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As the news is rung out: from an old, old schloss

Lodge lightly, child, in this ancestral pile. Everything will conspire, with the first breath drawn to define as on parchment in an antique script what--by a tiny trickle of blood in baby veins-- is supposed even now (in an age so rudely birthed) to set you apart. O lightly lodge! Where you find yourself. And perhaps--who knows? --there will be caught in that high tower, even as in the lowliest hut in a realm, a more primal right, and a role more tall, than ever your princely forebears knew. For this day, this hour to the sound of a bell again rung to announce an awaited heir, you've come into a now, a here, a world--whose travail none with honor may escape since all, all of us, are summoned to share like fellow exiles on a planet's crust this parabled sojourn! This whole great dawn already (however falteringly) being glimpsed and served by awakening men, wherever they are, and whatever their rank or rooftree or tongue. . . . Yes once it was enough! To prove worthy of a crest. Now how much higher the challenge ahead. Little guest on earth! Grow straight. Hold true. Friends, if not courtiers, will await you here.