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SCENE.—Würzburg—a garden in the environs. 1512.

FESTUS, PARACELSUS, MICHAL.

Par. Come close to me, dear friends; still closer; thus ! Close to the heart which, though long time roll by Ere it again beat quicker, pressed to yours, As now it beats-perchance a long, long time— At least henceforth your memories shall make Quiet and fragrant as befits their home. Nor shall my memory want a home in yoursAlas, that it requires too well such free

B

Forgiving love as shall embalm it there!
For if you would remember me aright—
As I was born to be-you must forget
All fitful, strange, and moody waywardness
Which e'er confused my better spirit, to dwell
Only on moments such as these, dear friends!
-My heart no truer, but my words and ways
More true to it: as Michal, some months hence,
Will say,
this autumn was a pleasant time,"
For some few sunny days; and overlook
Its bleak wind, hankering after pining leaves..
--Autumn would fain be sunny-I would look
Liker my nature's truth; and both are frail,
And both beloved for all their frailty!

Mich.

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Aureole !

Par. Drop by drop !-she is weeping like a child!

Not so! I am content-more than content

Nay, Autumn wins you best by this its mute

Appeal to sympathy for its decay!

Look up, sweet Michal, nor esteem the less

Your stained and drooping vines their grapes bow down, Nor blame those creaking trees bent with their fruit,

That apple-tree with a rare after-birth

Of peeping blooms sprinkled its wealth among!
Then for the winds-what wind that ever raved
Shall vex that ash that overlooks you both,
So proud it wears its berries? Ah! at length,
The old smile meet for her, the lady of this
Sequestered nest! This kingdom, limited

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