A Cathedral.
Mass, Organ, and Song. Margaret amid a crowd of people, Evil Spirit behind her.
Evil Spirit.
How different, Margaret, was thy case,
When, in thine innocence, thou didst kneel
Before the altar,
And from the well-worn
Didst lisp thy prayers,
Half childish play,
Half God in thy heart!
Margaret!
Where is thy head?
Within thy heart
What dire misdeed?
Prayest thou for thy mother's soul, whom thou
Didst make to sleep a long, long sleep of sorrow?
Whose blood is on thy threshold?
—And, underneath thy heart,
Moves not the swelling germ of life already,
And, with its boding presence
Thee tortures, and itself?
Margaret.
Woe, woe!
That I might shake away the thoughts,
That hither flit and thither,
Against me!
Quire.
Dies ir, dies illa,
Solvet saeclum in favilla.
[The organ sounds.
Evil Spirit.
Terror doth seize thee!
The trumpet sounds!
The graves quake!
And thy heart,
From its rest of ashes,
To fiery pain
Created again,
Quivers to life!
Margaret.
Would I were hence!
I feel as if the organ stopped
My breath,
And, at the hymn,
My inmost heart
Melted away!
Quire.
Judex ergo cum sedebit,
Quidquid latet adparebit,
Nil inultum remanebit.
Margaret.
I feel so straitened!
The pillar shafts
Enclasp me round!
The vault
Is closing o'er me!—Air!
Evil Spirit.
Yea! let them hide thee! but thy sin and shame
No vault can hide!
Air? Light? No!
Woe on thee! woe!
Quire.
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?
Quem patronum rogaturus?
Cum vix justus sit securus.
Evil Spirit.
The blessèd turn
Their looks away,
And the pure shudder
From touch of thee!
Woe!
Margaret.
Neighbour, help! help! I faint!
[She falls down in a swoon.
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