Looking through the open door.

Who is it coming under the trees? 
A man, in the Prince’s livery dressed! 
He looks about him with doubtful face,
As if uncertain of the place. 
He stops at the beehives;—­now he sees
The garden gate;—­he is going past! 
Can he be afraid of the bees? 
No; he is coming in at last! 
He fills my heart with strange alarm!

Enter a Forester.

FORESTER. 
Is this the tenant Gottlieb’s farm?

URSULA. 
This is his farm, and I his wife. 
Pray sit.  What may your business be?

FORESTER. 
News from the Prince!

URSULA. 
                    Of death or life?

FORESTER. 
You put your questions eagerly!

URSULA. 
Answer me, then!  How is the Prince?

FORESTER. 
I left him only two hours since
Homeward returning down the river,
As strong and well as if God, the Giver,
Had given him back his youth again.

URSULA, despairing. 
Then Elsie, my poor child, is dead!

FORESTER. 
That, my good woman, I have not said. 
Don’t cross the bridge till you come to it,
Is a proverb old, and of excellent wit.

URSULA. 
Keep me no longer in this pain!

FORESTER. 
It is true your daughter is no more;—­
That is, the peasant she was before.

URSULA. 
Alas!  I am simple and lowly bred,
I am poor, distracted, and forlorn. 
And it is not well that you of the court
Should mock me thus, and make a sport
Of a joyless mother whose child is dead,
For you, too, were of mother born!

FORESTER. 
Your daughter lives, and the Prince is well! 
You will learn erelong how it all befell. 
Her heart for a moment never failed;
But when they reached Salerno’s gate,
The Prince’s nobler self prevailed,
And saved her for a noble fate. 
And he was healed, in his despair,
By the touch of St. Matthew’s sacred bones;
Though I think the long ride in the open air,
That pilgrimage over stocks and stones,
In the miracle must come in for a share.

URSULA. 
Virgin! who lovest the poor and lowly,
If the loud cry of a mother’s heart
Can ever ascend to where thou art,
Into thy blessed hands and holy
Receive my prayer of praise and thanksgiving! 
Let the hands that bore our Saviour bear it
Into the awful presence of God;
For thy feet with holiness are shod,
And if thou hearest it He will hear it. 
Our child who was dead again is living!

FORESTER. 
I did not tell you she was dead;
If you thought so ’t was no fault of mine;
At this very moment while I speak,
They are sailing homeward down the Rhine,
In a splendid barge, with golden prow,
And decked with banners white and red
As the colors on your daughter’s cheek. 
They call her the Lady Alicia now;
For the Prince in Salerno made a vow
That Elsie only would he wed.