s pressed the flying Swedes
Exultant at the cavalry's forefront,
And scant of breath only today returned
To camp at Fehrbellin--your order said
That he should tarry here provisioning
Three hours at most, and move once more apace
Clear to the Hackel Hills to cope with Wrangel,
Seeking to build redoubts beside the Rhyn?

ELECTOR. 'Tis so.

HOHENZOLLERN. Now having charged the commandants
Of all his squadrons to depart the town
Obedient to the plan, sharp ten at night,
He flings himself exhausted on the straw
Like a hound panting, his exhausted limbs
To rest a little while against the fight
Which waits us at the glimmering of dawn.

ELECTOR. I heard so! Well?

HOHENZOLLERN. Now when the hour strikes
And in the stirrup now the cavalry
Expectant paws the ground before the gates--
Who still absents himself The Prince of Homburg,
Their chief. With lights they seek the valiant man,
With torches, lanterns, and they find him--where?

[_He takes a torch from the hand of a page._]

As a somnambulist, look, on that bench,
Whither in sleep, as you would ne'er believe,
The moonshine lured him, vaguely occupied
Imagining himself posterity
And weaving for his brow the crown of fame.

ELECTOR. What!

HOHENZOLL. Oh, indeed! Look down here: there he sits!

[_From the terrace he throws the light on the_ PRINCE.]

ELECTOR. In slumber sunk? Impossible!

HOHENZOLLERN. In slumber
Sunk as he is, speak but his name--he drops.

[_Pause._]

ELECTRESS. Sure as I live, the youth is taken ill.

NATALIE. He needs a doctor's care--

ELECTRESS. We should give help,
Not waste time, gentlemen, meseems, in scorn.

HOHENZOLLERN (_handing back the torch_).
He's sound, you tender-hearted women folk,
By Jove, as sound as I! He'll make the Swede
Aware of that upon tomorrow's field.
It's nothing more, and take my word for it,
Than a perverse and silly trick of the mind.

ELECTOR. By faith, I thought it was a fairy-tale!
Follow me, friends, we'll take a closer look.

[_They descend from the terrace._]

GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING (_to the pages_).
Back with the torches!

[Illustration: #THE ROYAL CASTLE AT BERLIN#]

HOHENZOLLERN. Leave them, leave them, friends!
These precincts might roar up to heaven in fire
And his soul