his , and his the right To fix conditions for his own . You will not sell it Save at a price which , by the bill you tender , Is far beyond our means . Heaven knows , I grudge not — I have sold my plate , have pawned my robes and jewels . Mortgaged broad lands and castles to buy food — And now I have no more .— Abate , or trust Our honour for the difference . Most miserable , cold , short-sighted man , Who for thy selfish gains dost welcome make God 's wrath , and battenest on thy fellows ’ woes , What ? wilt thou turn from heaven 's gate , open to thee , Through which thy charity may passport be , And win thy long greed 's pardon ? Oh , for once Dare to be great ; show mercy to thyself ! See how that boiling sea of human heads Waits open-mouthed to bless thee : speak the word , And their triumphant quire of jubilation Shall pierce God 's cloudy floor with praise and prayers , And drown the accuser 's count in angels ’ ears . Where is the wretch 's wheat ? Now then — there 's many a one lies faint at home — I 'll go to them myself . Tut , tut , I wear my working dress to-day , And those who work , robe lightly — Then I had best Roll to their door in lacqueyed equipage , And dole my halfpence from my satin purse — I am their sister — I must look like one . I am their queen — I 'll prove myself the greatest By being the minister of all . So come — Now to my pastime , And in happy toil Forget this whirl of doubt — We are weak , we are weak , Only when still : put thou thine hand to the plough , The spirit drives thee on . Too fast ? We live too slow — our gummy blood Without fresh purging airs from heaven , would choke Slower and slower , till it stopped and froze . God ! fight we not within a cursed world , Whose very air teems thick with leagued fiends — Each word we speak has infinite effects — Each soul we pass must go to heaven or hell — And this our one chance through eternity To drop and die , like dead leaves in the brake , Or like the meteor stone , though whelmed itself , Kindle the dry moors into fruitful blaze — And yet we live too fast ! Be earnest , earnest , earnest ; mad , if thou wilt : Do what thou dost as if the stake were heaven , And that thy last deed ere the judgment-day . When all 's done , nothing 's done . There 's rest above — Below let work be death , if work be love ! Lewis ! My Lords ; Doubtless , you speak as your duty bids you : I know you love my husband : do you think My love is less than yours ? ‘ Twas for his honour I dare not lose a single silly sheep Of all the flock which God had trusted to him . True , I had hoped by this — No matter what — Since to your sense it bears a different hue . I keep no logic . For my gifts , thank God , They cannot be recalled ; for those poor souls , My pensioners — even for my husband 's knightly name , Oh ! ask not back that slender loan of comfort My folly has procured them : if , my Lords , My public censure , or disgraceful penance May expiate , and yet confirm my waste , I offer this poor body to the buffets Of sternest justice : when I dared not spare My husband 's lands , I dare not spare myself . Nay ,— I must pray your knighthoods — You must honour Our dais and bower as private guests to-day . Thanks for your gentle warning ; may my weakness To such a sin be never tempted more ! Oh that we two were Maying Down the stream of the soft spring breeze ; Like children with violets playing In the shade of the whispering trees ! Oh that we two sat dreaming On the sward of some sheep-trimmed down Watching the white mist steaming Over river and mead and town ! Oh that we two lay sleeping In our nest in the churchyard sod , With our limbs at rest on the quiet earth 's breast , And our souls at home with God ! Five years agone ? Lewis , I am too happy ! floating higher Than e'er my will had dared to soar , though able ; But circumstance , which is the will of God , Beguiled my cowardice to that , which , darling , I found most natural , when I feared it most . Love would have had no strangeness in mine eyes , Save from the prejudice which others taught me — They should know best . Yet now this wedlock seems A second infancy 's baptismal robe , A heaven , my spirit 's antenatal home , Lost in blind pining girlhood — found now , found ! What have I said ? Do I blaspheme ? Alas ! I neither made these thoughts , nor can unmake them . O God ! were that true ! There , there , no more — I love thee , and I love thee , and I love thee — More than rich thoughts can dream , or mad lips speak ; But how , or why , whether with soul or body , I will not know . Thou art mine .— Why question further ? Ay if I fall by loving , I will love , And be degraded !— how ? by my own troth-plight ? No , but my thinking that I fall .— ‘ Tis written That whatsoe'er is not of faith is sin .— O Jesu Lord ! Hast Thou not made me thus ? Mercy ! My brain will burst : I cannot leave him ! O God ! More wars ? More partings ? What I have done already . Have I not followed thee , through drought and frost , Through flooded swamps , rough glens , and wasted lands , Even while I panted most with thy dear loan Of double life ? A year ? A year ! A cold , blank , widowed year ! Strange , that mere words should chill my heart with fear — This is no hall of doom , No impious Soldan 's feast of old , Where o'er the madness of the foaming gold , A fleshless hand its woe on tainted walls enrolled . Yet by thy wild words raised , In Love 's most careless revel , Looms through the future 's fog a shade of evil , And all my heart is glazed .