Rebecca. Thou didst well to mind The lesson I so often have repeated. It is our first of duties to give aid To those who beg for succour at our hands; For we ourselves, whatever we possess, Are but the stewardsof the bounteous Lord Who giveth to his creatures all good gifts. But it is time that thou shouldst seek the hills, So take thy crook and pipe and hie away.

[Exeunt.

Scene III. The side of a mountain. Werner descending. Enter a shepherd boy, followed by his flock, singing.

I.

When the Morning starts up from her couch on the deep, Where through the dim night hours, she pillows her sleep, I start from my slumbers, and hie me away Where the white torrent dashes its feathery spray,-- I quaff the fresh stream as it bursts from the hill,-- I pluck the fresh flowers that spring by the rill,-- I watch the gray clouds as they curl round the peak That rises high over them, barren and bleak; And I think how the worldling who courts fortune's smile, In his heart, like that peak, may be lonely the while; And then my own heart sings aloud in its joy, That Heaven has made me a free shepherd boy!

II.

When the horn of the hunter resounds from on high, Where the tall giant ice-cliffs ire piled to the sky, Where, shunning the verdure of valleys and dells, The brave eagle builds, and the shy chamois dwells,-- I list to its gay tones, as by me they float, And I echo them merrily back, note for note; With the wild bird a song full as gladsome I sing, I crown me with flowers, and sit a crowned king,-- My flock are my subjects, my dog my vizier, And my sceptre--a mild one--the crook that I bear; No wants to perplex me, no cares to annoy, I live an unenvying, free shepherdhoy!

Werner (meets and addresses him). Thou'rt merry, lad.

Albert.

Ay, I have cause to be so. (Aside.) It is the wanderer of my last night's dream, The same pale brow, and darkly mournful eye, And weary gait, and melancholy voice,-- If he seeks friendly guidance, food, or shelter, He shall not want them long.

Werner.

So thou hast cause For merriment,--then thou perchance hast wealth, Broad, fruitful lands, and tenements, and all Which wealth confers.

Albert.

Nay, I have none of these, And yet have more than all which thou hast named. I have a father, whose unsullied name No tongue has ever spoken with reproach, A mother, whose idea is with me A holy thing, and a dear sister, who Is fair as pure, and pure as is the snow Upon the summit of the tallest peak Of these my native mountains. I have health, And strength, and food, and raiment, and employ, And should I not then have a joyous heart?

Werner.

Yea, verily thou shouldst. Albert.

And there is yet, Among the blessings Heaven has given to me, One which I have not named to thee; it is An humble home, whose hospitable door Was never closed against the wayfarer,-- If thou hast need of aught which it affords, Seek it, my mother and my sister will Delight to minister unto thy wants. There where the wide-armed willows cluster thickest Upon the green banks of yon crystal stream, Our cottage stands. The path to it is short And easily traversed,--so, now, farewell.

Werner.

Stay yet a moment. That which thou hast proffered, Is what I sought. Thou hast a noble heart, One fit to fill the bosom of a king,-- I fain would give thee guerdon,--here is gold.

Albert.

Keep it for those who covet it. If ever Thou meet'st with one, bowed down by suffering, Who calls on thee for pity and relief, Then if thou heed'st his prayer for my sake, I shall be well repaid. Again, farewell.

{Exeunt.

Scene IV. After a lapse of time. A rustic arbour near the cottage of Manuel. Enter Rose and Werner.

Rose.

Nay, let my silent blushes plead with thee That thou wilt be assilent.

Werner.