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 MY LADY 
 POVERTY 
 
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MY LADY POVERTY 
 
 A Drama in Five Acts 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCIS DE SALES GLIEBE 
 O, F. M. 
 
 ST. ANTHONY COLLEGE 
 SANTA BARBARA. GAL. 
 

 All Rights Reserved. 
 
 ©GI.D 29:^39 
 
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 MY LADY POVERTY. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 PIETRO BERNARDONE, his father. 
 
 GIOVANNI NEANDRINI, his friend 
 and confidant. 
 
 GUIDO, Bishop of Assisi. 
 
 ORLANDO, a nobleman of Assisi, 
 
 BERNARD DE VENTADOUR, a trou- 
 badour. 
 
 GIUSEPPE D'AMORE, 
 ALBERTO MADRE, 
 AMBROGIO RENIERI, 
 EDUARDO SCARPELLO, 
 LEONE SANDALI, 
 LEONE BELLING, 
 LUIGI CAPRINt, 
 
 ANGELOCUNIEHI, a poor little boy. 
 
 Servant to Pietro Bernardone. 
 A physician. 
 
 Nightwatchman of Assisi. 
 Attendants. 
 
 Scene: Assisi and Spoleto. 
 
MY LADY POVERTY. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE 1. — Assisi. An open place before Francis' 
 home. Enter Francis and Giovanni. 
 FRANCIS. 
 /^ joy! out in the open once again. 
 ^-^ Unfettered now, and freed from stubborn ills, 
 I'd fain, like merry warbling bird, hie far 
 Away into some shady forest glen, 
 And there amid bright nature's melodies 
 Pour out to God my sweetest song of praise. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 A joy it is even to hear you tell 
 Your joy. But listen, iFrancis, a kindly message: 
 The knot of your devoted friends did bid 
 Me come to greet you with their heart's best 
 
 wish, 
 And say, how all rejoice to knov/ you well 
 In health again. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 So constant and so kind! 
 GIOVANNI. 
 They hope ere long to see you in their midst. 
 To Itead, as you were wont, their sports and 
 feasts. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 My hope as well; may 't soon be realized. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 'All seems of late,' they say, 'so dull without 
 
The smile of Francis' cheerful face; w€ miss 
 His igracious ways, his large resourceful mind 
 And noble heart forgetting self; we lack 
 Our troubadour's sweet songs of country, home, 
 Religion, love, and glorious chivalry. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 To all my comrades, most to you, Giovanni, 
 Sincerest thanks. Oh never come the time 
 When I unworthy prove of worthy friends! 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 It will not, Francis. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Heaven grant it! — -Now. 
 I pray, go with me into yonder wood. 
 I yearn do drink in nature's freshness pure, 
 And sate ..ny longing eyes with gazing rapt 
 Her witching charms. Oh! how 't will glad 
 
 my heart 
 To range on hill and plain, to breathe the 
 
 fields' 
 Rich perfume, taste the leaping mountain rill, 
 Roam through thick wilds and over sylvan 
 
 paths. 
 And linger as of old beneath the dome 
 Of gently swaying boughs, amid the lisp 
 Of rustling leaves, and scent of flowering herbs 
 And trees. There shall my fancy freely play, 
 My mem'ry fill with tender recollections. 
 And overflow my soul with grateful joy 
 To view the riches God has poured 
 On Italy's pride, fair Umbria's land. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Yes, Francis, 
 
Of nature you were ever passionate fond; 
 And now, when to your large receptive fsense 
 Her beauties she will new unfold, your blood 
 Will course with fresh and healthful life; and we 
 Again shall have what these drear days so -sore 
 We lacked, the light and warmth diffusing air 
 Of your companionship, — Come, let us go. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 2. — Assiai. A street. Enter Orlando and 
 Giuseppe meeting. 
 
 G-IUSEPPE. 
 
 Thy haste, my noble lord! 
 ORLANDO. 
 
 How canst thou ask? 
 Hast not yet heard there's war afoot? The south, 
 Apulia is the scene; the German nobles 
 Rise up in rebel arms against the Pope, 
 Our gracious Innocent. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 That's news indeed. 
 ORLANDO. 
 I haste to enlist with Walter of Brienne, 
 Defender of the Holy Father's rights; 
 The 'Gentle Count' he's called, the bravest 
 
 knight, 
 They say, in Christendo'aa. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 Not one of ours, 
 I ween, of this knows aught. 
 ORLANDO. 
 
 Not strange: the gay 
 
And gaudy troop that Bernardone's son 
 Doth lead are champions bold in banquet halls, 
 And paladins at routs; theirs are battles 
 With dainty dishes, feasts are all their deeds, 
 Carousals their contests. — Fie on such knights! 
 Knights of the table long, not 'Table Round.' 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 Mock us not. Lord Orlando. Young in years, 
 We still are young in knightly deeds. But wait. 
 And those whom now thou tauntst will startle 
 
 yet 
 The Christian world with wondrous feats for 
 
 God, 
 For Pope, and King, and country, truth and 
 
 faith. 
 
 ORLANDO. 
 Fair dream. Giuseppe; and still I would your 
 
 dream 
 Might be fulfilled. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 It shall, I warrant you. 
 Have we not earnest of our future greatness? 
 Mark: walking with our captain not long since. 
 There met our crew a man of saintly fame. 
 Who stepped before us, doffed his mantle, 
 
 spread 
 Tt out for Francis' tread, and solemn spoke 
 In prophet guise and tone: 'My deep respect 
 To him who will in time great wonders work. 
 Whom all the world will yet extol and love.' — 
 But pardon, I detain you. 
 
 ORLANDO. 
 
 My blame 't is, 
 
 8 
 
Not yours, that 1 delay; I'll leave at once. 
 Success to you and all your fellow knights. — • 
 Farewell. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 Farewell, noble sir. Prosper God 
 Your enterprise. [Exit Orlando. 
 
 A hardy soldier this. 
 Adorned with every grace of knighthood. But — 
 A trifle too sedate for me and grave. 
 Giive me the sprightly disposition of Francis, 
 Our jovial circle's gallant knight, Francis, 
 Whose worth we've learned of late by loss to 
 
 th' full 
 To prize, o fortunate we! he'll soon be ours 
 Again. — But who are these? My friends? 
 
 Enter Alberto, Amhrogin, Eduardo, Leone 
 Sandali, Leone Bellino and Liiigi. 
 
 Well met. 
 Companions! You go to our captains, do you 
 not? 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 We do. And your intent? 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 The same. Long live 
 Our leader FYancis! 
 
 ALL. 
 Long live our leader Francis! 
 LEONE SANDALI. 
 Oh what a joy, that he's restored to us 
 Whose absence was for all so keen a trial! 
 
 LUIGI. 
 Life seemed a sickly thing without the spice 
 
 9 
 
Of 's racy speech and aniaaated song: 
 Darkened and chilled wars our youth's day when 
 
 sank 
 The sun of Ftaneis' glowing eye, and fled 
 The warmth of Francis' igenial fellowship. 
 
 LEONE BBLLINO. 
 The good old times return; anon we'll have 
 The full delights of former days to enjoy. 
 
 AMBROGIO. 
 Ha! how we'll make the streets resound with 
 
 song 
 rt.nd cheer, as we were wont, o' nights to crown 
 The festive day. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 Come, comrades, co-ne. Long live 
 Our leader Francis! 
 
 ALL. 
 Long live our leader Franoi?! 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 3. — A wood near Assist. Enter Francis 
 and Giovanni. 
 
 GIOVANNI, 
 fere will we sit and rest. — You seem fatigued. 
 FRANCIS. 
 And so indeed I am. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 1 wonder much. 
 Your long desired converse with nature done, 
 You wear an anxious look. 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 So much you read 
 T*]'en from my face? Giovanni, could you look 
 
 10 
 
 H' 
 
Into my "heart, you'd see and wonder more, 
 
 GIOVANNI, 
 What do you mean? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I know not whence, nor why. 
 But certain 't is, a change is come on me. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 A change? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 My love for nature 's vanished quite. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 A ♦'oolish thought! Assuredly now 't is not 
 My Francis, but his sickness speaks. I know 
 Whence comes your troubled state: too much 
 
 you hoped 
 Prom your yet feeble health. You do forget 
 That where the body 's ill, the soul can not 
 Un'iiiixed delight in life, and prize to th' worth 
 The bounteous Maker's gifts. Believe it not: 
 Not vanished is your former love; asleep 
 A while it is, and with returning health 
 'T will wake again refreshed. 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 No, no, 't is gone 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Oh, -say not so! See farther than the cloud 
 That hoods your wonted temper's unflecked sky; 
 When you shall lead again your jovial band. 
 This darkling mood will pass, and your delight 
 Of old in God's fair world will big revive. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Pray, call it not a passing mood that's now 
 Upon me. That vain comfort I too spoke 
 
 11 
 
To my distracted mind; but nov/ more clear 
 I see. No, not my spirit dulled by pain, 
 Nor yet my senses dimmed by long and close 
 Confinement caused the change which you re- 
 ■mark. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Why then what was the cause? 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Ah! as I speak. 
 E'en now, my vision seems revisited 
 By those faint glimpses of celestial things 
 Which ever and anon in painful hours, 
 Oke fleeting rays, did 'steal into my soul. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Your former self from slumber slow awaking. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Nay, dying rather to my former self, 
 And risin'g to a higher life. In truth, 
 I feel as I were born anew, and still 
 Travailed my spirit in the throes: Heaven draws 
 My strong reluctant will, and earth is loth 
 To leave my worldly mind. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 A strife it is 
 'Tween good and evil health. 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 'Tis more, 't is more. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Your robust make the issue will decide. 
 And then, the struggle over, the battle won, 
 Your eye new-fired will keen again discern 
 The fair, and smile on all that God's bright sun 
 Doth smile upon. 
 
 12 
 
FRANCIS. 
 
