Vict. O pardon me, my friend, If I so long have kept this secret from thee; But silence is the charm that guards such treasures, And, if a word be spoken ere the time, They sink again, they were not meant for us. Hyp. Alas! alas! I see thou art in love. Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak. It serves for food and raiment. Give a Spaniard His mass, his olla, and his Doña Luisa Thou knowest the proverb. But pray tell me, lover, How speeds thy wooing? Is the maiden coy? Write her a song, beginning with an Ave; Ave! cujus calcem clare Vict. Pray, do not jest! This is no I am in earnest ! Hyp. Vict. If I remember rightly, a young Gypsy Is there no virtue in the world? Not much. What, think'st thou, is she doing at this moment; Now, while we speak of her? Vict. She lies asleep, And from her parted lips her gentle breath Comes like the fragrance from the lips of flowers. Her tender limbs are still, and on her breast The cross she prayed to, ere she fell asleep, Vict. O, would I had the old magician's To see her as she lies in childlike sleep! Vict. e'er reflected How much lies hidden in that one word, now? Vict. Yes; all the awful mystery of Life! I oft have thought, my dear Hypolito, That could we, by some spell of magic, change The world and its inhabitants to stone, In the same attitudes they now are in, What fearful glances downward might we cast Into the hollow chasms of human life! What bridal pomps, and what funereal shows! What foes, like gladiators, fierce and struggling! What lovers with their marble lips to gether! Hyp. Ay, there it is! and, if I were in love, That is the very point I most should dread. This magic glass, these magic spells of thine, Might tell a tale were better left untold. For instance, they might show us thy fair cousin, The Lady Violante, bathed in tears Whom thou, another faithless Argonaut, Having won that golden fleece, a woman's love, Desertest for this Glaucè. Vict. Hold thy peace! She cares not for me: She may wed another, Or go into a convent, and, thus dying, Marry Achilles in the Elysian Fields. Hyp. (rising). And so, good night! Good morning, I should say. (Clock strikes three.) Hark! how the loud and ponderous mace of Time Knocks at the golden portals of the day! And so, once more, good night! We'll speak more largely Of Preciosa when we meet again. Get thee to bed, and the magician, Sleep, Shall show her to thee, in his magic glass, In all her loveliness. Good night! Vict. [Exit. Good night! But not to bed; for I must read awhile. (Throws himself into the arm-chair which HYPOLITO has left, and lays a large book open upon his knees.) Must read, or sit in revery and watch The changing color of the waves that break 1 Which are the dreams of Love! Out of And rather die an outcast in the streets the heart Rises the bright ideal of these dreams, As from some woodland fount a spirit rises And sinks again into its silent deeps, Ere the enamored knight can touch her robe ! 'Tis this ideal that the soul of man, Like the enamored knight beside the fountain, Waits for upon the margin of Life's stream; Waits to behold her rise from the dark waters, Alas! what can I do? I cannot choose my friends. Each word of kindness, Come whence it may, is welcome to the poor. Prec. Make me your friend. A girl so young and fair Clad in a mortal shape! Alas! how Should have no friends but those of her own sex. I dance to-night, -- perhaps for the last | I, who am housed worse than the galley slave; time. But what I gain, I promise shall be yours, I, who am fed worse than the kennelled If that can save you from the Count of Lara. Ang. O, my dear lady! how shall I be grateful For so much kindness? hound; I, who am clothed in rags, Beltran Cruzado, Not poor! Prec. Thou hast a stout heart and strong hands. Thou canst supply thy wants; what wouldst thou more? Cruz. The gold of the Busné! give me his gold! Prec. Beltran Cruzado! hear me once for all. I speak the truth. So long as I had gold, Be merciful, be patient, and erelong Cruz. Wear silken dresses, feed on dainty food, For here we stay not long. I What! march again? Cruz. Ay, with all speed. I hate the crowded town! cannot breathe shut up within its gates! Cruz. I want air, and sunshine, and blue sky, The feeling of the breeze upon my face, The feeling of the turf beneath my feet, And no walls but the far-off mountaintops. Then I am free and strong, once more myself, Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Calés ! Prec. God speed thee on thy march! -I cannot go. Cruz. Remember who I am, and who thou art ! Be silent and obey! more. Bartolomé Román Yet one thing Prec. (with emotion). O, I beseech thee! If my obedience and blameless life, Arch. Bid them come in. Now shall In what angelic, yet voluptuous shape your eyes behold The Devil came to tempt Saint Anthony. (Enter PRECIOSA, with a mantle thrown over her head. She advances slowly, in modest, half-timid attitude.) Card. (aside). O, what a fair and ministering angel Was lost to heaven when this sweet woman fell! Prec. (kneeling before the ARCHBISH- If I intrude upon your better hours, Arch. I did not look for this! Come hither, child. Is thy name Preciosa ? Prec. Thus I am called. Card. That is a Gypsy name. Who is thy father? Prec. Beltran Cruzado, Count of the |