— Alas ! What would I do ? I would lie down and weep , and weep , Till the salt current of my tears should sweep My soul , like floating weed , adown a fitful sleep , A lingering half-night through . Then when the mocking bells did wake My hollow eyes to twilight gray , I would address my spiritless limbs to pray , And nerve myself with stripes to meet the weary day , And labour for thy sake . Until by vigils , fasts , and tears , The flesh was grown so spare and light , That I could slip its mesh , and flit by night O'er sleeping sea and land to thee — or Christ — till morning light . Peace ! Why these fears ? Life is too short for mean anxieties : Soul ! thou must work , though blindfold . Come , beloved , I must turn robber .— I have begged of late So soft , I fear to ask .— Give me thy purse . Oh , those few coins ? I spent them all next day On a new chapel on the Eisenthal ; There were no choristers but nightingales — No teachers there save bees : how long is this ? Have you turned niggard ? Ah ! now I guess . You have some trinket for me — You promised late to buy no more such baubles — And now you are ashamed .— Nay , I must see — Ah , God ! what 's here ? A new crusader 's cross ? Whose ? Nay , nay — turn not from me ; I guess all — You need not tell me ; it is very well — According to the meed of my deserts : Yes — very well . Fear not — I shall weep soon . How long is it since you vowed ? Brave heart ! And all that time your tenderness Kept silence , knowing my weak foolish soul . O love ! O life ! Late found , and soon , soon lost ! A bleak sunrise ,— a treacherous morning gleam ,— And now , ere mid-day , all my sky is black With whirling drifts once more ! The march is fixed For this day month , is't not ? Oh break not , heart ! Ah ! here my master comes . No weeping before him . But none to you : Hard-hearted ! Am I not enough your slave ? Can I obey you more when he is gone Than now I do ? Wherein , pray , has he hindered This holiness of mine , for which you make me Old ere my womanhood ? Stay , Sir , and tell me Is this the outcome of your ‘ father 's care ’ ? Was it not enough to poison all my joys With foulest scruples ?— show me nameless sins , Where I , unconscious babe , blessed God for all things , But you must thus intrigue away my knight And plunge me down this gulf of widowhood ! And I not twenty yet — a girl — an orphan — That cannot stand alone ! Was I too happy ? O God ! what lawful bliss do I not buy And balance with the smart of some sharp penance ? Hast thou no pity ? None ? Thou drivest me To fiendish doubts : Thou , Jesus ’ messenger ? This to any one Who dares to part me from my love . Thou traitor ! So thou would'st part us ? ‘ Tis bitter ! Oh , spare mine ears ! Have mercy ! I will devote him ;— a crusader 's wife ! I 'll glory in it . Thou speakest words from God — And God shall have him ! Go now — good my master ; My poor brain swims .Yes — a crusader 's wife ! And a crusader 's widow !SCENE X A street in the town of Schmalcald . Bodies of Crusading troops defiling past . Lewis and Elizabeth with their suite in the foreground . Yes — we shall part no more , where next we meet . Enough to have stood here once on such an errand ! One kiss — and then another — and another — Till ‘ tis too late to go — and so return — O God ! forgive that craven thought ! There , take him Since Thou dost need him . I have kept him ever Thine , when most mine ; and shall I now deny Thee ? Oh ! go — yes , go — Thou'lt not forget to pray , With me , at our old hour ? Alas ! he 's gone And lost — thank God he hears me not — for ever . Why look'st thou so , poor girl ? I say , for ever . The day I found the bitter blessed cross , Something did strike my heart like keen cold steel , Which quarries daily there with dead dull pains — Whereby I know that we shall meet no more . Come ! Home , maids , home ! Prepare me widow 's weeds — For he is dead to me , and I must soon Die too to him , and many things ; and mark me — Breathe not his name , lest this love-pampered heart Should sicken to vain yearnings — Lost ! lost ! lost ! Well said — we 'll stay ; so this bright enterprise Shall blanch our private clouds , and steep our soul Drunk with the spirit of great Christendom . CRUSADER CHORUS . The tomb of God before us , Our fatherland behind , Our ships shall leap o'er billows steep , Before a charmed wind . Above our van great angels Shall fight along the sky ; While martyrs pure and crowned saints To God for rescue cry . The red-cross knights and yeomen Throughout the holy town , In faith and might , on left and right , Shall tread the paynim down . Till on the Mount Moriah The Pope of Rome shall stand ; The Kaiser and the King of France Shall guard him on each hand . There shall he rule all nations , With crozier and with sword ; And pour on all the heathen The wrath of Christ the Lord . Christ is a rock in the bare salt land , To shelter our knights from the sun and sand : Christ the Lord is a summer sun , To ripen the grain while they are gone . Then you who fight in the bare salt land , And you who work at home , Fight and work for Christ the Lord , Until His kingdom come . Our stormy sun is sinking ; Our sands are running low ; In one fair fight , before the night , Our hard-worn hearts shall glow . We cannot pine in cloister ; We cannot fast and pray ; The sword which built our load of guilt Must wipe that guilt away . We know the doom before us ; The dangers of the road ; Have mercy , mercy , Jesu blest , When we lie low in blood . When we lie gashed and gory , The holy walls within , Sweet Jesu , think upon our end , And wipe away our sin . The Christ-child sits on high : He looks through the merry blue sky ; He holds in His hand a bright lily-band , For the