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The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest
of all, BEWARE! The Israelite of old, who tore The lion in his path, — when, poor Expired, and thousands perished in the
fall! and blind, He saw the blessed light of heaven no There is a poor, blind Samson in this more,
land, Shorn of his noble strength and forced to grind
Shorn of his strength and bound in
bonds of steel, In prison, and at last led forth to be A pander to Philistine revelry,
Who may, in some grim revel, raise his
hand, Upon the pillars of the temple laid And shake the pillars of this CommonHis desperate hands, and in its over- weal, throw
Till the vast Temple of our liberDestroyed himself, and with him those
ties who made
A shapeless mass of wreck and rubbish A cruel mockery of his sightless woe ; lies.
The house was crowded ; and the busy
fans SCENE I. - The COUNT OF LARA's cham- Among the gayly dressed and perfumed bers. Night. The Count in his dress- ladies ing-gown, smoking and conversing with Fluttered like butterflies among the DON CARLOS.
flowers. Lara. You were not at the play to- There was the Countess of Medina Celi ; night, Don Carlos;
The Goblin Lady with her Phantom How happened it?
Lover, Don C. I had engagements else. Her Lindo Don Diego ; Doña Sol, where.
And Doña Serafina, and her cousins. Pray who was there?
Don C. What was the play? Lara. Why, all the town and court. Lara.
It was a dull affair; fair ;
One of those comedies in which you see, Don C.
You forget As Lope says, the history of the world She is a Gypsy girl. Brought down from Genesis to the Day Lara.
And therefore won of Judgment.
The easier. There were three duels fought in the first Don C. Nay, not to be won at all! act,
The only virtue that a Gypsy prizes Three gentlemen receiving deadly Is chastity. That is her only virtue. wounds,
Dearer than life she holds it. I rememLaying their hands upon their hearts, ber and saying;
A Gypsy woman, a vile, shameless bawd, “0, I am dead! a lover in a closet, Whose craft was to betray the young and An old hidalgo, and a gay Don Juan, A Doña Inez with a black mantilla, And yet this woman was above all bribes. Followed at twilight by an unknown And when a noble lord, touched by her lover,
beauty, Who looks intently where he knows she The wild and wizard beauty of her race, is not!
Offered her gold to be what she made Don C. Of course, the Preciosa danced others, to-night?
She turned upon him, with a look of Lara. And never better. Every foot
And smote him in the face ! As lightly as a sunbeam on the water. Lara.
And does that prove I think the girl extremely beautiful. That Preciosa is above suspicion ? Don C. Almost beyond the privilege Don C. It proves a nobleman may be of woman !
repulsed I saw her in the Prado yesterday. When he thinks conquest easy. I believe Her step was royal, — queen-like, and That woman, in her deepest degradaher face
tion, As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise. Holds something sacred, something unLara. May not a saint fall from her defiled, Paradise,
Some pledge and keepsake of her higher And be no more a saint ?
nature, Don C.
Why do you ask ? And, like the diamond in the dark, reLara. Because I have heard it said
tains this angel fell,
Some quenchless gleam of the celestial And though she is a virgin outwardly, light! Within she is a sinner ; like those panels Lara. Yet Preciosa would have taken Of doors and altar-pieces the old monks
the gold. Painted in convents, with the Virgin Don C. (rising). I do not think so. Mary
I am sure of it. On the outside, and on the inside Venus ! But why this haste ? Stay yet a little Don C. You do her wrong ; indeed, longer. you do her wrong!
And fight the battles of your Dulcinea. She is as virtuous as she is fair.
Don C. 'Tis late. I must begone, Lara. How credulous you are! Why
for if I stay look you, friend,
You will not be persuaded. There's not a virtuous woman in Madrid, Lara.
Yes; persuade me. In this whole city! And would you per- Don C. No one so deaf as he who will suade me
not hear ! That a mere dancing-girl, who shows Lara. No one so blind as he who will herself,
not see! Nightly, half naked, on the stage, for Don C. And so good night. I wish money,
you pleasant dreams, And with voluptuous motions fires the And greater faith in woman. (Exit. blood
Greater faith! Of inconsiderate youth, is to be held I have the greatest faith ; for I believe A model for her virtue?
