[To her little Son.]
Art cold, young knight?
Knights must not cry--Go slide, and warm thyself.
Where shall we lodge to-night?
Isen. There's no place open,
But that foul tavern, where we lay last night.
Elizabeth's Son [clinging to her]. O mother, mother! go not to that
house--
Among those fierce lank men, who laughed, and scowled,
And showed their knives, and sang strange ugly songs
Of you and us. O mother! let us be!
Eliz. Hark! look! His father's voice!--his very eye--
Opening so slow and sad, then sinking down
In luscious rest again!
Isen. Bethink you, child--
Eliz. Oh yes--I'll think--we'll to our tavern friends;
If they be brutes, 'twas my sin left them so.
Guta. 'Tis but for a night or two: three days will bring
The Abbess hither.
Isen. And then to Bamberg straight
For knights and men-at-arms! Your uncle's wrath--
Guta [aside]. Hush! hush! you'll fret her, if you talk of
vengeance.
Isen. Come to our shelter.
Children. Oh stay here, stay here!
Behind these walls.
Eliz. Ay--stay a while in peace. The storms are still.
Beneath her eider robe the patient earth
Watches in silence for the sun: we'll sit
And gaze up with her at the changeless heaven,
Until this tyranny be overpast.
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