For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine; Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's groves of pine The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb. From the confessionals I hear arise

Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies,

And lamentations from the crypts below; And then a voice celestial, that begins

66

With the pathetic words, Although your sins
As scarlet be," and ends with "as the snow."

IV.

I LIFT mine eyes, and all the windows blaze
With forms of saints and holy men who died,
Here martyred and hereafter glorified;
And the great Rose upon its leaves displays
Christ's Triumph, and the angelic roundelays
With splendour upon splendour multiplied;
And Beatrice again at Dante's side

No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise.
And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs
Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love,
And benedictions of the Holy Ghost;

And the melodious bells among the spires

O'er all the house-tops and through heaven above
Proclaim the elevation of the Host!

V.

O STAR of morning and of liberty:

O bringer of the light whose splendour shines
Above the darkness of the Appenines,
Forerunner of the day that is to be!

The voices of the city and the sea,

The voices of the mountains and the pines,
Repeat thy song, till the familiar lines
Are footpaths for the thought of Italy!
Thy fame is blown abroad from all the heights,
Through all the nations, and a sound is heard,
As of a mighty wind, and men devout,
Strangers of Rome, and the new proselytes,

In their own language hear thy wondrous word,
And many are amazed and many doubt.

SCENE I.-The Cou GT LARA's Chambers. Night. The COUNT in his dressing-gown, smoking and conversing with DON CARLOS.

Lara. You were not at the play to-night, Don Carlos;

I had engagements elsewhere.

How happened it?
Carlos.
Pray who was there?
Lara.
Why, all the town and court.
The house was crowded; and the busy fans
Among the gaily dressed and perfumed ladies
Fluttered like butterflies among the flowers.
There was the Countess of Medina Celi;
The Goblin Lady with her Phantom Lover,
Her Lindo Don Diego; Doña Sol,
And Doña Serafina, and her cousins.

It was a dull affair;

One of those comedies in which you see,

As Lope says, the history of the world

Brought down from Genesis to the Day of Judgment.
There were three duels fought in the first act,

Three gentlemen receiving deadly wounds,

Laying their hands upon their hearts, and saying,
"O, I am dead!" a lover in a closet,

An old hidalgo, and a gay Don Juan,
A Doña Inez with a black mantilla,

Followed at twilight by an unknown lover,
Who looks intently where he knows she is not!
Carlos. Of course, the Preciosa danced to-night?
Lara. And never better. Every footstep fell
As lightly as a sunbeam on the water.

I think the girl extremely beautiful.

Carlos. Almost beyond the privilege of woman! I saw her in the Prado yesterday.

Her step was royal-queen-like-and

As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise.

her face

Lara. May not a saint fall from her Paradise, And be no more a saint?

Carlos.

Why do you ask?

Lara. Because I have heard it said this angel fell,
And, though she is a virgin outwardly,

Within she is a sinner; like those panels
Of doors and altar-pieces the old monks
Painted in convents, with the Virgin Mary
On the outside, and on the inside Venus!

Carlos. You do her wrong; indeed, you do her wrong! She is as virtuous as she is fair.

Lara. How credulous you are! Why, look you, friend, There's not a virtuous woman in Madrid,

In this whole city! And would you persuade me
That a mere dancing-girl, who shows herself
Nightly, half-naked, on the stage, for money,
And with voluptuous motions fires the blood
Of inconsiderate youth, is to be held

A model for her virtue?

Carlos. Nay, not to be won at all!
The only virtue that a Gipsy prizes

Is chastity. This is her only virtue.
Dearer than life she holds it. I remember
A Gipsy woman, a vile, shameless bawd,
Whose craft was to betray the young and fair;

And yet this woman was above all bribes.
And when a noble lord, touched by her beauty,
The wild and wizard beauty of her race,
Offered her gold to be what she made others,
She turned upon him, with a look of scorn,
And smote him in the face!

Lara.

