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But your true father has returned to Spain
Laden with wealth. You are no more a
Vict. Strange as a Moorish tale!
Been drinking at the tavern to your health,
As wells drink in November, when it rains.
Vict. Where is the gentleman?
His body is in Segovia,
Prec. Is this a dream 1 O, if it be a dream,
Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet!
Repeat thy story! Say I'm not deceived!
Say that I do not dream! I am awake; This is the Gypsy camp; this is Victorian,
And this his friend, Hypolito! Speak! speak!
Let me not wake and find it all a dream!
Vict. It is a dream, sweet child! a
waking dream, A blissful Certainty, a vision bright Of that rare happiness, which even on
Heaven gives to those it loves. Now
art thou rich, As thou wast ever beautiful and good; And I am now the beggar.
Prec, (i/iving him her hand). I have still A hand to give.
Chispa (aside). And I have two to take.
I've heard my grandmother say, that
Heaven gives almonds To those who have no teeth. That's
nuts to crack. I've teeth to spare, but where shall I
find almonds? Vict. What more of this strange
Chispa. Nothing more.
Your friend, Don Carlos, is now at the village
Showing to Pedro Crespo, the Alcalde, The proofs of what I tell you. The old hag,
Who stole you in your childhood, has confessed;
And probably they 'll hang her for the crime,
To make the celebration more complete. Vict. No ; let it be a day of general
Fortune comes well to all, that comes
not late. Now let us join Don Carlos.
Hyp. So farewell,
The student's wandering life! Sweet
Sung under ladies' windows in the night,
And all that makes vacation beautiful!
The Bachelor Hypolito returns,
Scene VI. — A pass in the Guadarrama mountains. Early morning. A muleteer crosses t/ie stage, sitting sideways ml his mule, anil lighting a paper cigar with JUnt and stecl.
If thou art sleeping, maiden,
Awake and open thy door, 'T is the break of day, and we must away,
O'er meadow, and mount, and moor.
Wait not to find thy slippers,
But come with thy naked feet; We shall have to pass through the dewy grass,
And waters wide and fleet.
(Disappears dorni the pass. Enter a Monk. A shepherd a1,pears on the rocks above.)
Monk. Ave Maria, gratia plena. Ola! good man! Shcp. Ola!
Monk. Is this the road to Segovia? Shcp. It is, your reverence. Monk. How far is it? Shcp. I do not know. Monk. What is that yonder in the valley?
Shep. San Ildefonso.
Monk. A long way to breakfast.
Shcp. Ay, marry.
Monk. Are there robbers in these mountains?
Shep. Yes, and worse than that.
Monk. Santa Maria! Come with me to San Iltlefouso, and thou shalt be well rewarded.
Shep. What wilt thou give me?
Monk. An Agnus Dei and my benediction.
(They disappear. A mounted Contrabandist! passes, wrapped in his cloak, and a gun at his saddle-bow. He goes down the pass singing.)
Worn with speed ia my good steed,
And I march nie hurried, worried;
Onward, eaballito mio,
With the white star in thy forehead!
Onward, for here comes the Rouda,
And I hear their rifles crack!
Ay, jaleo! Ay, ay, jaleo!
Ay, jaleo! They cross our track.
(Snug dies aicay. Enter Preciosa, on horseback, attended by Victorian, HyPolito, Don Carlos, and Chispa, on foot, and armed.)
Vict. This is the highest point. Here let us rest. See, Preciosa, see how all about us Kneeling, like hooded friars, the misty
Hyp. Most wonderful!
Where yonder steeples flash like lifted halberds,
San Ildefonso, from its noisy belfries,
Prec. And which way lies
Viet. At a great distance yonder. Dost thou not see it?
Prec. No. I do not see it.
Vict. The merest flaw that dents the horizon's edge. There, yonder!
Hyp. 'T is a notable old town,
Boasting an ancient Roman aqueduct, And an Alcazar, builded by the Moors, Wherein, you may remember, poor Gil Rlas
Was fed on Pan del Rcy. O, many a time
Out of its grated windows have I looked Hundreds of feet plumb down to the Eresma,
That, like a serpent through the valley
creeping, Glides at its foot.
