SCENE THE DEVIL'S BRIDGE.

PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE crossing, with attendants.

GUIDE. This bridge is called the Devil's Bridge. With a single arch, from ridge to ridge,

It leaps across the terrible chasm
Yawning beneath us, black and deep,
As if, in some convulsive spasm,
The summits of the hills had cracked,
And made a road for the cataract,
That raves and rages down the steep!
LUCIF. (under the bridge). Ha! ha!
GUIDE. Never any bridge but this
Could stand across the wild abyss;
All the rest, of wood or stone,
By the Devil's hand were overthrown.
He toppled crags from the precipice,
And whatsoe'er was built by day
In the night was swept away;
None could stand but this alone.

LUCIF. (under the bridge). Ha! ha!

GUIDE. I showed you in the valley a boulder
Marked with the imprint of his shoulder;
As he was bearing it up this way,
A peasant, passing, cried "Herr Jé!"
And the Devil dropped it in his fright,
And vanished suddenly out of sight!
LUCIF. (under the bridge). Ha! ha!
GUIDE. Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel,
For pilgrims on their way to Rome,
Built this at last, with a single arch,
Under which, on its endless march,
Runs the river, white with foam,

Like a thread through the eye of a needle,
And the Devil promised to let it stand,
Under compact and condition

That the first living thing which crossed

Should be surrendered into his hand,

And be beyond redemption lost.

LUOIF. (under the bridge). Ha! ha! perdition!

GUIDE. At length the bridge being all completed,

The Abbot, standing at its head,

Threw across it a loaf of bread,

Which a hungry dog sprang after,

And the rocks re-echoed with peals of laughter
To see the Devil thus defeated!

[They pass on.

LUCIF. (under the bridge). Ha! ha! defeated!

For journeys and for crimes like this
I let the bridge stand o'er the abyss!

SCENE THE ST. GOTHARD PASS.

P. HEN. This is the highest point. Two ways the rivers
Leap down to different seas, and as they roll
Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence
Becomes a benefaction to the towns

They visit, wandering silently among them,
Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.

ELSIE. How bleak and bare it is! Nothing but mosses Grow on these rocks.

P. HEN.

Yet are they not forgotten;

Beneficent Nature sends the mists to feed them.
ELSIE. See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft
So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away

Over the snowy peaks! It seems to me

The body of St. Catherine, borne by angels!

P. HEN. Thou art St. Catherine, and invisible angels Bear thee across these chasms and precipices,

Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against a stone!

ELSIE. Would I were borne unto my grave, as she was, Upon angelic shoulders! Even now

I seem uplifted by them, light as air!

What sound is that?

P. HEN.

The tumbling avalanches. ELSIE. How awful, yet how beautiful!

P. HEN.

These are

The voices of the mountains! Thus they ope

Their snowy lips, and speak unto each other,

In the primeval language, lost to man.

ELSIE. What land is this that spreads itself beneath us? P. HEN. Italy! Italy!

ELSIE.

Land of the madonna !

How beautiful it is! It seems a garden

Of Paradise!

P. HEN. Nay, of Gethsemane
To thee and me, of passion and of prayer!
Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago
I wandered as a youth among its bowers,
And never from my heart has faded quite
Its memory, that, like a summer sunset,
Encircles with a ring of purple light
All the horizon of my youth.
O friends!

GUIDE.

The days are short, the way before us long;

We must not linger, if we think to reach
The inn at Belinzona before vespers!

[They pass on

SCENE-AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS.

A halt under the trees at noon.

P. HEN. Here let us pause a moment in the trembling Shadow and sunshine of the roadside trees, And, our tired horses in a group assembling, Inhale long draughts of this delicious breeze. 'Our fleeter steeds have distanced our attendants; They lag behind us with a slower pace; We will await them under the green pendants Of the great willows in this shady place. Ho, Barbarossa! how thy mottled haunches Sweat with this canter over hill and glade ! Stand still, and let these overhanging branches Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee with shade! ELSIE. What a delightful landscape spreads before us, Marked with a whitewashed cottage here and there! And, in luxuriant garlands drooping o'er us,

Blossoms of grape-vines scent the sunny air.

P. HEN. Hark! what sweet sounds are those, whose accents holy

Fill the warm noon with music sad and sweet!

ELSIE. It is a band of pilgrims, moving slowly
On their long journey, with uncovered feet.

PILGRIMS, chanting the hymn of St. Hildebert.
Me receptet Sion illa,

Sion David, urbs tranquilla,
Cujus faber auctor lucis,
Cujus portæ lignum crucis,

Cujus claves lingua Petri,

Cujus cives semper læti,

Cujus muri lapis vivus,
Cujus custos Rex festivus!

LUCIFER (as a friar in the procession).

the pious band,

Here am I, too, in

In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite dressed!

The soles of my feet are as hard and tanned

As the conscience of old Pope Hildebrand,

The Holy Satan, who made the wives
Of the bishops lead such shameful lives.
All day long I beat my breast,
And chant with a most particular zest
The Latin hymns, which I understand