And does that prove

That Preciosa is above suspicion ?

Carlos. It proves a nobleman may be repulsed
When he thinks conquest easy. I believe
That woman, in her deepest degradation,
Holds something sacred, something undefiled,
Some pledge and keepsake of her higher nature,
And, like the diamond in the dark, retains
Some quenchless gleam of the celestial light!
Lara. Yet Preciosa would have taken the gold.
Carlos [rising]. I do not think so.

Lara.
I am sure of it.
But why this haste? Stay yet a little longer,
And fight the battles of your Dulcinea.

Carlos. "Tis late. I must begone, for if I stay
You will not be persuaded.

Lara.

Yes; persuade me.

Carlos. No one so deaf as he who will not hear!
Lara. No one so blind as he who will not see!

Carlos. And so good night. I wish you pleasant dreams,
And greater faith in woman.

Lara.

Greater faith!

I have the greatest faith; for I believe

Victorian is her lover. I believe

That I shall be to-morrow; and thereafter

Another, and another, and another,

Chasing each other through her zodiac,

As Taurus chases Aries.

[Enter FRANCISCO with a casket.]

Well, Francisco,

None, my lord.

What speed with Preciosa ?

Fran.

She sends your jewels back, and bids me tell you
She is not to be purchased by your gold.

Lara. Then I will try some other way to win her.
Pray, dost thou know Victorian ?

Fran.

I saw him at the jeweller's to-day.
Lara. What was he doing there?
Fran.

A golden ring that had a ruby in it.
Lara. Was there another like it?

Yes, my lord,

I saw him buy

[Exit.

SCENE II-A street in Madrid. Enter CHISPA, followed by musicians, with a bagpipe, guitars, and other instruments.

Chis. Abernuncio Satanas! and a plague on all lovers who ramble about at night, drinking the elements, instead of sleeping quietly in their beds. Every dead man to his cemetery, say I; and every friar to his monastery. Now, here's my master, Victorian, yesterday a cowkeeper, and to-day a gentleman; yesterday a student, and to-day a lover; and I must be up later than the nightingale, for as the abbot sings so must the sacristan respond. God grant he may soon be married, for then shall all this serenading cease. Ay, marry! marry! marry! Mother, what does marry mean? It means to spin, to bear children, and to weep, my daughter! And, of a truth, there is something more in matrimony than the wedding-ring. [To the musicians.] And now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum! as the ass said to the cabbages. Pray, walk this way; and don't hang down your heads. It is no disgrace to have an old father and a ragged shirt. Now, look you, you are gentlemen who lead the life of crickets; you enjoy hunger by day and noise by night. Yet, I beseech you, for this once be not loud, but pathetic; for it is a serenade to a damsel in bed, and not to the Man in the Moon. Your object is not to arouse and terrify, but to soothe and bring lulling dreams. Therefore, each shall not play upon his instrument as if it were the only one in the universe, but gently, and with a certain modesty, according with the others. Pray, how may I call thy name, friend P

First Mus. Gerónimo Gil, at your service.

Chis. Every tub smells of the wine that is in t. Pray, Gerónimo, is not Saturday an unpleasant day with thee? First Mus. Why so?

Chis. Because I have heard it said that Saturday is an unpleasant day with those who have but one shirt. Moreover, I have seen thee at the tavern, and if thou canst run as fast as thou canst drink, I should like to hunt hares with thee. What instrument is that?

First Mus. An Aragonese bagpipe.

Chis. Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bujalance, who asked a maravedi for playing, and ten for leaving off?

First Mus. No, your honour.

Chis. I am glad of it. What other instruments have we ?

Second and Third Mus. We play the bandurria.

Chis. A pleasing instrument.

Fourth Mus. The fife.

And thou?

Chis. I like it; it has a cheerful, soul-stirring sound, that soars up to my lady's window like the song of a swallow. And you others? Other Mus. We are the singers, please your honour.