Victorian is her lover. I believe
That I shall be to-morrow ; and there. Now, look you, you are gentlemen who after
lead the life of crickets ; you enjoy hunAnother, and another, and another, ger by day and noise by night. Yet, I Chasing each other through her zodiac, beseech you, for this once be not loud, As Taurus chases Aries.
but pathetic ; for it is a serenade to a (Enter FRANCISCO with a casket.)
damsel in bed, and not to the Man in the
Moon. Your object is not to arouse and
Well, Francisco, terrify, but to soothe and bring lulling What speed with Preciosa ?
dreams. Therefore, each shall not play Fran.
lord. upon his instrument as if it were the only She sends your jewels back, and bids me one in the universe, but gently, and with
a certain modesty, according with the She is not to be purchased by your gold. others. Pray, how may I call thy name, Lara. Then I will try some other way friend? to win her.
First Mus. Gerónimo Gil, at your Pray, dost thou know Victorian ? service. Fran.
Yes, my lord ;
Chispa. Every tub smells of the wine I saw him at the jeweller's to-day. that is in it. Pray, Gerónimo, is not
Lara. What was he doing there? Saturday an unpleasant day with thee? Fran.
I saw him buy First Mus. Why so ? A golden ring, that had a ruby in it.
Chispa. Because I have heard it Lara. Was there another like it? said that Saturday is an unpleasant Fran.
One so like it day with those who have but one shirt. I could not choose between them.
Moreover, I have seen thee at the tavern, Lara.
It is well. and if thou canst run as fast as thou To-morrow morning bring that ringtome. canst drink, I should like to hunt hares Do not forget. Now light me to my bed. with thee. What instrument is that?
[Exeunt. First Mus. An Aragonese bagpipe.
Chispa. Pray, art thou related to the
bagpiper of Bujalance, who asked a SCENE II. - A street in Madrid. Enter maravedí for playing, and ten for leav
CHISPA, followed by musicians, with a ing off ? bagpipe, guitars, and other instruments.
First Mus. No, your honor. Chispa. Abernuncio Satanas ! and a Chispa. I am glad of it. What other plague on all lovers who ramble about at instruments have we ? night, drinking the elements, instead of Second and Third Musicians. We sleeping quietly in their beds. Every play the bandurria. dead man to his cemetery, say I ; and Chispa. A pleasing instrument. And every friarto his monastery. Now, here's thou ? my inaster, Victorian, yesterday a cow- Fourth Mus. The fife. keeper, and to-day a gentleman ; yester- Chispa. I like it; it has a cheerful, day a student, and to-day a lover ; and soul-stirring sound, that soars up to my I must be up later than the nightingale, lady's window like the song of a swallow. for as the abbot sings so must the And you others ? sacristan respond. God grant he may
Other Mus. We are the singers, please soon be married, for then shall all this your honor. serenading cease. Ay, marry ! marry
! Chispa. You are too many. Do you marry! Mother, what does marry mean? I think we are going to sing mass in the It means to spin, to bear children, and cathedral of Córdova ? Four men can to weep, my daughter! And, of a truth, make but little use of one shoe, and I see there is something more in matrimony not how you can all sing in one song. than the wedding-ring. (To the musi- But follow me along the garden wali. cians.) And now, gentlemen, Pax vobis. That is the way my master climbs to the cum ! as the ass said to the cabbages. lady's window. It is by the Vicar's Pray, walk this way; and don't hang skirts that the Devil climbs into the down your heads. It is no disgrace to belfry. Come, follow me, and make no have an old father and a ragged shirt. noise.
SCENE III. - PRECIOSA'S chamber. She | Thus stealthily by night. Where hast stands at the open window.
thou been ? Prec. How slowly through the lilac- Since yesterday I have no news from thee. scented air
Vict. Since yesterday I have been in Descends the tranquil moon ! Like Alcalá. thistle-down
Erelong the time will come, sweet The vapory clouds float in the peaceful Preciosa, sky;
When that dull distance shall no more And sweetly from yon hollow vaults of
divide us ; shade
And I no more shall scale thy wall by The nightingales breathe out their souls night in song:
To steal a kiss from thee, as I do now. And hark ! what songs of love, what Prec. An honest thief, to steal but soul-like sounds,
what thou givest. Answer them from below!
Vict. And we shall sit together un,
And words of true love pass from tongue SEREYADE,
As singing birds from one bough to anStars of the summer night!
other. Far in yon azure deeps,
Prec. That were a life to make time Hide, hide your golden light !
envious ! Śhe sleeps!
I knew that thou wouldst come to me My lady sleeps !
