GIFT OF 
 
 C.-I1I 
 
"Give me thy lips again 
 That I may swear my soul anew to thee!' 
 
 Ronald. 
 
 "O that I had a thousand hearts to give 
 Instead of one, 
 And were a goddess now, 
 Then heavens lights would I pluck 
 To weave my lover's crown'' 
 
 Beatrice. 
 
LOVE'S HOLY HOUR 
 
 OR 
 
 The Sacred Betrothal of Ronald and Beatrice 
 
 A DRAMA OF THE WEDDING DAY 
 
 NEANDER P. COOK 
 
 THE WEIMAR PRESS 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 
 
 1913 
 
COPYRIGHT 1913 
 By P. COOK 
 
LOVE'S HOLY HOUR 
 
 By NEANDER P. COOK 
 
 REVIEWS 
 
 This powerful drama of the wedding-day or 
 evening is ostensibly founded upon a beautiful 
 marriage ceremony. Between the various per- 
 sonages the whole story of human love is told 
 from its fir?t inception to its final consummation. 
 It is remarkable that though since the beginning 
 of time love has been the theme of poets and 
 novelists alike, yet here an author should find an 
 entirely new mine of the heart's emotions. Nearly 
 all the characters are distinctly new literary crea- 
 tions. Beatrice, the heroine and bride, involun- 
 tarily suggesting Dante's beautiful guide through 
 Paradise, so sweet and pure is she, loves not only 
 ideally but so intensely and passionately, that she 
 would pluck heaven's lights to weave her lover's 
 crown. She has no equal anywhere in literature. 
 
 ted. 
 
 Then there is Leonore, the bride's mother, a 
 heroine -of whom the world never dreamt and 
 hitherto unsung, but now she will never again be 
 forgotten. Though a secondary character, she is 
 yet almost more remarkable than Beatrice her- 
 self. Nowhere has the word motherhood breathed 
 more fragrance than in this remarkable woman, 
 whether it be in the pangs she secretly feels in 
 growing older, or watching her daughter's nup- 
 tials, when she exclaims, "For that she has a 
 mother, a bride knows not. Ah, woman never 
 gives herself alone: her own and her mother's 
 soul, both she strews at her lover's feet." 
 
 The book is unique in that it does not gain its 
 power from the tragedy of love, but rather from 
 its idealism. Its lovers are happy as if this were 
 a sinless world and as if human passions were 
 yet as unstained as in Paradise. The author por- 
 trays love as we hope it will yet be. He is dis- 
 tinctly the prophet of a new age. Yet so genu- 
 inely truthful and even realistic is the drama that 
 
its fine idealism is not felt obtrusively. And the 
 shadows are not altogether absent. They come 
 in full force in Ragni, the outcast. Here the quiv- 
 ering flesh of the cruelly wronged and forsaken 
 woman-heart is laid bare as it has never been 
 done before. The sin of society against the 
 defenseless mother and babe, as well as that of 
 the faithless lover, form a portrait as soul-stirring 
 as anything ever written. But Ragni rises supe- 
 rior to her suffering when she finally accepts her 
 lot, declaring that "to make atonement of man's 
 sin was woman born." 
 
 Another distinctly new creation is Eunice, the 
 Unwooed, sad, sweet story of an unkissed woman, 
 compelling the deepest reverence for her kind. 
 
 There is not space to mention the others, sis- 
 ters or bridesmaids, nor such embellishments as 
 Cupid's sermon to the lovers about the planting 
 of the lily of the valley, culminating with the 
 exhortation to "kiss the kiss of youth as lilies 
 kiss," and yet to kiss it again "till they are no 
 longer twain." Or Nereid's story of woman's 
 creation nor Cunina's desire to trade heaven for 
 a lover's kiss, all as pretty pieces of truth and 
 fiction as ever conceived. And lastly, wonderfully 
 delicate is the story of the lovers in Fensalir, the 
 temple of immortality, where they kiss "an ever- 
 lasting kiss." Life's holiest experience has never 
 been more finely portrayed and well has one 
 woman said of it that it is "^hakespeare's art, but 
 without his vulgarity." 
 
 It is a book one wants to read again and again. 
 It is a new view of life. We do not know whether 
 we want to agree or disagree. The author has a 
 faculty by a single line of letting loose upon us a 
 whole regiment of new problems. It is a book 
 we want to keep and yet involuntarily we want 
 to give it to our friends. It is such a genuine 
 find. The publishers deserve commendation for 
 the simple and tasteful dress they have given it. 
 In more ways than one it is the ideal gift volume. 
 
 "If all the world loves a lover, then all lovers 
 all over the world will be delighted with one of 
 the sweetest love songs ever written. In all the 
 
range of literature we know nothing which as 
 delightfully tells the story of pure love or more 
 sweetly idealizes the passion which stirs all 
 hearts." The Independent, Los Angeles. 
 
 "A wonderful little book, published by the Wei- 
 mar Press of Los Angeles, Cal., lies on my table. 
 It is 'Love's Holy Hour/ a drama of the wedding- 
 day, by Neander P. Cook. I opened this book 
 with some prejudice against it, as a poem, from a 
 way-out-of-the-way corner. I soon got entirely 
 over my distaste for it, and I can say to thought- 
 ful readers, that this book, while somewhat radi- 
 cal, is also decidedly beautiful in diction, charm- 
 ing in conception, and all the way through worth 
 studying. If you are not prepared to read it, lay 
 it aside for some day when you have had a new 
 conception of life." E. P. Powell, in Unity. 
 
 "There came stealing into the office the other 
 day a dainty little volume, containing an ex- 
 quisite word painting of the marriage of two ted. 
 young persons whose love for one another pos- 
 sessed that deep spiritual quality which is all too 
 rare. It really doesn't matter whether one be 
 married or unmarried, old or young, this book 
 will bring to them a message of sweetness and 
 purity and spirituality, yet through it all the 
 spiritual is intimately associated with the physi- 
 cal just as it is in real life. Perhaps there is no 
 better book to send a young man or a young 
 woman about to be married." The Business 
 Philosopher, Sheldon University. 
 
 Published by the Weimar Press, 3015 S. Main 
 St., Los Angeles, Cal. 
 
 Art edition, 50 cents; five copies to one ad- 
 dress, $2.00. Do not send stamps. 
 
 Bride's edition, net, hand bound white kid 
 leather, $3.00. 
 
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 A YOUTH, A MAIDEN, 
 AND A KISS 
 
 They walked together, 
 
 They talked together, 
 
 His voice grew soft, 
 
 Her heart beat loud. 
 
 Softer still his Voice, 
 
 Louder still her heart; 
 
 Then language failed: 
 
 ,/J kiss a conquered heart, 
 
 'Tis done: 
 
 The binding 
 
 That shall have no unwinding. 
 
