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Begins to stir itself; and ferment;

With a kind of revolt and discontent

At being so long in darkness pent;

And fain would burst from its sombre tun

To bask on the hillside in the sun;

As in the bosom of us poor friars;

The tumult of half…subdued desires

For the world that we have left behind

Disturbs at times all peace of mind!

And now that we have lived through Lent;

My duty it is; as often before;

To open awhile the prison…door;

And give these restless spirits vent。



Now here is a cask that stands alone;

And has stood a hundred years or more;

Its beard of cobwebs; long and hoar;

Trailing and sweeping along the floor;

Like Barbarossa; who sits in his cave;

Taciturn; sombre; sedate; and grave;

Till his beard has grown through the table of stone!

It is of the quick and not of the dead!

In its veins the blood is hot and red;

And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak

That time may have tamed; but has not broke!

It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine;

Is one of the three best kinds of wine;

And costs some hundred florins the ohm;

But that I do not consider dear;

When I remember that every year

Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome。

And whenever a goblet thereof I drain;

The old rhyme keeps running in my brain;



  At Bacharach on the Rhine;

  At Hochheim on the Main;

  And at Wurzburg on the Stein;

  Grow the three best kinds of wine!



They are all good wines; and better far

Than those of the Neckar; or those of the Ahr。

In particular; Wurzburg well may boast

Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost;

Which of all wines I like the most。

This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking;

Who seems to be much of my way of thinking。



Fills a flagon。



Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings!

What a delicious fragrance springs

From the deep flagon; while it fills;

As of hyacinths and daffodils!

Between this cask and the Abbot's lips

Many have been the sips and slips;

Many have been the draughts of wine;

On their way to his; that have stopped at mine;

And many a time my soul has hankered

For a deep draught out of his silver tankard;

When it should have been busy with other affairs;

Less with its longings and more with its prayers。

But now there is no such awkward condition;

No danger of death and eternal perdition;

So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all;

Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul!



He drinks。



O cordial delicious!  O soother of pain!

It flashes like sunshine into my brain!

A benison rest on the Bishop who sends

Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends!

And now a flagon for such as may ask

A draught from the noble Bacharach cask;

And I will be gone; though I know full well

The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell。

Behold where he stands; all sound and good;

Brown and old in his oaken hood;

Silent he seems externally

As any Carthusian monk may be;

But within; what a spirit of deep unrest!

What a seething and simmering in his breast!

As if the heaving of his great heart

Would burst his belt of oak apart!

Let me unloose this button of wood;

And quiet a little his turbulent mood。



Sets it running。



See! how its currents gleam and shine;

As if they had caught the purple hues

Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine;

Descending and mingling with the dews;

Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood

Of the innocent boy; who; some years back;

Was taken and crucified by the Jews;

In that ancient town of Bacharach!

Perdition upon those infidel Jews;

In that ancient town of Bacharach!

The beautiful town; that gives us wine

With the fragrant odor of Muscadine!

I should deem it wrong to let this pass

Without first touching my lips to the glass;

For here in the midst of the current I stand

Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river;

Taking toll upon either hand;

And much more grateful to the giver。



He drinks。



Here; now; is a very inferior kind;

Such as in any town you may find;

Such as one might imagine would suit

The rascal who drank wine out of a boot。

And; after all; it was not a crime;

For he won thereby Dorf Huffelsheim。

A jolly old toper! who at a pull

Could drink a postilion's jack…boot full;

And ask with a laugh; when that was done;

If the fellow had left the other one!

This wine is as good as we can afford

To the friars who sit at the lower board;

And cannot distinguish bad from good;

And are far better off than if they could;

Being rather the rude disciples of beer;

Than of anything more refined and dear!



Fills the flagon and departs。





THE SCRIPTORIUM



FRIAR PACIFICUS transcribing and illuminating。



FRIAR PACIFICUS。

It is growing dark!  Yet one line more;

And then my work for to…day is o'er。

I come again to the name of the Lord!

Ere I that awful name record;

That is spoken so lightly among men;

Let me pause awhile and wash my pen;

Pure from blemish and blot must it be

When it writes that word of mystery!



Thus have I labored on and on;

Nearly through the Gospel of John。

Can it be that from the lips

Of this same gentle Evangelist;

That Christ himself perhaps has kissed;

Came the dread Apocalypse!

It has a very awful look;

As it stands there at the end of the book;

Like the sun in an eclipse。

Ah me! when I think of that vision divine;

Think of writing it; line by line;

I stand in awe of the terrible curse;

Like the trump of doom; in the closing verse!

God forgive me! if ever I

Take aught from the book of that Prophecy;

Lest my part too should he taken away

From the Book of Life on the Judgment Day。

This is well written; though I say it!

I should not be afraid to display it

In open day; on the selfsame shelf

With the writings of St。 Thecla herself;

Or of Theodosius; who of old

Wrote the Gospels in letters of gold!

That goodly folio standing yonder;

Without a single blot or blunder;

Would not bear away the palm from mine;

If we should compare them line for line。



There; now; is an initial letter!

Saint Ulric himself never made a better!

Finished down to the leaf and the snail;

Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail!

And now; as I turn the volume over;

And see what lies between cover and cover;

What treasures of art these pages hold;

All ablaze with crimson and gold;

God forgive me! I seem to feel

A certain satisfaction steal

Into my heart; and into my brain;

As if my talent had not lain

Wrapped in a napkin; and all in vain。

Yes; I might almost say to the Lord;

Here is a copy of thy Word;

Written out with much toil and pain;

Take it; O Lord; and let it be

As something I have done for thee!



He looks from the window。



How sweet the air is! how fair the scene!

I wish I had as lovely a green

To paint my landscapes and my leaves!

How the swallows twitter under the eaves!

There; now; there is one in her nest;

I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast;

And will sketch her thus; in her quiet nook

For the margin of my Gospel book。



He makes a sketch。



I can see no more。  Through the valley yonder

A shower is passing; I hear the thunder

Mutter its curses in the air;

The devil's own and only prayer!

The dusty road is brown with rain;

And; speeding on with might and main;

Hitherward rides a gallant train。

They do not parley; they cannot wait;

But hurry in at the convent gate。

What a fair lady! and beside her

What a handsome; graceful; noble rider!

Now she gives him her hand to alight;

They will beg a shelter for the night。

I will go down to the corridor;

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。



ABBOT。

 Slowly; slowly up the wall

 Steals the sunshine; steals the shade;

 Evening damps begin to fall;

 Evening shadows are displayed。

 Round me; o'er me; everywhere;

 All the sky is grand with clouds;

 And athwart the evening air

 Wheel the swallows home in crowds。

 Shafts of sunshine from the west

 Paint the dusky windows red;

 Darker shadows; deeper rest;

 Underneath and overhead。

 Darker; darker; and more wan;

 In my breast the shadows fall;

 Upward steals the life of man;

 As the sunshine from the wall。

 From the wall into the sky;

 From the roof along the spire;

 Ah; the souls of those that die

 Are but sunbeams lifted higher。



Enter PRINCE HENRY。



PRINCE HENRY。

Christ is arisen!



ABBOT。

                   Amen!  He is arisen!

His peace be with you!



PRINCE HENRY。

                Here it reigns forever!

The peace of God; that passeth undertanding;

Reigns in these cloisters and these corridors。

Are you Ernestus; Abbot of the convent?



ABBOT。

I am。



PRINCE HENRY。

      And I Prince Henry of Hoheneck

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