Alas! the merry guests no more But all is silent, sad, and drear, What ho! that merry, sudden blast The heavy hinges of the gate, And, clattering loud, with iron clank, Down goes the sounding bridge of plank, As if it were in haste to greet The pressure of a traveller's feet! Enter WALTER the Minnesinger. WALTER. How now, my friend! This looks quite lonely! No banner flying from the walls, No pages and no seneschals, No wardens, and one porter only! HUBERT. Ah! Master Walter! WALTER. Alas! how forms and faces alter! I did not know you. You look older! HUBERT. Alack! I am a poor old sinner, And, like these towers, begin to moulder; How is the Prince? WALTER. HUBERT. He is not here; He has been ill: and now has fled. WALTER. Speak it out frankly: say he's dead! Is it not so? HUBERT. No; if you please; A strange, mysterious disease Fell on him with a sudden blight. Whole hours together he would stand Resting his head upon his hand, Best pleased when he was most alone, In the Round Tower, night after night, He had fallen from his chair. We hardly recognized his sweet looks! Poor Prince! WALTER. HUBERT. I think he might have mended; And he did mend; but very soon And so at last the matter ended. WALTER. How did it end? HUBERT. Why, in Saint Rochus They made him stand, and wait his doom; First, the Mass for the Dead they chaunted, Saying to him, as he stood undaunted, And forth from the chapel door he went Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, And bearing a wallet, and a bell, To keep all travellers away. WALTER. O, horrible fate! Outcast, rejected, HUBERT. Then was the family tomb unsealed, |