boys who for Him die . On holy Mary 's arm , Wrapt safe from terror and harm , Lulled by the breeze in the paradise trees , Their souls sleep soft and warm . Knight David , young and true , The giant Soldan slew , And our arms so light , for the Christ-child 's right , Like noble deeds can do . The rich East blooms fragrant before us ; All Fairyland beckons us forth ; We must follow the crane in her flight o'er the main , From the frosts and the moors of the North . Our sires in the youth of the nations Swept westward through plunder and blood , But a holier quest calls us back to the East , We fight for the kingdom of God . Then shrink not , and sigh not , fair ladies , The red cross which flames on each arm and each shield , Through philtre and spell , and the black charms of hell , Shall shelter our true love in camp and in field . Jerusalem , Jerusalem ! The burying place of God ! Why gay and bold , in steel and gold , O'er the paths where Christ hath trod ? ACT III ‘ Tis written too In that same book , nurse , that the days shall come When the bridegroom shall be taken away — and then — Then shall they mourn and fast : I needed weaning From sense and earthly joys ; by this way only May I win God to leave in mine own hands My luxury 's cure : oh ! I may bring him back , By working out to its full depth the chastening The need of which his loss proves : I but barter Less grief for greater — pain for widowhood . Why watch me thus ? You cannot know — and yet you know too much — I tell you , nurse , pain 's comfort , when the flesh Aches with the aching soul in harmony , And even in woe , we are one : the heart must speak Its passion 's strangeness in strange symbols out , Or boil , till it bursts inly . That 's a gentle dream ; But nature shows nought like it : every winter , When the great sun has turned his face away , The earth goes down into the vale of grief , And fasts , and weeps , and shrouds herself in sables , Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay — Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses — As I may yet !— Oh , forgive me ! But hope at times throngs in so rich and full , It mads the brain like wine : come with me , nurse , Sit by me , lull me calm with gentle tales Of noble ladies wandering in the wild wood , Fed on chance earth-nuts , and wild strawberries , Or milk of silly sheep , and woodland doe . Or how fair Magdalen ‘ mid desert sands Wore out in prayer her lonely blissful years , Watched by bright angels , till her modest tresses Wove to her pearled feet their golden shroud . Come , open all your lore . My mother-in-law ! What means this preface ? Ah ! your looks are big With sudden woes — speak out . What ? is he captive ? Why then — what of that ? There are friends will rescue him — there 's gold for ransom — We 'll sell our castles — live in bowers of rushes — O God ! that I were with him in the dungeon ! No ! he would have fought to the death ! There 's treachery ! What paynim dog dare face His lance , who naked braved yon lion 's rage , And eyed the cowering monster to his den ? Speak ! Has he fled ? or worse ? He is in purgatory now ! Alas ! Angels ! be pitiful ! deal gently with him ! His sins were gentle ! That 's one cause left for living — To pray , and pray for him : why all these months I prayed ,— and here 's my answer : Dead of a fever ! Why thus ? so soon ! Only six years for love ! While any formal , heartless matrimony , Patched up by Court intrigues , and threats of cloisters , Drags on for six times six , and peasant slaves Grow old on the same straw , and hand in hand Slip from life 's oozy bank , to float at ease . That 's some petitioner . Go to — I will not hear them : why should I work , When he is dead ? Alas ! was that my sin ? Was he , not Christ , my lodestar ? Why not warn me ? Too late ! What 's this foul dream ? Dead at Otranto — Parched by Italian suns — no woman by him — He was too chaste ! Nought but rude men to nurse !— If I had been there , I should have watched by him — Guessed every fancy — God ! I might have saved him ! I might have saved him ! Servant Ay , saucy madam !— The Landgrave Henry , lord and master , Freer than the last , and yet no waster , Who will not stint a poor knave 's beer , Or spin out Lent through half the year . Why — I see double ! Who spoke there of the Landgrave ? What 's this drunkard ? Give him his answer — ‘ Tis no time for mumming — Why — that 's hasty — I must take my children Ah ! I forgot — they would not let me see them . I must pack up my jewels — He has indeed . Why , man !— I am thy children 's godmother — I nursed thy wife myself in the black sickness — Art thou a bird , that when the old tree falls , Flits off , and sings in the sapling ? Keep thine hands off — I 'll not be shamed — Lead on . Farewell , my Ladies . Follow not ! There 's want to spare on earth already ; And mine own woe is weight enough for me . Go back , and say , Elizabeth has yet Eternal homes , built deep in poor men 's hearts ; And , in the alleys underneath the wall , Has bought with sinful mammon heavenly treasure , More sure than adamant , purer than white whales ’ bone , Which now she claims . Lead on : a people 's love shall right me . You are afraid to shelter me — afraid . And so you thrust me forth , to starve and freeze . Soon said . Why palter o'er these mean excuses , Which tempt me to despise you ? Silence ! I 'll go . Better in God 's hand than man 's . He shall kill us , if we die . This bitter blast Warping the leafless willows , yon white snow-storms , Whose wings , like vengeful angels , cope the vault , They are God 's ,— We 'll trust to them . How