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 tONGFBLLOWf 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 Shelf 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
^T OO 1QQi. 
 

THE 
 
 EARLY POEMS 
 
 OP 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 COMPRISING 
 
 VOICES OF THE NIGHT AND OTHER POEMS, 
 
 BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS, POEMS ON 
 
 SLAVERY, AND THE SPANISH 
 
 STUDENT 
 
 
 0CT^22jg8^')| 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 
 
 1885 
 
 •i. -X-v^ 
 
Copyright, 1884, 
 By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Rivrrside Press, Camhrid^e : 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 Page 
 
 Prelude 9 
 
 Hymn to the Night 15 
 
 A Psalm of Life 16 
 
 The Reaper and the Flowers . . . ,18 
 
 The Light of Stars 19 
 
 Footsteps of Angels 21 
 
 Flowers 23 
 
 The Beleaguered City 26 
 
 Midnight Mass for the Dying Year . . . 28 
 
 earlier poems. 
 
 An April Day ....... 33 
 
 Autumn 35 
 
 Woods in Winter 36 
 
 Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem 38 
 
 Sunrise on the Hills 40 
 
 The Spirit of Poetry 41 
 
 Burial of the Minnisink 44 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 CoPLAS DE Manrique 49 
 
 The Good Shepherd . . . . . . 70 
 
 To-morrow 71 
 
 The Native Land 72 
 
ii Contents 
 
 The Image of God 72 
 
 The Brook 73 
 
 The Celestial Pilot 74 
 
 The Terrestrial Paradise 76 
 
 Beatrice 77 
 
 Spring 79 
 
 The Child Asleep 80 
 
 The Grave 81 
 
 King Christian 83 
 
 The Happiest Land ...... 85 
 
 The Wave 87 
 
 The Dead 87 
 
 The Bird and the Ship 88 
 
 Whither? 90 
 
 Beware ! 91 
 
 Song of the Bell 92 
 
 The Castle by the Sea 93 
 
 The Black Knight 95 
 
 Song of the Silent Land 98 
 
 L'Envoi 99 
 
 BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BALLADS. 
 
 The Skeleton in Armor 103 
 
 The Wreck of the Hesperus .... 109 
 
 The Luck of Edenhall 113 
 
 The Elected Knight 116 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER . I2I 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 The Village Blacksmith 147 
 
 Endymion 149 
 
Contents iii 
 
 The Two Locks of Hair 151 
 
 It is not always May 152 
 
 The Rainy Day i53 
 
 God's- Acre i54 
 
 To THE River Charles 155 
 
 Blind Bartimeus '57 
 
 The Goblet of Life 158 
 
 Maidenhood 161 
 
 Excelsior 163 
 
 POEMS ON SLAVERY. 
 
 To William E. Channing 169 
 
 The Slave's Dream 170 
 
 The Good Part 172 
 
 The Slave in the Dismal Swamp . . . i74 
 
 The Slave singing at Midnight . , . 175 
 The Witnesses . . » . . . .176 
 
 The Quadroon Girl 178 
 
 The Warning 180 
 
 THE SPANISH STUDENT .... 185 
 
IXoTvia, noTvia vv^, 
 
 WTTfoSoTeipa twv noXvnoviav ^poTwv, 
 
 'Epe/360ei' tflt • /aoAe jixoAe KardTTTepo? 
 
 'A'ya^ieju.vdi'ioj' ewl Sofxov * 
 
 WTrb 7dp aAye'wi', viro re cru;a0opas 
 
 Euripides. 
 
PRELUDE 
 
 PLEASANT it was, when woods were green, 
 And winds were soft and low, 
 To lie amid some sylvan scene. 
 Where, the long drooping boughs between, 
 Shadows dark and sunlight sheen 
 Alternate come and go ; 
 
 Or where the denser grove receives 
 
 No sunlight from above. 
 But the dark foliage interweaves 
 In one unbroken roof of leaves, 
 Underneath whose sloping eaves 
 
 The shadows hardly move. 
 
 Beneath some patriarchal tree 
 
 I lay upon the ground ; 
 His hoary arms uplifted he. 
 And all the broad leaves over me 
 Clapped their little hands in glee, 
 
 With one continuous sound ; — 
 
lO Prelude 
 
 A slumberous sound, a sound that brings 
 
 The feelings of a dream, 
 As of innumerable wings, 
 As, when a bell no longer swings, 
 Faint the hollow murmur rings 
 
 O'er meadow, lake, and stream. 
 
 And dreams of that which cannot die, 
 
 Bright visions, came to me. 
 As lapped in thought I used to lie. 
 And gaze into the summer sky, 
 Where the sailing clouds went by. 
 
 Like ships upon the sea ; 
 
 Dreams that the soul of youth engage 
 
 Ere Fancy has been quelled ; 
 Old legends of the monkish page, 
 Traditions of the saint and sage. 
 Tales that have the rime of age. 
 And chronicles of Eld. 
 
 And, loving still these quaint old themes. 
 
 Even in the city's throng 
 I feel the freshness of the streams, 
 That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, 
 Water the green land of dreams. 
 
 The holy land of song. 
 
Prelude 1 1 
 
 Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings 
 The Spring, clothed Hke a bride, 
 
 When nestUng buds unfold their wings, 
 
 And bishop's-caps have golden rings. 
 
 Musing upon many things, 
 I sought the woodlands wide. 
 
 The green trees whispered low and mild ^ 
 
 It was a sound of joy ! 
 They were my playmates when a child, 
 And rocked me in their arms so wild ! 
 Still they looked at me and smiled. 
 
 As if I were a boy ; 
 
 And ever whispered, mild and low, 
 " Come, be a child once more ! " 
 
 And waved their long arms to and fro, 
 
 And beckoned solemnly and slow ; 
 
 O, I could not choose but go 
 Into the woodlands hoar, — 
 
 Into the blithe and breathing air. 
 
 Into the solemn wood. 
 Solemn and silent everywhere ! 
 Nature with folded hands seemed there, 
 Kneeling at her evening prayer ! 
 
 Like one in prayer I stood. 
 
12 Prelude 
 
 Before me rose an avenue 
 
 Of tall and sombrous pines ; 
 Abroad their fan-like branches grew, 
 And, where the sunshine darted througli, 
 Spread a vapor soft and blue, 
 In long and sloping lines. 
 
 And, falling on my weary brain, 
 
 Like a fast-falling shower, 
 The dreams of youth came back again, 
 Low lispings of the summer rain. 
 Dropping on the ripened grain. 
 
 As once upon the flower. 
 
 Visions of childhood ! Stay, O stay ! 
 
 Ye were so sweet and wild ! 
 And distant voices seemed to say, 
 " It cannot be ! They pass away ! 
 Other themes demand thy lay ; 
 
 Thou art no more a child 1 
 
 " The land of Song within thee lies, 
 
 Watered by living springs ; 
 The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes 
 Are gates unto that Paradise, 
 Holy thoughts, like stars, arise. 
 Its clouds are angels' wings. 
 
Prelude 13 
 
 " Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, 
 Not mountains capped with snow, 
 
 Nor forests sounding like the sea. 
 
 Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, 
 
 Where the woodlands bend to see 
 The bending heavens below. 
 
 " There is a forest where the din 
 
 Of iron branches sounds ! 
 A mighty river roars between, 
 And whosoever looks therein 
 Sees the heavens all black with sin, 
 
 Sees not its depths, nor bounds. 
 
 " Athwart the swinging branches cast, 
 
 Soft rays of sunshine pour ; 
 Then comes the fearful wintry blast ; 
 Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast ; 
 Pallid lips say, ' It is past ! 
 
 We can return no more ! ' 
 
 " Look, then, into thine heart, and write ! 
 
 Yes, into Life's deep stream ! 
 All forms of sorrow and delight, 
 All solemn Voices of the Night, 
 That can soothe thee, or affright, — 
 
 Be these henceforth thy theme." 
 
VOICES OF THE NIGHT 
 HYMN TO THE NIGHT 
 
 'A<r7racrtij, rpiXAicTTO?. 
 
 I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night 
 Sweep through her marble halls ! 
 I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 
 From the celestial walls I 
 
 I felt her presence, by its spell of might, 
 
 Stoop o'er me from above ; 
 The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 
 
 As of the one I love, 
 
 I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, ' 
 
 The manifold, soft chimes, 
 That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, 
 
 Like some old poet's rhymes. 
 
 From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 
 
 My spirit drank repose ; 
 The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, — 
 
 From those deep cisterns flows. 
 
l6 Voices of the Night 
 
 O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear 
 
 What man has borne before ! 
 Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, 
 
 And they complain no more. 
 
 Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer ! 
 
 Descend with broad-winged flight, 
 The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, 
 
 The best-beloved Night ! 
 
 A PSALM OF LIFE 
 
 WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE 
 PSALMIST 
 
 TELL me not, in mournful numbers, 
 Life is but an empty dream ! 
 For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
 And things are not what they seem. 
 
 Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 
 
 And the grave is not its goal ; 
 Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 
 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
 
 Is our destined end or way ; 
 But to act, that each to-morrow 
 
 Find us farther than to-day. 
 
A Psalm of Life ly 
 
 Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
 
 And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
 
 Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
 Funeral marches to the grave. 
 
 In the world's broad field of battle, 
 
 In the bivouac of Life, 
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 
 
 Be a hero in the strife ! 
 
 Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 
 
 Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
 Act, — - act in the living Present ! 
 
 Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 
 
 Lives of great men all remind us 
 
 We can make our lives sublime, 
 And, departing, leave behind us 
 
 Footprints on the sands of time ; — = 
 
 Footprints, that perhaps another, 
 
 Sailing o'er hfe's solemn main, 
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
 
 Seeing, shall take heart again. 
 
 Let us, then, be up and doing, 
 
 With a heart for any fate ; 
 Rtill achieving, still pursuing, 
 
 Learn to labor and to wait. 
 
1 8 Voices of the Night 
 
 THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS 
 
 THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, 
 And, with his sickle keen. 
 He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 
 And the flowers that grow between. 
 
 " Shall I have naught that is fair ? " saith he ; 
 
 " Have naught but the bearded grain ? 
 Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, 
 
 I will give them all back again." 
 
 He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 
 
 He kissed their drooping leaves ; 
 It was for the Lord of Paradise 
 
 He bound them in his sheaves. 
 
 " My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," 
 
 The Reaper said, and smiled ; 
 " Dear tokens of the earth are they. 
 
 Where he was once a child. 
 
 " They shall all bloom in fields of light, 
 
 Transplanted by my care. 
 And saints, upon their garments white, 
 
 These sacred blossoms wear." 
 
The Light of Stars 19 
 
 And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 
 
 The flowers she most did love \ 
 She knew she should find them all again 
 
 In the fields of light above. 
 
 O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 
 
 The Reaper came that day \ 
 'T was an angel visited the green earth, 
 
 And took the flowers away. 
 
 THE LIGHT OF STARS 
 
 THE night is come, but not too soon ; 
 And sinking silently. 
 All silently, the little moon 
 Drops down behind the sky. 
 
 There is no light in earth or heaven 
 
 But the cold light of stars ; 
 And the first watch of night is given 
 
 To the red planet Mars. 
 
 Is it the tender star of love ? 
 
 The star of love and dreams ? 
 O no ! from that blue tent above, 
 
 A hero's armor gleams. 
 
20 Voices of the Night 
 
 And earnest thoughts within me rise, 
 
 When I behold afar, 
 Suspended in the evening skies, 
 
 The shield of that red star. 
 
 star of strength ! I see thee stand 
 And smile upon my pain ; 
 
 Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, 
 And I am strong again. 
 
 Within my breast there is no light 
 But the cold light of stars ; 
 
 1 give the first watch of the night 
 
 To the red planet Mars. 
 