 Oh never more my eye 
 Shall look on things of earth as it was used! 
 An inner light, Giovanni, now to me 
 Discovers what before I never saw: 
 This world we see, and think so great and fair, 
 The thin and fragile shell it is, no more, 
 Of a far greater, fairer world; this orb 
 Of ours, so seeming large and firm, is yet 
 In truth as frail and small as th' wondering orb 
 That full takes in the universe; it waits 
 But for the Almighty's touch to burst ablaze 
 Into immortal life and robe itself 
 In endless glory. All nature 's but a glass 
 Which dim reflect-s the light of a divine 
 Kingdom, that everlasting realm above. 
 Whose sun the Sun of .Justice is, whose light 
 The Brightness of Eternal Light. — O woe! 
 That I so long this light have shunned, alas! 
 Have been so utter blind as not to look 
 Beyond the passing pageant, and to pierce 
 The veil that hides fro'm view what lies behind. 
 Fool that I was, my hungry soul so long 
 To feed with such unsound, yea baneful food. 
 The straw and husks of this world's fleeting 
 goods! 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 O Francis! leave these sad denressing thoU2;btP. 
 If much you suffer them to hold the mind 
 You will renew your illness, not regain 
 Your former health. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 In sorrow, not in gloom 
 
 13 
 
I speak "t: I tear I have not known myself 
 Till now. My youth is gone, a sad record 
 Of wasted time. — To've spent life's golden days 
 In empty pleasures, idle dreams! 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 No cause 
 Have you to pine: never from virtue's path 
 You've strayed, no deed of shame your honor 
 
 smirched. 
 Nay, not a word that e'en to holy ears 
 Might give offense has ever 'scaped your lip«. 
 Your hand was always open to the poor. 
 Your heart to the distressed, your hand and 
 
 heart 
 Belonged to all that called you friend or foe. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Your friendly eye more goodness in me sees 
 Than V'm possessor of, and your kind love 
 Keeps from discernment faults my own >3elf-love 
 Has long kept undescried. At last less dark 
 V/lthin my soul it grows, and I begin 
 To see, another way I must pursue 
 Than I have hither walked. I seem to hear 
 A sweet voice whispering soft: 'Come, follow 
 
 me.' 
 Oh would that He who draws with mighty cords 
 Made me as generous now in following Him, 
 As T was given long to chase and serve 
 This failing world! 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 ANGELO. 
 
 Oh there is Francis, good master Francis! 
 Good morning, master Francis. 
 
 14 
 
FRANCIS. 
 God's blessing on you, boy. 
 ANGELO. 
 
 Francis! are you well again? I am so glad 
 to see you. And how glad father will be, 
 when I tell him that I saw you! But Francis, 
 kind master Francis, are you really well? Tell 
 me. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 As well, my boy, as I can well expect. And 
 how does my little friend Angelo? 
 ANGELO. 
 
 1 am always well. But oh, how much I 
 missed you! Every day I waited and waited, 
 but you would not come. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Your good old father, and your neighbors, 
 how do they all? 
 
 ANGELO. 
 They are all so sad that you are sick. — This 
 morning, before I left to fetch wild berries in 
 these woods, my father said how hard it was 
 that good master Francis stayed away so long. 
 Bu now you'll come again to visit us, won't 
 you, dear Francis? Tell 'me that you will'. 
 FRANCIS. 
 I will, my boy, I will. 
 
 ANGELO. 
 Oh, thank you. thank you! T will run at once 
 to bring the joyful news to father. Goodbye, 
 master Francis. [Exit. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 A lovely flower. Giovanni, out of God's 
 
 15 
 
Own garden, sent into this desert world 
 To spread the perfume of a guileless life, 
 And shame the greed of a luxurious race. 
 Content in humble means, this winsome child 
 Thanks God's kind Providence e'en for a cold 
 And lowly hearth. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 A bright and charming lad 
 This boy indeed. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 A kingly lot is his, 
 Nor his alone, but too the lot of all 
 Who meekly, smilingly bear up the yoke 
 Of pressing poverty. For all our ease 
 And merriment, doth not a secret pain 
 And weariness rankle our in-most heart? 
 Not so with those who must forever strive 
 With want: the heavy weight of life on them 
 Doth lighter lie than us who never need. 
 In sooth, the peace and rest which all our lives 
 W<e mortals toil to find, more oft in hut 
 Than palace dwells. — There must be something 
 
 then 
 In poverty that's hid away within 
 A rugged shell, entreasured far too de<ep 
 For this wise melancholy world to see. 
 Yet sweetness has and power to spell and blese. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Your words ring true; you reason well. But yet, 
 T fear, you overleap the Master's word: 
 'More blessed 't is to give than to receive.' 
 Ara you not blessed to hajve given alms 
 So oft and so profusely to Christ's poor? 
 
 16 
 
FRANCIS. 
 'More blessed 't is to give than to receive' — 
 There is some comfort in the thought: 't is true, 
 I've given to the poor, nay nevier heard 
 A cry of need but I was inly touched, 
 And moved to lavish richest gifts; but much, 
 Alas! too much, I've also given to self. 
 And little, oh how little! to my God. 
 Have I not humored my fastidious tastes 
 With every blandish'ment, apparelled rich 
 In flowing robes, spending whole nights in wild 
 And wanton revelries? In fine, Giovanni, 
 I've loved the poor, but lo^ved not to be poor 
 Myself. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 You are too strict a judge. Though free 
 In mirth, and liberal to your friends, no less. 
 Yea more, you've been munificent to God, 
 Ministering so largely to Hi's poor. 
 Is not this praise enough? Who does as much? 
 Oh why not, Francis, be content to keep 
 The godly path you have so nobly trod? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 God calls to loftier heights: no longer may 
 I tarry here in listlessness and play 
 Away my life. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Do you recall those words 
 You spoke when in Perugia we did pine 
 A dreary year's captivity, and sad 
 We let our spirits droop, the while you laughed 
 And kept up cheer? 'You look amazed at me,' 
 You said, 'and wonder that so brave I bear 
 
 17 
 
Our fortune; some day you will marvel more. 
 When all the world will worship me.' Francis, 
 Now verify your words, lead on the band 
 Of your admiring friends, and win renown 
 That never dies. Lead on! they'll follow you 
 To any enterprise that's worth the na-me 
 Of chivalry. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 A dream of long ago 
 You reawaken, one of many vi-sions 
 That filled my youthful fantasy; of knights 
 And talismans and famed chivalrlc deeds, 
 All that the songs of troubadours and tales 
 Of bards so fascinating celebrate. 
 And in my childhood days my mother would 
 So often sing and tell to me. But these 
 Are fairy sights fit for romantic youth, 
 Itself -30 fairy-like. 'Tis time I left 
 The shadowy realm of romance to go forth 
 And wrestle with life's grim realities. 
 'Tis time to do, to live: dreams are but dreams, 
 And songs but songs, and words and fancies air 
 Without the deeds. Some great thing I must do 
 For God; — and isoon I will. What it shall be 
 I know not yet, but this I know: A knight 
 Oif Heaven's King I'll be, a soldier of Christ, 
 And champion of His Holy Cross. To Him 
 I swear eternal fealty. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Not words 
 Of sick or petulant moodiness are these, 
 I know it now, but God inspired thoughts. 
 Too bold and worldly wise if I have spoken, 
 
 18 
 
Your pardon, dearest Francis. Heaven forbid, 
 I should make bold to step between j'^our soul 
 And God! Only I pray: whate'er may chance. 
 May you be spared to us, and most to me. 
 Who love you as my very soul. 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Place we, 
 Giovanni, ourselves, our destiny entire 
 In God's paternal care. His Providence 
 Will guide all safe, and bring to happy end 
 Whate'er His unsearched Wisdom has ordained. 
 Come now, my father will be seeking me, 
 And 'mother will grow anxious for her son. 
 'I've said, now I begin; the Most High God 
 Hath wrought this change.' [Exeunt. 
 
 Id 
 
ACT II. 
 
 SCENE 1. — Outffkirt.o of Asifisu Enter Giuseppe. 
 Alberto. Amhrogio, Ediardo, Leone Sandali. 
 Leone Belltno, Lvig'n last of all Bernard de 
 Ventadoiir between Giovanni and Francis. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Here then we've come to our city's utmost 
 bounds. 
 And here, alack! the sad word must be spoken: 
 Our noble guest from fair Provence, esteemed 
 Signor Bernard de Ventadour, mid grief 
 We ROW bid you a kind farewell, and wish 
 You god^speed on the way. 
 
 BERNARD. 
 
 Most hearty thanks, 
 Mv gracious hosts. Rejoicing in the thought 
 Of home, regret still steals into my heart 
 That I must leave your sunny land, and lose 
 The excellent friends who know to prize and 
 
 love 
 The singer's art. On all my tours, I vouch, 
 ^9uch ardent patrons I've not found as you 
 Of high and -sacred minstrelsy. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Accept, 
 Sweet bard, as keepsake of your sojourn here 
 Our parting tokens of regard and love: 
 May God's protecting hand bring you unharmed 
 
 20 
 
To lovely France. And may that Prince of th' 
 
 court 
 Of heaven, who tracks the pious traveller's 
 
 ways. 
 In future years again direct your thoughts 
 And steps to azure Italy, with harp 
 And song to cheer the feasts of your attached 
 And deeply grateful friends. 
 
 BERNARD. 
 May Angel hands take up your eager hope, 
 And carry aloft your fervent prayer e'en up 
 To heaven's throne.^ — Ah, heaven! the home of 
 
 song 
 And harmony, where not the faltering tones 
 Of mortal bards are heard, but constant strains 
 Of Angel choirs, the immortal minstrel hosts 
 Chanting for aye in rapturous hymns of praise 
 The unveiled glory of their deathless King. 
 Heaven! where mingle with the angelic lays 
 The paean-s of triumphant Martyr bands, 
 And psalms and canticles and jubilant songs 
 Of Saints, accompanied still iby sweetest notes 
 Of hundred thousand thousand harps of gold: 
 Till all the wide celestial realm resounds 
 With ever growing, never waning swells 
 Of infinite music, whose echoes roll out 
 Into the boundless ron.nd of space, and thence 
 Reverberating gather all before 
 The Almighty's crystal throne, and wondrous 
 
 blend 
 To one concordant voice of praise, and one 
 Sublime harmonic of created sound 
 And music of the Eternal Years. — 
 
O gentle friends, kind hearts, oh may we there. 
 If not aga,in on earth, meet all to sing 
 That endless song in endless joy! Ah me! 
 The thought of that supernal home my heart 
 Doth 'oaelt; my tears hegin to flow, and more 
 I'm drawn to look upon its sweet, though faint 
 And distant type, my stay and rest below. 
 My earthly home. Then let me haste to part. 
 So Heaj'.'en will, I'll come to you again. 
 Adieu, my friends, adieu! 
 ALL. 
 
