_Ursula_. It is of God. He has inspired This purpose in her; and through pain, Out of a world of sin and woe, He takes her to himself again. The mother's heart resists no longer; With the Angel of the Lord in vain It wrestled, for he was the stronger. _Gottlieb_. As Abraham offered long ago His son unto the Lord, and even The Everlasting Father in heaven Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, So do I offer up my daughter! (URSULA _hides her face_.) _Elsie_. My life is little, Only a cup of water, But pure and limpid. Take it, O my Prince! Let it refresh you, Let it restore you. It is given willingly, It is given freely; May God bless the gift! _Prince Henry._ And the giver! _Gottlieb._ Amen! _Prince Henry._ I accept it! _Gottlieb._ Where are the children? _Ursula._ They are already asleep. _Gottlieb._ What if they were dead? * * * * * IN THE GARDEN. * * * * * _Elsie._ I have one thing to ask of you. _Prince Henry._ What is it? It is already granted. _Elsie._ Promise me, When we are gone from here, and on our way Are journeying to Salerno, you will not, By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade me And turn me from my purpose, but remember That as a pilgrim to the Holy City Walks unmolested, and with thoughts of pardon Occupied wholly, so would I approach The gates of Heaven, in this great jubilee, With my petition, putting off from me All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off my feet. Promise me this. _Prince Henry._ Thy words fall from thy lips Like roses from the lips of Angelo: and angels Might stoop to pick them up! _Elsie._ Will you not promise? _Prince Henry._ If ever we depart upon this journey, So long to one or both of us, I promise. _Elsie._ Shall we not go, then? Have you lifted me Into the air, only to hurl me back Wounded upon the ground? and offered me The waters of eternal life, to bid me Drink the polluted puddles of this world? _Prince Henry._ O Elsie! what a lesson thou dost teach me! The life which is, and that which is to come, Suspended hang in such nice equipoise A breath disturbs the balance; and that scale In which we throw our hearts preponderates, And the other, like an empty one, flies up, And is accounted vanity and air! To me the thought of death is terrible, Having such hold on life. To thee it is not So much even as the lifting of a latch; Only a step into the open air Out of a tent already luminous With light that shines through its transparent walls! O pure in heart! from thy sweet dust shall grow Lilies, upon whose petals will be written "Ave Maria" in characters of gold! III. A STREET IN STRASBURG. * * * * * _Night._ PRINCE HENRY _wandering alone, wrapped in a cloak._