Prec. O yes! I see it now,
Yet rather with my heart than with mine
So faint it is. And all my thoughts
sail thither, Freighted with prayers and hopes, and
forward urged Against all stress of accident, as in The Eastern Tale, against the wind and
Great ships were drawn to the Magnetic
Mountains, And there were wrecked, and perished
in the sea! (Sli e wecps.) Vict. O gentle spirit! Thou didst
bear unmoved Blasts of adversity and frosts of fate! But the first ray of sunshine that falls on
Melts thee to tears! O, let thy weary heart
Lean upon mine ! and it shall faint no more,
Nor thirst, nor hunger; but be comforted
And filled with my affection.
Prec. Stay no longer!
My father waits. Methinks I see him there,
Now looking from the window, and now watching
Each sound of wheels or footfall in the street,
And saying, ** Hark! she comes!" O
father! father! (They descend the pass. Chispa remains bchind.)
Chispa. I have a father, too, but he is a dead one. Alas and alack-a-day! Poor was I born, and poor do I remain. I neither win nor lose. Thus I wag through the world, half the time on foot, and the other half walking; and always as merry as a thunder-storm in the night. And so we plough along, as the fly said to the ox. Who knows what may happen f Patience, and shuffle the cards! I am not yet so bald that you can see my brains ; and perhaps, after all, I shall some day go to Rome, and come back Saint Peter. Benedicite! [Exit.
Is the ancient town of Bruges,
Then, with deep sonorous clangor
But amid my broken slumbers
1 And I thought how like these chimes
Yet perchance a sleepless wight,
And wakes, and finds his slumberous
Wet with most delicious tears.
Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay
THE BELFRY OF BRUGES.
In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town.
As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood,
And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood.
Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray,
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay.
At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there,
Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air.
Not a sound rose from the city at that
early morning hour, But I heanl a heart of iron beating in
the ancient tower.
From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;
And the world, beneath lue sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.
Then most musical and solemn, bringing
back the olden times, With their strange, unearthly changes
rang the melancholy chimes,
Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir;
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.
Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again;
All the Foresters of Flanders, — mighty
Baldwin Bras de Fer, Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy Philip,
Guy de Dampierre.
I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old;
Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece of Gold
Lombard and Venetian merchants with
deep-laden argosies; Ministers from twenty nations; more
than royal pomp and ease.
I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground;
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound;
And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen,
And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between.
I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Na
mur and Juliers bold, Marching homeward from the bloody
battle of the Spurs of Gold;
Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west,
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest.
And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote;
And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat;
Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike»of sand,
"I am Roland! I am Roland ! there is victory in the land!"
Then the sound of drums aroused me.
The awakened city's roar Chased the phantoms I had summoned
back into their graves once more.
Hours had passed away like minutes;
and, before I was aware, Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed
the sun-illumined square.
A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE.
This is the place. Stand still, my steed,
Let me review the scene,
The forms that once have heen.
The Past and Present here unite
Like footprints hidden by a brook,
Here runs the highway to the town;
There the green lane descends, Through which I walked to church with thee,
O gentlest of my friends!
The shadow of the linden-trees
Lay moving on the grass; Between them and the moving boughs,
A shadow, thou didst pass.
Thy dress was like the lilies,
One of God's holy messengers
I saw the branches of the trees
The clover-blossoms in the grass
"Sleep, sleep to-dfty, tormenting cares,
Of earth and folly born!" Solemnly sang the village choir
On that sweet Sabbath morn.
Through the closed blinds the golden sun
Poured in a dusty beam, Like the celestial ladder seen
By Jacob in his dream.
And ever and anon, the wind,
That on the window lay.
Long was the good man's sermon,
Yet it seemed not so to me;
And still I thought of thee.
Long was the prayer he uttered,
For in my heart I prayed with him,
But now, alas ! the place seems changed;
Thou art no longer here:
With thee did disappear.
Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my heart,
Like pine-trees dark and high, Subdue the light of noon, and breathe A low and ceaseless sigh;
This memory brightens o'er the past,
As when the sun, concealed Behind some cloud that near us hangs,
Shines on a distant field.
THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD.
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling.
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.
Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches those swift keys! What loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies!
I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,
The cries of agony, the endless groan, Which, through the ages that have gone before us, In long reverberations reach our own.
On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer,
Through Cimbrie forest roars the Norseman's song,