 From the Symphony, ACT I, in LOVE'S Hoi 
 HOUR. 
 
 al 
 th 
 
Prefatory. 
 
 Gentle Reader! This book, 
 Like other tomes, 
 Its pictures hath, 
 
 But not with printer-presses painted. 
 In thy own soul's color 
 The images are drawn. 
 Sit and ponder! 
 The motto text is given thee: 
 The sermon preach thyself. 
 
"Put off thy shoes 
 From off thy feet: 
 For the place whereon thou standest, 
 Is holy ground." 
 
 Bible. 
 
PRAYER. 
 
 BRIDAL Hour, 
 Thou Holy Hour of Love: 
 Unfathomed Mystery 
 Of Life's Eternal Throb : 
 
 Grant? to this Youth and Maiden 
 
 Their Prayer of Hope 
 
 And once again fill a Cup 
 
 With Eden's Bliss, 
 
 That, to the Heart's coy Trysting come, 
 
 Soul into Soul outpouring 
 
 They may drink, 
 
 Deep and full, 
 
 Creation's Morning-Kiss. 
 

 LIFE'S SYMPHONY. 
 A Youth, a Maiden and a Kiss. 
 
 HEY walked together, 
 They talked together, 
 His voice grew soft, 
 Her heart beat loud. 
 
 Softer still his voice 
 
 Louder still her heart, 
 
 Then language failed: 
 
 A kiss a conquered heart. 
 
 'Tis done: 
 
 The binding 
 
 That shall have no unwinding. 
 
LOVE AND LIFE. 
 An Essay. 
 
 "Sitting at the whirring loom of time 
 of the Infinite God, 
 The living garment weaving." 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 To the attentive observer of nature it soon becomes 
 manifest that she has but one goal, viz., the super- 
 abundance of life: life in innumerable forms, in count- 
 less variations and endless ecstasies, a mantle covering 
 completely the habitable sphere, penetrating every 
 nook and cranny in earth and sea and air, pulsating 
 and throbbing with miraculous intensity, the very self- 
 realization of the Infinite God. It is a harp of a thou- 
 sand chords, of whose music our joys and sorrows 
 form component parts and counterparts, but who He 
 is that sounds it according to His will, Him we know 
 only from afar, for we are but the finite atoms of the 
 Infinite Soul pouring itself forth in eternal strains. 
 
 Life is creative. It finds its fullest expression in a 
 gradually advancing evolution through ceaseless self- 
 renewal. All nature dies today in order that more 
 triumphantly she may be re-born tomorrow. The old 
 are passing on that there may be room for youth with 
 new wooing days, so that life be not merely endless, 
 but that immortality may run its course in a ceaseless 
 nuptial kiss. 
 
 It is in her wedding raiment, love's springtime, that 
 nature is most beautiful and divine. Life's greatest 
 achievement is Love. The Bridal Wreath is creation's 
 crown. 
 
THE SACRED BETROTHAL OF RONALD 
 AND BEATRICE. 
 
 Dramatis Personae : 
 
 MOM us, God of Satire. 
 
 AMOR, God of Love. 
 
 RONALD, KNIGHT OF OFTERDINGEN, Bridegroom. 
 
 BEATRICE, DAUGHTER TO LOTHAR, BARON OF ALT- 
 NACH, Bride. 
 
 LEONORE, Mother to Beatrice. 
 
 BRIDESMAIDS. 
 
 FLOWER-GIRLS. 
 
 BERTHELIND, ETHELRIED, ROSAMUND, Sisters to Bea- 
 trice. 
 
 RAGNI, an Outcast. 
 
 CUPID, God of Love. 
 
 The Heavenly Choir. 
 
 NAIAD AND NEREID, Bridal Nymphs. 
 
 CUNINA, the Disconsolate Nymph of Heaven. 
 
 THE FURIES. 
 
 HERA, Goddess of Health. 
 
 PRAYER OF THE UNBORN. 
 
 EUNICE, THE UN WOOED, a Bridesmaid. 
 
 Scene : 
 
 Castle Ofterdingen, in the Thuringian Forests, in part. 
 The Hlysian Regions in Heaven, in part. Fen- 
 salir, Temple of Immortality. Adnir, the Abode 
 of the Unborn. 
 
 Time: 
 
 The Nuptial Day. 
 
 Period : 
 
 The Middle Ages. 
 
 10 
 
PRELUDE. 
 
 Momus, god of satire. 
 Amor, god of love. 
 
 MOMUS (satirically), to Amor: 
 
 On virgin tongues, 
 
 Amor, there goes a tale 
 Of two lovers, 
 
 Named Tristan and Isolde, 
 Which tale a riddle holds 
 
 1 trow thou canst not solve. 
 
 Isolde was daughter to a king, 
 But Tristan not of royal blood. 
 And as ever hadst thou thy mischief wrought 
 That they who lawfully wed 
 Ne'er truly love : 
 Nor they that truly love 
 May at the altar plight their troth. 
 And as the statutes of mankind 
 Ofttimes asunder part 
 They whom the gods unite 
 To save the state's foundation, 
 It was decreed to break two hearts ; 
 With sacred rite and legal pomp 
 The maiden was to another wed, 
 And Tristan to the desert banished. 
 
 But that night Isolde 
 Harnessed her snow-white doves, 
 Who with heaven's aid 
 To her lover carried her, 
 And then died of the desert-thirst. 
 
 'Twas more than three days' journey 
 Into the wilderness, 
 So goes the tale 
 And no other shelter there 
 Than in the stone the Minnegrotto cleft, 
 Yet three years 
 These lovers lived 
 Content and happy there, 
 And so witchingly each other loved 
 That their love 
 The hope of maidens is. 
 
 11 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 Now tell me, thou gay deceiver, 
 Whence in the desert came their bread 
 And whence their drink? 
 For without temporal sustenance 
 Soon vanishes 
 Love's idle dream. 
 
 AMOR (seriously}, to Momus: 
 
 O Momus, to sceptics such as thou 
 Truth opens not her silver mines. 
 The tale is true, 
 
 For where love is, there is no desert. 
 And what they ate and drank? 
 The lovers on each other gazed: 
 The harvest of the eye 
 Was their food sufficient. 
 Each other's confidence 
 And openheartedness, 
 Which is the true bread 
 Of wedded souls, 
 
 These were the fruits they freely plucked. 
 So true their love, 
 So pure their hearts, 
 That sun and moon and stars 
 These trusting souls their favor showed. 
 It is no mystery : 
 Stony wastes are not love's limit 
 And plighted hearts from obstacles 
 Draw the relish of their feast. 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 The Maiden and Her Trousseau. 
 
 A maiden singing: 
 
 My heart is hopeful, 
 My heart is heavy, 
 My heart is singing, 
 My heart is dumb, 
 The flower once plucked 
 Can never bloom again. 
 Short is the morning-kiss 
 And long the day: 
 A two-fold meaning 
 Hath the bridal dress. 
 
