iness of Wallenrod;
He was alike confessor of his soul,
And of his heart the trusted confidant
O blessed friendship! saint is he on earth,
Whom friendship with the holy ones unites.
Thus do the leaders of the Order's council
Discourse of Konrad's virtues. But one fault
Was his,--for who may spotless be from faults?
Konrad loved not the riots of the world,
Nor mingled Konrad in the drunken feast.
Though truly, in his secret chamber locked,
When weariness or sorrow tortured him,
He sought for solace in a burning draught;
And then he seemed a new form to indue,
And then his visage pallid and severe
A sickly red adorned, and his large eyes,
Erst heavenly blue, but somewhat now by time
Dulled and extinguished, shot the lightnings forth
Of ancient fires, while sighs of grief escape
From forth his breast, and with the pearly tear
The laden eyelid swells; the hand the lute
Seeks, the lips pour forth songs; the songs are sung
In speech of a strange land, but yet the hearts
Of the hearers understand them. 'Tis enough
To list that grave-like music, 'tis enough
The singer's form to contemplate, to see
Memory's inspiration on that face,
To view the lifted brows and sideward looks,
Striving to snatch some object from deep darkness.
What may the hidden thread be of the songs?
He tracketh surely, in this wandering chase,
In thought his youth through deep gulfs of the past.
Where is his soul?--In the land of memories!

But never did that hand in music's impulse
Mere joyful tones from out the lute evoke;
And still it seemed his countenance did fear
Innocent smiles, even as deadly sins.
All strings he strikes in turn, one string except--
Except the string of mirth;--the hearer shares
All feelings with him,--one excepted--hope!

Not seldom him the brethren have surprised,
And marvelled at his unaccustomed change.
Konrad, aroused, did writhe himself and rage,
Had cast away the lute and ceased to sing.
He spoke out loudly impious words; to Halban
Whispered some secret things; called to the host,
Gave forth commands, and uttered dreadful threats,
On whom they knew not. All their hearts were troubled.
Old Halban tranquil sits, and on the face
Of Konrad drowns his glance,--a piercing glance,
Cold and severe, full of some secret speech.
Something he may recall, some counsel give,
Or waken grief in heart of Wallenrod,
Whose cloudy brow at once is calm again,
His eyes forego their fires, his rage is cool.

Thus when, in public