 The star of the unconquered will, 
 
 He rises in my breast, 
 Serene, and resolute, and still, 
 
 And calm, and self-possessed. 
 
 And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
 That readest this brief psalm. 
 
 As one by one thy hopes depart. 
 Be resolute and calm. 
 
 O fear not in a world like this, 
 And thou shalt know erelong. 
 
 Know how sublime a thing it is 
 To suffer and be strong. 
 
Footsteps of Angels 21 
 
 FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS 
 
 WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, 
 And the voices of the Night 
 Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 
 To a holy, calm delight ; 
 
 Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
 And, like phantoms grim and tall, 
 
 Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
 Dance upon the parlor wall ; 
 
 Then the forms of the departed 
 
 Enter at the open door ; 
 The beloved, the true-hearted, 
 
 Come to visit me once more ; 
 
 He, the young and strong, who cliCilsiiecr 
 
 Noble longings for the strife. 
 By the road-side fell and perishbd, 
 
 Weary with the march of life ! 
 
 They, the holy ones and weakly, 
 Who the cross of suffering bore. 
 
 Folded their pale hands so meekly. 
 Spake with us on earth no more ! 
 
22 Voices of the Night 
 
 And with them the Being Beauteous, 
 Who unto my youth was given, 
 
 More than all things else to love me, 
 And is now a saint in heaven. 
 
 With a slow and noiseless footstep 
 Comes that messenger divine. 
 
 Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
 Lays her gentle hand in mine. 
 
 And she sits and gazes at me 
 With those deep and tender eyes, 
 
 Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
 Looking downward from the skies. 
 
 Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
 Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 
 
 Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
 Breathing from her lips of air. 
 
 O, though oft depressed and lonely. 
 All my fears are laid aside. 
 
 If I but remember only 
 
 Such as these have lived and died ! 
 
Flowers 21 
 
 FLOWERS 
 
 SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, 
 One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 
 When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, 
 Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. 
 
 Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 
 
 As astrologers and seers of eld ; 
 Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, 
 
 Like the burning stars, which they beheld. 
 
 Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
 God hath written in those stars above ; 
 
 But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
 Stands the revelation of his love. 
 
 Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
 Written all over this great world of ours 5 
 
 Making evident our own creation, 
 
 In these stars of earth, these golden flowers. 
 
 And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing. 
 Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 
 
 Of the self-same, universal being. 
 
 Which is throbbing in his brain and heart 
 
24 Voices of the Night 
 
 Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, 
 Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 
 
 Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, 
 Buds that open only to decay ; 
 
 Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues. 
 Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; 
 
 Large desires, with most uncertain issues. 
 Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! 
 
 These in flowers and men are more than seeming; 
 
 Workings are they of the self-same powers. 
 Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, 
 
 Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 
 
 Everywhere about us are they glowing, 
 Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 
 
 Others, their blue eyes with tears overflowing, 
 Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn ; 
 
 Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing. 
 
 And in Summer's green-emblazoned field. 
 But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, 
 
 In the centre of his brazen shield 
 
 Not alone in meadows and green alleys^ 
 On the mountain-top, and by the brink 
 
 Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys. 
 Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink ; 
 
Flowers 25 
 
 Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 
 Not on graves of bird and beast alone, 
 
 But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, 
 On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; 
 
 In the cottage of the rudest peasant. 
 
 In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers. 
 
 Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 
 Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; 
 
 In all places, then, and in all seasons, 
 
 Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, 
 
 Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons. 
 How akin they are to human things. 
 
 And with childlike, credulous affection 
 We behold tlieir tender buds expand ; 
 
 Emblems of our own great resurrection, 
 Emblems of the bright and better land. 
 
26 Voices of the Night 
 
 THE BELEAGUERED CITY 
 
 I HAVE read, in some old, marvellous tale, 
 Some legend strange and vague, 
 That a midnight host of spectres pale 
 Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 
 
 Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 
 
 With the wan moon overhead. 
 There stood, as in an awful dream, 
 
 The army of the dead. 
 
 White as a sea-fog, landward bound, 
 
 The spectral camp was seen. 
 And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 
 
 The river flowed between. 
 
 No other voice nor sound was there, 
 
 No drum, nor sentry's pace ; 
 The mist-like banners clasped the air, 
 
 As clouds with clouds embrace. 
 
 But when the old cathedral bell 
 
 Proclaimed the morning prayer, 
 The white pavilions rose and fell 
 
 On the alarmed air. 
 
The Beleaguered City 27 
 
 Down the broad valley fast and far 
 
 The troubled army fled ; 
 Up rose the glorious morning star, 
 
 The ghastly host was dead. 
 
 I have read, in the marvellous heart of man. 
 
 That strange and mystic scroll, 
 That an army of phantoms vast and wan 
 
 Beleaguer the human soul. 
 
 Encamped beside Life's rushing stream. 
 
 In Fancy's misty light, 
 Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam 
 
 Portentous through the night. 
 
 Upon its midnight battle-ground 
 
 The spectral camp is seen, 
 And, with a sorrowful, deep sound. 
 
 Flows the River of Life between. 
 
 No other voice nor sound is there, 
 
 In 1~ 1 army of the grave ; 
 No other challenge breaks the air, 
 
 But the rushing of Life's wave. 
 
 And when the solemn and deep church-bell 
 
 Entreats the soul to pray, 
 The midnight phantoms feel the spell. 
 
 The shadows sweep away. 
 
28 Voices of the Night 
 
 Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 
 The spectral camp is fled ; 
 
 Faith shineth as a morning star, 
 Our ghastly fears are dead. 
 
 MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE 
 DYING YEAR 
 
 YES, the Year is growing old, 
 And his eye is pale and bleared ! 
 Death, with frosty hand and cold, 
 Plucks the old man by the beard, 
 Sorely, sorely ! 
 
 The leaves are falling, falling, 
 
 Solemnly and slow ; 
 Caw ! caw ! the rooks are calling, 
 
 It is a sound of woe, 
 A sound of woe ! 
 
 Through woods and mountain passes 
 The winds, like anthems, roll ; 
 
 They are chanting solemn masses. 
 Singing, " Pray for this poor soul, 
 Pray, pray ! " 
 
Midnight Mass for the Dying Year 29 
 
 And the hooded clouds, like friars, 
 Tell their beads in drops of rain, 
 
 And patter their doleful prayers ; 
 But their prayers are all in vain, 
 All in vain ! 
 
 There he stands in the foul weather, 
 
 The foolish, fond Old Year, 
 Crowned with wild-flowers and with heather, 
 
 Like weak, despised Lear, 
 A king, a king 1 
 
 Then comes the summer-like day, 
 
 Bids the old man rejoice ! 
 His joy ! his last ! O, the old man gray 
 
 Loveth that ever-soft voice, 
 Gentle and low. 
 
 To the crimson woods he saith. 
 
 To the voice gentle and low 
 Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath, 
 
 " Pray do not mock me so ! 
 Do not laugh at me 1 " 
 
 And now the sweet day is dead ; 
 
 Cold in his arms it lies ; 
 No stain from its breath is spread 
 
 Over the glassy skies, 
 No mist or stain 1 
 
30 Voices of the Night 
 
 Then, too, the Old Year dieth, 
 And the forests utter a moan, 
 
 Like the voice of one who crieth 
 In the wilderness alone, 
 " Vex not his ghost ! " 
 
 Then comes, with an awful roar, 
 Gathering and sounding on, 
 
 The storm-wind from Labrador, 
 The wind Euroclydon, 
 The storm-wind ! 
 
 Howl ! howl ! and from the forest 
 Sweep the red leaves away ! 
 
 Would, the sins that thou abhorrest, 
 O Soul ! could thus decay, 
 And be swept away ! ■ 
 
 For there shall come a mightier blast, 
 
 There shall be a darker day ; 
 And the stars, from heaven down-cast, 
 Like red leaves be swept away ! 
 Kyrie, eleyson ! 
 Christe, eleyson ! 
 
EARLIER POEMS 
 
[These poems were written for the most part during my col- 
 lege life, and all of them before the age of nineteen. 
 Some have found their way into schools, and seem to be 
 successful. Others lead a vagabond and precarious exist- 
 ence in the corners of newspapers ; or have changed their 
 names and run away to seek their fortunes beyond the 
 sea. I say, with the Bishop of Avranches on a similar 
 occasion: "I cannot be displeased to see these children 
 of mine, which I have neglected, and almost exposed, 
 brought from their wanderings in lanes and alleys, and 
 safely lodged, in order to go forth into the world together 
 in a more decorous £arb. "] 
 
AN APRIL DAY 
 
 WHEN the warm sun, that brings 
 Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 
 T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs 
 The first flower of the plain. 
 
 I love the season well, 
 When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, 
 Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell 
 
 The coming-on of storms. 
 
 From the earth's loosened mould 
 The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives ; 
 Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold, 
 
 The drooping tree revives. 
 
 The softly-warbled song 
 Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings 
 Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along 
 
 The forest openings. 
 
34 Earlier Poems 
 
 When the bright sunset fills 
 The silver woods with light, the green slope throws 
 Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, 
 
 And wide the upland glows. 
 
 And when the eve is born, 
 In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far, 
 Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, 
 
 And twinkles many a star. 
 
 Inverted in the tide 
 Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, 
 And the fair trees look over, side by side. 
 
 And see themselves below. 
 
 Sweet April ! many a thought 
 Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed ; 
 Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, 
 
 Life's golden fruit is shed. 
 
 r 
 
Autumn 35 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 WITH what a glory comes and goes the vear ! 
 The buds of spring, those beautiful harbin- 
 gers 
 Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy 
 Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out \ 
 And when the silver habit of the clouds 
 Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with 
 A sober gladness the old year takes up 
 His bright inheritance of golden fruits, 
 A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. 
 
 There is a beautiful spirit breathing now 
 Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, 
 And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, 
 Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, 
 And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. 
 Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, 
 Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales 
 The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, 
 Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life 
 Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, 
 And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved. 
 Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down 
 By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees 
 
36 Earlier Poems 
 
 The golden robin moves. The purple finch, 
 That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, 
 A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, 
 And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud 
 From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings, 
 And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, 
 Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. 
 
 O what a glory doth this world put on 
 For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth 
 Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks 
 On duties well performed, and days well spent ! 
 For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, 
 Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings, 
 He shall so hear the solemn hymn that Death 
 Has lifted up for all, that he shall go 
 To his long resting-place without a tear. 
 
 WOODS IN WINTER 
 
 HEN winter winds are piercing chill, 
 And through the hawthorn blows the gale, 
 With solemn feet I tread the hill. 
 That overbrows the lonely vale. 
 
 w 
 
 O'er the bare upland, and away 
 
 Through the long reach of desert woods, 
 
Woods in Winter 37 
 
 The embracing sunbeams chastely play, 
 And gladden these deep solitudes. 
 
 WherCj twisted round the barren oak^ 
 The summer vine in beauty clung, 
 
 And summer winds the stillness broke, 
 The crystal icicle is hung. 
 
 Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs 
 Pour out the river's gradual tide, 
 
 Shrilly the skater's iron rings, 
 
 And voices fill the woodland side. 
 
 Alas ! how changed from the fair scene, 
 When birds sang out their mellow lay. 
 
 And winds were soft, and woods were green, 
 And the song ceased not with the day ! 
 
 But still wild music is abroad, 
 
 Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; 
 And gathering winds, in hoarse accord. 
 
 Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. 
 
 Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear 
 Has grown familiar with your song ; 
 
 I hear it in the opening year, 
 I listen, and it cheers me long. 
 
38 Earlier Poems 
 
 HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS 
 OF BETHLEHEM 
 
 AT THE CONSECRATION OF PUI.ASKl's BANNER 
 
 WHEN the dying flame of day- 
 Through the chancel shot its ray, 
 Far the ghmmering tapers shed 
 Faint light on the cowled head ; 
 And the censer burning swung, 
 Where, before the altar, hung 
 The crimson banner, that with prayer 
 Hid been consecrated there. 
 And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while, 
 Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle. 
 