 Adieu, Adieu! 
 
 [Exit Bernard. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Attend bright Angel throngs the parting bard. 
 
 And lightsome music wing his wandering steps 
 
 Whose strains have oft revived the failing 
 
 strength, 
 And smoothed the weary pilgri'm's rugged path. 
 How glowed his melting words as flushed he 
 
 told 
 Harmoniously our Home's enchanting music! 
 And how his face, like blushing setting sun. 
 Shed kindred rays upon our mien, when far. 
 Like seer, he looked beyond our earthly abode! 
 O loving hearts! if 't set our souls on fire 
 Merely to hear the singer tell of heaven, 
 The entrancing, endless music there, what then 
 Will 't be when we ourselves, changed, glori- 
 fied, 
 Shall be incorporate to that blessed choir 
 Of ceaseless singing Saints and Angel hosts! 
 Th.Tt prize, vny comrades, let us ever seek, 
 
 22 
 
That treasure we must find. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Yes, Francis, yes; 
 With God above to illume our path, and you 
 Our valiant leader here, we'll seek and find. 
 
 GIUSEPPE 
 Well said, Giovanni. Comrades all, the bard 
 From France is gone, but look! have we not 
 
 here 
 Our own Assisi's tuneful bard? Is not 
 Our Francis ours again? and always ours? 
 His rich attire proclaims the blithesome youth 
 Of former days, his smiling face reveals 
 The joy of 's heart to be with us again. 
 All hail to our captain! Long live Francis! 
 
 ALL. 
 All hail to our captain! Long live Francis! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Companions, this show of loyal love 
 Affects my joyful heart with growing joy: 
 A pleasure, sure, it is to see my friends 
 Again, and know them constant as of old; 
 But I have still a further cause of joy 
 Which you yet know not of. 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 Then quickly tell 't. 
 That with you we may all rejoice. 
 ALBERTO. 
 
 Yes, do: 
 Imparted joy, you're 'ware, increases joy. 
 
 LUIGI. 
 Indeed, they say divided joy is twice 
 A joy. 
 
 23 
 
AMBROGIO. 
 Give up the secret, Francis. 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Then hear: 
 I have the assurance now that I'll become 
 A mighty prince. 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 Why, that you are e'en now. 
 AMBROGIO. 
 Who would deny 't? Pray, are you not our 
 prince? 
 
 EDUARDO. 
 And prince of all Assisi's youth? 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 All hail 
 To our noble prince! 
 
 ALL. 
 All hail to our noble prince! 
 FRANCIS. 
 Nay listen! In yesternight's repose I had 
 A dream, a vision fair: I saw a palace 
 Spacious, exalted placed on pompous heights. 
 Encompassed round by nature's fullest wealth, 
 A great, majestic hall, whose vast spread rooms 
 And rich decked walls with flashing arms and 
 
 shields 
 Of glittering gold were all o'erhung. 
 LUIGI. 
 
 Ah! that's 
 The temple of glory, Francis, where you'll shine 
 Among the brightest stars of warrior fame. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 On every shield there gleamed embossed a cross 
 
 24 
 
Of brilliant hue, which blazoned seemed in sootli 
 By master band of heraldry. 
 LUIGI. 
 
 The cross 
 Of Christian knighthood, the brave and virtu- 
 ous knight's 
 Most gloried blazonry. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Now by your leave, — 
 Amid this sumptuous splendor then appeared 
 A still more charming beauteous sight, the 
 
 pearl 
 And crown, methought, of all the castle's treas- 
 ures: 
 A lady fair it was, transporting fair, 
 Her graceful form swathed round in dazzling 
 
 light; 
 In bridal robes she was arrayed: her gown 
 Of silk was sapphire deep: a spotless white 
 Her veil and chaplet showed; of ruby ston'es 
 Her necklace strung, her ring and bracelets 
 
 wrought 
 Of clearest gold. And so surpassing sweet 
 A smile inwreathed her lovely face, that 
 
 thoughts 
 Of earthly loves fled all my snellbound mind, 
 And from my mem'ry dimmed and paled away 
 All forms of beantv pise and loveliness. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 A most auspicious sight! foretokening plain 
 Our prince's coming bliss. 
 LUIGI. 
 
 A dream of fair 
 
 •25 
 
fmport indeed! The lady of your heart, 
 Francis, j^ou saw, her whom in time you'll woo 
 .\nd win and make your princess. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 Hail to our noble prince and his fair princess? 
 
 ALL. 
 Hail to our noble prince and his fair princess! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 As lost in wonderment I stood, and gazed 
 Upon these marvels, I heard a voice from heaven: 
 'Thin-e, Francis, are all these, they're destined all 
 For thee and for thy knights.' 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 Bravo! bravo! 
 LUIGI. 
 O most propitious words! My comrades, say. 
 Did you remark: 'for thee they're destined all. 
 For thee and for thy knights'? Who are these 
 
 knights 
 But Francis' group? 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 Yes, Francis shall be king. 
 His courtiers we. Our Arthur will he be. 
 And we his paladins, his loyal knights. 
 Knights of the Table Round. 
 ALL. 
 
 Bravo ! bravo ! 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 Long live our king! Long live his loyal knights! 
 
 ALL. 
 Long live our king! Long live his loyal knights! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Hold, friends! teraper your fervor awhile. I fear, 
 
 26 
 
When 1 have done, youv zeal will cool, yoar 
 
 hope 
 Will sinli; I've told you but the vision yet, 
 Not what did go before 't; still that it is 
 Which seals the call as truly from above. 
 
 LUIGI. 
 And what is that? 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 Speak further, Francis. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Hear: 
 'Twas yesterday that I, unwitnessed save 
 By one, most firmly did resolve to leave 
 My worldly course, and lead a godlier life; 
 And, so 't please God, to accomplish some 
 
 great deed 
 For my Creator. This purpose was still warm 
 Within my breast, when some good Angel sent 
 The noble Lord Orlando's squire to me, who in- 
 formed 
 That on the following day his master meant 
 To leave Assisi for a holy war. 
 The news came like a flash upon my soul; 
 'The finger of God!' stammered my beating 
 
 heart, 
 'The call to noble deeds!' Straightway I went 
 To enlist, and Heaven the step did quick and 
 
 plain 
 Approve by giving me that night the vision 
 To see on which I've just discoursed. — Com- 
 panions, 
 I've now delivered all; you know God's will, 
 
 27 
 
Vou know too my resolve: I leave to-night. 
 
 ALL. 
 To-night! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 It is decreed: to-night. 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 Impossible! 
 LEONE SANDALI. 
 To war again? 
 
 AMBROGIO. 
 A dream! 
 ALBERTO. 
 
 It cannot be ! 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 It shall not be! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Heaven calls; I cannot choois^. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 'T is time that I did speak. My comrades, know 
 So long I've held my peace, because to me 
 'Twats no surprise what so astonished you. 
 I was the witness of that wondrous change; 
 And I protest, not blind impulse it was 
 Led Francis on, but Heaven's kindly light; 
 His conscience, not a whim or shifty mood 
 Inspired his high resolve: contend not then 
 With God's designs. Rather, dear comrades, 
 
 cast 
 Wo a look beyond the present grief, and see 
 The future looming up with prosperous head: 
 Our leader knighted, glory-dight, returned. 
 To lead us up the heights which he himself 
 
 28 
 
Has reached. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 For all you say, I like it aot. 
 AMBROGIO. 
 Nor I. 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 Nor I. 
 
 LUIGI. 
 Who could? Yet must we fear 
 To hinder Heaven's appointed course. 
 LEONE SANDALI. 
 
 Well urged ; 
 'Tis not for us to rule or reason here, 
 Our part it is humbly to take what God 
 Decrees. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 I'll say no more. — 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Companions, 
 Raise we our spirits; and, ere our Francis 
 
 parts, 
 Let's join to show him to the last our true 
 Undying devotion: We'll all escort him home. 
 And grace tonight his leave with kindest wishes. 
 Not long the night that clasps the drowsy day 
 Doth hold the eager morn in its embrace; 
 And through each night's dark pall bright peers 
 At length the sleepless eye of th' rising sun. 
 Come, friends. — {Exeunt. 
 
 29 
 
SCEl^JE 2. — Assist. Before Bernardone's hou»e. 
 Enter Bernardonc and n servant, 
 BBRNARDONE. 
 
 You're sure in last night's din and hast<e niy 
 fcson 
 Did nothing leave behind which he might lack? 
 
 SERVANT. 
 I've searched all his apartments, as you bade, 
 And have found nothing. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 
 'T was well done. 
 SERVANT. 
 
 You may. 
 Good master be at ease. Your son set forth 
 Not well provided only, but equippied 
 Most splendidly. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 I am assured. 
 
 Why, like 
 A practiced horseman on his mettled steed 
 He sat, a very knight your excellent son 
 Did seem. From Francis' resolute mien, I 
 
 thought. 
 The smile of thousand ancient victories shone. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 'Tis well; go now, and do what waits your service. 
 
 [Exit servant. 
 Now, when he's gone, I feel regret that not 
 More strongly I opposed.— Strange, strange, how 
 
 quick 
 I was prevailed upon to give my loth 
 Consent. Well, wails are no avails, therefore 
 
 30 
 
I will forbear to think what might have been, 
 And thinlv alone on what will be, the health 
 Of Francis full restored, and that dark cloud 
 Removed of strained religious zeal, which late 
 Obscured his temper's cheerful sun. 
 Enter Giovanni. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Good morrow, Bernardone! 
 
 BBRNARDONE. 
 
 Good morrow, Giovanni I 
 About so early? 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Ah, refreshing sleep 
 And vexing thoughts are deadly foes. The 
 ; thought 
 
 Of Francis haunted me all night, and kept 
 Far off repofseful slumber; the morning hour 
 Came sluggish on and found me still awake; 
 So I arose betimes, and mean today 
 To leave all serious work and ease my mind 
 With light converse and listless sauntering. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 A prudent course. — ^To my rest, too, this thing 
 Disquiet brought. And now. as I review 
 The past night's scene, my pride is stung to 
 
 think 
 That T wa^s overruled. A blank refusal 
 My answer should have been. Still, now 't is 
 
 done. — 
 The first warm blaze will soon haive spent it- 
 self. 
 And Francis will return a cooler youth. 
 