 12 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 ACT I. BEATRICE. 
 Prolog. 
 
 'Twas a June day memorable : 
 The birds sang sweeter, 
 And the evening star shone brighter, 
 When Lord Ronald 
 The Lady Beatrice did wed: 
 For never gallant knight 
 A lovelier maiden 
 To her bridal consecration led. 
 
 BEATRICE'S FAREWELL TO HER 
 TRYSTING-PLACE. 
 
 A copse near the castle on the Ofterdingen estate. 
 
 BEATRICE, before donning her bridal garments, has 
 absented herself from the festivities, to take fare- 
 ivell of her favorite try sting-place. 
 
 For just once more, 
 For my last farewell, 
 Before the ring forever 
 To another's will commits my happiness 
 To thee, my faithful tree, 
 I flee. 
 
 Thou hast heard his pleading 
 And witnessed my consenting 
 Hast seen how bright and golden, 
 And jewel-studded, he showed the chain 
 By which to his authority 
 He is intent to shackle me, 
 Persuading me that bondage to him 
 Is greater freedom than my liberty. 
 
 13 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 If it ever be 
 
 The bondage in his kisses, 
 
 In his endearing arms, 
 
 In love's unfailing rapture, 
 
 O then of iron 
 
 Let my bonds be wrought 
 
 But now, before the gate forever closes, 
 While yet my soul is mine, 
 Its virgin conscience writing-free, 
 Before I yield my all, 
 
 And plunge into the ransom-spurning deep, 
 O my guardian tree, 
 Tell me truly now: 
 Will his love endure? 
 His kisses last? 
 Steadfast his heart abide ? 
 And his assurance never shadow throw? 
 For, O, if from that golden chain 
 The jewels drop, 
 
 And from his eye the love-light die, 
 And from his voice the mellow accent fade, 
 Then tongue can never tell 
 The anguish of my stricken heart. 
 
 Thou wert the sponsor of our troth, 
 Does the rustling of thy leaves 
 Dare to tell me eye to eye 
 That Ronald is a lover true, 
 A lover to the end? 
 
 So gently thy boughs bend low 
 And twine with the vine 
 To the graceless world 
 Undiscolsed to hold this bower mine. 
 
 I came upon this place when a child 
 I gathered blue-berries wild. 
 Here I sobbed my infant griefs, 
 Here I prayed my real prayers : 
 Did my penance, 
 And walked with God. 
 Here I built my castles of hope 
 And hid myself 
 
 For my prince to light upon me. 
 My lover led I here, 
 And none, never none else. 
 
 14 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 The voices of the bridesmaids are heard, calling the 
 bride. 
 
 The maidens call me now. 
 
 why so eager to prepare me captive? 
 A two-fold meaning hath the bridal dress. 
 
 1 am willing, but there is time, 
 
 For anon, then, virgins, call in vain. 
 
 In my last leave-taking let me linger: 
 
 'Tis my girlhood's sanctuary 
 
 I must leave forever, 
 
 For the last hour my own, 
 
 Then his 
 
 A consort? 
 
 Or passion's puppet? 
 
 Which ? 
 
 Ah, me ! Soothsaying never avails 
 
 When maiden-hopes 
 
 Their heart-strings anchor. 
 
 * * * 
 
 This is the place 
 Where Ronald the brave 
 Hath wooed me so gently and fiercely, 
 Wooed me as maiden loves to be wooed 
 By the tyrant-ruler of woman's heart. 
 This is the branch, 
 And this is the root 
 
 Where so often I made him sit. 
 * * 
 
 Thus his arms would round me steal, 
 
 Thus on his bosom I reclined, 
 
 Thus would he speak his love, 
 
 And thus he kissed my lips, 
 
 Nectar such as angels never drank. 
 
 How strong, how noble he is, 
 So fearless, so daring. 
 'Twas in yonder field, 
 Ethelried and I, daisies we sought, 
 When my father's mad steer he braved. 
 The awful horns I felt 
 Entangled in my dress. 
 Then Ronald's wild cry, 
 His terrible cry of war, I heard, 
 How sweet to me the sound. 
 He seized the beast 
 And choked the fuming nostrils. 
 O terrible the battle, 
 
 15 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 Round and round they circled, 
 
 Great drops of sweat fell from his brow : 
 
 A groan, a mighty pull, 
 
 And awry was wrenched 
 
 The stiff neck of the brute. 
 
 But to me, how gentle he is, 
 Softly, as among downs, 
 I nestle in his strength, 
 And, as upon velvet, 
 I lay my cheek in his hands, 
 And gaze into the light of his eyes. 
 O the happiness that here has been mine ! 
 
 I watched him carve his name 
 Into the bark of the tree, 
 Then over it traced he mine : 
 Said he ever holds me above him. 
 And made a circle around both : 
 Said it was love's fortress, 
 As valiant knight he would for me defend. 
 
 Then from near my feet 
 He plucked violets 
 And twined them into my locks, 
 And pelted me with apple-blossoms, 
 And from yonder brook 
 Gathered forget-me-nots and buttercups, 
 And luscious berries out of the meadow 
 With kisses between he gave me to eat, 
 And seized me in his arms 
 And kissed me more. 
 So Ronald hath loved me here 
 As maiden was never loved before, 
 But, farewell, sweet trysting-place, fare-well : 
 The seal of my fate 
 Boldly I break. 
 
 AT THE CASTLE. 
 
 Ended is the wedding-banquet, 
 The merry crowd hath danced its last, 
 The boisterous guests departed : 
 The nuptial benediction 
 Ofterdingen's walls o'erspreads. 
 Bride and bridegroom the holy hour approach, 
 And angel-spirits hover near, 
 As the lovers to the feast of love draw nigh 
 To drink the cup of Paradise 
 The gods to men have given. 
 
 16 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 The Woodland Flower. 
 
 A maiden singing: 
 
 A youth went for adventures forth 
 
 Far from the city's grime, 
 
 Far from travel's hardened path, 
 
 Into the ivoodland and forest deep. 
 
 There came he upon a rare and precious flower. 
 
 The flower would he pluck, 
 
 And rashly tear the bleeding stem 
 
 From its twining rootlets forth. 
 
 The petals quivered, 
 
 Softly sang the nightingale above: 
 
 Heal what thou hast broken 
 
 With thy kiss; 
 
 Inviolate with thee 
 
 Remain the beauty of her soul. 
 
 17 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 ACT II. THE SACRED WEDDING. 
 The Bridal Suite at Castle Ofterdingen. 
 