 " Take thy banner ! May it wave 
 Proudly o'er the good and brave ; 
 When the battle's distant wail 
 Breaks the sabbath of our vale. 
 When the clarion's music thrills 
 To the hearts of these lone hills. 
 When the spear in conflict shakes, 
 And the strong lance shivering breaks. 
 
 " Take thy banner ! and, beneath 
 The battle-cloud's encircling wreath, 
 
Hymn of the Moravian Nwis 39 
 
 Guard it, till our homes are free ! 
 Guard it ! God will prosper thee ! 
 In the dark and trying hour, 
 In the breaking forth of power, 
 In the rush of steeds and men, 
 His right hand will shield thee then. 
 
 " Take thy banner ! But when night 
 Closes round the ghastly fight. 
 If the vanquished warrior bow, \ 
 
 Spare him ! By our holy vow, j 
 
 By our prayers and many tears, • 
 
 By the mercy that endears, : 
 
 Spare him ! he our love hath shared ! 
 Spare him ! as thou wouldst be spared 1 
 
 " Take thy banner ! and if e'er 
 Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, 
 And the muffled drum should beat 
 To the tread of mournful feei, 
 Then this crimson flag shall be 
 Martial cloak and shroud for thee." 
 
 The warrior took that banner proud, 
 And it was his martial cloak and shroud ! 
 
40 Earlier Poems 
 
 SUNRISE ON THE HILLS 
 
 I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide 
 arch 
 Was glorious with the sun's returning march, 
 And woods were brightened, and soft gales 
 Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. 
 The clouds were far beneath me ; bathed in light, 
 They gathered mid-way round the wooded lieight, 
 And, in their fading glory, shone 
 Like hosts in battle overthrown, 
 As many a pinnacle, with shifting glmce. 
 Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, 
 And rocking on the cliff was left 
 The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. 
 The veil of cloud was lifted, and below 
 Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow 
 Was darkened by the forest's shade, 
 Or glistened in the white cascade ; 
 Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, 
 7'he noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. 
 
 I heard the distant waters dash, 
 I saw the current whirl and flash, 
 And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach. 
 The woods were bending with a silent reach. 
 
TJie Spirit of Poetry 41 
 
 Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, 
 The music of the village bell 
 Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills ; 
 And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, 
 Was ringing to the merry shout. 
 That faint and far the glen sent out. 
 Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, 
 Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle 
 broke. 
 
 If thou art worn and hard beset 
 With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, 
 If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep 
 Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, 
 Go to the woods and hills ! No tears ' 
 
 Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF POETRY 
 
 THERE is a quiet spirit in these woods. 
 That dwells where'er the gentle south wind 
 blows ; 
 Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, 
 The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, 
 The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. 
 With what a tender and impassioned voice 
 
42 Earlier Poems 
 
 It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, 
 When the fast ushering star of morning comes 
 O'er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf; 
 Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve, 
 In mourning weeds, from out the western gate, 
 Departs with silent pace ! That spirit moves 
 In the green valley, where the silver brook, 
 From its full laver, pours the white cascade ; 
 And, babbling low amid the tangled woods. 
 Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless 
 
 laughter. 
 And frequent, on the everlasting hills. 
 Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself 
 In all the dark embroidery of the storm. 
 And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid 
 The silent majesty of these deep woods. 
 Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth. 
 As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air 
 Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards 
 Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. 
 For them there was an eloquent voice in all 
 The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun. 
 The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, 
 Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds, 
 The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun 
 Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes, 
 Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, 
 Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale, 
 The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees, 
 
The Spirit of Poetry 43 
 
 In many a lazy syllable, repeating 
 Their old poetic legends to the wind. 
 
 And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill 
 The world ; and, in these wayward days of youth, 
 My busy fancy oft embodies it. 
 As a bright image of the light and beauty 
 That dwell in nature ; of the heavenly forms 
 We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues 
 That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds 
 When the sun sets. Within her tender eye 
 The heaven of ApJril, with its changing light. 
 And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, 
 And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair - 
 Is like the summer tresses of the trees. 
 When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek 
 Blushes the richness of an autumn sky. 
 With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, 
 It is so like the gentle air of Spring, 
 As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes 
 Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy 
 To have it round us, and her silver voice 
 Is the rich music of a summer bird. 
 Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. 
 
44 Earlier Poems 
 
 BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK 
 
 ON sunny slope and beechen swell, 
 The shadowed light of evening fell ; 
 And, where the maple's leaf was brown, 
 With soft and silent lapse came down, 
 The glory, that the wood receives. 
 At sunset, in its golden leaves. 
 
 Far upward in the mellow light 
 Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, 
 Around a far uplifted cone, 
 In the warm blush of evening shone ; 
 An image of the silver lakes. 
 By which the Indian's soul awakes. 
 
 But soon a funeral hymn was heard 
 Where the soft breath of evening stirred 
 The tall, gray forest ; and a band 
 Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, 
 Came winding down beside the wave, 
 To lay the red chief in his grave. 
 
 They sang, that by his native bowers 
 He stood, in the last moon of flowers, 
 
1 
 
 Burial of the Minnisink 45 
 
 And thirty snows had not yet shed 
 Their glory on the warrior's head ; 
 But, as the summer fruit decays, 
 So died he in those naked days. 
 
 A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin 
 Covered the warrior, and within 
 Its heavy folds the weapons, made 
 For the hard toils of war, were laid ; 
 The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, 
 And the broad belt of shells and beads. 
 
 Before, a dark-haired virgin train 
 Chanted the death dirge of the slain ; 
 Behind, the long procession came 
 Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, 
 With hea\7 hearts, and eyes of grief, 
 Leading the war-horse of their chief 
 
 Stripped of his proud and martial dress, 
 Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless. 
 With darting eye, and nostril spread, 
 And heavy and impatient tread, 
 He came ; and oft that eye so proud 
 Asked for his rider in the crowd. 
 
 They buried the dark chief; they freed 
 Beside the grave his battle steed ; 
 
4^ Earlier Poems 
 
 And swift an arrow cleaved its way 
 To his stern heart ! One piercing neigh 
 Arose, and, on the dead man's plain, 
 The rider grasps his steed again. 
 
TRANSLATIONS 
 
[Don Jorge Manrique, the author of the following poem, 
 flourished in the last half of the fifteenth century. He 
 followed the profession of arms, and died on the field of 
 battle. Mariana, in his History of Spain, makes hon- 
 orable mention of him, as being present at the siege of 
 Ucles ; and speaks of him as " a youth of estimable quali- 
 ties, who in this war gave brilliant proofs of his valor. 
 He died young ; and was thus cut off from long exercising 
 his great virtues, and exhibiting to the world the light of 
 his genius, which was already known to fame. " He was 
 mortally wounded in a skirmish near Cafiavete, in the year 
 1479. 
 
 The name of Rodrigo Manrique, the father of the poet, 
 Conde de Paredes and Maestre de Santiago, is well known 
 in Spanish histoiy and song. He died in 1476 ; accord- 
 ing to Mariana, in the town of Ucles ; but, according to 
 the poem of his son, in Ocafia. It was his death that called 
 forth the poem upon which rests the Uterary reputation of 
 the younger Manrique. In the language of his historian, 
 " Don Jorge Manrique, in an elegant Ode, full of poetic 
 beauties, rich embellishments of genius, and high moral 
 reflections, mourned the death of his father as with a 
 funeral hymn." This praise is not exaggerated. The 
 poem is a model in its kind. Its conception is solemn 
 and beautiful ; and, in accordance with it, the style moves 
 on, — calm, dignified, and majestic] 
 
COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH 
 
 OLET the soul her slumbers break, 
 Let thought be quickened, and awake 
 Awake to see 
 
 How soon this life is past and gone, 
 And death comes softly stealing on, 
 How silently ! 
 
 Swiftly our pleasures glide away, 
 Our hearts recall the distant day 
 With many sighs ; 
 
 The moments that are speeding fast 
 We heed not, but the past, — the past, 
 More highly prize. 
 
 Onward its course the present keeps, 
 
 Onward the constant current sweeps, | 
 
 Till life is done ; 1 
 
 And, did we judge of time aright, \ 
 
 The past and future in their flight 
 
 Would be as one. 
 
50 Translations 
 
 Let no one fondly dream again, 
 That Hope and all her shadowy train 
 Will not decay ; 
 
 Fleeting as were the dreams of old, 
 Remembered like a tale that 's told, 
 They pass away. 
 
 Our lives are rivers, gliding free 
 To that unfathomed, boundless sea. 
 The silent grave ! 
 
 Thither all earthly pomp and boast 
 Roll, to be swallowed up and lost 
 In one dark wave. 
 
 Thither the mighty torrents stray. 
 Thither the brook pursues its way, 
 And tinkling rill. 
 There all are equal ; side by side 
 The poor man and the son of pride 
 Lie calm and still. 
 
 I will not here invoke the throng 
 
 Of orators and sons of song. 
 
 The deathless few ; 
 
 Fiction entices and deceives. 
 
 And, sprinkled o'er her fragrant leaves, 
 
 Lies poisonous dew. 
 
Coplas de Manriqtie 5 1 
 
 To One alone my thoughts arise, 
 
 The Eternal Truth, the Good and Wise, 
 
 To Him I cry, 
 
 Who shared on earth our common lot, 
 
 But the world comprehended not 
 
 His deity. 
 
 This world is but the rugged road 
 Which leads us to the bright abode 
 Of peace above ; 
 
 So let us choose that narrow way, 
 "Which leads no traveller's foot astray 
 From realms of love. 
 
 Our cradle is the starting-place, 
 Life is the running of the race, 
 We reach the goal 
 AVhen, in the mansions of the blest, 
 Death leaves to its eternal rest 
 The weary soul. 
 
 Did we but use it as we ought, 
 
 This world would school each wandering thought 
 
 To its high state. 
 
 Faith wings the soul beyond the sky. 
 
 Up to that better world on high, 
 
 For which we wait. 
 
5 2 Translations 
 
 Yes, the glad messenger of love, 
 To guide us to our home above, 
 The Saviour came ; 
 Born amid mortal cares and fears, 
 He suffered in this vale of tears 
 A death of shame. 
 
 Behold of what delusive worth 
 The bubbles we pursue on earth, 
 The shapes we chase, 
 Amid a world of treachery ! 
 They vanish ere death shuts the eye, 
 And leave no trace. 
 
 Time steals them from us, chances strange, 
 
 Disastrous accident, and change. 
 
 That come to all ; 
 
 Even in the most exalted state. 
 
 Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate ; 
 
 The strongest fall. 
 
 Tell me, the charms that lovers seek 
 In the clear eye and blushing cheek, 
 The hues that play 
 O'er rosy lip and brow of snow, 
 When hoary age approaches slow, 
 Ah, where are they ? 
 
Cop las de Manrique 53 
 
 The cunning skill, the curious arts, 
 llie glorious strength that youth imparts 
 In life's first stage ; 
 These shall become a heavy weight, 
 When Time swings wide his outward gate 
 To weary age. • 
 
 The noble blood of Gothic name, 
 Heroes emblazoned high to fame, 
 In long array ; 
 
 How, in the onward course of time, 
 The landmarks of that race sublime 
 Were swept away ! 
 
 Some, the degraded slaves of lust, 
 Prostrate and trampled in the dust, 
 Shall rise no more ; 
 Others, by guilt and crime, maintain 
 The scutcheon, that, without a stain. 
 Their fathers bore. 
 
 Wealth and the high estate of pride. 
 With what untimely speed they glide. 
 How soon depart ! 
 Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay. 
 The vassals of a mistress they. 
 Of fickle heart. 
 