 31 
 
A wiser ixian. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 I am not with you there; 
 Your son's is not a fickle nature blown 
 About by freaks and whimseys. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 
 Why. Giovanni, 
 What was it but a freakish impulse drove 
 Him hence? 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Nay, judge not rash; why may't not be 
 A higher impulse led hrm on, the motion 
 Of grace, the Spirit of God? 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 
 Youth's giddiness 
 It was, so oft mistaking its own blind 
 Enthusiasm for God's inspiration. — 
 At all events I say: let him not foil 
 My plans with him. 'hove all let him not bring 
 Disgrace upon my house. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 That I will vouch 
 For him; he 's far too good to act ignobly. 
 Too well his duty Francis knows to fail 
 In aught he owes his family's unstained honor. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 His grieved mother's tender heart will claim 
 Many a sigh and tear, ere he comes back. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 The meek and gentle Pica, virtuous lady, 
 Full worthy mother of so good a son, 
 Knows too to reconcile her will to Heaven. 
 
 32 
 
BERNARDONE. 
 You're more devout than wise, Giovanni. — 
 Come, rest awhile within. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCE^E 3. — Spoleto. A room in an inn. 
 Enter Orlando and a physician, 
 ORLANDO. 
 
 Sad, doctor, sad; the fever none abated? 
 PHYSICIAN. 
 Not so as to warrant his leaving here today. 
 
 ORLANDO. 
 Unfortunate! only ten short leagues advanced, 
 And this mishap befalls. Howbeit, I may 
 Not tarry. I pray you, doctor, tend him well; 
 Here's that will pay for all. [Giving money. 
 
 And when his strength 
 Is far enough regained to leave this place. 
 Tell him he's free to follow me. or go 
 To Assisi back till better health attend 
 His eager and courageous soul. — Farewell. 
 
 PHYSICIAN. 
 Farewell, my noble lord. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 Enter Francis. 
 FRANCIS. 
 Who says that man is master of his fate? — 
 But yesterday it was I fancied fond 
 Myself, my firm unbending will to enter 
 Upon a life of Christian knighthood, shaped 
 In germ, and fixed forever a whole career 
 Of glorious deeds. But ah! how soon, how 
 
 soon 
 I'm undeceiv>ed! how soon, how soon my light 
 
 33 
 
And airj^ castle, toppled, crumbled, vani'shedT 
 Today I've manifest, yea palpable proof, 
 Not man, but God it is that forms and moulds 
 And wields man's aims and ends. — 
 My hopes, but late so fresh with glistening dew 
 Of youthful life, within a few hours' space 
 Are withered waste; my plans, yet warm with 
 
 heat 
 Of first conception, are crossed and quenched 
 
 before 
 They've well begun to live. God's ways, in 
 
 truth. 
 Are not our ways; and do we what we will, 
 'Tis He that marks our paths and guides our 
 
 steps. — 
 O dread dismayin.9: change! Behold me now: 
 Struck down with fever here; by strange hands 
 
 served ; 
 Uncertain what good Heaven intends with me. 
 Rut certain soon to meet the staring looks. 
 The silent •scorn, perhaps the loud reproach 
 Of those I left with tearless eye, and will 
 (As they did call 't) of iron stubbornness. 
 Rut God above doth know, not sinful pride 
 It was in me, or peevish wilfulness, 
 That I did leave what was so dear to me. 
 My worldly sense did worldy judge: that vi^sion 
 Of castle, trophies, arms and shining shields, 
 T know it now, I wholly misconstrued. 
 The heavenly voice last night, the same I know. 
 That spoke before, how loving it did chide! 
 'Why, Francis, dost abandon God, the Rich 
 And Master, for the poor and servant, man? 
 
 34 
 
'What is it, Lord, thou 'It have me do?' I cried, 
 'Return,' the answer came, 'to AsFisi, there 
 It shall b'e told thee, child! too human you 
 Interpret things divine: not man, but I 
 Your dream will in my own good time 
 
 accomplish.' — 
 Thus am I plainly bid retrace my steps. 
 But dark, uncertain left what will now be 
 My changed career. Yet I'll not flag, but sue 
 For light and strength, and meanwhile blind 
 
 obey. 
 No, not to war in far Apulia I'll go. 
 But home, to my own native city, taunts 
 And sneers though I must look to encounter. 
 What is the gain, my soul, of earthly fame? 
 Nay, what's the loss of name, however great. 
 So thou but win the sovereign boon: to obey 
 The call of Him whose eye unerring sees 
 The intrinsic worth of man, no jot too large 
 Nor yet too small, in spite of fame and name 
 Bestowed by fallible lips or taken again 
 By slanderous mouths? — 
 
 O God, O God, that I flid know my course! 
 Yet patience, patience, fretful, chafing heart! 
 Better than peace is struggling righteousness; 
 With God in blackest gloom to walk is light 
 Enough. Yes. light of God. be thou a lamp 
 To my weak stumbling feet. Oh never, never. 
 Thou Shaper of my being and life, let me 
 Thy holy will forestall again, or thwart 
 In aught Thy wisdom, v,rhich from end to end 
 Doth mighty reach, and all things sweet ordain ! 
 
 35 
 
'My heart is ready, O God! my heart is ready. 
 Show me, O Lord! Thy ways, teach me Thy paths; 
 Direct me in Thy truth, instruct me, Lord! 
 My Saviour art Thou and my God. [jExit. 
 
 36 
 
ACT. III. 
 
 SCENE 1 — Asaiai. A street. 
 
 Enter Giuseppe, Alberto, Eduardo, Leone 
 Sandah, Leone Bellino. and Luigi. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 T do assure you more I feel than show. 
 
 But tell me, friends, how you do bear the 
 loss. 
 
 LEONE SANDALI. 
 Ah. Giuseppe! 't is the third day now 
 He's gone from us, and the bereavement smarts 
 As 't were but one hour old. 
 EDUARDO. 
 
 I've hardly slept 
 Since that unlucky night. 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 
 Try how I will 
 To bend and fix my mind on other things, 
 Mv thoughts will stubborn still revert to him. 
 
 LUIGI. 
 It is but natural, though wise 't is not. 
 To give the mem'ry scope, and linger much 
 On what's past remedy. 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 
 Cold comfort this, 
 Be it ever so wise. 
 
 Enter Amhroqio. 
 AMBROGIO. 
 Good morrow, comrades. News! 
 
 37 
 
GIUSEPPE. 
 What news, Ambrogio? 
 
 LEONE SANDALI. 
 
 Something, I hope, 
 Concerning Francis. 
 
 AMBROGIO. 
 
 A report is come 
 To Bernardone's ear, that ere ten leagues 
 From here advanced, his son fell grievous ill, 
 And at Spoleto lies detained. 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 Detained? 
 Jubt what I feared. Blind, senseless baste I 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 But the report is true, Ambrogio, is 't? 
 
 AMBROGIO. 
 I have it from Giovanni, who's as like 
 In this as anyone to know the truth. 
 
 LEONE BELLINO. 
 Relapse, I fear, our Francis has sustained. 
 
 LEONE SANDALI. 
 No wonder *t is; he was not whole restored 
 <Vhen he did leave. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 If this be found confirmed. 
 The father will recall the son; and we 
 From a mischance will draw a greater good. 
 
 AMBROGIO. 
 My very thought, Giuseppe; Heaven smiles 
 E'en while it frowns; the cloudlet soon will pass. 
 And we will be the happier for the eclipse. 
 Away therefore with cares and gloomy thoughts! 
 I^t me see, comrades, is 't not near the time 
 
 38 
 
To hold our regular feast? 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 'Tis very near. 
 AMBROGIO. 
 Why, then let's straight arrange. 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 What say you all? 
 ALL. 
 
 Agreed. 
 
 At my house. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 Where shall it be? 
 
 AMBROGIO. 
 
 I'll take the honor; 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 And the time? 
 
 AMBROGIO. 
 
 Tomorrow night. 
 
 Agreed? 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Agreed. 
 
 AMBROGIO. 
 
 Good; I'll expect you all. 
 Till then I'll leave you. I have a charge to fill 
 Which cries dispatch: that done, my time will 
 
 serve 
 The needful preparations for the feast. [Exit. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 T burn to know if this report be true. 
 And if it be, what Pietro means to do 
 In this emergency. Come, friends, with me; 
 'T will humor Bernardone much to see, 
 
 39 
 
We're thoughtful of his son in time of need 
 No less than days of health. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCEI^E 3. — Assist. Another street. 
 
 Enter Leone Bellino and Angela meeting. 
 ANGBLO. 
 /^ ood evening, master Leone; have you heard 
 ^^ The news? Oh, happy, happy news! 
 LEONE. 
 
 No, boy, 
 Not if they're so happy. 
 
 ANGELO. 
 
 They are, Leone, 
 And true. Just listen: as I was coming back 
 From rambling in the woods I met a man, 
 A good and honest man, who would not lie, 
 I'm sure he would not, he's my father's friend. 
 He said good master Francis is returned; 
 Right by his house, he said, did Francis pass. 
 
 LEONE. 
 Thank God! my torturing dread was but vain 
 fear. 
 
 ANGELO. 
 Now, is not this good news and true? 
 LEONE. 
 
 Indeed, 
 My boy. indeed. And will you, Angelo, 
 If you do meet my friends, tell them these 
 news? 
 
 ANGELO. 
 I will. — Oh, Francis back! I long to see 
 Kind master Francis; I will tell him never 
 
 40 
 
Again to go away to horrid war. 
 
 Where men do fight and lose their lives; with 
 
 us, 
 Who love him, always shall our Francis stay. — 
 Good bye, master Leone. 
 
 LEONE. 
 
 Good bye. [Exit Angela. 
 How fortunate the illness is not grave! 
 Already he returns; and opportune 
 He comes in mirth to drown discomfiture. 
 Ambrogio I must quick of this inform, 
 And he'll give over the lead of our great feast 
 To Francis. Giovanni we will send 
 To urge our plea; his prayers will prevail. — 
 Oh, good is God! who 'visits uts with trials 
 To igive us after greater joy. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE 3. — Afsisi. Francis' home. 
 Enter Francis, 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 A t home again! And now who knows but God 
 ■^-^What lies before me? Who can say what time 
 'T will please good Heaven to remove the veil? 
 Oh! not the gibes of sharp-tongued men I fear, 
 Or jests of snickering friends; these are but 
 
 trifles. 
 To encounter human scorn I'm full prepared. 
 Yea, all the world I feel as I could meet 
 And bold defy; but oh the uncertainty 
 Of what's to come! this, this my spirit glooms. 
 Yet hold! did I not docile patience vow? 
 Did I not solemn pledge, e'en though my way 
 Through groping darkness lie, to follow Him 
 
Whose palm records my very name, 'my Liglit, 
 
 My Safety, and Protector of my life'? — 
 
 Supporter of the weak, oh bear me up! 
 
