Part 9 (1/2)
_Crier of the dead (ringing a bell)._ Wake! wake!
All ye that sleep!
Pray for the Dead!
Pray for the Dead!
_Prince Henry._ Hark! with what accents loud and hoa.r.s.e This warder on the walls of death Sends forth the challenge of his breath!
I see the dead that sleep in the grave!
They rise up and their garments wave, Dimly and spectral, as they rise, With the light of another world in their eyes!
_Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake!
All ye that sleep!
Pray for the Dead!
Pray for the Dead!
_Prince Henry._ Why for the dead, who are at rest?
Pray for the living, in whose breast The struggle between right and wrong Is raging terrible and strong, As when good angels war with devils!
This is the Master of the Revels, Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes The health of absent friends, and pledges, Not in bright goblets crowned with roses, And tinkling as we touch their edges, But with his dismal, tinkling bell, That mocks and mimics their funeral knell!
_Crier of the dead._ Wake! wake!
All ye that sleep!
Pray for the Dead!
Pray for the Dead!
_Prince Henry._ Wake not, beloved! be thy sleep Silent as night is, and as deep!
There walks a sentinel at thy gate Whose heart is heavy and desolate, And the heavings of whose bosom number The respirations of thy slumber, As if some strange, mysterious fate Had linked two hearts in one, and mine Went madly wheeling about thine, Only with wider and wilder sweep!
_Crier of the dead (at a distance)._ Wake! wake!
All ye that sleep!
Pray for the Dead!
Pray for the Dead!
_Prince Henry._ Lo! with what depth of blackness thrown Against the clouds, far up the skies, The walls of the cathedral rise, Like a mysterious grove of stone, With fitful lights and shadows bleeding, As from behind, the moon, ascending, Lights its dim aisles and paths unknown!
The wind is rising; but the boughs Rise not and fall not with the wind That through their foliage sobs and soughs; Only the cloudy rack behind, Drifting onward, wild and ragged, Gives to each spire and b.u.t.tress jagged A seeming motion undefined.
Below on the square, an armed knight, Still as a statue and as white, Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams quiver Upon the points of his armor bright As on the ripples of a river.
He lifts the visor from his cheek, And beckons, and makes as he would speak.
_Walter the Minnesinger_ Friend! can you tell me where alight Thuringia's hors.e.m.e.n for the night?
For I have lingered in the rear, And wander vainly up and down.
_Prince Henry_ I am a stranger in the town, As thou art, but the voice I hear Is not a stranger to mine ear.
Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid!
_Walter_ Thou hast guessed rightly; and thy name Is Henry of Hoheneck!
_Prince Henry_ Ay, the same.