54 Translations 
 
 These gifts in Fortune's hands are found ; 
 Her swift revolving wheel turns round, 
 And they are gone ! 
 No rest the inconstant goddess knows, 
 But changing, and without repose, 
 Still hurries on. 
 
 Even could the hand of avarice save 
 Its gilded baubles, till the grave 
 Reclaimed its prey. 
 Let none on such poor hopes rely ; 
 Life, like an empty dream, flits by, 
 And where are they ? 
 
 Earthly desires and sensual lust 
 Are passions springing from the dust, 
 They fade and die ; 
 But, in the life beyond the tomb, 
 They seal the immortal spirit's doom 
 Eternally ! 
 
 The pleasures and delights, which mask 
 In treacherous smiles life's serious task. 
 What are they, all. 
 But the fleet coursers of the chase, 
 And death an ambush in the race, 
 Wherein we fall ? 
 
Coplas de Manrique 55 
 
 No foe, no dangerous pass, we heed, 
 Brook no delay, but onward speed 
 With loosened rein ; 
 And, when the fatal snare is near, 
 We strive to check our mad career, 
 But strive in vain. ■ 
 
 Could we new charms to age impart, 
 And fashion with a cunning art 
 The human face. 
 
 As we can clothe the soul with light, 
 And make the glorious spirit bright 
 With heavenly grace, 
 
 How busily each passing hour 
 Should we exert that magic power, 
 What ardor show. 
 To deck the sensual slave of sin. 
 Yet leave the freeborn soul within, 
 In weeds of woe ! 
 
 Monarchs, the powerful and the strong, 
 
 Famous in history and in song 
 
 Of olden time. 
 
 Saw, by the stern decrees of fate, 
 
 Their kingdoms lost, and desolate 
 
 Their race sublime. 
 
56 Translations 
 
 Who is the champion ? who the strong ? 
 
 Pontiff and priest, and sceptred throng ? 
 
 On these shall fall 
 
 As heavily the hand of Death, 
 
 As when it stays the shepherd's breath 
 
 Beside his stall. 
 
 I speak not of the Trojan name, 
 
 Neither its glory nor its shame 
 
 Has met our eyes ; 
 
 Nor of Rome's great and glorious dead. 
 
 Though we have heard so oft, and read. 
 
 Their histories. 
 
 Little avails it now to know 
 Of ages passed so long ago, 
 Nor how they rolled ; 
 Our theme shall be of yesterday. 
 Which to oblivion sweeps away. 
 Like days of old. 
 
 Where is the King, Don Juan ? Where 
 Each royal prince and noble heir 
 Of Aragon ? 
 
 Where are the courtly gallantries .? 
 The deeds of love and high emprise, 
 In battle done ? 
 
Capias de Mauri que 57 
 
 Tourney and joust, that charmed the eye, 
 And scarf, and gorgeous panoply, 
 And nodding plume, 
 What were they but a pageant scene ? 
 What but the garlands, gay and green, 
 That d^k the .tomb ? 
 
 Where are the high-born dames, and where 
 Their gay attire, and jewelled hair. 
 And odors sweet ? 
 
 \Vhere are the gentle knights, that came 
 To kneel, and breathe love's ardent flame. 
 Low at their feet ? 
 
 \Vhere is the song of Troubadour ? 
 
 Where are the lute and gay tambour 
 
 They loved of yore ? 
 
 Where is the mazy dance of old, 
 
 The flowing robes, inwrought with gold. 
 
 The dancers wore ? 
 
 And he who next the sceptre swayed. 
 Henry, whose royal court displayed 
 Such power and pride ; 
 O, in what winning smiles arrayed, 
 The world its various pleasures laid 
 His throne beside ! 
 
58 Translations 
 
 But O how false and full of guile 
 That world, which wore so soft a smile 
 But to betray ! 
 
 She, that had been his friend before, 
 Now from the fated monarch tore 
 Her charms away. 
 
 The countless gifts, the stately walls. 
 
 The royal palaces, and halls 
 
 All filled with gold ; 
 
 Plate with armorial bearings wrought. 
 
 Chambers with ample treasures fraught 
 
 Of wealth untold ; 
 
 The noble steeds, and harness bright, 
 And gallant lord, and stalwart knight. 
 In rich array. 
 
 Where shall we seek them now ? Alas ! 
 Like the bright dewdrops on the grass. 
 They passed away. 
 
 His brother, too, whose factious zeal 
 Usurped the sceptre of Castile, 
 Unskilled to reign ; 
 What a gay, brilliant court had he, 
 When all the flower of chivalry 
 Was in his train ! 
 
Coplas de Manrique 59 
 
 But he was mortal ; and the breath, 
 
 That flamed from the hot forge of Death, 
 
 Blasted his years ; 
 
 Judgment of God ! that flame by thee, 
 
 When raging fierce and fearfully, 
 
 Was quenched in. tears ! 
 
 Spain's haught}^ Constable, the true 
 And gallant Master, whom we knew 
 Most loved of all ; 
 Breathe not a whisper of his pride, 
 He on the gloomy scaflbld died. 
 Ignoble fall ! 
 
 The countless treasures of his care, 
 
 His villages and villas fair. 
 
 His mighty power. 
 
 What were they all but grief and shame, 
 
 Tears and a broken heart, when came 
 
 The parting hour ? 
 
 His other brothers, proud and high, 
 Masters, who, in prosperity, 
 Might rival kings ; 
 Who made the bravest and the best 
 The bondsmen of their high behest. 
 Their underlings ; 
 
6o Translations 
 
 What was their prosperous estate, 
 When high exalted and elate 
 With power and pride ? 
 What, but a transient gleam of light, 
 A flame, which, glaring at its height, 
 Grew dim and died ? 
 
 So many a duke of royal name. 
 Marquis and count of spotless fame. 
 And baron brave, 
 
 That might the sword of empire wield, 
 All these, O Death, hast thou concealed 
 In the dark grave ! 
 
 Their deeds of mercy and of arms. 
 In peaceful days, or war's alarms. 
 When thou dost show, 
 O Death, thy stern and angry face. 
 One stroke of thy all-powerful mace 
 Can overthrow. 
 
 Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh. 
 Pennon and standard flaunting high. 
 And flag displayed ; 
 High battlements intrenched around, 
 Bastion, and moated wall, and mound. 
 And palisade. 
 
Cop las de Manrique 6 1 
 
 And covered trench, secure and deep, 
 
 All these cannot one victim keep, 
 
 O Death, from thee. 
 
 When thou dost battle in thy wiath. 
 
 And thy strong shafts pursue their path 
 
 Unerringly. 
 
 O World ! so few the years we live. 
 
 Would that the life which thou dost give 
 
 Were life indeed ! 
 
 Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, 
 
 Our happiest hour is when at last 
 
 The soul is freed. 
 
 Our days are covered o'er with grief, 
 
 And sorrows neither few nor brief 
 
 Veil all in gloom ; 
 
 Left desolate of real good. 
 
 Within this cheerless solitude 
 
 No pleasures bloom. 
 
 Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, 
 And ends in bitter doubts and fears, 
 Or dark despair ; 
 Midway so many toils appear, 
 That he who lingers longest here 
 Knows most of care. 
 
62 Translations 
 
 Thy goods are bought with many a groan, 
 
 By the hot sweat of toil alone, 
 
 And weary hearts ; 
 
 Fleet-footed is the approach of woe. 
 
 But with a lingering step and slow 
 
 Its form departs. 
 
 And he, the good man's shield and shade, 
 
 To whom all hearts their homage paid. 
 
 As Virtue's son, 
 
 Roderic Manrique, he whose name 
 
 Is written on the scroll of Fame, 
 
 Spain's champion ; 
 
 His signal deeds and prowess high 
 
 Demand no pompous eulogy, - 
 
 Ye saw his deeds ! j 
 
 Why should their praise in verse be sung ? \ 
 
 The name, that dwells on every tongue, 
 
 No minstrel needs. 
 
 To friends a friend ; how kind to all 
 
 The vassals of this ancient hall 
 
 And feudal fief ! '. 
 
 To foes how stern a foe was he ! \ 
 
 And to the valiant and the free \ 
 
 How brave a chief! ^ 
 
Coplas de Manrique 63 
 
 What prudence with the old and wise : 
 
 What grace in youthful gayeties ; 
 
 In all how sage ! 
 
 Benignant to the serf and slave, 
 
 He showed the base and falsely brave 
 
 A lion's rage. ■ 
 
 His was Octavian's prosperous star, 
 
 The rush of Caesar's conquering car 
 
 At battle's call ; 
 
 His, Scipio's virtue ; his, the skill 
 
 And the indomitable will 
 
 Of Hannibal. 
 
 His was a Trajan's goodness, his 
 
 A Titus' noble charities 
 
 And righteous laws ; 
 
 The arm of Hector, and the might 
 
 Of Tully, to maintain the right 
 
 In truth's just cause ; 
 
 The clemency of Antonine, 
 Aurelius' countenance divine, 
 Firm, gentle, still ; 
 The eloquence of Adrian, 
 And Theodosius' love to man, 
 And generous will \ 
 
64 Translations 
 
 In tented field and bloody fray, 
 An Alexander's vigorous sway 
 And stern command ; 
 The faith of Constantine ; ay, more, 
 The fervent love Camillus bore 
 His native land. 
 
 He left no well-filled treasury, 
 
 He heaped no pile of riches high, 
 
 Nor massive plate ; 
 
 He fought the Moors, and, in their fall, 
 
 City and tower and castled wall 
 
 Were his estate. 
 
 Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, 
 Brave steeds and gallant riders found 
 A common grave ; 
 
 And there the warrior's hand did gain 
 The rents, and the long vassal train, 
 That conquest gave. 
 
 And if, of old, his halls displayed 
 The honored and exalted grade 
 His worth had gained, 
 So, in the dark, disastrous hour, 
 Brothers and bondsmen of his power 
 His hand sustained. 
 
Cop las de Manrique 65 
 
 After high deeds, not left untold, 
 
 In the stern warfare, which of old 
 
 'T was his to share. 
 
 Such noble leagues he made, that more 
 
 And fairer regions, than before, 
 
 His guerdon were. 
 
 These are the records, half effaced. 
 
 Which, with the hand of youth, he traced 
 
 On history's page ; 
 
 But with fresh victories he drew 
 
 Each fading character anew 
 
 In his old age. 
 
 By his unrivalled skill, by great 
 And veteran service to the state, 
 By worth adored. 
 He stood, in his high dignity. 
 The proudest knight of chivalry, 
 Knight of the Sword. 
 
 He found his cities and domains 
 Beneath a tyrant's galling chains 
 And cruel power ; 
 But, by fierce battle and blockade. 
 Soon his own banner was displayed 
 From every tower. 
 
66 Translations 
 
 By the tried valor of his hand, 
 
 His monarch and his native land 
 
 Were nobly served ; 
 
 Let Portugal repeat the story, 
 
 And proud Castile, who shared the glory 
 
 His arms deserved. 
 
 And when so oft, for weal or woe, 
 
 His life upon the fatal throw 
 
 Had been cast down ; 
 
 When he had served, with patriot zeal, 
 
 Beneath the banner af Castile, 
 
 His sovereign's crown ; 
 
 And done such deeds of valor strong, 
 That neither history nor song 
 Can count them all ; 
 Then, on Ocana's castled rock. 
 Death at his portal came to knock, 
 With sudden call, 
 
 Saying, " Good Cavalier, prepare 
 To leave this world of toil and care 
 With joyful mien ; 
 
 Let thy strong heart of steel this day 
 Put on its armor for the fray. 
 The closing scene. 
 
Coplas de Manrique 6y 
 
 " Since thou hast been, in battle-strife, 
 
 So prodigal of health and life, 
 
 For earthly fame, 
 
 Let virtue nerve thy heart again ; 
 
 Loud on the last stern battle-plain 
 
 They call thy name. 
 
