“But it will be granted!” said the chaplain, joyfully. “‘He that humbleth himself shall be exalted;’ and I fear not to take one purified from murder to receive a farewell from the holy and forgiving countenance of Verena.”
The pilgrim stretched both his hands up towards heaven and an unspoken thanksgiving poured from his beaming eyes, and brightened the smile that played on his lips.
Sintram looked sorrowfully on the ground, and sighed gently to himself: “Alas! who would dare accompany?”
“My poor, good Sintram,” said the chaplain, in a tone of the softest kindness, “I understand thee well; but the time is not yet come. The powers of evil will again raise up their wrathful heads within thee, and Verena must check both her own and thy longing desires, until all is pure in thy spirit as in hers. Comfort thyself with the thought that God looks mercifully upon thee, and that the joy so earnestly sought for will come—if not here, most assuredly beyond the grave.”
But the pilgrim, as though awaking out of a trance, rose mightily from his seat, and said: “Do you please to come forth with me, reverend chaplain? Before the sun appears in the heavens, we could reach the convent-gates, and I should not be far from heaven.”
In vain did the chaplain and Rolf remind him of his weakness: he smiled, and said that there could be no words about it; and he girded himself, and tuned the lute which he had asked leave to take with him. His decided manner overcame all opposition, almost without words; and the chaplain had already prepared himself for the journey, when the pilgrim looked with much emotion at Sintram, who, oppressed with a strange weariness, had sunk, half-asleep, on a couch, and said: “Wait a moment. I know that he wants me to give him a soft lullaby.” The pleased smile of the youth seemed to say, Yes; and the pilgrim, touching the strings with a light hand, sang these words:
“Sleep peacefully, dear boy;
Thy mother sends the song
That whispers round thy couch,
To lull thee all night long.
In silence and afar
For thee she ever prays,
And longs once more in fondness
Upon thy face to gaze.
And when thy waking cometh,
Then in thy every deed,
In all that may betide thee,
Unto her words give heed.
Oh, listen for her voice,
If it be yea or nay;
And though temptation meet thee,
Thou shalt not miss the way.
If thou canst listen rightly,
And nobly onward go,
Then pure and gentle breezes
Around thy cheek shall blow.
Then on thy peaceful journey
Her blessing thou shalt feel,
And though from thee divided,
Her presence o’er thee steal.
O safest, sweetest comfort!
O blest and living light!
That, strong in Heaven’s power,
All terrors put to flight!
Rest quietly, sweet child,
And may the gentle numbers
Thy mother sends to thee
Waft peace unto thy slumbers.”