 (Note: In the ancient Thuringian marriage there often 
 was at the conclusion of the public wedding a more sacred 
 wedding in which only the chosen friends of bride and 
 bridegroom participated. There was an arch for the bride 
 to pass through into her new life, an altar to denote her 
 consecration and she also wore a symbolical girdle and 
 a wreath of flowers.) 
 
 Part I. Song of the Bridesmaids. 
 
 Song addressed the bridegroom, while leading his bride 
 through the bridal arch. 
 
 Tenderly now take thy bride. 
 In thy heart enshrine her, 
 With thy soul adore her, 
 Thy queen appoint her, 
 As the apple of thine eye 
 Do thou guard her. 
 Inviolate with thee 
 Remain the beauty of her soul. 
 
 Song addressed to the bride, standing by her lover's 
 side. 
 
 To-day though art fair, 
 Yet on the morrow shalt thou fairer be. 
 To-day thou art the rosy bud, 
 To-morrow the unfolding bloom. 
 Thy crown is now preparing 
 For the noon-tide sun 
 Thy morning to eclipse. 
 Then, O, our sister, as thy lips 
 The kiss of womanhood receive, 
 Do thou pray for us, 
 For to Life's priestess 
 Of Heaven nothing is denied. 
 
 The flowers of thy wreath 
 Now cast to us 
 As sacred token 
 
 That before twelve moons have passed 
 We, too, the golden path shall walk. 
 
 Part II. Leonore. 
 
 Mother, to Beatrice, aside: 
 
 Thus of the jewels of the mother-heart 
 
 Builds youth its summer-house : 
 
 And with lavish hands 
 
 18 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 Scatters the gems 
 
 Of tears and anxious watching 
 
 As if it were the sea-shore's sand. 
 
 Her that is more than life to me 
 
 To him I give: 
 
 Yet must not show the trickling tear 
 
 And without sign of loss 
 
 Renounce my bosom-treasure, 
 
 Because a wooer 
 
 On her his eye hath cast. 
 
 Joy for them her garlands winds 
 
 While sorrow beckons me 
 
 The dreary path with her to walk. 
 
 motherhood, thou meaning-laden word, 
 Storehouse of the heart's 
 Unfathomed treasuries, 
 
 From doll to wedding-bells, 
 
 And thence to children's children, 
 
 Thy tortuous emotions 
 
 Run the gamut of a woman's heart. 
 
 Half joy, half pain: 
 
 Yet neither would I miss 
 
 For of the higher and the lower chords 
 
 Thy soul-deep harmony is wrought. 
 
 I knew my spring was past. 
 Yet in my fancy proudly wore 
 The summer's bloom upon my brow, 
 Since Venice's mirrors 
 Have not yet tinged my hair with gray 
 When Berthelind, my first-born, came, 
 Drew me aside, and stammered : 
 "Mother, O Grandmother dear." 
 Then I heard the toll of autumn leaves, 
 And bade my quivering heart 
 Turn to view the setting sun. 
 
 1 can grow no more, 
 No longer glad surprises 
 Are held for me in store. 
 Hence only can I give : 
 Nevermore receive. 
 
 My joy must be 
 
 With others to rejoice, 
 
 And from younger faces 
 
 Wipe the tears, 
 
 Friend, counselor and guide 
 
 19 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 Through life's entangled mazes 
 
 Perchance I may yet be : 
 
 But actor on the stage 
 
 In its enchanted dream? 
 
 Not once again. 
 
 Gone are my days of youth. 
 
 Ah, for love, 
 
 Life is much too short. 
 
 'Twas but yesterday 
 Tiny garments I fashioned 
 In hope of promises yet unfulfilled. 
 (With daring I had braved the dawn, 
 And with a song my eager heart, 
 If fate had so ordained, 
 To its execution would have gone.) 
 But to-day with other feelings 
 I watch my daughters do the same. 
 
 One by one 
 
 Are my blossoms plucked 
 To shine for other eyes. 
 Soon a branchless tree, 
 Of its glory shorn, 
 I stand. 
 
 See how he snatches her from me, 
 And as robber to his lair 
 He carries her. 
 And she herself 
 Bids me welcome 
 The spoiler of my heart: 
 For that she has a mother 
 A bride knows not. 
 
 Ah, woman never gives herself alone : 
 Her own, and her mother's soul, 
 Both she strews at her lover's feet. 
 
 Yet do I acknowledge 
 That dear to me is Ronald : 
 Since I of my son, 
 And he of his mother is bereft. 
 When first to me 
 Beatrice brought him in 
 He grasped my hand and kissed it 
 And faintly lisped the wonder-word 
 "Mother" unto me. 
 
 20 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 Then tears filled his pleading eye. 
 
 I kissed him on the brow 
 
 And softly answered, "Son," 
 
 Then left them to each other, 
 
 Fled to my room and wept ; 
 
 For in tears alone the woman-heart 
 
 Can gush its fulness forth. 
 
 But to-night, not yet 
 Is the time of tears, 
 A little longer 
 
 Must I steel myself against the floods 
 That no discord in their joy be heard. 
 With happy mien will I stand 
 Till the breaking of all ties is done : 
 Then will I take my empty heart 
 And we will weep, 
 Alone will we weep. 
 
 Part III. The Flower-Girls. 
 
 YOUNG FLOWER-GIRL (passing through the bridal 
 arch) : 
 
 I know not what I carry, 
 
 Nor why upon this altar 
 
 These flowers so tremblingly I lay. 
 
 My heart, O my heart, 
 
 With fear and joy 
 
 It flutters strange and full. 
 
 I know a youth so fair, 
 
 He looked on me the other day : 
 
 O what meant his look? 
 
 What meant his look ? 
 
 SECOND FLOWER-GIRL: 
 
 With reverence this flower 
 From thy bridal girdle 
 To my breast I pin : 
 For I am older, sisters, than you think, 
 My heart is ready, 
 Pining, ah, for him 
 Who is my sun. 
 
 To my lips this flower I press, 
 Now do I consecrate myself : 
 After this no other kiss, 
 Till he whose right it is 
 Shall come. 
 
 21 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 OLDER FLOWER-GIRL, aside: 
 
 O lover mine! 
 Why dost thou tarry? 
 Pluck up thy courage 
 And make bold 
 To ask of me the question 
 Which most I dread, 
 Yet almost dying, long to hear. 
 
 lisp the pregnant word 
 
 That shall make me faint and pale 
 And shake me as an aspen leaf. 
 To thy arrow 
 
 1 my heart lay bare. 
 
 O ask of me, 
 And ask enough 
 That I be no longer free, 
 But be pledged forever unto thee. 
 
 Sister to Beatrice, one of the Brides- 
 maids: 
 
 I must not, I dare not tell, 
 Yet silence cannot keep, 
 Have ever you seen 
 A face so blushing, 
 And lips so red as mine? 
 A girl as a dove so shy 
 And happy as the lark? 
 
