_Fest._ Nay, even your honors, in a sense, I waive: The wondrous Paracelsus, life's dispenser, Fate's commissary, idol of the schools And courts, shall be no more than Aureole still, Still Aureole and my friend as when we parted Some twenty years ago, and I restrained As best I could the promptings of my spirit Which secretly advanced you, from the first, To the pre-eminent rank which, since, your own Adventurous ardor nobly triumphing, Has won for you. _Par._ Yes, yes. And Michal's face Still wears that quiet and peculiar light Like the dim circlet floating round a pearl? _Fest._ Just so. _Par._ And yet her calm sweet countenance, Though saintly, was not sad; for she would sing Alone. Does she still sing alone, bird-like, Not dreaming you are near? Her carols dropt In flakes through that old leafy bower built under The sunny wall at Würzburg, from her lattice Among the trees above, while I, unseen, Sat conning some rare scroll from Tritheim's shelves, Much wondering notes so simple could divert My mind from study. Those were happy days. Respect all such as sing when all alone! _Fest._ Scarcely alone: her children, yon may guess, Are wild beside her. _Par._ Ah, those children quite Unsettle the pure picture in my mind: A girl, she was so perfect, so distinct: No change, no change! Not but this added grace May blend and harmonize with its compeers, And Michal may become her motherhood; But 't is a change, and I detest all change, And most a change in aught I loved long since. So, Michal--you have said she thinks of me? _Fest._ O very proud will Michal be of you! Imagine how we sat, long winter-nights, Scheming and wondering, shaping your presumed Adventure, or devising its reward; Shutting out fear with all the strength of hope. For it was strange how, even when most secure In our domestic peace, a certain dim And flitting shade could sadden all; it seemed A restlessness of heart, a silent yearning, A sense of something wanting, incomplete-- Not to be put in words, perhaps avoided By mute consent--but, said or unsaid, felt To point to one so loved and so long lost. And then the hopes rose and shut out the fears-- How you would laugh should I recount them now! I still predicted your return at last With gifts beyond the greatest of them all, All Tritheim's wondrous troop; did one of which Attain renown by any chance, I smiled, As well aware of who would prove his peer. Michal was sure some woman, long ere this, As beautiful as you were sage, had loved ... _Par._ Far-seeing, truly, to discern so much In the fantastic projects and day-dreams Of a raw restless boy!