 Director of the erring, lead me on! 
 
 O Thou that dwellest in unapproachable light. 
 
 Yet deignst with simple souls to hold commune. 
 
 And understanding givest to little ones. 
 
 Bend loving down to Thy poor faltering wight! 
 
 O sovereign Parent of my breath and life, 
 
 Make me a child in guileless simpleness, 
 
 A babe in humble lowliness! 'My heart, 
 
 O God! to Thy attested words incline; 
 
 My supplication come before Thy face, 
 
 Give knowledge. Lord! according to Thy word.' 
 
 [Kneels. 
 Enter Giovanni. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Oh welcome, dearest Francis! welcome home! 
 
 FRANCIS. [Rising. 
 Giovanni! Blessings on thee, friend! 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 How slow. 
 My Francis, oh how tedious slow these days 
 Did drag along! A void in this sad breast 
 Your absence made which nothing, so I felt. 
 In all this world could ever fill, and lo! 
 You come yourself to fill the void. O joy! 
 To enfold thee again with brother love. 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I know 
 The laving and devoted heart that beats 
 In my Giovanni's breast; but tell me now, 
 Are you not much surprised to find me here? 
 
 42 
 
GIOVANNI. 
 
 Not »30 surprised, good Francis, as o'erjoyed; 
 
 The rumor did at first astonisii me, 
 
 And disinclined I was to credit it. 
 
 But when my comrades the report confirmed, 
 
 And urged me from them all to greet you well, 
 
 With hurried steps, which love and gladness 
 
 winged 
 More than surprise, I hither sped to bring 
 Our dues of love and friendship. 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 My best thanka 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Pardon me, Francis, indifferent if I seem 
 To your rev^erse: pity gives way to joy. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Be calm, Giovanni; and know I'm not so sad 
 As you would intimate. Deep in my heart. 
 In spite of balks and blows without, there bides 
 A soothing solace: Heaven's will is done. 
 You know to God's service I have myself 
 Surrendered whole, how then should I com- 
 plain? 
 He called me back, he too will trace my course. 
 If not as soldier, squire or gallant knight, 
 As servant of his favored children then, 
 The lepers and the poor, I'll serve my King. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Full clear, I know, be^'ore the all-seeing Eye 
 '^''ou stand; and this your townsmen recognize. 
 Though your return is in the mouth of all, 
 No word is heard that breathes the faintst 
 reproach. 
 
 43 
 
FRANCIS. 
 
 rVo learned the praise and blame of men to 
 
 deem 
 As smoke. Can feeble words of human tongue 
 Conduce one tittle to my inner worth, 
 Or lessen one hair's breadth my real desert? 
 Sure, man is what he is in Heaven's sight. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 That none of your comrades aught finds in you 
 To chide, here have you proof: in their behalf 
 I'm come to offer you the leadership 
 In their great feast tomorrow at Ambrogio's. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 It must not be. Have you forgotten, friend, 
 The break between the world and my changed 
 
 mind? 
 I've lost all ta«te for pomp and vain display. 
 No relish have I left for feasts and games; 
 I pray you ply not your petition. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 And yet 
 I must. Do bear with me, if harsh I seem 
 To press my entreaty so. Reflect, dear friend, 
 No wrong it is to share in harmless mirth. 
 Nay, virtue 't is to joy with the rejoicing. 
 Do not your comrades with full cause rejoice? 
 And will your kind heart now deny them that 
 Which it can blameless, nay, religious give? 
 Oh say you'll co'me! — for my sake, if not 
 
 theirs; — 
 This one time yet, — just once, — will you? — do 
 
 say, 
 Good Francis, you accept. 
 
 44 
 
FRANCIS. 
 
 You have prevailed, 
 Giovanni; I accept: not to appear 
 Uncivil or unkind to your companions, 
 And for your -sake I'll come. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 'Tis nobly spoken; 
 An echo from my Francis' magnanimous spirit. 
 Directly I must break this joyous news 
 To our expecting friends. — We'll meet again 
 Tomorrow at Ambrogio's; till then be you 
 In Heaven's loving care. Good night. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Good night. 
 [Exit Giovanni. 
 Pardon. O Lord! this worm who dares to think 
 Thy spirit placed the yielding words upon 
 His lips. A clear presentiment lingers still 
 Within my mind, tomorrow's feast the end 
 Of all such empty amusements marks for me. 
 I feel I've made my last, my very last 
 Concession to this pleasure-seeking world. — 
 Myself the expenses of the feast will bear, 
 And labor former banquets all to outdo 
 In splendid dress and costly meats and wines. 
 And then — farewell, elaborate vanities! 
 Farewell, ye solemn trifles, golden toils, 
 All treacherous gloss of glory, fame, renown! 
 'Conduct me. Lord, upon Thy ways; I'll walk. 
 My Saviour, in Thy truth. Oh! let my heart 
 Rejoice that it may fear Thy name.' [Exit. 
 
 45 
 
SCENE 4. — Aashi. A street at night. Night- 
 watchman walking to and fro. 
 
 NIGHTWATCHMAN. 
 
 An odd life this, nightly walking the streets, 
 waking v/hile others sleep, watching while 
 others rest. And that these five and forty 
 years. But I complain not; the work fits to 
 the man: he's odd too. — 
 
 Some people think I'm as crazy as the moon, 
 in whose light I have grown old; but these 
 lunatics forget that with all their sunlight 
 they're no whit wiser than I am. Many 
 a man I saw in my days who, though 
 he kept no company with Signora Luna, and 
 composed no verses, went nevertheless to the 
 madhouse, whilst the old reliable nightwatchman 
 of Assisi, who has so often gazed upon Selene's 
 silvery face, and sighed sonettos to her beaute- 
 ous form, still faithful stands at his post, with 
 clear head, ready arm, and — [Shoues heard. 
 Past the midnight hour, and that noisy crew 
 still carousing: Bernardone's son and his gay 
 company at Renieri's. — There's wisdom bred in 
 the sun! — 'Twill shine full blaze anon; for this 
 way soon 't will come. — Ha! an excellent rhyme: 
 there's wisdom bred in the sun; 't will shine 
 full blaze anon; for this way soon 't will come. 
 
 [Sings: — There's wisdom bred in the sun, 
 'T will shine full blaze anon, 
 For this way soon 't will come. 
 [Singing' heard.] I hear them singing. — 
 
 This way the air wafts their bacchanalians. — 
 
 46 
 
1 see them now, coming down this street. — 
 Well, let foolery have its course, so I don't wit- 
 ness it. — I'll move, lest I imbibe some of that 
 sunny wisdom which would make me play the 
 iool. [Exit. 
 
 Enter in procession Giuseppe, Eduardo, Leone 
 Bellino, Leone Sandali, Liiigi, Alberto, Ambro- 
 gio, Giovanni; last of all, as king of the feast, 
 Francis, who is suddenly arrested by a heavenly 
 tight upon which he gazes intently. 
 AMBROG-IO. 
 Halt! 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 Halt, comrades! 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Halt! Francis is not well. 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 Why, what has happened? 
 
 LEONE SANDALI and LUIGI. 
 What's amiss? 
 AMBROGIO. 
 
 Speak Francis! 
 GIOVANNI. 
 O Francis! speak. 
 
 LEONE BELLINO. 
 
 No fresh relapse, I hope. 
 EDUARDO. 
 He seems all rapt. 
 
 LUIGI. 
 
 Transported Francis is. 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 Transported? where? with what? 
 
 47 
 
AMBROGIO. 
 
 I know: with love; 
 He's found the lady of his dream. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Oh speak! 
 Good Francis, speak, explain. 
 AMBROGIO. 
 
 He's deep in love. — 
 FRANCIIS. 
 Giovanni, comrades, I saw my love, 
 My love whom not the blinking pick of man. 
 But God's infallible choice to me's decreed. 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 Fast courtship; and upon whom fell the choice? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 A lady, none such have you e'er admired. 
 So rich, so noble and so fair, the pride. 
 The crown, the paragon of womankind. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 An enviable prospect, which may time approve. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 The engagement's closed, the nuptials soon will 
 
 seal 
 The life-long bond that Heavien has tied. 
 AMBROGIO. 
 
 'Tis not 
 To-night, I hope. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Oh speed that day of days 
 The Father of lights!— Companions, you stand 
 
 aghast. 
 And stare as I a seething lover were 
 Who lost his reason; but assure yourselves 
 
 48 
 
My mind is clear, I speak the sober truth; 
 You marvel now, you'll marvel more in time. 
 Pray, for this night, sweet friends, depart; the 
 
 hour 
 Is late, and sleep does call 's to rest. — Good 
 night. 
 
 Exeunt all but Francis and Giovanni. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 How is 't with you, Francis? 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Be undisturbed, 
 My dear Giovanni, you will soon know all. 
 I beg you, swe'etest friend, do you too part, 
 And leave me to my thoughts. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Good night, iPrancie. 
 [Exit. 
 FRANCIS. 
 How changed I feel! — I feel as I had bathed 
 In light, which new informed my frame, and 
 
 deep 
 Invaded to my heart's darkest recess. 
 Methought a flash did straight from heaven 
 
 d-escend. 
 Endued me round, pierced me v;ith cleaving 
 
 beam. 
 And burned with purging ^ire away the dross 
 As if some mijjhty invisible Power did lift 
 Of my alloyed soul. And then it was 
 Me out of my own fleshly self, and raised 
 The facile buoyant spirit far aloft 
 To a higher sphere, where it was given to see 
 Such lofty ecstatic sights, such secret things 
 
 49 
 
Divine, as blind and baffle mortal sense 
 
 And human tongue defy. — 
 
 Immersed in this beatific stream, I felt 
 
 Uprising in my now disburdened soul 
 
 A deep dislike for all that men call great, 
 
 That all the world did seem to me a vile 
 
 x\nd loathsome thing, a crawling, sickening 
 
 thing, 
 Not worth the worthless dust on which it lived. 
 That sight alone my being engrossed; naught 
 
 else, 
 1 deemed, could ever again I see or hear, 
 Or love; on nothing fix my ravished mind. 
 Enough of bliss it seemed to feed for aye 
 On that one glimpse of paradise. — 
 
 Thou, who in mercy hast shed upon my soul 
 The light of Thy benignant face, I know, 
 
 1 know the purport of Thy illumining ray: 
 Thou'st knighted me, great King of heaven, to 
 
 fight 
 Not 'gainst battalions hostile, and not with arms 
 Of steel, but with Thy Spirit's two-edged sword, 
 Against my soul's dread foes, the siren world, 
 My mutinous flesh, and Satan's wily snares. 
 