 The reason? 
 He hath kissed me, 
 Much, O much, against my will. 
 And I kissed him back 
 (Against my will). 
 He clasped me in his arms, 
 He drew me to his breast, 
 I said "You must not!" 
 He drew me closer, 
 (I could not breathe), 
 I held him fast, 
 And kissed once more. 
 How many followed, I cannot confess : 
 For you would never believe me 
 They could be so many, 
 So sweet and so long. 
 'Tis our secret, 
 
 22 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 For our love is true : 
 
 I am happy, 
 
 His kiss hath made me so. 
 
 A BRIDESMAID, to herself:- 
 
 When for the holy war 
 From our village he departed, 
 He took me by the hand : 
 He pressed it warmly, 
 Then caressed it, 
 And looked into my eyes 
 Down into my heart. 
 He went, 
 And never message has he sent me. 
 
 men are fickle, 
 Men are false. 
 
 Perhaps he meant it not, 
 But my heart is heavy. 
 He broke the sacred seal, 
 And kept the key: 
 
 1 cannot be another's, 
 Yet he claims me not. 
 I am forsaken. 
 
 In the silent watches of the night 
 I shed my burning tears, 
 The vision faileth me, 
 My hope is dimmed, 
 My heart is sore. 
 
 ROSAMUND, Beatrice's youngest sister: 
 
 O Beatrice, the dearest of my sisters. 
 
 Till Ronald came 
 
 All thy heart I possessed. 
 
 (Mayhap for thy sake 
 
 Do I forgive him). 
 
 O the men 
 From thy lips 
 
 Thy last virgin kiss 
 
 Have I come to snatch, 
 
 And well-guarded 
 
 Will I keep it in my vow 
 
 Never to be bound or wed : 
 
 For youth's holiday 
 
 In the marriage-ring is ended. 
 
 Each wedding leaner makes 
 
 My comradeship. 
 
 23 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 Berthelind scarce knows me now 
 Since her baby came 
 
 (The sweet little thief) 
 
 She says I do not understand 
 
 And in her happiness 
 
 No room for me hath Ethelried, 
 
 In a day is she a woman grown : 
 
 She romps with me no more. 
 
 And, dearest Beatrice, 
 
 I know it well, 
 
 As to thy lover thou art closer drawn 
 
 To me wilt thou colder grow. 
 
 I hate the men, 
 
 The cause of this 
 
 And all of woman's griefs. 
 
 I hate them all 
 
 All but One. 
 
 BERTHELIND, Beatrice's married sister, while the bridal 
 candles and incense are lit, in a whisper: 
 
 O sister dear, the fairest of us four, 
 Soon at life's altar shalt thou stand 
 And heaven's blessing claim. 
 Let me whisper in thy ear 
 Not to fear 
 
 When the dawn of womanhood 
 Thy being thrills. 
 Thy lover is an honorable man, 
 (I've read it in his eye) 
 Tender and kind, 
 Strong to rule the unruly realm. 
 Unwaveringly cast thyself into his trust 
 And without question 
 Give as woman gives. 
 
 With gladness 
 
 Thy treasure shalt thou bear, 
 The hallowed secret know, 
 And find thy nature's satisfying, 
 For the tenderest joy 
 Of the deepest pain is born. 
 
 24 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 Part IV. Final Chorus of the Bridesmaids. 
 
 (While leaving the bridal bower.) 
 
 A bridegroom so handsome, 
 So manly, 
 To thy safekeeping 
 We commit our sister 
 Spotless as Eve in Paradise 
 Heaven's perfect handiwork. 
 With thy strength overshadow her, 
 With thy life redeem her: 
 Worthily to thy arms 
 Receive her! Good-Night. 
 
 Chorus of the Flower-Girls. 
 
 Flowers red, flowers white, 
 Flowers young, flowers fresh, 
 Flowers enchanted, flowers prophesying 
 At thy feet we strew : 
 For thy path 
 
 Is the path of roses and of lilies : 
 The mystery that with the rainbow's halo 
 Shall thy face transform: 
 For youth's one sweetest hour 
 Is the bridal hour. Good-Night. 
 
 ACT III. RAGNI, THE OUTCAST. 
 
 RAGNI, a former companion of Beatrice and her 
 friends, but now an outcast, has stealthily ap- 
 proached the castle-window, and with her young 
 babe secretly watched the nuptials: 
 
 O Beatrice, never canst thou know 
 
 How the innocent do suffer. 
 
 'Tis well thou thinkest not of me this hour, 
 
 For I would not mar thy joy : 
 
 Only from afar behold 
 
 What for myself I hoped. 
 
 Yet each flower in thy wreath 
 
 Is to my side a pricking thorn. 
 
 I loved so much, so truly, 
 
 And trusted so confidingly: 
 
 I believed him honest as myself. 
 
 But he basely left me: 
 
 Left me with the pledge 
 
 Of woman's crowning-glory: 
 
 The babe that now proclaims my shame. 
 
 25 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 Proud as the proudest 
 By his side would I have walked, 
 And with my infant shown myself 
 At every public concourse triumphant 
 That I am not a woman born in vain. 
 But, ah, my darling, 
 How heavily thy father's sins 
 Do fall upon us ! 
 
 He forsook me, 
 Broke the oath he swore me: 
 Wherefore, O my sisters, ye tread me under 
 
 foot. 
 
 Ye mock me for my trust, 
 And hold your skirts aloof from me 
 As if I were a viper. 
 With fresh stumbling blocks 
 Ye daily pave my thorny path. 
 I am cast off, 
 
 Therefore ye declare me fallen. 
 O for a friendly tear, 
 A sympathizing heart ! 
 But alas there is no bosom-friend, 
 Nor boon-companion, nor sister 
 For her whom her lover wronged. 
 
 But for my babe, in part 
 Ye would forgive me. 
 As if the sin were less 
 That is in secret done. 
 Ye know not what I suffer: 
 Ye know not how I love 
 This orphan-child, ye call a bastard, 
 And a child of sin. 
 Nay, to me 'tis a child of succor, 
 'Twas born of faith and love, 
 'Tis my inmost own 
 Twice am I its mother 
 Once in the God-appointed pains 
 And now in persecution. 
 Why do ye judge so harshly : 
 The child sinned not, 
 And I, its mother, 
 Suffer, as no other mortals suffer. 
 His father's love hath failed him, 
 But never faileth 
 Mother-love and woman's constancy. 
 
