This page needs to be proofread.
162
THE DANCE TO DEATH.
REUBEN.
'Tis two full hours past noon; he should be here.
Ah see, he comes. Great God ! what woe has chanced ?
He totters on his staff ; he has grown old
Since he went forth this mom.
{Enter Susskinb.)
LIEBHAID.
Father, what news ?
SÜSSKIND.
The Lord have mercy! Vain is the help of man.
Children, is all in order ? We must start
At set of sun on a long pilgrimage.
So wills the Landgrave, so the court decrees.
LIEBHAID.
What is it, father ? Exile?
SÜSSKIND.
Yea, just that
We are banished from our vexed, uncertain homes,
'Midst foes and strangers, to a land of peace,
Where joy abides, where only comfort is.
Banished from care, fear, trouble, life — to death.