 Lord God! strong and mighty in battle, 
 
 equip 
 '"hy weakling soldier with the armor of truth; 
 Put on his head the helmet of salvation. 
 That in this war he may the victory win. 
 To Thee alone, my God! my Leader! here 
 
 1 swear eternal faith. 'My heart hath said: 
 My face hath sought Thee, Lord! Thy counten- 
 ance 
 
 SO 
 
I still will seek. Turn not away Thy face. 
 Decline not from Thy servant in Thy wrath.' 
 O Beauty Thou of ancient days, yet new 
 Forever, too late I've known Thee! oh, too late. 
 Too late, I've loved Thee! [Exit, 
 
 M 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE l.—AsBisi. A street. 
 
 Enter Eduardo, Leone Sandalt and Luigi. 
 
 LEONE, 
 T 11 ending of a fair beginning 't was. 
 •*• Full hundred times my fancy since rehearsed 
 In somber-dreamy pictures that night's scene. 
 With h'eavy, burning eyes at an early hour 
 Each morn I awake, my mind exhausted, dull. 
 As I with intricate algebraic sums 
 Had tortured all night long my weary brain. 
 
 EDUARDO, 
 What think you, Luigi? was 't Heaven marred 
 Our feast's finale, or Francis' turning mind? 
 
 LUIGI. 
 No easy thing to say; but slow I'd be 
 To think that Francis' mind 's affected. True, 
 He ever was an enthusiastic youth. 
 His heart athrob with warm and generous 
 
 blood. 
 But vigorous too, and calm in mind, as sober 
 With all his youthful fire as made of him 
 Assisi's boasted nonpareil. 
 LEONE. 
 
 Quite so; 
 I judge the thing as from above. To me 
 'T has always seemed there was a something 
 
 deeper 
 In Francis' soul, which needed but God's call 
 To ibring it out. 
 
 52 
 
EDUARDO. 
 
 I know not what to think; 
 Unlike 't is not that Francis is a bit 
 Religicn-mad; his late behavior seemed 
 To point that way. 
 
 LUIGI. 
 
 Giuseppe's very word; 
 Yet not a trifle 't is to clear discern 
 Where wisdom goes and folly comes. 
 LEONE. 
 
 Come, friends, 
 Let us to Giovanni's, and hear his mind. 
 
 EDUARDO. 
 Yes, he knows more than we. He's doubtless 
 
 seen 
 And heard his strangely stricken friend. Co^aie. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 2. — Assist. Before Bernardone's house. 
 Enter Bernardone and Giovanni. 
 BERNARDONE. 
 TT 7hy, no, not these three days he's been at 
 
 "^ home; 
 My anger drove him hence; but 'twas too much. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 What was it that so much provoked you? 
 
 BARNARDONE. 
 A thousand things, Giovanni; ever since 
 That cursed night he has not been himself. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 What does he amiss? 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 
 Not half his one time zest 
 
 53 
 
He shows at work: he plies his hands indeed, 
 But lets his thoughts rove on far other things. 
 And then he prays so much, and runs so oft 
 To lazarets, to churches and to shrines. 
 He's growing mad, I fear. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 You see too dark. 
 Distinctive of his large and fervid soul 
 I find the conduct of your son; he does, 
 Whatever he does, intently ; heart and soul 
 He lives for a proposed end; with zeal 
 Aflame, he heeds no obrstacles, but strives 
 Steadfastly, undaunted pushing onward still. 
 Till he doth reach ideal altitudes. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 Bah! how you prattle! Ideal altitudes! 
 Confound ideals! What good ere comes of 
 
 dreams? 
 What is to me his hot pursuit of goods 
 That never will be real? What profit brings 
 His frenzied chase of visionary goals? 
 (rive me results, results alone are test. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 You look at things with partial eye, Pietro, 
 The mercenary eye of Mammon zealots. 
 Other and broader points there are of vision, 
 Which, rayless to your practical view and bent, 
 Oipen wide tracks of light to a keener gaze 
 And larger sight. Remember, saintly souls 
 nescry and seek to climb far loftier heights. 
 Than this base world vaunting displays as 
 
 worthy 
 Alone of man's regard and upward toil: 
 
 5\ 
 
r.reat name, high rank and afllueut wealth. 
 
 BEliiNAiiDONE. 
 Wisdom for book worms and arm chair savants; 
 Those lofty heights are up in the clouds, the 
 
 abode 
 Of poets, dreamers, drones, not practical men. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Yet know, superior claims religion has, 
 Which are not measured by the rule of gain; 
 A godly life, my practical friend, 's not gauged 
 By standard of this world. 
 
 HEKNARDONE. 
 
 Religion? 
 A godly life? You mean not. sure, to call 
 My son's misconduct these revered names, 
 lleligion? Fie! religion-nuid he is. 
 And not religious. To grieve whom we should 
 
 comfort, 
 And anger those we are bound to love, are 
 
 these 
 The fn:its that grow on th' heights? 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Most certain not. 
 Nor does your son think that religion's part. 
 He deeply mourns the unwilling grief he inflicts 
 On you; as sharp, T know, your sorrow affects 
 Your child as 't dooa your own paternal heart. 
 
 RERNARDONK. 
 Were 't so. he would remov'c the cause of gri<^f: 
 lie need but will to obey, and sorrow is 
 
 vanished. 
 But he is obstinate and intractable grown. 
 
 55 
 
GIOVANNI. 
 I stake my honor, as security 
 My very life I'd give, that Francis' will 
 Is not perverse in disobeying you; 
 Convinced he is that he is called by God, 
 Whom more than men 't is meet to obey. — 
 Be patient, Bernardone. — 
 
 BERNARDONB. 
 
 Easily said; 
 But when his 'misdemeanors heap disgrace 
 Upon our heads, what patience have we left? — 
 Giovanni, would you for your life believe 't? 
 In tatters, sordid rags, a short time back 
 Our Francis home returned from what h'e called 
 A pilgrimage to Rome. He mingled there. 
 He said, with beggars, begged and ate with 
 
 them 
 Their scanty meal, and, in compassion, 
 With one, the neediest wretch, exchanged 
 
 attire, — 
 The fool! 
 
 Enter Angela. 
 ANGELO. 
 Good morning, Signor Bernardone. 
 Good morning, Giovanni. — Is Francis in? 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 No, boy. 
 
 ANGELO. 
 Will he be in when I come back? 
 BERNARDONE. 
 No! go your way, you only come to beg. 
 
 56 
 
GIOVANNI, 
 Go, Angelo, some other time you'll see your 
 friend. 
 
 ANGELO. 
 I will; excuse me if I broke 
 Into your talk. — Good bye. [Exit. 
 
 BERNARDONB. 
 Hear further, Giovanni, and then say 
 If my impatience is not justified. 
 'T its five days now, without my leave he takes 
 A deal of my most costly stuffs, rides then 
 To Foligno, sells goods and horse, and turns 
 The price entire to San Damiano's priest. 
 'Tis there that Francis spent much time of late. 
 And would hav© stayed, had I not come en- 
 raged 
 To drag him thence and close at home confine. 
 His mother found this lenient punishment 
 Severe; and, too indulgent, let escape 
 The prisoner in my absence; ever since 
 He's not been seen, but likely hides for fear 
 In some sequestered thicket-nook or cave. 
 I'll wait another day; if then no son 
 Appear, I'll have Mm hunted down and cast 
 Into the city prison, where he'll lie 
 Till from his madness he recuperate. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Forbear, forbear, Pietro; do not you 
 Forget the father's touch, e'en though the child 
 Should filial duty disregard. Not spite, 
 I'm certain, apprehension of your rage 
 
 S7 
 
Made Francis fly. He'll soon take Iieart and 
 
 come 
 Before Ills father to explain. Meantime, 
 I beg you, be appeased. I'll search the woods 
 iMyself, and find his hiding-place; I know 
 All his retreats and favorite haunts. And then, 
 I'm confident, he'll listen to the plea 
 Which in his father's name and mine I'll make. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 Do so; and tell him, too, my fixed design 
 If stubborn he refuse to be persuaded. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 This way 't is like he took. — If not today. 
 To morrow, Bernardone, here your son 
 And your son's friend together will appear. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 Be 't so. — Come, part of th' way I'll go with 
 
 you. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE 3. — A wood near Assist. A grotto in the 
 distance. Enter Francis. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 OGod of light eternal! who am I, 
 That Thou shouldst visit me, and shed upon 
 The vilest dust the lustre of Thy face, 
 And send into my inmost soul a beam 
 Of Thy effulgent, life-imparting Sun? 
 With infinite praise I'd fain proclaim Thy name. 
 Thy boundless mercies endless sing. 
 Oh sweetness 'bove all sweetness to converse 
 
 58 
 
Witli Thee! From Tliy pure stream these latter 
 
 days 
 What torrents of delight did flow upon 
 My thirsting soul! — Not till that night Thy flash 
 Did strike my worldly heart, had I, my God! 
 Remotest thought Thou wert so near to me. 
 Immeasurable space, I thought, impassable gulf, 
 Divided creature and Creator wide; 
 And yet one step, I see, the distance spans: 
 One step, and lo! beyond all barriers far 
 Of time and place the unencumbered spirit 
 Lightly soars to a clement clime serene 
 And winged move through fresh perennial 
 
 fields. 
 O Prayer! thou heaven-born claim, thou God- 
 given right. 
 Primordial privilege of created mind; 
 O Prayer! whose priceless, worth and mighty 
 
 power 
 Ungrateful, ignorant man so underrates, 
 Thy fragrance 't is that wafts us to the heaven 
 Of heavens, thy gentle force transports us swift 
 Into God's awful sight, and presses us 
 To our Father's loving heart. — 
 The first faint streaklets of approaching dawn 
 Ha.\"e now expanded into blazing day: 
 Those tender rays that on my swart horizon 
 Appeared when illness held my mortal frame 
 In sullen stubborn grasp, have widened now, 
 And clearer, Vvrarmer, fuller fall their light 
 Upon my groping laboring soul. And ah! 
 How much mere, bright is now the sun of day 
 
 59 
 
Thau darksome was the gloom of night! Thank 
 
 God, 
 That night is past, that time of racking doubt. 
 Of wavering hopes, and agonizing fears. 
 The day ha-s come, the season of certain light. 
 To illume my path and point my journey's goal. 
 Come now what clouds and storms there will, 
 
 my course 
 Divinely traced distinct, unchanged remains. 
 The single aim of all my days: to live 
 With Him who had not where to lay His head, 
 A life of abject poverty. — 
 
 Come then, spare want, be thou my spacious fill. 
 Be thou my fruitful riches, poverty. 
 Oh come, sweet mistress, heaven-appointed 
 
 spouse! 
 Let me clasp thee whom all men rshun. Be thou 
 My life-long love. My Lady Poverty. — 
 But soft! a noise. — Am I discovered? — 
 'Tis Angelo; I see his angel face 
 Shine through the leafy hanging boughs.— This 
 
 way 
 He comes. — 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 ANGELO. 
 O Francis! dear, good master Francis! 
 Do I find you here? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 That rather I should ask, 
 My Angelo; how ca'me you to this place? 
 
