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 book 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 iræ, 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. Neighbor, help! help! I faint!

[She falls down in a swoon.