long their altar ? To God I gave — and God shall pay me back . Fool ! to have put my trust in living man , And fancied that I bought God 's love , by buying The greedy thanks of these His earthly tools ! Well — here 's one lesson learnt ! I thank thee , Lord ! Henceforth I 'll straight to Thee , and to Thy poor . What ? Isentrudis not returned ? Alas ! Where are those children ? They will not have the heart to keep them from me — Oh ! have the traitors harmed them ? Ay , ay — But she 's a mother — and mothers will dare all things — Oh ! Love can make us fiends , as well as angels . My babies ! Weeping ? Oh , have mercy , Lord ! On me heap all thy wrath — I understand it : What can blind senseless terror do for them ? Silence , girl ! I 'd plead my deeds , if mine own character , My strength of will had fathered them : but no — They are His , who worked them in me , in despite Of mine own selfish and luxurious will — Shall I bribe Him with His own ? For pain , I tell thee I need more pain than mine own will inflicts , Pain which shall break that will .— Yet spare them , Lord ! Go to — I am a fool to wish them life — And greater fool to miscall life , this headache — This nightmare of our gross and crude digestion — This fog which steams up from our freezing clay — While waking heaven 's beyond . No ! slay them , traitors ! Cut through the channels of those innocent breaths Whose music charmed my lone nights , ere they learn To love the world , and hate the wretch who bore them ! What 's a wind to me ? I can see up the street here , if they come — They do not come !— Oh ! my poor weanling lambs — Struck dead by carrion ravens ! What then , I have borne worse . But yesterday I thought I had a husband — and now — now ! Guta ! He called a holy man before he died ? O happy bishop ! Where are those children ? If I had but seen him ! I could have borne all then . One word — one kiss ! Hark ! What 's that rushing ? White doves — one — two — three — Fleeing before the gale . My children 's spirits ! Stay , babies — stay for me ! What ! Not a moment ? And I so nearly ready to be gone ? Oh ! this grief is light And floats a-top — well , well ; it hides a while That gulf too black for speech — My husband 's dead ! I dare not think o n't . A small bird dead in the snow ! Alas ! poor minstrel ! A week ago , before this very window , He warbled , may be , to the slanting sunlight ; And housewives blest him for a merry singer : And now he freezes at their doors , like me . Poor foolish brother ! didst thou look for payment ? Art sure ? Does this look like it , girl ? No — I 'll trust yet — Some have gone mad for less ; but why should I ? Who live in time , and not eternity . ‘ Twill end , girl , end ; no cloud across the sun But passes at the last , and gives us back The face of God once more . O Lord , my Lord ! I thank thee ! Loving and merciful , and tender-hearted , And even in fiercest wrath remembering mercy . Lo ! here 's my ancient foe . What want you , Sir ? But know you , Sir , that all my husband 's vassals Are bidden bar their doors to me ? I thank you , Sir ; and for my children 's sake I do accept your bounty .Down , proud heart — Bend lower — lower ever : thus God deals with thee . Go , Guta , send the children after me .1st Peas . Here 's Father January taken a lease of March month , and put in Jack Frost for bailiff . What be I to do for spring-feed if the weather holds ,— and my ryelands as bare as the back of my hand ? 2d Peas . That 's your luck . Freeze on , say I , and may Mary Mother send us snow a yard deep . I have ten ton of hay yet to sell — ten ton , man — there 's my luck : every man for himself , and — Why here comes that handsome canting girl , used to be about the Princess . How ? Oh , my fortune rises to full flood : I met a friend just now , who told me truths Wholesome and stern , of my deceitful heart — Would God I had known them earlier !— and enforced Her lesson so , as I shall ne'er forget it In body or in mind . You know the stepping-stones across the ford . There as I passed , a certain aged crone , Whom I had fed , and nursed , year after year , Met me mid-stream — thrust past me stoutly on — And rolled me headlong in the freezing mire . There as I lay and weltered ,— ‘ Take that , Madam , For all your selfish hypocritic pride Which thought it such a vast humility To wash us poor folk 's feet , and use our bodies For staves to build withal your Jacob'shYpppHeNladder . What ! you would mount to heaven upon our backs ? The ass has thrown his rider . ’ She crept on — I washed my garments in the brook hard by — And came here , all the wiser . Nay , who could dream She would have guessed my heart so well ? Dull boors See deeper than we think , and hide within Those leathern hulls unfathomable truths , Which we amid thought 's glittering mazes lose . They grind among the iron facts of life , And have no time for self-deception . Let be — we must not think o n't . The scoff was true — I thank her — I thank God — This too I needed . I had built myself A Babel-tower , whose top should reach to heaven , Of poor men 's praise and prayers , and subtle pride At mine own alms . ‘ Tis crumbled into dust ! Oh ! I have leant upon an arm of flesh — And here 's its strength ! I 'll walk by faith — by faith And rest my weary heart on Christ alone — On him , the all-sufficient ! Shame on me ! dreaming thus about myself , While you stand shivering here . Art cold , young knight ? Knights must not cry — Go slide , and warm thyself . Where shall we lodge to-night ? Hark ! look ! His father 's voice !