 ANGELO. 
 My Guardian Angel must have led me here. 
 
 60 
 
FRANCIS. 
 You're not afraid, my little lad, to stray 
 So far into this dense, uuvisited woods? 
 
 ANGBLO. 
 No, Francis, I am not afraid; I just 
 Walked on and on, and thought how much I 
 
 longed 
 To see you; and I wondered when again 
 You would come home, and take me in your 
 
 house. 
 And show me many things, and give me much 
 For father and myself. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I fear, my boy, 
 Those days are past. 
 
 ANGELO. 
 
 Oh why? you will not live 
 Here always in the forest, will you, Francis? 
 Oh do come back! I think your father is much 
 Impatient that you stay away so long. 
 He looked at 'me so angry when I asked 
 This morning if you were at home; he snapped 
 A surfy 'No,' and sent me off. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Forget 
 The unkindness, Angelo. I will be kind 
 To you instead. Awhile be patient yet, 
 And then some day, when you become a man, 
 I'll take you as my constant friend, you'll be 
 My son, and always live with me. 
 
 ANGELO. 
 
 Thanks, Francis. 
 
 61 
 
01 happiness! Oil may that joyous day 
 Soon come! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Go now, my child, and be consoled- 
 God's blessing go with you, and keep your way; 
 His Ble'ssed Mother Mary smile on you; 
 Your holy Angel hover over you. 
 And shield his little client from all harm. 
 
 ANGBLO. 
 Farewell, good master Francis. Do come home 
 soon. [Exit. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 My father angry? I can well believe 't, 
 Nay, I foresaw my flight would swell his rage. 
 Oh! why then did I flee? I fear, my God! 
 That I did play the coward in the trial: 
 Did I not know that e'en a parent's wrath 
 The soul must face intrepid for th'e God 
 ¥/ho calls to spiritual combat? Did I forget 
 That I must persecution from without 
 As boldly meet as battle bravely 'gainst 
 My inner sinful self? No right have I 
 To call myself God's soldier if I fly 
 The field. Heaven's King will not acknowledge 
 
 me 
 His true knight till in all T overcome. — 
 'Tis true, I have essayed my feeble might 
 In some small measure, and by strength of grace 
 Have several victories gained; but ah! how keen 
 I felt I was a tyro in the lists. 
 Unskilled in v/arfare with such crafty foes. 
 The strife within was long: luxurious tastes, 
 
 62 
 
Indulged for j'ears, v/ould not leave unavenged, 
 But like a wanton, wilful troop of elves 
 Before my fancy wildly danced and danced, 
 And struck my memory sharp, my conscience 
 
 lashed 
 With many a blow of full deserved force. 
 The tower self in man will not be expelled 
 By violence; by hard, persistent fight, by long. 
 Continuous self-denial is sin destroyed. 
 And 'evil habits razed. — What »3train it cost. 
 What shudder of abhorrence chilled my soul 
 When my nice arms the leprous form embraced, 
 And my fastidious lips did kiss the lazar hand! 
 But Thou who wast Thyself by prophet voice 
 A leper called, didst strong my weakness nerve, 
 And after poured upon me greater joy 
 Than I had great repugnance felt before. — 
 O God in battle pov/erful! oh steel 
 Each sinewy 15mb in this frail fabric! fix 
 The fickle, fluttering heart in this faint breast. 
 And steady, firm support and fortify 
 My skittish infant spirit, fearless now 
 That I may go to meet my father's wrath, 
 And cabmly, boldly stand for my account. 
 'Judge me, O God! defend my cause, my 
 
 Strength! 
 Deliver me from unjust, cunning man. 
 Send forth Thy light and truth; unto Thy hill 
 They'll lead me, to Thy tabernacles sweet; 
 And I will go to the altar of God, to God 
 Who gladness gives unto my youth.' 
 
 [Retires to grotto. 
 
 63 
 
Enter Giovanni, 
 GIOVANNI. 
 At last, at last! there h^ kneels. — O Francis I 
 How long I searched, how much I sighed for 
 you! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Giovanni! — Welcome to my heart. — You're come 
 To fetch me home, say 't, friend. 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 I am prepared. 
 
 I am 
 
 'Tis well; 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 Well said, well said, my Francis. 
 Your father is indignant at your flight, 
 And 'madly threats, if you return not prompt. 
 He'll halve you hunted, seized, and strict im- 
 
 m^ured. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 No need of violent means; I'll willing come. 
 Yet not because he threatens force; his threats 
 Are vain: no suffering, nay, not even chains, 
 Can sadden me, or fetter my free soul. 
 No longer am I tossed on doubtful waves; 
 Calmed is the writhing surge; the tempeist's 
 
 roar 
 Is stilled; the murky clouds are blown away; 
 And from the cleared sky mildly descends 
 The light of God's unwavering ken, whose sheen 
 And warmth such flood of inner joy outpour 
 Upon my universal being, as naught 
 
 64 
 
On earth can turbid stir or roll away. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 How strangely true! your 'maciated face 
 Mirrors your soul e'en through your tear- 
 stained eyes; 
 It seems to me that never did you wear 
 Upon your brow a look so light and bland, 
 A smile so heavenly suave. 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Oh! think 't not strange; 
 Now first I 'gin to live; so far my life 
 Was all a dream. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 A dream? 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 My life began 
 That night. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 Oh yes! that night, that night! — 'O' Francis! 
 How all your friends regret what chanced that 
 
 night! 
 They daily come, and ask me to explain; 
 Some are amazed, and angered some, and all 
 Most deeply grieved. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Let them not mourn for me, 
 But joy with me, for I have found a treasure. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 I understand you not. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I tell you true: 
 A treasure exceeding rich. 
 
 65 
 
GIOVANNI. 
 
 A treasure? 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I've found 
 The pearl of great price. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 You speak riddles, Francis. 
 FRANCIS. 
 Come, dear Giowanni, let me solve them now. 
 Here in this grotto is 'my treasure. Here 's 
 The scene of my profound delights; the place 
 Where I mid bitter-sweet emotions hold 
 Converse with my Beloved. Here I wail 
 Amidst unspeakable groanings my lost youth, 
 And revel in the contrite love of Him, 
 My Love, whom alll too late I've known, too late. 
 Too late I've loved. — See, where my Treasure 
 
 hangs! 
 When I contempllate His bare, stripped form 
 My spirit burns with irrepressible flames 
 Of love which sweep aloft to His embrace. 
 And penetrate my soul with glowing love 
 For His unspotted fair, His faithful spouse, 
 The Lady Poverty. And when I hear 
 The voice of my Beloved, ineffable joy 
 My being o'erflows; hot, scalding tears suffuse 
 My eyes when I behold His pallid face. 
 My heart with infinite pity breaks, for — 
 My Love is Crucified. — 
 Francis entera grotto; Giovanni kneels without. 
 Amid soft, angelic music Francis is heard to pray. 
 
 66 
 
Flow, tea rsl ohflowl fall freely, fa st^ 
 Bathe, bitter streams, my sordid past: 
 Weep, eyes! oh weap! weep to the last: 
 My Love, my Love is Crucified! 
 
 Sum, soul, oh burn v^ith keen desire! 
 Melt in the flame thy God's just ire; 
 Warm thy chill being In His love's fire; 
 Thy Love, thy Love is Crucified! 
 
 Sreak heart! oh break! thy Love is dead; 
 Thy Love who for thy love has bled; 
 With pierced limbs and thorn-crowned head; 
 Thy Love, thy Love is Crucified! 
 
 O Love! O Saviour Crucified! 
 Oh take nne in Thy wounded side! 
 There, sweetest Lord! let me abide. 
 And die for love. Love Crucified! 
 
 Re-enter Francis, 
 FRANCIS. 
 Arise, and let us go. — 
 O Father! 'as the apple of Thy eye 
 Keep me, and 'neath the shadow of Thy wings 
 Protect Thy child.' ]Exeunt. 
 
ACT V, 
 
 SCENE 1. — Giuseppe's country seat in an outlying 
 district of Assist. Enter Giuseppe, Alberto, 
 Ambrogio, Eduardo and Luigi. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 Welcome, companions. What news from 
 th' city? 
 
 AMBROGIO. 
 Nothing but talk of Francis. 
 ALiBERTO. 
 
 They say he 's mad. 
 AMBROGIO. 
 Some even whisper disinheritance. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 It seems that both are mad, with rage the 
 
 father. 
 And with religion-craze the son. — ^^Strange world! 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 A sad and sudden fall it is indeed: 
 A butt of ridicule he has become 
 To all who once by all was idolized. 
 
 LUIGI. 
 Inconstant as the sportive vane 's the appllause 
 Of men, unstable as the river's flood; 
 No test it is of good or ill desert 
 To 'gain or lose the vulgar's grace. 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 And yet, 
 I think the popular voice in this correct. 
 
 68 
 
And, to speak unreserved, I long have thought 
 The poet's frenzy lurked in him, which late 
 Or soon would burst its bonds and reckless 
 rave. 
 