 *' Think not the struggle that draws near 
 
 Too terrible for man, nor fear 
 
 To meet the foe ; 
 
 Nor let thy noble spirit grieve. 
 
 Its life of glorious fame to leave 
 
 On earth below. 
 
 " A life of honor and of worth 
 
 Has no eternity on earth, 
 
 'T is but a name ; 
 
 And yet its glory far exceeds 
 
 That base and sensual life, which leads 
 
 To want and shame. 
 
 " The eternal life, beyond the sky. 
 Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high 
 And proud estate ; 
 The soul in dalliance laid, the spirit 
 Corrupt with sin, shall not inherit 
 A joy so great. 
 
68 Translations 
 
 \ " But the good monk, in cloistered cell, 
 
 I Shall gain it by his book and bell, 
 
 \ His prayers and tears ; 
 
 \ And the brave knight, whose arm endures 
 
 f Fierce battle, and against the Moors 
 
 I His standard rears. 
 
 " And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured 
 \ The life-blood of the Pagan horde 
 
 O'er all the land, 
 j In heaven shalt thou receive, at length, 
 
 iThe guerdon of thine earthly strength 
 And dauntless hand. 
 
 \ 
 
 t 
 
 " Cheered onward by this promise sure, 
 
 Strong in the faith entire and pure 
 
 Thou dost profess. 
 
 Depart, thy hope is certainty. 
 
 The third, the better life on high 
 
 Shalt thou possess." 
 
 " O Death, no more, no more delay ; 
 
 My spirit longs to flee away, 
 
 And be at rest ; 
 
 The will of Heaven my will shall be, 
 
 I bow to the divine decree, 
 
 To God's behest. 
 
Coplas de Manrique 6g 
 
 *" My soul is ready to depart, 1 
 
 No thought rebels, the obedient heart I 
 Breathes forth no sigh ; - \ 
 
 The wish on earth to linger still \ 
 
 Were vain, when 't is God's sovereign will j 
 
 That we shall die. 1 
 
 " O thou, that for our sins didst take 
 A human form, and humbly make 
 Thy home on earth ; 
 Thou, that to thy divinity 
 A human nature didst ally 
 By mortal birth, 
 
 " And in that form didst sufifer here 
 Torment, and agony, and foar, 
 So patiently ; 
 
 By thy redeeming grace alone. 
 And not for merits of my own, 
 O, pardon me ! " 
 
 As thus the dying warrior prayed, 
 Without one gathering mist or shade 
 Upon his mind ; 
 Encircled by his family. 
 Watched by affection's gentle eye 
 So soft and kind ; 
 
70 Translations 
 
 His soul to Him, who gave it, rose ; 
 
 God lead it to its long repose, 
 
 Its glorious rest ! 
 
 And, though the warrior's sun has set, 
 
 Its light shall linger round us yet, 
 
 Bright, radiant, blest. 
 
 THE GOOD SHEPHERD 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA 
 
 SHEPHERD ! who with thine amorous, sylvan 
 song 
 Hast broken the slumber that encompassed me, 
 Who mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree, 
 On which thy powerful arms were stretched so 
 long ! 
 Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains ; 
 
 For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be > 
 I will obey thy voice, and wait to see 
 Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains. 
 Hear, Shepherd ! thou who for thy flock art dying, 
 O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou 
 Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow. 
 
To-Morrow *J\ 
 
 O, wait ! to thee my weary soul is crying, 
 Wait for me ! Yet why ask it, when I see, 
 With feet nailed to the cross, thou 'rt waiting still 
 for me ! 
 
 TO-MORROW 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA 
 
 LORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care,. 
 Thou didst seek after me, that thou didst wait, 
 Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, 
 And pass the gloomy nights of winter there ? 
 
 O strange delusion ! that I did not greet 
 
 Thy blest approach, and O, to Heaven how lost, 
 
 If my ingratitude's unkindly frost 
 
 Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. 
 
 How oft my guardian angel gently cried, 
 
 " Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see 
 How he persists to knock and wait for thee ! " 
 
 And, O ! how often to that voice of sorrow, 
 " To-morrow we will open," I replied. 
 And when the morrow came I answered still, 
 "To-morrow." 
 
12 Translations 
 
 THE NATIVE LAND 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA 
 
 CLEAR fount of light ! my native land on high, 
 Bright with a glory that shall never fade ! 
 Mansion of truth ! without a veil or shade, 
 Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's eye. 
 
 There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, 
 Gasping no longer for life's feeble breath ; 
 But, sentinelled in heaven, its glorious presence 
 With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not, death. 
 
 Beloved country ! banished from thy shore, 
 A stranger in this prison-house of clay. 
 The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee ! 
 
 Heavenward the bright perfections I adore 
 Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way, 
 That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwell- 
 ing be. 
 
 THE IMAGE OF GOD 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA 
 
 OLORD ! who seest, from yon starry height. 
 Centred in one the future and the past, 
 Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast 
 The world obscures in me what once was bright ! 
 
The Brook 73 
 
 Eternal Sun ! the warmth which thou hast given, 
 To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays ; 
 Yet, in the hoary winter of my days. 
 Forever green shall be my trust in Heaven. 
 
 Celestial King ! O let thy presence pass 
 Before my spirit, and an image fair 
 Shall meet that look of mercy from on high. 
 
 As the reflected image in a glass 
 
 Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, 
 And owes its being to the gazer's eye. 
 
 THE BROOK 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH 
 
 LAUGH of the mountain ! — lyre of bird and 
 tree ! 
 Pomp of the meadow ! mirror of the morn ! 
 The soul of April, unto whom are born 
 The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee ! 
 Although, where'er thy devious current strays, 
 TJie lap of earth with gold and silver teems. 
 To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems 
 Than golden sands, that charm each shepherd's 
 gaze. 
 How without guilt thy bosom, all transparent 
 As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye 
 
 1 
 
74 Translations 
 
 Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles 
 count ! 
 How, without mahce murmuring, glides thy current ! 
 O sweet simplicity of days gone by ! 
 Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in lim- 
 pid fount ! 
 
 THE CELESTIAL PILOT 
 
 FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, II. 
 
 AND now, behold ! as at the approach of morn- 
 ing, 
 Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red 
 Down in the west upon the ocean floor. 
 
 Appeared to me, — may I again behold it ! 
 A light along the sea, so swiftly coming. 
 Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled. 
 
 And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little 
 Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor, 
 Again I saw it brighter grown and larger. 
 
 Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared 
 
 I knew not what of white, and underneath, 
 Little by little, there came forth another. 
 
 My master yet had uttered not a word, 
 
 While the first whiteness into wings unfolded ; 
 But, when he clearly recognized the pilot, 
 
The Celestial Pilot 7S 
 
 He cried aloud : " Quick, quick, and bow the knee ! 
 Behold the Angel of God ! fold up thy hands 1 
 Henceforward shalt thou see such officers ! 
 
 See, how he scorns all human arguments, 
 So that no oar he wants, nor other sail 
 Than his own wings, between so distant shores ! 
 
 See, how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven. 
 Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, 
 That do not moult themselves like mortal hair ! " 
 
 And then, as nearer and more near us came 
 
 The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared, 
 So that the eye could not sustain his presence. 
 
 But down I cast it ; and he came to shore 
 With a small vessel, gliding swift and light. 
 So that the water swallowed naught thereof. 
 
 Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot ! 
 Beatitude seemed written in his face ! 
 And more than a hundred spirits sat within. 
 
 " fn exitu Israel de ^gypto /" 
 
 Thus sang they all together in one voice. 
 With whatso in that Psalm is after written. 
 
 Then made he sign of holy rood upon them. 
 Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, 
 And he departed swiftly as he came. 
 
76 Translations 
 
 THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE 
 
 FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXVIII. 
 
 LONGING already to search in and round 
 The heavenly forest, dense and living-green, 
 Which tempered to the eyes the new-born day, 
 
 Withouten more delay I left the bank, 
 Crossing the level country slowly, slowly, 
 Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance. 
 
 A gently-breathing air, that no mutation 
 Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead. 
 No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze. 
 
 Whereat the tremulous branches readily 
 
 Did all of them bow downward towards that side 
 Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain ; 
 
 Yet not from their upright direction bent 
 So that the little birds upon their tops 
 Should cease the practice of their tuneful art ; 
 
 But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime 
 Singing received they in the midst of foliage 
 That made monotonous burden to their rhymes. 
 
 Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells. 
 Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, 
 When ^olus unlooses the Sirocco. 
 
 Already my slow steps had led me on 
 
Beatrice 77 
 
 Into the ancient wood so far, that I 
 
 Could see no more the place where I had entered. 
 A.nd lo ! my further course cut off a river, 
 
 Which, tow'rds the left hand, with its little waves, 
 
 ^ent down the grass, that on its margin sprang. 
 All waters that on earth most limpid are, 
 
 Would seem to have within themselves some 
 mixture. 
 
 Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal. 
 Although it moves on with a brown, brown current. 
 
 Under the shade perpetual, that never 
 
 Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon. 
 
 BEATRICE 
 
 FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXX., XXXI. 
 
 E 
 
 VEN as the Blessed, at the final summons, 
 f I '^ Shall rise up quickened, each one from his 
 
 I grave, 
 
 \ Wearing again the garments of the flesh, 
 
 \ So, upon that celestial chariot, 
 
 I K hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis, 
 
 \ Ministers and messengers of life eternal. 
 
 \ They all were saying, " Benedicius qui venis!^ 
 
 \ And scattering flowers above and round about, 
 
 " Manibiis o date lilia pkftis" 
 Oft have I seen, at the approach of day, 
 
y8 Translations 
 
 The orient sky all stained with roseate hues, 
 And the other heaven with light serene adorned, 
 
 And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed. 
 So that, by temperate influence of vapors. 
 The eye sustained his aspect for long while ; 
 
 Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers, 
 
 Which from those hands angelic were thrown up, 
 And down descended inside and without. 
 
 With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil. 
 Appeared a lady, under a green mantle, 
 Vested in colors of the living flame. 
 
 Even as the snow, among the living rafters 
 Upon the back of Italy, congeals. 
 Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds. 
 
 And then, dissolving, filters through itself. 
 Whene'er the land, that loses shadow, breathes, 
 Like as a taper melts before a fire. 
 
 Even such I was, without a sigh or tear, 
 Before the song of those who chime forever 
 After the chiming of the eternal spheres ; 
 
 But, when I heard in those sweet melodies 
 Compassion for me, more than had they said, 
 " O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume 
 him ? " 
 
 The ice, that was about my heart congealed, 
 To air and water changed, and, in my anguish. 
 Through lips and eyes came gushing from my 
 breast. 
 
spring 79 
 
 Confusion and dismay, together mingled, 
 
 Forced such a feeble " Yes ! " out of my mouth, 
 To understand it one had need of sight. 
 
 Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 't is discharged. 
 Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow, 
 And with less force the arrow hits the mark ; 
 
 So I gave way beneath this heavy burden, 
 Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs, 
 And the voice, fainting, flagged upon its passage. 
 
 SPRING 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES d'ORLEANS 
 XV. CENTURY 
 
 GENTLE Spring ! in sunshine clad, 
 Well dost thou thy power display ! 
 For Winter maketh the light heart sad, 
 
 And thou, thou makest the sad heart gay. 
 He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train, 
 The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain 
 And they shrink away, and they flee in fear, 
 When thy merry step draws near. 
 
 Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old. 
 
 Their beards of icicles and snow ; 
 And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold, 
 
 We must cower over the embers low ; 
 
8o Translations 
 
 And, snugly housed from the wind and weather, 
 Mope like birds that are changing feather. 
 But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear, 
 When thy merry step draws near. 
 
 Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky 
 
 Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud ; 
 But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh ; 
 Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, 
 And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly, 
 Who has toiled for naught both late and early. 
 Is banished afar by the new-born year. 
 When thy merry step draws near. 
 
 THE CHILD ASLEEP 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH 
 
 SWEET babe ! true portrait of thy father's face. 
 Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed ! 
 Sleep, little one ; and closely, gently place 
 Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast. 
 
 Upon that tender eye, my little friend. 
 
 Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me ! 
 
 I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend ; 
 'T is sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee ! 
 
The Grave 8i 
 
 His arms fall down ; sleep sits upon his brow ; 
 
 His eye is closed ; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. 
 Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow, 
 
 Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm ? 
 
 Awake, my boy ! I tremble with affright ! 
 
 Awake, and chase this fatal thought ! Unclose 
 Thine eye but for one moment on the light ! 
 
 Even at the price of thine, give me repose ! 
 
 Sweet error ! he but slept, I breathe again ; 
 
 Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile ! 
 0, when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain, 
 
 Beside me watch to see thy waking smile ? 
 
 THE GRAVE 
 
 FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON 
 
 FOR thee was a house built 
 Ere thou wast born. 
 For thee was a mould meant 
 Ere thou of mother camest. 
 But it is not made ready. 
 Nor its depth measured, 
 Nor is it seen 
 How long it shall be. 
 Now I bring thee 
 
 — 4 
 
82 Translations 
 
 Where thou shalt be ; 
 Now I shall measure thee» 
 And the mould afterwards. 
 
 Thy house is not 
 Highly timbered, 
 It is unhigh and low j 
 When thou art therein, 
 The heel-ways are low. 
 The side-ways unhigh. 
 The roof is built 
 Thy breast full nigh, 
 So thou shalt in mould 
 Dwell full cold, 
 Dimly and dark. 
 
 Doorless is that house, 
 And dark it is within ; 
 There thou art fast detained 
 And Death hath the key. 
 Loathsome is that earth-house, 
 And grim within to dwell. 
 There thou shalt dwell, 
 And worms shall divide thee. 
 
 Thus thou art laid. 
 And leavest thy friends ; 
 Thou hast no friend, 
 Who will come to thee. 
 
King Christian 83 
 
 Who will ever see 
 
 How that house pleaseth thee ; 
 
 Who will ever open 
 
 The door for thee, 
 
 And descend after thee ; 
 
 For soon thou art loathsome 
 
 And hateful to see. 
 
 KING CHRISTIAN 
 
 A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK 
 FROM THE DANISH OF JOHANNES EVALD 
 
 KING CHRISTIAN stood by the lofty mast 
 In mist and smoke ; 
 His sword was hammering so fast, 
 Through Gothic helm and brain it passed ; 
 Then sank each hostile hulk and mast, 
 
 In mist and smoke. 
 " Fly ! " shouted they, " fly, he who can ! 
 Who braves of Denmark's Christian 
 The stroke?" 
 
 Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's roar, 
 
 Now is the hour ! 
 He hoisted his blood-red flag once more. 
 
84 Translations 
 
 And smote upon the foe full sore, 
 
 And shouted loud, through the tempest's roar, 
 
 " Now is the hour ! " 
 " Fly ! " shouted they, " for shelter fly ! 
 Of Denmark's Juel who can defy 
 
 The power ? " 
 
 North Sea ! a glimpse of Wessel rent 
 
 Thy murky sky ! 
 Then champions to thine arms were sent ; 
 Terror and Death glared where he went ; 
 From the waves was heard a wail, that rent 
 
 Thy murky sky ! 
 From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol', 
 Let each to Heaven commend his soul, 
 
 And fly ! 
 
 Path of the Dane to fame and might ! 
 
 Dark-rolling wave ! 
 Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight, 
 Goes to meet danger with despite, 
 Proudly as thou the tempest's might, 
 
 Dark-rolling wave ! 
 And amid pleasures and alarms, 
 And war and victory, be thine arms 
 
 My grave ! 
 
The Happiest Land 85 
 
 THE HAPPIEST LAND 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 THERE sat one day in quiet, 
 By an alehouse on the Rhine, 
 Four hale and hearty fellows. 
 And drank the precious wine. 
 
 The landlord's daughter filled their cups, 
 
 Around the rustic board ; 
 Then sat they all so calm and still. 
 
 And spake not one rude word. 
 
 But, when the maid departed, 
 
 A Swabian raised his hand, 
 And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, 
 
 " Long live the Swabian land ! 
 
 " The greatest kingdom upon earth 
 
 Cannot with that compare ; 
 With all the stout and hardy men 
 
 And the nut-brown maidens there." 
 
 " Ha ! " cried a Saxon, laughing. 
 And dashed his beard with wine ; 
 
 " I had rather live in Lapland, 
 Than that Swabian land of thine ! 
 
86 Translations 
 
 " The goodliest land on all this earth, 
 
 It is the Saxon land ! 
 There have I as many maidens 
 
 As fingers on this hand ! " 
 
 " Hold your tongues ! both Swabian and Saxon ! 
 
 A bold Bohemian cries ; 
 " If there 's a heaven upon this earth, 
 
 In Bohemia it lies. 
 
 " There the tailor blows the flute, 
 
 And the cobbler blows the horn. 
 And the miner blows the bugle, 
 
 Over mountain gorge and bourn." 
 
 And then the landlord's daughter 
 Up to heaven raised her hand. 
 
 And said, " Ye may no more contend, 
 There lies the happiest land ! " 
 
The Deaa Sy 
 
 THE WAVE 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE 
 
 WHITHER, thou turbid wave? 
 Whither, with so much haste, 
 As if a thief wert thou ? " 
 
 " I am the Wave of Life, 
 Stained with my margin's dust ; 
 From the struggle and the strife 
 Of the narrow stream I fly 
 To the Sea's immensity, 
 To wash from me the sKme 
 Of the muddy banks of Time." 
 
 THE DEAD 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF STOCKMANN 
 
 HOW they so softly rest, 
 All they the holy ones, 
 Unto whose dwelling-place 
 Now doth my soul draw near ! 
 How they so softly rest, 
 All in their silent graves, 
 Deep to corruption 
 Slowly down-sinking ! 
 
88 Translations 
 
 And they no longer weep, 
 Here, where complaint is still ! 
 And they no longer feel, . 
 Here, where all gladness flies ! 
 And, by the cypresses 
 Softly o'ershadowed, 
 Until the Angel 
 Calls them, they slumber ! 
 
 THE BIRD AND THE SHIP 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER 
 
 ;-p] 
 
 ^HE rivers rush into the sea. 
 By castle and town they go ; 
 The winds behind them merrily 
 Their noisy trumpets blow. 
 
 " The clouds are passing far and high. 
 
 We little birds in them play ; 
 And everything, that can sing and fly. 
 
 Goes with us, and far away. 
 
 " I greet thee, bonny boat ! Whither, or whence, 
 With thy fluttering golden band t " — 
 
 " I greet thee, little bird ! To the wide sea 
 I haste from the narrow land. 
 
The Bird and the Ship 89 
 
 " Full and swollen is every sail ; 
 
 I see no longer a hill, 
 I have trusted all to the sounding gale, 
 
 And it will not let me stand still. 
 
 'And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? 
 
 Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall, 
 For full to sinking is my house 
 
 With merry companions all." — 
 
 " I need not and seek not company, 
 
 Bonny boat, I can sing all alone ; 
 For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, 
 
 Bonny boat, I have wings of my own. 
 
 " High over the sails, high over the mast, 
 
 Who shall gainsay these joys ? 
 When thy merry companions are still, at last, 
 
 Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. 
 
 " Who neither may rest, nor listen may, 
 
 God bless them every one ! 
 I dart away, in the bright blue day. 
 
 And the golden fields of the sun. 
 
 " Thus do I sing my weary song, 
 
 Wherever the four winds blow ; 
 And this same song, my whole life long, 
 
 Neither Poet nor Printer may know." 
 
90 
 
 Translations 
 WHITHER? 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER 
 
 I HEARD a brooklet gushing 
 From its rocky fountain near, 
 Down into the valley rushing, 
 So fresh and wondrous clear. 
 
 I know not what came o'er me, 
 
 Nor who the counsel gave ; 
 But I must hasten downward. 
 
 All with my pilgrim-stave ; 
 
 Downward, and ever farther. 
 And ever the brook beside ; 
 
 And ever fresher murmured, 
 And ever clearer, the tide. 
 
 Is this the way I was going ? 
 
 Whither, O brooklet, say ! 
 Thou hast, with thy soft murmur. 
 
 Murmured my senses away. 
 
 What do I say of a murmur ? 
 
 That can no murmur be ; 
 T is the water-nymphs, that are singing 
 
 Their roundelays under me. 
 
Beware! 91 
 
 Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur, 
 
 And wander merrily near ; , ' 
 
 The wheels of a mill are going ■ 
 
 In every brooklet clear. \ 
 
 BEWARE! 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 I KNOW a maiden fair to see, 
 Take care ! 
 She can both false and friendly be. 
 Beware ! Beware ! 
 Trust her not. 
 
 She is fooling thee ! \ 
 
 She has two eyes, so soft and brown, 5 
 
 Take care ! '. 
 
 She gives a side-glance and looks down, j 
 
 Beware ! Beware ! > 
 
 Trust her not, ] 
 
 She is fooling thee ! j 
 
 And she has hair of a golden hue, 1 
 
 Take care ! | 
 
 And what she says, it is not true, j 
 
 Beware ! Beware ! | 
 
 Trust her not, j 
 
 She is fooling thee 1 | 
 
92 Translations 
 
 She has a bosom as white as snow, 
 
 Take care ! 
 She knows how much it is best to show,, 
 
 Beware ! Beware ! 
 
 Trust her not, 
 She is fooUng thee ! 
 
 She gives thee a garland woven fair. 
 
 Take care ! 
 It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear, 
 
 Beware ! Beware ! 
 
 Trust her not, 
 She is fooling thee ! 
 
 SONG OF THE BELL 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 BELL ! thou soundest merrily. 
 When the bridal party 
 To the church doth hie ! 
 Bell ! thou soundest solemnly, 
 When, on Sabbath morning. 
 Fields deserted lie ! 
 
 Bell ! thou soundest merrily ; 
 Tellest thou at evening, 
 Bed-time draweth nigh ! 
 
■ L. 
 
 T/ie Castle by tke Sea 93 
 
 Bell ! thou soundest mournfully, 
 Tellest thou the bitter \ 
 
 Parting hath gone by ! ' 
 
 Say ! how canst thou mourn ? | 
 
 How canst thou rejoice ? ] 
 
 Thou art but metal dull ! 
 And yet all our sorrowings, \ 
 
 And all our rejoicings, 
 
 Thou dost feel them all ! 
 
 God hath wonders many, 
 Which we cannot fathom, 
 
 Placed within thy form ! 
 When the heart is sinking. 
 Thou alone canst raise it, : 
 
 Trembling in the storm ! - 
 
 THE CASTLE BY THE SEA 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND 
 
 " T T AST thou seen that lordly castle, 
 il That Castle by the Sea ? 
 
 Golden and red above it 
 The clouds float gorgeously. 
 
94 Translations 
 
 " And fain it would stoop downward 
 To the mirrored wave below j 
 
 And fain it would soar upward 
 In the evening's crimson glow." 
 
 " Well have I seen that castle, 
 
 That Castle by the Sea, 
 And the moon above it standing, 
 
 And the mist rise solemnly." 
 
 " The winds and the waves of ocean. 
 
 Had they a merry chime ? 
 Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers, 
 
 The harp and the minstrel's rhyme ? " 
 
 " The winds and the waves of ocean. 
 
 They rested quietly, 
 But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, 
 
 And tears came to mine eye." 
 
 " And sawest thou on the turrets 
 The King and his royal bride ? 
 