— his very eye — Opening so slow and sad , then sinking down In luscious rest again ! Oh yes — I 'll think — we 'll to our tavern friends ; If they be brutes , ‘ twas my sin left them so . Ay — stay a while in peace . The storms are still . Beneath her eider robe the patient earth Watches in silence for the sun : we 'll sit And gaze up with her at the changeless heaven , Until this tyranny be overpast . Come . Lost ! Lost ! Lost ! Yes — to go with him . I have kept my oath too long to break it now . I will to Marpurg , and there waste away In meditation and in pious deeds , Till God shall set me free . Never , girl , never ! Save me from that at least , O God ! And I , alas ! am none ! O Guta ! dost thou mock my widowed love ? I was a wife — ‘ tis true : I was not worthy — But there was meaning in that first wild fancy ; ‘ Twas but the innocent springing of the sap — The witless yearning of an homeless heart — Do I not know that God has pardoned me ? But now — to rouse and turn of mine own will , In cool and full foreknowledge , this worn soul Again to that , which , when God thrust it on me , Bred but one shame of ever-gnawing doubt , Were — No , my burning cheeks ! We 'll say no more . Ah ! loved and lost ! Though God 's chaste grace should fail me , My weak idolatry of thee would give Strength that should keep me true : with mine own hands I 'd mar this tear-worn face , till petulant man Should loathe its scarred and shapeless ugliness . Oh ! she who was not worthy of a husband Does not deserve his children . What are they , darlings , But snares to keep me from my heavenly spouse By picturing the spouse I must forget ? Well — ‘ tis blank horror . Yet if grief 's good for me , Let me down into grief 's blackest pit , And follow out God 's cure by mine own deed . What will they think ! What pleases them . That argument 's a staff Which breaks whene'er you lean o n't . Trust me , girl , That fear of man sucks out love 's soaring ether , Baffles faith 's heavenward eyes , and drops us down , To float , like plumeless birds , on any stream . Have I not proved it ? There was a time with me , when every eye Did scorch like flame : if one looked cold on me , I straight accused myself of mortal sins : Each fopling was my master : I have lied From very fear of mine own serving-maids .— That 's past , thank God 's good grace ! In self-defence . I am too weak to live by half my conscience ; I have no wit to weigh and choose the mean ; Life is too short for logic ; what I do I must do simply ; God alone must judge — For God alone shall guide , and God 's elect — I shrink from earth 's chill frosts too much to crawl — I have snapped opinion 's chains , and now I 'll soar Up to the blazing sunlight , and be free . Let me settle your cushion , uncle . Uncle , I give but what to me is worthless . He loves these baubles — let him keep them , then : I have my dower . Uncle , I soar now at a higher pitch — To be henceforth the bride of Christ alone . Uncle , I am determined . Ah , there you speak again like my own uncle . I 'll go — to rest and die . I only wait To see the bones of my beloved laid In some fit resting-place . A messenger Proclaims them near . O God ! I saw all Israel scattered on the hills As sheep that have no shepherd ! O my people ! Who crowd with greedy eyes round this my jewel , Poor ivory , token of his outward beauty — Oh ! had ye known his spirit !— Let his wisdom Inform your light hearts with that Saviour 's likeness For whom he died ! So had you kept him with you ; And from the coming evils gentle Heaven Had not withdrawn the righteous : ‘ tis too late ! 1st Lady . There , now , she smiles ; do you think she ever loved him ? I thank thee , gracious Lord , who hast fulfilled Thine handmaid 's mighty longings with the sight Of my beloved 's bones , and dost vouchsafe This consolation to the desolate . I grudge not , Lord , the victim which we gave Thee , Both he and I , of his most precious life , To aid Thine holy city : though Thou knowest His sweetest presence was to this world 's joy As sunlight to the taper — Oh ! hadst Thou spared — Had Thy great mercy let us , hand in hand , Have toiled through houseless shame , on beggar 's dole , I had been blest : Thou hast him , Lord , Thou hast him — Do with us what Thou wilt ! If at the price Of this one silly hair , in spite of Thee , I could reclothe these wan bones with his manhood , And clasp to my shrunk heart my hero 's self — I would not give it ! I will weep no more — Lead on , most holy ; on the sepulchre Which stands beside the choir , lay down your burden . Now , gentle hosts , within the close hard by , Will we our court , as queen of sorrows , hold — The green graves underneath us , and above The all-seeing vault , which is the eye of God , Judge of the widow and the fatherless . There will I plead my children 's wrongs , and there , If , as I think , there boil within your veins The deep sure currents of your race 's manhood , Ye 'll nail the orphans ’ badge upon your shields , And own their cause for God 's . We name our champions — Rudolf , the Cupbearer , Leutolf of Erlstetten , Hartwig of Erba , and our loved Count Walter , Our knights and vassals , sojourners among you . Follow us . ACT IV Oh ! spare me ! Is there no middle path ? No way to keep My love for them , and God , at once unstained ? God 's world , man ! Why , God made it — The faith asserts it God 's . And yet God gave them to me — The Scripture bids me love them . Give up his children ! Why , I 'd not give up A lock of hair , a glove his hand had hallowed : And they are his gift ; his pledge ; his flesh and blood Tossed off for my ambition ! Ah ! my husband ! His ghost 's sad eyes upbraid me ! Spare