 LUIGL 
 Why may 't not be, he 's but a fool for Christ? 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 More kind than true. 
 
 LUIGL 
 
 Perhaps he sees too far 
 For our contracted view to comprehend. 
 Who knows but he is called by God great things 
 To execute. 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 
 The two Leones speak 
 Of seeking Francis out to associate 
 Themselves with him, convinced that not a mad 
 Caprice inspirits him, but God's behest. 
 
 EDUARDO. 
 Giovanni is gone to search, perhaps to join, 
 His hiding friend. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 No hot enthusiast 
 But always finds a goodly following. 
 
 LUIGI. 
 The reason deeper lies: their loving natures 
 Do find it hard to untie the friendly knot. 
 And pardon me to say 't: we'd be inclined 
 As they, were we but candid to ourselves. 
 
 EDUARDO. 
 For me, I'm not repelled, albeit I disapprove; 
 
 69 
 
Something in him magnetic draws and spells 
 The heart. 
 
 ALBERTO. 
 Francis has power to charm; some touch 
 He knows which strikes the sympathetic cord 
 That consonous to the music of his heart 
 Responds. 
 
 LUIGI. 
 He's born to lead and rule his fellows. 
 
 AMBROGIO. 
 I thought so once; and hoped he'd lead us all 
 To fame and glory. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 
 My hopes in him are dead. 
 LUIGI. 
 Nay, why so pessimistic? The untoward day, 
 Remember, at last into the restful bosom 
 Of evening sinks, transformed on the morrow 
 With brighter sun to rise. Oiur little life's 
 Most happy hours are born of gentle Patience, 
 The laboring mother of a thousand joys. 
 More cheer, therefore, and hopeful thoughts, 
 
 Giuseppe. — 
 And friends, now let us off to Bernardone's. — 
 If aught, Giuseppe, ere night we llearn of 
 
 Francis, 
 Directly we will send you word. Farewell. 
 
 GIUSEPPE. 
 Farewell, comrades. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 70 
 
SCENE I.—Aaaiai. A street. 
 
 Enter Leone Sandali and Leone Bellino. 
 
 LEONE SANDALI. 
 
 But will he, think you, Francis find? 
 LEONE BELLINO. 
 
 There's none 
 Knows better where to seek, and none whose 
 
 voice 
 So sure will win our loved fugitive, 
 
 LEONE SANDALI. 
 A noble youth, to 's friend unflinching true. 
 
 LEONE BELLINO. 
 Of all our number 't was Giovanni alone 
 Who not a moment palled mid Francis' change. 
 
 LEONE SANDALI. 
 A deep religious soul, a heart of gold. 
 
 LEONE BELLINO. 
 Look! Bernardone. 
 
 Enter Bernardone. 
 BERNARDONE. 
 Where 's that headstrong son 
 Of mine? Speak! have you heard of him? 
 LEONE BELLINO. 
 
 Not we, 
 Except that he is fled, and that to-night 
 He might return. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 
 I heard loud distant cheers; 
 You heard them not? 
 
 LEONE BELLINO. 
 
 We heard the far off cries 
 
 71 
 
As of a flouting crowd, but heeded them 
 No further. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 Most like the herald-cry of Francis, 
 That boasted leader of your set, who 's shamed 
 His house and drawn upon himself the scorn 
 Of all Assisi. 
 
 LEONE SANDALI. 
 
 Oh! here comes Francis. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 
 Where? 
 LEONE BELLINO. 
 With Giovanni. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 'Tis he. — ^Now bend or break. 
 Enter Francis and Giovanni. 
 LEONE S. and LEONE B. 
 Welcome home, Francis! 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Thanks. — My greetings, father. 
 BERNARDONE. 
 Refractory son, come at last to obey? 
 
 [Exit Leone S. and Leone B. 
 FRANCIS. 
 My father, in all that's right I will obey. 
 But never may I do what God offends. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 Do you not God offend breaking His law? 
 You'd fly to mawkish piety, the while 
 You've not yet learned the good child's primal 
 rule: 
 
 72 
 
'Honor thy father and thy mother." 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 My fat.^ier, 
 Always I honor you, love and obey, 
 But when your precept contradicts the voice 
 Of God, my Heavenly Father, I invoke 
 That other word which binds no less and says: 
 'More meet it is God to obey than men ' 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 My son, in you I placed my hopes, with yon 
 I shared my gains; your filial love, I thought. 
 Would comfort my declining years, your gifts. 
 So full of promise, honor bring to our house. 
 And its respected name perpetuate. 
 Oh! do shake off the silly pious fit 
 That so disfigures you, and so much grieves 
 Your father's heart! Come, live with me again, 
 And be your former self. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Good father, I know and feel with you your 
 
 grief. 
 But to console you stands not with me now. 
 May He who came to sunder the tenderest ties 
 Comfort my dearest father in this trial. 
 God calls; and Him I must, I will obey. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 A plague on such cold sympathy! Hear -me, 
 Unnatural child: since you are obstinate, 
 And steel your heart against your father's 
 
 prayers. 
 He'll trample nature too, and let you feel 
 
 73 
 
A parent's wrath. Here I reclaim from you 
 The money which by me was freely given, 
 Or which yourself did from my treasury take. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 You shall have all; here's the untouched purse 
 Which at Foligno I procured and brought 
 To San Damiano's. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 
 Further, wilful son, 
 I disinherit you. 
 
 GIOVANNI. 
 
 What ! — Bernardone ! 
 BERNARDONE. 
 And do demand that you appear in court 
 To-morrow to renounce in legal form 
 Before the magistrate all; right and claim 
 To be my heir. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 I plead im'munity: 
 The small remainder of my days I've vowed 
 To God's sole service in the Church; no more 
 Am I amenable to secular power. 
 
 BERNARDONE. 
 Miserable wretch! to tlT Bishop then you'll 
 
 come, 
 Escape you shall not, that I warrant you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 FRANCIS. 
 Yes, father, before the Bishop I'll appear; 
 He is the Lord and father of souls. Whate'er 
 The holy Guido will decide I'll take 
 
 74 
 
Full as from God. — Come, faithful friend. 
 Giovanni, pity me not, rejoice with me that I, 
 Unworthy sinner, am worthy held to suffer 
 For Christ, my Lord; the pupil's tardy mind 
 Opens at last to take the serious word 
 Which is the Master's test of scholarship: 
 'He who renounces not all he possess 
 Cannot be 'my disciple.' [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 3. — Assisi, A room in the Bishop's house. 
 Guido seated on a throne, surrounded by at- 
 tendants. A concourse of people, among 
 them Giuseppe, Alberto, Amhrogio, Eduardo, 
 Leone Sandali, Leone BeDino, Luigi, and 
 Angela; most conspicuous are Giovanni, 
 Bernardone, and Francis. 
 
 GUIDO. 
 
 Now Francis, Pietro Bernardone's son. 
 Step forth. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Thy humble servant, gracious lord. 
 GUIDO. 
 My son, thy father grievous is incensed 
 Against thee. For what cause thou knowst. If 
 
 then 
 Thou purpose, as we hear, to consecrate 
 Thyself to God and give thy days to serve 
 His Church, this is our counsel, yea, our com- 
 mand: 
 Restore to Signor Bernardone all 
 He claims as his. It may well be, that part, 
 
 75 
 
At least, of what thou hast, no claim can plead 
 Of absolute right; besides, it can not be 
 God's will thou use, e'en though for eacred ends, 
 Such money as your father occasion brings 
 Of sin. — Now th'en, my son, what hast to say? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Your lordship's voice to me "s the voice of God; 
 In this and all things humbly I obey. 
 
 GUIDO. 
 A noble and a dutiful reply. 
 Thy reverential and submissive spirit 
 Doth greatly in my eyes commend thy cause. 
 And for the rest fear not. If from above 
 Thy mifssion truly come, then He who inspired 
 The work will also happy issue give. 
 In naught, 'my son, God needs man's petty help: 
 No impotent hand Omnipotence requires 
 To finish marvellous 'deeds divine. If God 
 Calls thee to high things He wants not the 
 
 means 
 To bring thee to the loftiest heights. But know, 
 These only they safe climb and prosperous reach 
 Who start e'en at the lowest base, the deep 
 Of humbleness, and keep their constant view 
 On Him by whose sole grace they do ascend 
 The Holy Mount. — Be thou then strong, my son; 
 God who exalts the humble, and the proud 
 Doth from their seat cast down, will lead thee 
 
 still. 
 And lead thee to the end. who hast so well 
 Begun to walk the footsteps of the meek 
 And humble Saviour. — 
 
 76 
 
FRANCIS. 
 Most Reverend Pastor and Father of my soul. 
 How shall I, unlettered man, express my thanks? 
 Thy words, so full of saintly unction, I felt, 
 Like quickening dew, fall softly on my soul. 
 Each thing that I till now have called my own, 
 The very garments that do corver me. 
 With willing, yea, with joy-exulting heart 
 I now return to him who gave them me. 
 Never was I so eager to accept 
 As now I am desirous to renounce. — 
 
 GUIDO. 
 Well said, my son, well said. 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 Today, ah! yes today, O heavenly Father! 
 Thy hand doth loving set Thy erring child 
 On's way of life traced by Thy Providence: 
 From kin divided, of plush and scarlet stripped, 
 All worldly goods bereft, yet rich enough 
 Secure on Thy great Bounty thrown. 
 O blessed Saviour! Thy own fair spouse, who 
 
 ne'er. 
 From crib to cross did leave Thy side, today 
 Thou givest me as bride and portion here: 
 May I, my sweetest Lord! this sacred trust 
 Forever inviolate keep, may I ne'er prove 
 Unfaithful to my plighted love. 
 And Thou, O Holy Spirit! keep this bond 
 Forever tied: upon the espousals blest 
 Breathe life and ever fruitfulness. — 
 O fairest fair! my God's own fair: oh come! 
 
 77 
 
And be my love, My Lady Poverty. 
 
 Puts all he has at Bernar doners feet; doff a 
 his mantle, and appears in a hair shirt. 
 Bernardone snatches all, and exit. 
 
 Now know ye all: up to this hour I called 
 iSlgnor Pietro Bern,ardone father. 
 Henceforth most truly I will say and pray: 
 'Our Father who art in heaven.' 
 
 ^^ 
 
 78 
 
AR 14 1912 
 
laiiiii 
 
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