 26 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 Ah, my fatherless darling, 
 On what unfriendly shores art thou cast. 
 The righteous wish thee dead, 
 The scoffers mark thee as the harlot's child, 
 And hypocrites hail thee 
 As the welcome prod 
 To gash my bleeding heart anew. 
 Because thy father left us 
 Must we ever tremble 
 As the sparrow from the hawk, 
 And walk with downcast eyes, 
 And creep about by night, 
 (For in the sunlight scorners sit) 
 And ever eat our bread in tears ? 
 
 let us heaven's judgment seek, 
 For surely He that knows it all 
 Cannot be so unmerciful 
 
 As is the world to her 
 Who loved and was forsaken. 
 Come, my sleeping darling, 
 Thy mother never was a bride; 
 (Unholy hands robbed us of our crown) 
 Let us end our misery. 
 'Twas at yonder lake 
 On a mild autumn night, 
 The grass was yet green, 
 The leaves were gold and yellow, 
 
 1 with my lover sat 
 (Then still a lover true) 
 
 When heaven our betrothal witnessed. 
 
 There, in the cool waves, 
 Of that self-same lake 
 Will we find the soothing of our sorrow. 
 
 She seizes her babe and in a fit of despair runs with 
 it to the lake. As she arrives at its shores, the moon 
 stands full above the forest. The babe azvakens and 
 opens its eyes. 
 
 One last look now, the very last, 
 Into these sweet blue eyes. 
 A kiss, then the grewsome murmur of the 
 
 waves, 
 And all is over. 
 
 Ah, my babe, thou wert his covenant of love. 
 In thine eyes I see him once again, 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 His better self is there : 
 How could he do it? 
 Warm upon the bed 
 In another's arms now he lies, 
 And thou and I, how we suffer 
 Homeless in the cold ! 
 
 God, we come : 
 
 In thy mercy this thy child receive. 
 (Walks to the brink of the water, but hesitates for 
 a moment) 
 
 Nay, but thou art his child, 
 And my heart not wholly closed to him. 
 But vain is my hope. 
 How have I for thee suffered ! 
 Still will I suffer 
 And uncomplainingly woman's lot 
 Upon me take: 
 
 For to make atonement of man's sin 
 Was woman born. 
 Thou art innocent. 
 Sacred was the hour 
 His baseness I'll forgive 
 And heaven bless 
 
 1 thee possess. 
 
 28 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 
 A Bride Adorned for Her 
 
 Husband. 
 
 A maiden singing: 
 
 Why such infinite pains 
 
 For my dress 
 
 And my adorning? 
 
 'Tis for him. 
 
 His joy 
 
 Is all my thought and care. 
 
 No misplaced lock 
 
 Must show hair. 
 
 No unsmoothed ruffle 
 
 Disclose my dress. 
 
 Bach one a treasured flower 
 
 One more for him 
 
 To crush and disarrange. 
 
 To the brim would I fill his cup 
 
 And rich his spoiling make 
 
 For Life's one sweetest hour 
 
 Is the Bridal Hour. 
 
 29 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 ACT IV. LEGENDARY. 
 
 Heaven and Earth United in Love's Holy Hour. 
 
 Cupid, Ronald and Beatrice, Nymphs, etc. 
 
 I. LOVE'S HOLY HOUR. 
 
 CUPID, to the lovers: 
 
 When once upon a time 
 The Lord of Life 
 A charmed flower would plant, 
 He did not with lightning rend the sky 
 And summoned not the giants of the air 
 With thunder-trumpet forth. 
 Gentleness he laid upon his mighty strength. 
 He sought a shaded, dewy spot, 
 He hushed the storm 
 And hung- ^Eol's harp 
 Upon the entrance 
 Of the foliage-covered bower 
 Hid from the garish sun. 
 There in the moist earth 
 A little root he buried, 
 And painted green 
 The broad leaves 
 Of the jewel's setting. 
 The flower-bell 
 He made of purest white, 
 Gave it a golden heart, 
 And sent an angel 
 To hide therein 
 A maiden-kiss. 
 
 So was the lily of the valley made. 
 Modest, yet in beauty unsurpassed, 
 Of faith and love and hope 
 The emblem grows. 
 
 So kiss the kiss of youth 
 As lilies kiss : 
 And kiss again, 
 And deeper yet again, 
 Till ye be no longer twain. 
 
 to herself: 
 
 I am nearly faint, 
 My bosom heaves, 
 My heart beats fast, 
 
 30 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 A virgin I am to the altar led 
 To be a woman born. 
 
 RONALD, to himself: 
 
 How pure, 
 
 How beautiful and lovely, 
 Is Beatrice, my bride. 
 How trustful the questioning 
 Of her eyes ! 
 
 What lips for kissing made! 
 Fair art thou as the placid lake, 
 Thy face of heaven's blue 
 The perfect mirror. 
 O may no cloud thy radiance dim 
 As in awe I take thee to myself 
 And in thy kisses bathe. 
 
 I dare not look again, 
 My heart keep still, 
 The consort of the gods 
 Is not for thee. 
 
 Then to Beatrice, taking her hand and caressing it: 
 
 Dearest, dost remember, 
 When first thou gavest me this hand? 
 'Twas at my mother's grave, 
 Thou stood'st beside me there, 
 'Twas God who led thee there. 
 In that hour of darkness 
 Thou earnest a shining star 
 Across my path. 
 
 Thy gentle sympathy brought hope 
 In hopeless days. 
 Thou griev'dst with me, 
 And assuaged'st my grief. 
 Thy modest dignity entranced my heart. 
 
 Sweet were our wooing days. 
 Sweet the light 
 Then shining in thine eyes. 
 I knew thou lovedst me truly, 
 Yet kep'st thyself .a guarded fortress. 
 But in that hour so holy 
 When the stars their love-beams twinkle, 
 And angels from immortal thrones descend 
 
 31 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 To sigh for mortal bliss 
 
 Thou didst of me accept thy bridal kiss. 
 
 the thrills and rapture of that kiss ! 
 On this day that thou art wholly mine, 
 O kiss it to me again 
 
 A thousand thousand times. 
 
 CUPID, handing Beatrice Love's magic mirror, reveal- 
 ing her lover: 
 BEATRICE^ absorbed in the mirror: 
 
 1 always knew my Ronald was a man, 
 And altogether a man, 
 
 Yet far handsomer is he 
 
 Than ever I divined. 
 
 How erect he stands, 
 
 How graceful in his strength, 
 
 From head to foot 
 
 No blemish upon him anywhere. 
 
 No puny, weakling seed 
 
 From him can issue. 
 
 O Ronald, gladly and undismayed 
 
 Is Beatrice thy bride. 
 
 O that I had a thousand hearts to give 
 Instead of one, 
 And were a goddess now, 
 Then heaven's lights would I pluck 
 To weave my lover's crown : 
 Yet though I gave the day, 
 And all the brightness of the sky, 
 'Twere not half I fain would give to thee. 
 
 32 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 II. ELYSIUM. 
 
 The Betrothed Asleep, or in a Dream. The Angel- 
 Choir, Nymphs, Furies, etc. 
 
 Historical. 
 
