No More Learning

I weep! --now, after twenty years--I weep
As if 'twere yesterday. I loved him so!
I used to call him "my own little king! "
I was intoxicated with my joy
When o'er my white beard ran his rosy hands,
Thrilling me all through.

_Foreign Quarterly Review. _





THE EMPEROR'S RETURN.

_("Un bouffon manquait a cette fete. ")_

[LES BURGRAVES, Part II. ]


_The EMPEROR FREDERICK BARBAROSSA, believed to be dead, appearing
as a beggar among the Rhenish nobility at a castle, suddenly reveals
himself. _

HATTO. This goodly masque but lacked a fool!
First gypsy; next a beggar;--good! Thy name?

BARBAROSSA.
Frederick of Swabia, Emperor of Almain.

ALL. The Red Beard?

BARBAROSSA. Aye, Frederick, by my mountain birthright Prince
O' th' Romans, chosen king, crowned emperor,
Heaven's sword-bearer, monarch of Burgundy
And Arles--the tomb of Karl I dared profane,
But have repented me on bended knees
In penance 'midst the desert twenty years;
My drink the rain, the rocky herbs my food,
Myself a ghost the shepherds fled before,
And the world named me as among the dead.
But I have heard my country call--come forth,
Lifted the shroud--broken the sepulchre.
This hour is one when dead men needs must rise.
Ye own me? Ye mind me marching through these vales
When golden spur was ringing at my heel?
Now know me what I am, your master, earls!
Brave knights you deem! You say, "The sons we are
Of puissant barons and great noblemen,
Whose honors we prolong. " You _do_ prolong them?
Your sires were soldiers brave, not prowlers base,
Rogues, miscreants, felons, village-ravagers!
They made great wars, they rode like heroes forth,
And, worthy, won broad lands and towers and towns,
So firmly won that thirty years of strife
Made of their followers dukes, their leaders kings!
While you!