me , spare me ! I 'd love thee still , if I dared ; but I fear God . And shall I never more see loving eyes Look into mine , until my dying day ? That 's this world 's bondage : Christ would have me free , And ‘ twere a pious deed to cut myself The last , last strand , and fly : but whither ? whither ? What if I cast away the bird i ’ the hand And found none in the bush ? ‘ Tis possible — What right have I to arrogate Christ 's bride-bed ? Crushed , widowed , sold to traitors ? I , o'er whom His billows and His storms are sweeping ? God 's not angry : No , not so much as we with buzzing fly ; Or in the moment of His wrath 's awakening We should be — nothing . No — there 's worse than that — What if He but sat still , and let be be ? And these deep sorrows , which my vain conceit Calls chastenings — meant for me — my ailments ’ cure — Were lessons for some angels far away , And I the corpus vile for the experiment ? The grinding of the sharp and pitiless wheels Of some high Providence , which had its mainspring Ages ago , and ages hence its end ? That were too horrible !— To have torn up all the roses from my garden , And planted thorns instead ; to have forged my griefs , And hugged the griefs I dared not forge ; made earth A hell , for hope of heaven ; and after all , These homeless moors of life toiled through , to wake , And find blank nothing ! Is that angel-world A gaudy window , which we paint ourselves To hide the dead void night beyond ? The present ? Why here 's the present — like this arched gloom , It hems our blind souls in , and roofs them over With adamantine vault , whose only voice Is our own wild prayers ’ echo : and our future ?— It rambles out in endless aisles of mist , The farther still the darker — O my Saviour ! My God ! where art Thou ? That 's but a tale about Thee , That crucifix above — it does but show Thee As Thou wast once , but not as Thou art now — Thy grief , but not Thy glory : where 's that gone ? I see it not without me , and within me Hell reigns , not Thou !‘ Kings ’ daughters were among thine honourable women ’ — Kings ’ daughters ! I am one ! I will forget them ! They stand between my soul and its allegiance . Thou art my God : what matter if Thou love me ? I am Thy bond-slave , purchased with Thy life-blood ; I will remember nothing , save that debt . Do with me what Thou wilt . Alas , my babies ! He loves them — they 'll not need me . God 's will is spoken ! The flesh is weak ; the spirit 's fixed , and dares ,— Stay ! confess , sir , Did not yourself set on your brothers here To sing me to your purpose ? I know it , I know it ; And I 'll obey them : come , the victim 's ready .All worldly goods and wealth , which once I loved , I do now count but dross : and my beloved , The children of my womb , I now regard As if they were another 's . God is witness My pride is to despise myself ; my joy All insults , sneers , and slanders of mankind ; No creature now I love , but God alone . Oh , to be clear , clear , clear , of all but Him ! Lo , here I strip me of all earthly helps —Naked and barefoot through the world to follow My naked Lord — And for my filthy pelf — Why so , sir ? Be it so — I have no part nor lot i n't — There — I have spoken . Is self-contempt learnt thus ? I 'll home . No ! no ! no ! no ! I will not die in the dark : I 'll breathe the free fresh air until the last , Were it but a month — I have such things to do — Great schemes — brave schemes — and such a little time ! Though now I am harnessed light as any foot-page . Come , come , my ladies . I am she . Ah ! faithful friend ! Rise , gentles , rise , for shame ; Nay , blush not , gallant sir . You have seen , ere now , Kings ’ daughters do worse things than spinning wool , Yet never reddened . Speak your errand out . Oh ! I divine ; And grieve that you so far have journeyed , sir , Upon a bootless quest . Wealth ? I have proved it , and have tossed it from me : I will not stoop again to load with clay . War ? I have proved that too : should I turn loose On these poor sheep the wolf whose fangs have gored me , God 's bolt would smite me dead . Alas ! small comfort would they find in me ! I am a stricken and most luckless deer , Whose bleeding track but draws the hounds of wrath Where'er I pause a moment . He has children Bred at his side , to nurse him in his age — While I am but an alien and a changeling , Whom , ere my plastic sense could impress take Either of his feature or his voice , he lost . Command ! Ay , that 's the phrase of the world : well — tell him , But tell him gently too — that child and father Are names , whose earthly sense I have forsworn , And know no more : I have a heavenly spouse , Whose service doth all other claims annul . What ? Thou too , friend ? Dost thou not know me better ? Wouldst have me leave undone what I begin ? My father took the cross , sir : so did I : As he would die at his post , so will I die : He is a warrior : ask him , should I leave This my safe fort , and well-proved vantage-ground , To roam on this world 's flat and fenceless steppes ? It is not needed . Be but the mouthpiece to my father , sir ; And tell him — for I would not anger him — Tell him , I am content — say , happy — tell him I prove my kin by prayers for him , and masses For her who bore me . We shall meet on high . And say , his daughter is a mighty tree , From whose wide roots a thousand sapling suckers , Drink half their life ; she dare not snap the threads , And let her offshoots wither . So farewell . Within the convent there , as mine own guests , You shall be fitly lodged . Come here no more . May God go with you both . No ! I will win for