I saw thee at the play. Moon of the summer night !
Sweet child of air ! Far down yon western steeps,
Never did I behold thee so attired Sink, sink in silver light !
And garmented in beauty as to-night ! She sleeps!
What hast thou done to make thee look My lady sleeps !
so fair : Sleeps!
Prec. Am I not always fair ?
Vict. Wind of the summer night!
Ay, and so fair
That I am jealous of all eyes that see Where yonder woodbine creeps,
thee, Fold, fold thy pinions light ! She sleeps!
And wish that they were blind. My lady sleeps !
I heed them not; Sleeps!
When thou art present, I see none but
thee ! Dreams of the summer night !
Vict. There's nothing fair nor beauTell her, her lover keeps
tiful, but takes Watch ! while in slumbers light
Something from thee, that makes it She sleeps!
beautiful. My lady sleeps !
Prec. And yet thou leavest me for Sleeps !
those dusty books. (Enter VICTORIAN by the balcony.)
Vict. Thou comest between me and
those books too often ! Vict. Poor little dove! Thou trem- I see thy face in everything I see ! blest like a leaf !
The paintings in the chapel wear thy Prec. I am so frightened ! 'Tis for looks, thee I tremble !
The canticles are changed to sarabands, I hate to have thee climb that wall by And with the learned doctors of the night!
schools Did no one see thee ?
I see thee dance cachuchas. Vict. None, my love, but thou. Prec.
In good sooth, Prec. ’T is very dangerous ; and when I dance with learned doctors of the thou art gone
schools I chide myself for letting thee come here To-morrow morning.
Vict. And with whom, I pray ?
Vict. Remember him no more. Let Prec. A grave and reverend Cardinal, not his shadow and his Grace
Come between thee and me. Sweet The Archbishop of Toledo.
What mad jest I loved thee even then, though I was Is this?
silent ! Prec. It is no jest ; indeed it is not. Prec. I thought I ne'er should see thy Vict. Prithee, explain thyself.
face again. Prec.
Why, simply thus. Thy farewell had a sound of sorrow in it. Thou knowest the Pope has sent here Vict. That was the first sound in the into Spain
song of love! To put a stop to dances on the stage. Scarce more than silence is, and yet a Vict. I have heard it whispered.
Now the Cardinal, Hands of invisible spirits touch thestrings Who for this purpose comes, would fain Of that mysterious instrument, the soul, behold
And play the prelude of our fate. We With his own eyes these dances; and the
The voice prophetic, and are not alone. Has sent for me
Prce. That is my faith. Dost thou be. Vict. That thou mayst dance before lieve these warnings ? them !
Vict. So far as this. Our feelings and Now viva la cachucha! It will breathe our thoughts The fire of youth into these gray old Tend ever on, and rest not in the Present. men !
As drops of rain fall into some dark well, 'T will be thy proudest conquest ! And from below comes a scarce audible Prec.
Saving one. sound, And yet I fear these dances will be So fall our thoughts into the dark Herestopped,
after, And Preciosa be once more a beggar. And their mysterious echo reaches us. Vict. The sweetest beggar that e’er Prec. I have felt it so, but found no asked for alms;
words to say it ! With such beseeching eyes, that when I I cannot reason ; I can only feel ! saw thee
But thou hast language for all thoughts I gave my heart away!
and feelings. Prec.
Dost thou remember Thou art a scholar ; and sometimes I When first we met ?
It was at Córdova, We cannot walk together in this world ! In the cathedral garden. Thou wast The distance that divides us is too great ! sitting
Henceforth thy pathway lies among the Under the orange-trees, besidea fountain. stars; Prec. 'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full. I must not hold thee back. blossomed trees
Thou little sceptic ! Filled all the air with fragrance and with Dost thou still doubt? What I inost joy.
prize in woman The priests were singing, and the organ Is her affections, not her intellect ! sounded,
The intellect is finite; but the affections And then anon the great cathedral bell. Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted. It was the elevation of the Host. Compare me with the great men of the We both of us fell down upon our knees,
earth; Under the orange boughs, and prayed to- What am I? Why, a pygmy among gether.
giants ! I never had been happy till that moment. But if thou lovest, mark me! I say Vict. Thou blessed angel !
lovest, Prec. And when thou wast gone The greatest of thy sex excels thee not ! I felt an aching here. I did not speak The world of the affections is thy world, To any one that day. But from that day Not that of man's ambition. In that Bartolomé