 According to an old Thuringian legend, each undefiled 
 earthly marriage had a heavenly counterpart. It was said 
 that at the instant of the wedded bridegroom's first kiss, 
 the souls of the lovers were transplanted to Heaven by 
 two bridal nymphs, named Nereid and Naiad, who con- 
 ducted them to the Elysian regions and acted as their 
 guide through the heavenly nuptials. 
 
 Antiphonal lightning from the Evening and Morn- 
 ing stars announces to the dwellers in heaven the 
 approach of the Bridal Souls. 
 
 SONG OF THE HEAVENLY CHOIR. 
 Hail to the Holy One, 
 Hail to the Chosen One, 
 Hail to the Bride, 
 The morning-star of Life. 
 
 NAIAD, a nymph, to the Betrothed: 
 
 O Happy mortals, 
 Who have vowed the vow 
 Heaven-pleasing, 
 Earth-redeeming, 
 Here in Elysium's bowers 
 . Plight your troth anew 
 That everything on earth begun 
 In heaven its completion find. 
 
 , a nymph, to Ronald: 
 
 Consider the jewel that to thee is given, 
 For thou knowest not 
 The age-long groaning of the universe, 
 The yearning, silent brooding 
 Of the; Spirit 
 Till from chaos 
 Woman's beauty did arise : 
 Nor how in agonies untold 
 And blindly groping, 
 Ever upward striving, 
 Ever thwarted, devious paths 
 Compelled to wander, 
 Seeking light 
 
 33 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 And never the veil of darkness 
 
 Fully piercing, 
 
 Thirsting after truth, 
 
 And still unquenched remaining: 
 
 O in what birth-throes 
 
 Is perfection born! 
 
 -'There she stands, 
 Heaven's glory, now thy bride. 
 
 RONALD, upon beholding a vision of Beatrice: 
 
 Beatrice, my bride, 
 
 How spotlessly thy robe of innocence 
 Thy hidden worth proclaims. 
 Thy eyes, thy lips, thy hair 
 Betray the sapphire-glow within. 
 How marvelous the soul 
 That such an habitation 
 For its dwelling framed ! 
 Thy skin so white ; 
 Thy crimson blush 
 As roses in the morning-dew. 
 Thy arms a Goddess lent thee, 
 Thy hands the Graces kissed, 
 Thy loins in Beauty's curves enclosed, 
 Thy feet with angel sandals shod: 
 Thou art the queen of heaven 
 And fairer than the fair, 
 . Never eyes have seen such comeliness 
 As can with thee compare. 
 
 CUNINA, the disconsolate nymph of heaven, ap- 
 proaches to conduct the lovers to Fensalir, ivhere they 
 are to drink the Cup of Immortality. 
 
 (Note: It is said that Cunina always took unusual in- 
 terest in the affairs of men. Once she witnessed the blush 
 of a maiden at her first kiss and at another time came upon 
 a young mother at play with her babe. She believed that 
 here she saw happiness unknown in heaven. Thereafter 
 she ever remained disconsolate.) 
 
 CUNINA, to the lovers: 
 
 1 have dwelt on earth 
 And seen its sorrows, 
 Beheld its pains 
 
 And mourned the desolation 
 That from human sin leaps forth : 
 Yet love for all is compensation, 
 
 34 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 The healing balm for deepest wounds. 
 
 We here are called the Blest: 
 
 We have no night, 
 
 And hence know not the morning thrill. 
 
 Here, where we never grow old, 
 
 We were never young. 
 
 We, that weep not at the grave, 
 
 Can never feel the cradle-smile 
 
 Tugging at the mother-heart 
 
 And where there is no sorrow 
 
 Rejoicing hath but half its worth. 
 
 O, for an hour of youth and love 
 
 I would exchange my changeless bliss 
 
 And count not death 
 
 Too high a price 
 
 To gain a lover's kiss. 
 
 And if over love that is lost 
 
 I must mourn 
 
 The bitter-sweetness 
 
 Still is sweet. 
 
 (Secretly Cunina now binds the lovers with the sil- 
 ver-chord of love to unchanging faithfulness. Furies 
 in the background mutter their curses, but are not dis- 
 tinctly heard by human ears.) 
 
 FIRST FURY, to the lovers: 
 
 Bride and bridegroom 
 Say ye that ye are, 
 And in one short hour would quaff 
 The happiness 
 Of all eternity's distilling. 
 Q heedless sons of men, 
 Heaven's greatest gift 
 Far too lightly do ye judge. 
 Never to Fensalir shall ye pass 
 Till ye swear 
 
 With your souls forever to pay 
 The penalty of faithlessness. 
 
 THE: FURIES, in chorus: 
 
 And if ye break your vows 
 We will rend your heart 
 And blind your eyes 
 And sink you into the vortex of hell, 
 
 35 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 We will, we will. 
 CUNINA, sadly: 
 
 And the innocent 
 
 Shall suffer more than the guilty. 
 SECOND FURY, to Ronald: 
 
 And I will scatter thy youth, 
 
 And shatter thy hopes, 
 
 And the death-knell 
 
 In thy marrow rattle. 
 CUNINA : 
 
 And the innocent 
 
 Shall suffer more than the guilty. 
 THIRD FURY, to Beatrice: 
 
 And with the furrows 
 
 Of sorrow 
 
 Will I mar thy face. 
 
 And for repentance 
 
 There shall be no room 
 
 In thy doom. 
 CUNINA: 
 
 And the innocent 
 
 Shall suffer more than the guilty. 
 
 (Tremblingly Beatrice seeks shelter in Ronald's 
 arms, who stoops to caress her, whereupon, since love 
 is stronger than fear, the Furies vanish.) 
 
 CUNINA, to Beatrice: 
 
 O happy daughter of earth, 
 Heaven's goldenest path 
 Dost thou tread. 
 With thee to thy joy 
 We may not enter. 
 Thy consecration 
 Is to us denied: 
 For we are vestals only, 
 But thou of Life 
 The sacred shrine itself. 
 
 (The lovers enter Fensalir.) 
 
 HEAVENLY CHOIR: 
 
 And God saw the works 
 Which he had made 
 And behold, they were very good. 
 
 36 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 III. FENSALIR, THE TEMPLE OF 
 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 The lovers asleep, agitated by dreams and visions. 
 
 RONALD (in a dream), to Beatrice: 
 
 O Beatrice, queen of my heart, 
 Surpassing fair thoti art. 
 Heaven's radiance is upon thy brow, 
 And fairies in the silver-spray 
 Are thy roseate image tracing. 
 Give me thy lips again 
 That I may swear my soul anew to thee. 
 To the awe of angels let us go, 
 Love's sealing there receive 
 And our completer self attain. 
 At thy being's solemn quiver 
 I will near thee stand. 
 
 BEATRICE (in a dream), to herself: 
 How strange is Love ! 
 
