Below me in the valley, deep and green

As goblets are, from which in thirsty draughts
We drink its wine, the swift and mantling river
Flows on triumphant through these lovely regions,
Etched with the shadows of its sombre margent,
And soft, reflected clouds of gold and argent!
Yes, there it flows, for ever, broad and still,
As when the vanguard of the Roman legions
First saw it from the top of yonder hill!
How beautiful it is! Fresh fields of wheat,
Vineyard, and town, and tower with fluttering flag,
The consecrated chapel on the crag,

And the white hamlet gathered round its base,
Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet,

And looking up at his beloved face!

O friend! O best of friends! Thy absence more
Than the impending night darkens the landscape o'er!

IL

A Farm in the Odenwald. A garden; morning; PRINCE HENRY seated, with a book. ELSIE, at a distance, gathering flowers. Prince Henry (reading). One morning, all alone,

Out of his convent of gray stone,

Into the forest older, darker, grayer,

His lips moving as if in prayer,
His head sunken upon his breast,
As in a dream of rest,

Walked the Monk Felix. All about

The broad, sweet sunshine lay without,

Filling the summer air;

And within the woodlands as he trod,

The twilight was like the Truce of God

With wordly woe and care;

Under him lay the golden moss;

And above him the boughs of hemlock-trees

Wared and made the sign of the cross,

And whispered their Benedicites;

And from the ground

Rose an odour sweet and fragrant

Of the wild flowers and the vagrant

Tines that wandered,

Seeking the sunshine, round and round.
These he heeded not, but pondered

On the volume in his hand,

A volume of Saint Augustine,
Whereit he read of the unseen
Splendours of God's great town
In the unknown land,
And, with his eyes cast down
In humility, he said:

"I believe O God,

Elsie. Here are flowers for you,
But they are not all for you,
Some of them are for the Virgin,
And for Saint Cecilia.

Prince Henry. As thou standest there,
Thou seemest to me like the angel
That brought the immortal roses
To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber.
Elsie. But these will fade.

Prince Henry. Themselves will fade,
But not their memory,

And memory has the power

To re-create them from the dust.
They remind me, too,

Of martyred Dorothea,

Who from celestial gardens sent
Flowers as her witnesses

To him who scoffed and doubted.

Elsie. Do you know the story

Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter?
That is the prettiest legend of them all.

Prince Henry. Then tell it to me.

But first come hither,

Lay the flowers down beside me,
And put both thy hands in mine.
Now tell me the story.

Elsie. Early in the morning

The Sultan's daughter

Walked in her father's garden,

Gathering the bright flowers,
All full of dew.

Prince Henry. Just as thou hast been doing

This morning, dearest Elsie.

Elsie. And as she gathered them,

She wondered more and more

Who was the Master of the Flowers,

And made them grow

Out of the cold, dark earth.

"In my heart," she said,

"I love him; and for him
Would leave my father's palace,

To labour in his garden.'

Prince Henry. Dear, innocent child!

How sweetly thou recallest
The long-forgotten legend,
That in my early childhood
My mother told me !
Upon my brain

It reappears once more,

As a birth-mark on the forehead

When a hand suddenly

Is laid upon it and removed.

Elsie. And at midnight,

As she lay upon her bed,

She heard a voice

Call to her from the garden,

And, looking forth from her window,
She saw a beautiful youth
Standing among the flowers.
It was the Lord Jesus;
And she went down to him,
And opened the door for him;
And he said to her, "O maiden!
Thou hast thought of me with love,
And for thy sake

Out of my Father's kingdom
Have I come hither:

I am the Master of the Flowers.
My garden is in Paradise,
And if thou wilt go with me,
Thy bridal garland

Shall be of bright red flowers."

And then he took from his finger

A golden ring,

And asked the Sultan's daughter

If she would be his bride.

And when she answered him with love,

His wounds began to bleed;

And she said to him,

"O Love! how red thy heart is,
And thy hands are full of roses.'
"For thy sake," answered he,
"For thy sake is my heart so red,
For thee I bring these roses.
I gathered them at the cross
Whereon I died for thee!
Come, for my Father calls.

Thou art my elected bride!"

And the Sultan's daughter

Followed him to his Father's garden.

Prince Henry. Wouldst thou have done so, Elsie?

Elsie. Yes, very gladly.

Prince Henry. Then the Celestial Bridegroom

Will come for thee also.

Upon thy forehead he will place,

Not his crown of thorns,

But a crown of roses.

In thy bridal chamber,

Like Saint Cecilia,

Thou shalt hear sweet music,

And breathe the fragrance

Of flowers immortal!

Go now and place these flowers
Before her picture.