him a nobler name , Than captive crescents , piles of turbaned heads , Or towns retaken from the Tartar , give . In me he shall be greatest ; my report Shall through the ages win the quires of heaven To love and honour him ; and hinds , who bless The poor man 's patron saint , shall not forget How she was fathered with a worthy sire . My shrunk limbs , stiff from many a blow , Are crazed with pain . A long dim formless fog-bank , creeping low , Dulls all my brain . I remember two young lovers , In a golden gleam . Across the brooding darkness shrieking hovers That fair , foul dream . My little children call to me , ‘ Mother ! so soon forgot ? ’ From out dark nooks their yearning faces startle me , Go , babes ! I know you not ! Pray ! pray ! or thou'lt go mad . . . . . . The past 's our own : No fiend can take that from us ! Ah , poor boy ! Had I , like thee , been bred from my black birth-hour In filth and shame , counting the soulless months Only by some fresh ulcer ! I 'll be patient — Here 's something yet more wretched than myself . Sleep thou on still , poor charge — though I 'll not grudge One moment of my sickening toil about thee , Best counsellor — dumb preacher , who dost warn me How much I have enjoyed , how much have left , Which thou hast never known . How am I wretched ? The happiness thou hast from me , is mine , And makes me happy . Ay , there lies the secret — Could we but crush that ever-craving lust For bliss , which kills all bliss , and lose our life , Our barren unit life , to find again A thousand lives in those for whom we die . So were we men and women , and should hold Our rightful rank in God 's great universe , Wherein , in heaven and earth , by will or nature , Nought lives for self — All , all — from crown to footstool — The Lamb , before the world 's foundations slain — The angels , ministers to God 's elect — The sun , who only shines to light a world — The clouds , whose glory is to die in showers — The fleeting streams , who in their ocean-graves Flee the decay of stagnant self-content — The oak , ennobled by the shipwright 's axe — The soil , which yields its marrow to the flower — The flower , which feeds a thousand velvet worms , Born only to be prey for every bird — All spend themselves for others : and shall man , Earth 's rosy blossom — image of his God — Whose twofold being is the mystic knot Which couples earth and heaven — doubly bound As being both worm and angel , to that service By which both worms and angels hold their life — Shall he , whose every breath is debt on debt , Refuse , without some hope of further wage Which he calls Heaven , to be what God has made him ? No ! let him show himself the creature 's lord By freewill gift of that self-sacrifice Which they perforce by nature 's law must suffer . This too I had to learn, To lie crushed down in darkness and the pit — To lose all heart and hope — and yet to work . What lesson could I draw from all my own woes — Ingratitude , oppression , widowhood — While I could hug myself in vain conceits Of self-contented sainthood — inward raptures — Celestial palms — and let ambition 's gorge Taint heaven , as well as earth ? Is selfishness For time , a sin — spun out to eternity Celestial prudence ? Shame ! Oh , thrust me forth , Forth , Lord , from self , until I toil and die No more for Heaven and bliss , but duty , Lord , Duty to Thee , although my meed should be The hell which I deserve !1st Woman . What ! snoring still ? ‘ Tis nearly time to wake her To do her penance . 2d Woman . Wait a while , for love : Indeed , I am almost ashamed to punish A bag of skin and bones . 1st Woman . ‘ Tis for her good : She has had her share of pleasure in this life With her gay husband ; she must have her pain . We bear it as a thing of course ; we know What mortifications are , although I say it That should not . 2d Woman . Why , since my old tyrant died , Fasting I 've sought the Lord , like any Anna , And never tasted fish , nor flesh , nor fowl , And little stronger than water . 1st Woman . Plague on this watching ! What work , to make a saint of a fine lady ! See now , if she had been some labourer 's daughter , She might have saved herself , for aught he cared ; But now — 2d Woman . Hush ! here the master comes : I hear him .— Have mercy , mercy , Lord ! Oh ! she was but a worldling ! And think , good Lord , if that this world is hell , What wonder if poor souls whose lot is fixed here , Meshed down by custom , wealth , rank , pleasure , ignorance , Do hellish things in it ? Have mercy , Lord ; Even for my sake , and all my woes , have mercy ! I am heard ! She is saved ! Where am I ? What ! have I overslept myself ? Oh , do not beat me ! I will tell you all — I have had awful dreams of the other world . 1st Woman . Ay ! ay ! a fine excuse for lazy women , Who cry nightmare with lying on their backs . I will be heard ! I am a prophetess ! God hears me , why not ye ? Methought from out the red and heaving earth My mother rose , whose broad and queenly limbs A fiery arrow did impale , and round Pursuing tongues oozed up of nether fire , And fastened on her : like a winter-blast Among the steeples , then she shrieked aloud , ‘ Pray for me , daughter ; save me from this torment , For thou canst save ! ’ And then she told a tale ; It was not true — my mother was not such — O God ! The pander to a brother 's sin ! 