URSULA.  My child I my child! thou must not die.

ELSIE.  Why should I live?  Do I not know
The life of woman is full of woe? 
Toiling on, and on, and on,
With breaking heart, and tearful eyes,
And silent lips, and in the soul
The secret longings that arise,
Which this world never satisfies! 
Some more, some less, but of the whole
Not one quite happy; no, not one!

URSULA.  It is the malediction of Eve!

ELSIE.  In place of it, let me receive
The benediction of Mary, then.

GOTTLIEB.  Ah, woe is me!  Ah, woe is me! 
Most wretched am I among men.

URSULA.  Alas! that I should live to see
Thy death, beloved, and to stand
Above thy grave!  Ah, woe the day!

ELSIE.  Thou wilt not see it.  I shall lie
Beneath the flowers of another land;
For at Salerno, far away
Over the mountains, over the sea,
It is appointed me to die! 
And it will seem no more to thee
Than if at the village on market day
I should a little longer stay
Than I am used.

URSULA.  Even as thou sayest! 
And how my heart beats when thou stayest! 
I can not rest until my sight
Is satisfied with seeing thee. 
What, then, if thou wert dead?

GOTTLIEB.  Ah me,
Of our old eyes thou art the light! 
The joy of our old hearts art thou! 
And wilt thou die?

URSULA.  Not now! not now!

ELSIE.  Christ died for me, and shall not I
Be willing for my Prince to die? 
You both are silent; you can not speak. 
This said I, at our Saviour’s feast,
After confession, to the priest,
And even he made no reply. 
Does he not warn us all to seek
The happier, better land on high,
Where flowers immortal never wither;
And could he forbid me to go thither?

GOTTLIEB.  In God’s own time, my heart’s delight! 
When He shall call thee, not before!

ELSIE.  I heard Him call.  When Christ ascended
Triumphantly, from star to star,
He left the gates of heaven ajar. 
I had a vision in the night,
And saw Him standing at the door
Of His Father’s mansion, vast and splendid,
And beckoning to me from afar. 
I can not stay!

GOTTLIEB.  She speaks almost
As if it were the Holy Ghost
Spake through her lips and in her stead! 
What if this were of God?

URSULA.  Ah, then
Gainsay it dare we not.

GOTTLIEB.  Amen!

The old house under the elms is still the poet’s home, and dear, as such, to every lover of poetry.  It is a stately building, of the style of more than one hundred years ago, and is a very home-like place in its general appearance.  Entering by the main door-way, which is in the center of the house, the visitor finds himself in a wide, old-fashioned hall, with doors opening upon it on either hand.