Or some dark

passage

chose to woo,

Whilst all too fast the minutes flew.

Now must her pride come down to do

In church the penance meet.

He'll surely wed her!

MARGARET.

ELIZABETH.

Not a bit.

He'd be a fool to think of it.

A sharp young lad like him is free,
To go or stay; he's left her too.

MARGARET.

That is not right.

ELIZABETH.

But even if she

Got him, she'd little better be.

Her bridal wreath would sure be torn

By mocking boys, and we would strew

Chaff at her door, her bridal morn.*

According to an old German custom, the friends of a bride used to strew sand and flowers before her door on the morning of her wedding. But if the virtue of the bride had not been proof against temptation, cut straw was substituted for the flowers; the tearing of her bridal wreath indicated a similar misadventure.

MARGARET-returning home.

How stoutly I, 'tis but the other day,
Could rail if a poor maiden went astray.
For other's sins could scarcely find

Hard words enough to speak my mind.

How black and blacker still to me it seemed;
Nought black enough to call it then I deemed.
And blessed myself, and held myself so high;
And now what but a child of sin am I?
Yet still, all that, 'gainst which I vainly strove,
Ah me! it was such goodness, 'twas such love.

ZWINGER.*

In a niche of the wall an image of the Mater
Dolorosa, with flower vases before it.

MARGARET places fresh flowers in the vase.

Mother of woes divine,

Thy gracious brow incline

On my extremity.

Keener than pangs of steel
Did thy pierced bosom feel,

When thine uplifted eye

Zwinger, in its original signification, means a castle erected more for the purpose of curbing the inhabitants of a town, than of contributing to the defence of a place against external enemies. The Emperor of Russia's celebrated address to the citizens of Warsaw, on the subject of the citadel, is a familiar modern illustration of the ancient meaning of the word; but its import has changed; there is a Zwinger palace in Dresden, built about the beginning of the last century, without reference to any military purpose. Retsch places this scene in the immediate neighbourhood of a church.

Marked thy son's latest breath
Fade into death.

Lifting thy tearful eyes,

Unto the Lord on high

Sending thy heavy sighs,
In thy son's misery,

And thine extremity.

Who feels what agony

Riots unceasingly,

In this poor wasted frame.

Thou, only thou, canst tell,
Whence such disquiet came,

Why trembling on it fell,
What will afford relief.
Pity my grief.

Wherever I may go,

Still woe, still woe, still woe,

Deep in my heart doth wake. Ah! 'tis not all alone,

I moan, I moan, I moan;

My heart swells nigh to break.

The flower-pots at my window
My tears bedewed in showers,

As in the prime of morning,

For thee I plucked these flowers.

Up in my bed sat I.

Help! death and shame are nigh!

*Mother of woes divine,

Gracious, thy brow incline.

Look upon me.

*The following are the stanzas in the 'Mater dolorosa,' upon which this is founded: