_Heinrich_ spreads his wings. Inspired by the divine fire of _Rautendelein_, he all but reaches the pinnacle. But there is the _Vicar_, ready to wrestle with the devil for a poor human soul; to buy it free, if need be, to drag it back to its cage that it may never rise again in rebellion to the will of God. _The Vicar._ You shun the church, take refuge in the mountains; This many a month you have not seen the home Where your poor wife sits sighing, while, each day, Your children drink their lonely mother's tears! * * * * * For this there is no name but madness, And wicked madness. Yes. I speak the truth. Here stand I, Master, overcome with horror At the relentless cruelty of your heart. Now Satan, aping God, hath dealt a blow-- Yes, I must speak my mind--a blow so dread That even he must marvel at his triumph. ... Now--I have done. Too deep, yea to the neck, you are sunk in sin! Your Hell, decked out in beauty as high Heaven, Shall hold you fast. I will not waste more words. Yet mark this, Master: witches make good fuel, Even as heretics, for funeral-pyres. ... Your ill deeds, Heathen, and secret once, are now laid bare. Horror they wake, and soon there shall come hate. * * * * * Then, go your way! Farewell! My task is done. The hemlock of your sin no man may hope To rid your soul of. May God pity you! But this remember! There's a word named rue! And some day, some day, as your dreams you dream, A sudden arrow, shot from out the blue, Shall pierce your breast! And yet you shall not die, Nor shall you live. In that dread day you'll curse All you now cherish--God, the world, your work, Your wretched self you'll curse. Then ... think of me! That bell shall ring again! Then think of me! Barely does _Heinrich_ escape the deadly clutch of outlined creeds, superstitions, and conventions embodied in the _Vicar_, than he is in the throes of other foes who conspire his doom. Nature herself has decreed the death of _Heinrich_. For has not man turned his back upon her, has he not cast her off, scorned her beneficial offerings, robbed her of her beauty, devastated her charms and betrayed her trust--all for the ephemeral glow of artifice and sham? Hence Nature, too, is _Heinrich's_ foe. Thus the Spirit of the Earth, with all its passions and lusts, symbolized in the Wood Sprite, and gross materialism in the person of the _Nickelmann_, drive the intruder back. _The Wood Sprite._ He crowds us from our hills. He hacks and hews, Digs up our metals, sweats, and smelts, and brews. The earth-man and the water-sprite he takes To drag his burdens, and, to harness, breaks. * * * * *