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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.