Eliz. Ay--stay a while in peace. The storms are still. Beneath her eider robe the patient earth Watches in silence for the sun: we'll sit And gaze up with her at the changeless heaven, Until this tyranny be overpast. Come. [aside] Lost! Lost! Lost! [They enter a neighbouring ruin.] SCENE III A Chamber in the Bishop's Palace at Bamberg. Elizabeth and Guta. Guta. You have determined? Eliz. Yes--to go with him. I have kept my oath too long to break it now. I will to Marpurg, and there waste away In meditation and in pious deeds, Till God shall set me free. Guta. How if your uncle Will have you marry? Day and night, they say, He talks of nothing else. Eliz. Never, girl, never! Save me from that at least, O God! Guta. He spoke Of giving us, your maidens, to his knights In carnal wedlock: but I fear him not: For God's own word is pledged to keep me pure-- I am a maid. Eliz. And I, alas! am none! O Guta! dost thou mock my widowed love? I was a wife--'tis true: I was not worthy-- But there was meaning in that first wild fancy; 'Twas but the innocent springing of the sap-- The witless yearning of an homeless heart-- Do I not know that God has pardoned me? But now--to rouse and turn of mine own will, In cool and full foreknowledge, this worn soul Again to that, which, when God thrust it on me, Bred but one shame of ever-gnawing doubt, Were--No, my burning cheeks! We'll say no more. Ah! loved and lost! Though God's chaste grace should fail me, My weak idolatry of thee would give Strength that should keep me true: with mine own hands I'd mar this tear-worn face, till petulant man Should loathe its scarred and shapeless ugliness. Guta. But your poor children? What becomes of them? Eliz. Oh! she who was not worthy of a husband Does not deserve his children. What are they, darlings, But snares to keep me from my heavenly spouse By picturing the spouse I must forget? Well--'tis blank horror. Yet if grief's good for me, Let me down into grief's blackest pit, And follow out God's cure by mine own deed. Guta. What will your kinsfolk think? Eliz. What will they think! What pleases them. That argument's a staff Which breaks whene'er you lean on't. Trust me, girl, That fear of man sucks out love's soaring ether, Baffles faith's heavenward eyes, and drops us down, To float, like plumeless birds, on any stream. Have I not proved it? There was a time with me, when every eye Did scorch like flame: if one looked cold on me, I straight accused myself of mortal sins: Each fopling was my master: I have lied From very fear of mine own serving-maids.-- That's past, thank God's good grace! Guta. And now you leap To the other end of the line.