 And the wave of their crimson mantles } 
 And the golden crown of pride ? 
 
 " Led they not forth, in rapture, 
 
 A beauteous maiden there ? 
 Resplendent as the morning sun, 
 
 Beaming with golden hair ? " 
 
 4- 
 
The Black Knight 95 
 
 " Well saw I the ancient parents, 
 
 Without the crown of pride ; 
 They were moving slow, in weeds of woe. 
 
 No maiden was by their side ! " 
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND 
 
 ''T^ WAS Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, 
 X When woods and fields put off all sadness. 
 Thus began the King and spake : 
 
 " So from the halls 
 
 Of ancient Hof burg's walls, 
 
 A luxuriant Spring shall break." 
 
 Drums and trumpets echo loudly, 
 Wave the crimson banners proudly. 
 
 From balcony the King looked on ; 
 In the play of spears. 
 Fell all the cavaliers, 
 
 Before the monarch's stalwart son. 
 
 To the barrier of the fight 
 Rode at last a sable Knight. 
 
 " Sir Knight ! your name and scutcheon, say ! " 
 
96 Translations 
 
 " Should I speak it here, 
 Ye would stand aghast with fear ; 
 I am a Prince of mighty sway ! " 
 
 When he rode into the lists, 
 
 The arch of heaven grew black with mists, 
 
 And the castle 'gan to rock ; 
 At the first blow. 
 Fell the youth from saddle-bow. 
 
 Hardly rises from the shock ; 
 
 Pipe and viol call the dances, 
 
 Torch-light through the high halls glances j 
 
 Waves a mighty shadow in; 
 With manner bland 
 Doth ask the maiden's hand, 
 
 Doth with her the dance begin ; 
 
 Danced in sable iron sark. 
 Danced a measure weird and dark, 
 
 Coldly clasped her limbs around ; 
 From breast and hair 
 Down fall from her the fair 
 
 Flowerets, faded, to the ground. 
 
 To the sumptuous banquet came 
 Every Knight and every Dame ; 
 
 'Twixt son and daughter all distraught, 
 
The Black Knight 97 
 
 With mournful mind 
 
 The ancient King reclined, 
 
 Gazed at them in silent thought. 
 
 Pale the children both did look, • 
 
 But the guest a beaker took : 
 
 " Golden wine will make you whole ! " 
 
 The children drank, 
 
 \ 
 Gave many a courteous thank : 1 
 
 " O, that draught was very cool ! " 
 
 Each the father's breast embraces, j 
 
 Son and daughter ; and their faces 
 
 Colorless grow utterly ; j 
 
 Whichever way 
 Looks the fear-struck father gray, 
 
 He beholds his children die. \ 
 
 " Woe ! the blessed children both J 
 
 Takest thou in the joy of youth ; 
 
 Take me, too, the joyless father ! " 
 Spake the grim Guest, i 
 
 From his hollow, cavernous breast : 
 
 " Roses in the spring I gather ! " 
 
98 Translations 
 
 SONG OF THE SILENT LAND 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS 
 
 INTO the Silent Land ! 
 Ah ! who shall lead us thither ? 
 Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, 
 And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. 
 Who leads us with a gentle hand 
 Thither, O thither, 
 Into the Silent Land ? 
 
 Into the Silent Land ! 
 
 To you, ye boundless regions 
 
 Of all perfection ! Tender morning-visions 
 
 Of beauteous souls ! The Future's pledge and 
 
 band ! 
 Who in Life's battle firm doth stand, 
 Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms 
 Into the Silent Land ! 
 
 O Land ! O Land ! 
 
 For all the broken-hearted 
 
 The mildest herald by our fate allotted, 
 
 Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand 
 
 To lead us with a gentle hand 
 
 To the land of the great Departed, 
 
 Into the Silent Land ! 
 
L Envoi 99 
 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 ^\,^E voices, that arose 
 
 X After the Evening's close, 
 And whispered to my restless heart repose ! 
 
 Go, breathe it in the ear 
 
 Of all who doubt and fear. 
 
 And say to them, " Be of good cheer ! " 
 
 Ye sounds, so low and calm. 
 
 That in the groves of balm 
 
 Seemed to me like an angel's psalm ! 
 
 Go, mingle yet once more 
 
 With the perpetual roar 
 
 Of the pine forest, dark and hoar ! 
 
 Tongues of the dead, not lost. 
 But speaking from death's frost, 
 Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! 
 
 Glimmer, as funeral lamps. 
 Amid the chills and damps 
 Of the vast plain where Death encamps ! 
 
BALLADS 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 1841 
 
THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 
 
 " Q PEAK ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 
 
 O Who, with thy hollow breast 
 Still in rude armor drest, 
 
 Comest to daunt me ! 
 Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
 But with thy fleshless palms 
 Stretched, as if asking alms, 
 
 Why dost thou haunt me ? " 
 
 Then, from those cavernous eyes 
 Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
 As when the Northern skies 
 
 Gleam in December ; 
 And, like the water's flow 
 Under December's snow. 
 Came a dull voice of woe 
 
 From the heart's chamber. 
 
 " I was a Viking old ! 
 My deeds, though manifold, 
 No Skald in song has told, 
 No Saga taught thee ! 
 
104 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Take heed, that in thy verse 
 Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
 Else dread a dead man's curse ; 
 For this I sought thee. 
 
 " Far in the Northern Land, 
 By the wild Baltic's strand, 
 I, with my childish hand. 
 
 Tamed the gerfalcon ; 
 And, with my skates fast-bound. 
 Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
 That the poor whimpering hound 
 
 Trembled to walk on. 
 
 " Oft to his frozen lair 
 Tracked I the grisly bear, 
 While from my path the hare 
 
 Fled like a shadow ; 
 Oft through the forest dark 
 Followed the were-wolf 's bark, 
 Until the soaring lark 
 
 Sang from the meadow. 
 
 " But when I older grew. 
 Joining a corsair's crew. 
 O'er the dark sea I flew 
 
 With the marauders. 
 Wild was the life we led ; 
 Many the souls that sped. 
 
The Skeleton in Armor 105 
 
 Many the hearts that bled, 
 By our stern orders. 
 
 " Many a wassail-bout 
 Wore the long Winter out ; 
 Often our midnight shout 
 
 Set the cocks crowing, 
 As we the Berserk's tale 
 Measured in cups of ale. 
 Draining the oaken pail, 
 
 Filled to o'erflowing. 
 
 " Once as I told in glee 
 Tales of the stormy sea. 
 Soft eyes did gaze on me. 
 
 Burning yet tender ; 
 And as the white stars shine 
 On the dark Norway pine, 
 On that dark heart of mine 
 
 Fell their soft splendor. 
 
 " I wooed the blue-eyed maid^i 
 Yielding, yet half afraid. 
 And in the forest's shade 
 
 Our vows were plighted. 
 Under its loosened vest 
 Fluttered her little breast. 
 Like birds within their nest 
 
 By the hawk frighted. 
 
io6 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 " Bright in her father's hall 
 Shields gleaiTi.ecl upon the wall, 
 Loud sang the minstrels all, 
 
 Chanting his glory ; 
 When of old Hildebrand 
 I asked his daughter's hand. 
 Mute did the minstrels stand 
 
 To hear my story. 
 
 " While the brown ale he quaffed, 
 Loud then the champion laughed. 
 And as the wind-gusts waft 
 
 The sea-foam brightly, 
 So the loud laugh of scorn, 
 Out of those lips unshorn, 
 From the deep drinking-horn 
 
 Blew the foam lightly. 
 
 " She was a Prince's child, 
 
 I but a Viking wild, 
 
 And though she blushed and smiled, 
 
 I was discarded ! 
 Should not the dove so white 
 Follow the sea-mew's flight. 
 Why did they leave that night 
 
 Her nest unguarded ? 
 
 " Scarce had I put to sea, 
 Bearing the maid with me. 
 
The Skeletojz in Armor 107 
 
 Fairest of all was she 
 
 Among the Norsemen ! 
 When on the white sea-strand, 
 Waving his armed hand, 
 Saw we old Hildebrand, 
 
 With twenty horsemen. 
 
 " Then launched they to the blast. 
 Bent like a reed each mast. 
 Yet we were gaining fast, 
 
 When the wind failed us ; 
 And with a sudden flaw 
 Came round the gusty Skaw, 
 So that our foe we saw 
 
 Laugh as he hailed us. 
 
 " And as to catch the gale 
 Round veered the flapping sail. 
 Death ! was the helmsman's hail. 
 
 Death without quarter ! 
 Mid-ships with iron keel 
 Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
 Down her black hulk did reel 
 
 Through the black water ! 
 
 " As with his wings aslant, 
 Sails the fierce cormorant. 
 Seeking some rocky haunt, 
 With his prey laden. 
 
:o8 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 So toward the open main, 
 Beating to sea again, 
 Through the wild hurricane. 
 Bore I the maiden. 
 
 " Three weeks we westward bore. 
 And when the storm was o'er, 
 Cloud-Uke we saw the shore 
 
 Stretching to lee-ward ; 
 There for my lady's bower 
 Built I the lofty tower, 
 Which, to this very hour. 
 
 Stands looking sea-ward. 
 
 " There lived we many years ; 
 Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
 She had forgot her fears. 
 
 She was a mother ; 
 Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
 Under that tower she lies ; 
 Ne'er shall the sun arise 
 
 On such another ! 
 
 " Still grew my bosom then, 
 Still as a stagnant fen ! 
 Hateful to me were men. 
 The sun-light hateful ! 
 
The Wreck of the Hesperus 109 
 
 In the vast forest here, 
 Clad in my warHke gear, 
 Fell I upon my spear, 
 O, death was grateful ! 
 
 " Thus, seamed with many scars 
 Bursting these prison bars. 
 Up to its native stars 
 
 My soul ascended ! 
 There from the flowing bowl 
 Deep drinks the warrior's soul. 
 Skoal! to the Northland! skoal P' 
 
 Thus the tale ended. 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 
 
 IT was the schooner Hesperus, 
 That sailed the wintry sea ; 
 And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 
 To bear him company. 
 
 Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax. 
 Her cheeks like the dawn of day. 
 
 And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
 That ope in the month of May. 
 
10 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 The skipper he stood beside the helm, 
 
 His pipe was in his mouth, 
 And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 
 
 The smoke now West, now South. 
 
 Then up and spake an old Sailor, 
 Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 
 
 " I pray thee, put into yonder port. 
 For I fear a hurricane. 
 
 " Last night, the moon had a golden ring, 
 And to-night no moon we see ! " 
 
 The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
 And a scornful laugh laughed he. 
 
 Colder and louder blew the wind, 
 
 A gale from the Northeast, 
 The snow fell hissing in the brine. 
 
 And the billows frothed like yeast. 
 
 Down came die storm, and smote amain. 
 
 The vessel in its strength ; 
 She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed. 
 
 Then leaped her cable's length. 
 
 " Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 
 
 And do not tremble so ; 
 I^or I can weather the roughest gale. 
 
 That ever wind did blow." 
 
The Wreck of the Hesperus 1 1 1 
 
 He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 
 
 Against the stinging blast ; 
 He cut a rope from a broken spar, 
 
 And bound her to the mast. 
 
 " O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 
 
 O say, what may it be ? " 
 " 'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " — ■ 
 
 And he steered for the open sea. 
 
 " O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 
 
 O say, what may it be ? " 
 " Some ship in distress, that cannot live 
 
 In such an angry sea ! " 
 
 " O father ! I see a gleaming light, 
 
 O say, what may it be ? " 
 But the father answered never a word, 
 
 A frozen corpse was he. 
 
 Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
 With his face turned to the skies, 
 
 The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 
 On his fixed and glassy eyes. 
 
 Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 
 
 That saved she might be ; 
 And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 
 
 On the Lake of Galilee. 
 