 How deep its mysteries ! 
 
 Who is worthy 
 
 Life's secret springs to touch 
 
 And drink the resurrection-kiss? 
 
 Hera, the Goddess of Health, enters and presents the 
 Cup of Immortality to the Lovers: 
 
 This is the Cup of Immortality, 
 
 Take each your chalice, 
 
 And drink of it. 
 
 Then self with self exchange 
 
 And press it to each other's lips, 
 
 And from the self-same spot 
 
 The other drank 
 
 Quaff it to the end 
 
 Till soul in soul dissolve: 
 
 For in the bridal blush to glow 
 
 Is creation's final, perfect end. 
 
 The echo of the Heavenly Choir is heard in the 
 portals of Fensalir: 
 
 What in heaven 
 God hath joined to-gether, 
 Let not man 
 Asunder part. $ 
 
 37 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 RONALD (in a vision), to Beatrice, while drinking with 
 her the immortal cup: 
 
 O Beatrice, bride of brides, 
 
 With wealth untold 
 
 In thee love's kingdom is endowed. 
 
 I gaze into thine eyes : 
 
 I drink thy soul, 
 
 Do thou drink mine, 
 
 'Tis heaven itself O more than heaven 
 
 I wed thee to an everlasting kiss, 
 
 I am of thee O happiness of happiness 
 
 And thou of me, forever and forever, 
 
 Each other's love-kissed other self. 
 From Adnir, at the foot of the rainbow, out of the 
 abyss of the Unborn, whose bonds only maiden-hands 
 can loosen, prayer ascends to Beatrice's ears: 
 From out of the shadowy deep, 
 
 From the timeless gloom 
 
 And fetters of night, 
 
 For our deliverance, 
 
 O maiden, we plead with thee. 
 
 Our unformed beings pity: 
 
 give us the dawn: 
 
 With thyself our hunger still, 
 
 And of the rainbow weave us 
 
 Childhood's garment 
 
 Of laughter and frolicsome days. 
 
 Thy prayers teach our lips, 
 
 And softly sing thy speech our mother-tongue. 
 
 Sow freely of thy heart's aspiring 
 
 Reap in us thy harvest of hope, 
 
 And out of our helplessness 
 
 Build thee the fairest castle 
 
 Of thy soul. 
 
 BEATRICE, sings softly: 
 
 Tiny blossoms 
 
 Praying for the morning sun, 
 Tiny hands 
 
 By mother-yearning answered, 
 Tiny tears 
 
 By tenderest pity dried: 
 Heaven's flowers 
 
 1 water with my hands. 
 
 38 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. ; , , '.' 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 The Maiden at Her Devotions. 
 
 A maiden singing: 
 
 When at eventide 
 
 At my bedside 
 
 I bend my knees, 
 
 All evil from me flees. 
 
 In the confessing tear 
 
 My God draws near. 
 
 O blessed hour of prayer, 
 
 How sweet to linger 
 
 In thy fragrant air, 
 
 Where bloom the flowers 
 
 Of the morning-sun. 
 
 ACT V. EUNICE, THE UNWOOED. 
 
 Scene: After the wedding. Eunice, a bridesmaid, 
 in her bed-chamber. 
 
 EUNICE, sitting upon her bed, partly disrobed, toying 
 zvith the flowers from the bridal girdle: 
 
 How becomingly did this girdle 
 The princess Beatrice encircle ! 
 How proud she looked 
 When so tenderly 
 Ronald did unloosen it! 
 How beautiful to be a bride, 
 O how I long 
 'Tis woman's glory, 
 Tis her all. 
 
 Was I a woman born 
 To be denied my right? 
 And shall my nature 
 Never reach its full intoxication? 
 Nor never know its rightful pangs? 
 And never taste the joy 
 That lies beyond the mortal agony? 
 Shall I never minister my infant's wants, 
 No darling carry on my breast? 
 O who damns me so to fail 
 Of my destiny: 
 That childless, unkissed % 
 
 39 
 
The Sacred Betrothal 
 
 And empty-handed 
 
 My lonely, unmourned grave 
 
 I must seek? 
 
 Full twenty summers have I seen 
 Under my window 
 The linden-tree 
 Deck herself in bridal green ; 
 And heard the robin 
 Twitter to its mate: 
 "Hey-ho, Springtime is love-time, 
 Here will we build our nest, 
 And rear our brood, 
 And live for love 
 And love for life, 
 Hey-ho, hey-ho." 
 
 O is there no throne 
 In the heart of some brave youth 
 Where I may reign? 
 What sin have I committed 
 That no lover 
 
 In the world is found for me? 
 Am I not worthy as my sisters? 
 Hath another 
 As much as I to give ? 
 Is it in vain 
 
 That pure I kept myself 
 For him who does not come? 
 
 In the dance 
 
 Some have drawn me close, 
 And whispered words unlawful: 
 For 1 missed the love-lit eyes 
 Of Passion's sacred fire 
 Guarded holy in the heart. 
 Wanton indulgence they sought 
 And would heaven itself defile 
 To gain a victim for their lust. 
 No woman's heart could they unclasp 
 They meant not as they should, 
 They wooed not truly, 
 But added to my sorrow 
 That tempters there are many 
 And lovers none. 
 O God, remember me! 
 
 40 
 
of Ronald and Beatrice. 
 
 ACT VI. BEATRICE, THE HAPPY. 
 The New Life. 
 
 BEATRICE, to herself: 
 
 The secret longings of my being 
 
 Are now fulfilled. 
 
 The eternal pleading answered. 
 
 I am a happy bride. 
 
 Proudly my crown I wear, 
 
 The chariots of eternity I guide. 
 Then to Ronald: 
 
 My star is risen high, 
 
 With honor thy ring I wear. 
 
 Give thy wife thy lips 
 
 To kiss thee 
 
 With her new kiss. 
 
 At the appointed time 
 
 Thy prayer shall be granted thee. 
 ***** 
 
 So now shelter me, 
 And watch over me 
 With thy tenderest care. 
 Sweetly in thy arms 
 Will I sleep 
 Till the morning dawn 
 In the East. 
 
 Then do thou waken me 
 With thy husband-kiss. 
 
 POSTLUDE. 
 The Treasure of the Toiler's Home, 
 
 or The Husband's Kiss. 
 A maiden singing: 
 
 When standing in our door-ivay, 
 
 The eifen twilight 
 
 Round me gathers, 
 
 And thy child in my arms 
 
 Down the roadside 
 
 His father's form discovers, 
 
 Returning from thy toil, 
 
 And my heart once more 
 
 Beats calm 
 
 In assurance of my prayer anszvered 
 
 That spared thee through the day. 
 
 Then, O then, kiss me 
 
 With thy husband-kiss. 
 
 [THE END.] 
 41 
 
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