1st Woman . There now ? The truth is out ! I told you , sister , About that mother — She stretched her arms , and sank . Was it a sin To love that sinful mother ? There I lay — And in the spirit far away I prayed ; What words I spoke , I know not , nor how long ; Until a small still voice sighed , ‘ Child , thou art heard : ’ Then on the pitchy dark a small bright cloud Shone out , and swelled , and neared , and grew to form , Till from it blazed my pardoned mother 's face With nameless glory ! Nearer still she pressed , And bent her lips to mine — a mighty spasm Ran crackling through my limbs , and thousand bells Rang in my dizzy ears — And so I woke . ‘ Twas more ! ‘ twas more ! I 've tests : From youth I have lived in two alternate worlds , And night is live like day . This was no goblin ! ‘ Twas a true vision , and my mother 's soul Is freed by my poor prayers from penal files , And waits for me in bliss . No ! no ! I will not go ! Then I will bear them , Even as I bore the last , with thankful thoughts Upon those stripes my Lord endured for me . Oh , spare them , sir ! poor blindfold sons of men ! No saint but daily errs ,— and must they burn , Ah , God ! for an opinion ? Oh , let me give ! That only pleasure have I left on earth ! Well ! I am freezing fast — I have grown of late Too weak to nurse my sick ; and now this outlet , This one last thawing spring of fellow-feeling , Is choked with ice — Come , Lord , and set me free . Think me not hasty ! measure not mine age , O Lord , by these my four-and-twenty winters . I have lived three lives — three lives . For fourteen years I was an idiot girl : Then I was born again ; and for five years , I lived ! I lived ! and then I died once more ;— One day when many knights came marching by , And stole away — we 'll talk no more of that . And so these four years since , I have been dead , And all my life is hid with Christ in God . Nunc igitur dimittas , Domine , servam tuam . Hark ! how they cry for bread ! Poor souls ! be patient ! I have spent all — I 'll sell myself for a slave — feed them with the price . Come , Guta ! Nurse ! We must be up and doing ! Alas ! they are gone , and begging ! Go ! go ! They 'll beat me , if I give you aught : I 'll pray for you , and so you 'll go to Heaven . I am a saint — God grants me all I ask . But I must love no creature . Why , Christ loved — Mary he loved , and Martha , and their brother — Three friends ! and I have none ! When Lazarus lay dead , He groaned in spirit , And wept — like any widow — Jesus wept ! I 'll weep , weep , weep ! pray for that ‘ gift of tears . ’ They took my friends away , but not my eyes , Oh , husband , babes , friends , nurse ! To die alone ! Crack , frozen brain ! Melt , icicle within ! What ? weeping ? Daughters of Jerusalem , weep not for me — Weep for yourselves . Through the stifling room Floats strange perfume ; Through the crumbling thatch The angels watch , Over the rotting roof-tree . They warble , and flutter , and hover , and glide , Wafting old sounds to my dreary bedside , Snatches of songs which I used to know When I slept by my nurse , and the swallows Called me at day-dawn from under the eaves . Hark to them ! Hark to them now — Fluting like woodlarks , tender and low — Cool rustling leaves — tinkling waters — Sheepbells over the lea — In their silver plumes Eden-gales whisper — In their hands Eden-lilies — not for me — not for me — No crown for the poor fond bride ! The song told me so , Long , long ago , How the maid chose the white lily ; But the bride she chose The red red rose , And by its thorn died she . Well — in my Father 's house are many mansions — I have trodden the waste howling ocean-foam , Till I stand upon Canaan 's shore , Where Crusaders from Zion 's towers call me home , To the saints who are gone before . Did you not hear A little bird between me and the wall , That sang and sang ? I heard him , and his merry carol revelled Through all my brain , and woke my parched throat To join his song : then angel melodies Burst through the dull dark , and the mad air quivered Unutterable music . Nay , you heard him . Slow hours ! Was that the cock-crow ? Then I must up — To matins , and to work — No , my work 's over . And what is it , what ? One drop of oil on the salt seething ocean ! Thank God , that one was born at this same hour , Who did our work for us : we 'll talk of Him : We shall go mad with thinking of ourselves — We 'll talk of Him , and of that new-made star , Which , as he stooped into the Virgin 's side , From off His finger , like a signet-gem , He dropped in the empyrean for a sign . But the first tear He shed at this His birth-hour , When He crept weeping forth to see our woe , Fled up to Heaven in mist , and hid for ever Our sins , our works , and that same new-made star . Oh ! thank God Our eyes are dim ! What should we do , if he , The sneering fiend , who laughs at all our toil , Should meet us face to face ? There ! There ! Fly , Satan , fly ! ‘ Tis gone ! O master , master , You will not let the mob , when I lie dead , Make me a show — paw over all my limbs — Pull out my hair — pluck off my finger-nails — Wear scraps of me for charms and amulets , As if I were a mummy , or a drug ? As they have done to others — I have seen it — Nor set me up in ugly naked pictures In every church , that cold world-hardened wits May gossip o'er my secret tortures ? Promise — Swear to me ! I demand it ! O my God ! I had stripped myself of all , but modesty ! Dost Thou claim yet that victim ? Be it so . Now take me home ! I have no more to give Thee ! So weak — and yet no pain — why , now naught ails me ! How dim the lights burn ! Here — Where are you , children ? Alas ! I had forgotten . Now I must sleep — for ere the sun shall rise , I must begone upon a long , long journey To him I love . I said , to him I love . Let me sleep , sleep . You will not need to wake me — so — good-night . ACT V