ot I
Be willing for my Prince to die?
You both are silent; you can not speak.
This said I, at our Saviour's feast,
After confession, to the priest,
And even he made no reply.
Does he not warn us all to seek
The happier, better land on high,
Where flowers immortal never wither;
And could he forbid me to go thither?

GOTTLIEB. In God's own time, my heart's delight!
When He shall call thee, not before!

ELSIE. I heard Him call. When Christ ascended
Triumphantly, from star to star,
He left the gates of heaven ajar.
I had a vision in the night,
And saw Him standing at the door
Of His Father's mansion, vast and splendid,
And beckoning to me from afar.
I can not stay!

GOTTLIEB. She speaks almost
As if it were the Holy Ghost
Spake through her lips and in her stead!
What if this were of God?

URSULA. Ah, then
Gainsay it dare we not.

GOTTLIEB. Amen!

The old house under the elms is still the poet's home, and dear, as
such, to every lover of poetry. It is a stately building, of the style
of more than one hundred years ago, and is a very home-like place in its
general appearance. Entering by the main door-way, which is in the
center of the house, the visitor finds himself in a wide, old-fashioned
hall, with doors opening upon it on either hand.

"The library of the poet is the long north-eastern room upon the lower
floor," said a writer seventeen years ago. "It opens upon the garden,
which retains still the quaint devices of an antique design, harmonious
with the house. The room is surrounded with handsome book-cases, and one
stands also between two Corinthian columns at one end, which imparts
dignity and richness to the apartment. A little table by the northern
window, looking upon the garden, is the usual seat of the poet. A bust
or two, the rich carvings of the cases, the spaciousness of the room, a
leopard-skin lying upon the floor, and a few shelves of strictly
literary curiosities, reveal not only the haunt of the elegant scholar
and poet, but the favorite resort of the family circle. But the northern
gloom of a New England winter is intolerant of this serene delight, this
beautiful domesticity, and urges the inmates to the smaller room in
front of the house, communicating with the library, and the study of
General Washington. This is still distinctively 'the study,' as the rear
room is 'the library,' Books are here, and all the graceful detail of an
elegant househ