112 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
 Through the whistHng sleet and snow, 
 
 Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
 Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. 
 
 And ever the fitful gusts between 
 
 A sound came from the land \ 
 It was the sound of the trampling surf, 
 
 On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 
 
 The breakers were right beneath her bows, 
 
 She drifted a dreary wreck, 
 And a whooping billow swept the crew 
 
 Like icicles from her deck. 
 
 She struck where the white and fleecy waves 
 
 Looked soft as carded wool. 
 But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 
 
 Like the horns of an angry bull. 
 
 Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
 With the masts went by the board ; 
 
 Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 
 Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 
 
 At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 
 
 A fisherman stood aghast. 
 To see the form of a maiden fair, 
 
 Lashed close to a drifting mast. 
 
The Luck of Edenhall 113 
 
 The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 
 
 The salt tears in her eyes ; 
 And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed. 
 
 On the billows fall and rise. 
 
 Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
 
 In the midnight and the snow ! 
 Christ save us all from a death like this. 
 
 On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 
 
 THE LUCK OF EDENHALL 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAN D 
 
 OF Edenhall, the youthful Lord 
 Bids sound the festal trumpet's call ; 
 He rises at the banquet board. 
 And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all, 
 " Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall ! " 
 
 The butler hears the words with pain. 
 The house's oldest seneschal. 
 Takes slow from its silken cloth again 
 The drinking glass of crystal tall ; 
 They call it The Luck of Edenhall. 
 
114 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Then said the Lord : " This glass to praise. 
 
 Fill with red wine from Portugal ! " 
 
 The graybeard with trembling hand obeys ; 
 
 A purple light shines over all, 
 
 It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light : 
 " This glass of flashing crystal tall 
 Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite ; 
 She wrote in it, If this glass dothfall^ 
 Farewell then^ O Luck of Edenhall! 
 
 " 'T was right a goblet the Fate should be 
 Of the joyous race of Edenhall ! 
 Deep draughts drink we right willingly ; 
 And willingly ring, with merry call, 
 Kling ! klang ! to the Luck of Edenhall ! " 
 
 First rings-4t-tleep, and full, and mild, 
 Like to the song of a nightingale ; 
 Then like the roar of a torrent wild ; 
 Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, 
 The glorious Luck of Edenhall. 
 
 " For its keeper takes a race of might, 
 
 The fragile goblet of crystal tall ; 
 
 It has lasted longer than is right : 
 
 Kling ! klang ! — with a harder blow than all s 
 
 Will I try the Luck of Edenhall 
 
The Luck of Edenhall 115 
 
 As the goblet ringing flies apart, 
 
 Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall ; 
 
 And through the rift, the wild flames start; 
 
 The guests in dust are scattered all. 
 
 With the breaking Luck of Edenhall ! I 
 
 In storms the foe, with fire and sword ; 
 
 He in the night had scaled the wall, \ 
 
 Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, j 
 
 But holds in his hand the crystal tall, J 
 
 The shattered Luck of Edenhall. \ 
 
 \ 
 
 On the morrow the butler gropes alone, 
 
 The graybeard in the desert hall. 
 
 He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, j 
 
 He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall j 
 
 The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. 1 
 
 " The stone wall," saith he, " doth fall aside, 
 
 Down must the stately columns fall ; ^i 
 
 Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride \ \ 
 
 In atoms shall fall this earthly ball \ 
 
 One day like the Luck of Edenhall ! " j 
 
ii6 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 THE ELECTED KNIGHT 
 
 FROM THE DANISH 
 
 SIR OLUF he rideth over the plain, 
 Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide, 
 But never, ah never can meet with the man 
 A tilt with him dare ride. 
 
 He saw under the hillside 
 
 A Knight full well equipped ; 
 His steed was black, his helm was barred j 
 
 He was riding at full speed. 
 
 He wore upon his spurs 
 
 Twelve little golden birds ; 
 Anon he spurred his steed with a clang, 
 
 And there sat all the birds and sang. 
 
 He wore upon his mail 
 
 Twelve little golden wheels ; 
 Anon in eddies the wild wind blew. 
 
 And round and round the wheels they flew. 
 
 He wore before his breast 
 
 A lance that was poised in rest ; 
 And it was sharper than diamond-stone, 
 
 It made Sir Oluf s heart to groan. 
 
The Elected Kiiight wj 
 
 He wore upon his helm 
 
 A wreath of ruddy gold ; 
 And that gave him the Maidens Three, 
 
 The youngest was fair to behold. 
 
 Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon 
 If he were come from heaven down ; 
 
 "Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he, 
 " So will I yield me unto thee." 
 
 " I am not Christ the Great, 
 Thou shalt not yield thee yet ; 
 
 I am an Unknown Knight, 
 
 Three modest Maidens have me bedight. 
 
 " Art thou a Knight elected. 
 
 And have three Maidens thee bedight ; 
 So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, 
 
 For all the Maidens' honor ! " 
 
 The first tilt they together rode 
 They put their steeds to the test ; 
 
 The second tilt they together rode. 
 They proved their manhood best. 
 
 The third tilt they together rode, 
 
 Neither of them would yield ; 
 The fourth tilt they together rode. 
 
 They both fell on the field. 
 
Ii8 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Now lie the lords upon the plain, 
 And their blood runs unto death ; 
 
 Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, 
 The youngest sorrows till death. 
 
THE CHILDREN 
 
 OF 
 
 THE LORD'S SUPPER 
 
 FROM THE SWEDISH OF BISHOP TEGNER 
 
THE 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 
 
 PENTECOST, day of rejoicing, had come. The 
 church of the village 
 Gleaming stood in the morning's sheen. On the 
 
 spire of the belfry. 
 Decked with a brazen cock, the friendly flames of 
 
 the Spring-sun 
 Glanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by Apos- 
 tles aforetime. 
 Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her 
 
 cap crowned with roses. 
 Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the 
 
 wind and the brooklet 
 Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace ! with 
 
 lips rosy-tinted 
 Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry on 
 
 balancing branches 
 Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to 
 
 the Highest. 
 Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned 
 
 like a leaf-woven arbor 
 
122 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Stood its old-fashioned gate ; and within upon 
 
 each cross of iron 
 Hung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the 
 
 hands of affection. 
 Even the dial, that stood on a mound among the 
 
 departed, 
 (There full a hundred years had it stood,) was em- 
 bellished with blossoms. 
 Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith 
 
 and the hamlet, 
 Who on his birthday is crowned by children and 
 
 children's children. 
 So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his 
 
 pencil of iron 
 Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the 
 
 time and its changes. 
 While all around at his feet, an eternity slumbered 
 
 in quiet. 
 Also the church within was adorned, for this was 
 
 the season 
 When the young, their parents' hope, and the loved- 
 
 ones of heaven. 
 Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of 
 
 their baptism. 
 Therefore each nook and corner was swept and 
 
 cleaned, and the dust was 
 Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the 
 
 oil-painted benches. 
 There stood the church like a garden ; the Feast 
 
 of the Leafy Pavilions 
 
The Children of the Lords Supper 123 
 
 Saw we in living presentment. From noble arms 
 
 on the church wall 
 Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's 
 
 pulpit of oak-wood 
 Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod 
 
 before Aaron. 
 Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and 
 
 the dove, washed with silver, 
 Under its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of 
 
 wind-flowers. 
 But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece 
 
 painted by Horberg, 
 Crept a garland gigantic ; and bright-curling tress 
 
 es of angels 
 Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, from out of the 
 
 shadowy leaf-work. 
 Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked 
 
 from the ceiling. 
 And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in 
 
 the sockets. 
 
 Loud rang the bells already ; the thronging crowd 
 
 was assembled 
 Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy 
 
 preaching. 
 Hark! then roll forth at once the mighty tones 
 
 of the organ, 
 Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible 
 
 spirits. 
 
124 Ballads arid other Poems 
 
 Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast from off him 
 his mantle, 
 
 So cast off the soul its garments of earth ; and with 
 one voice 
 
 Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem 
 immortal 
 
 Of the sublime Wallin, of David's harp in the 
 North-land 
 
 Tuned to the choral of Luther; the song on its 
 mighty pinions 
 
 Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to 
 heaven. 
 
 And each face did shine like the Holy One's face 
 upon Tabor. 
 
 Lo ! there entered then into the church the Rev- 
 erend Teacher. 
 
 Father he hight and he was in the parish ; a Chris- 
 tianly plainness 
 
 Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of 
 seventy winters. 
 
 Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the herald- 
 ing angel 
 
 Walked he among the crowds, but still a contem- 
 plative grandeur 
 
 Lay on his forehead as clear, as on moss-covered 
 gravestone a sunbeam. 
 
 As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that 
 faintly 
 
 Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the day 
 of creation) 
 
The Children of the Lord's Stipper 125 
 
 Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint 
 
 John when in Patmos, 
 Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed 
 
 then the old man ; 
 Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his 
 
 tresses of silver. 
 All the congregation arose in the pews that were 
 
 numbered. 
 But with a cordial look, to the right and the left 
 
 hand, the old man 
 Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the 
 
 innermost chancel. 
 
 Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Chris- 
 tian service. 
 
 Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent dis- 
 course from the old man. 
 
 Many a moving word and warning, that out of the 
 heart came 
 
 Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on 
 those in the desert. 
 
 Then, when all was finished, the Teacher re-entered 
 the chancel, 
 
 Followed therein by the young. The boys on the 
 right had their places. 
 
 Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and cheeks 
 rosy-blooming. 
 
 But on the left of these, there stood the tremulous 
 lilies, 
 
126 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Tinged with the blushing Ught of the dawn, the 
 diffident maidens, — 
 
 Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes cast 
 down on the pavement. 
 
 Now came, with question and answer, the cate- 
 chism. In the beginning 
 
 Answered the children with troubled and faltering 
 voice, but the old man's 
 
 Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and 
 the doctrines eternal 
 
 Flowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from 
 lips unpolluted. 
 
 Each time the answer was closed, and as oft as they 
 named the Redeemer, 
 
 Lowly louted the boys, and I'owly the maidens all 
 courtesied. 
 
 Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light 
 there among them. 
 
 And to the children explained the holy, the high- 
 est, in few words. 
 
 Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity al- 
 ways is simple. 
 
 Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its 
 meaning. 
 
 E'en as the green-growing bud unfolds when Spring- 
 tide approaches 
 
 Leaf by leaf puts forth, and, warmed by the radiant 
 sunshine. 
 
 Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the per- 
 fected blossom 
 
The Childreji of the Lord's Supper 127 
 
 Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks witli its crown 
 in the breezes, 
 
 So was unfolded here the Christian lore of salva- 
 tion, 
 
 Line by line from the soul of childhood. The 
 fathers and mothers 
 
 Stood behind them in tears, and were glad at the 
 well-worded answer. 
 
 Now went the old man up to the altar ; — and 
 
 straightway transfigured 
 (So did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate 
 
 Teacher. 
 Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful as 
 
 Death and as Judgment 
 Stood he, the God-commissioned, the soul-searcher, 
 
 earthward descending. 
 Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts, that to him 
 
 were transparent 
 Shot he ; his voice was deep, was low like the 
 
 thunder afar off. 
 So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, he 
 
 spake and he questioned. 
 
 " This is the faith of the Fathers, the faith the 
 Apostles delivered. 
 
 This is moreover the faith whereunto 1 baptized 
 you, w^hile still ye 
 
 Lay on your mothers' breasts, and nearer the por- 
 tals of heaven. 
 
128 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in 
 
 its bosom ; 
 Wakened from sleep are ye now, and the light in 
 
 its radiant splendor 
 Downward rains from the heaven ; — to-day on the 
 
 threshold of childhood 
 Kindly she frees you again, to examine and make 
 
 your election, 
 For she knows naught of compulsion, and only 
 
 conviction desireth. 
 This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of 
 
 existence, 
 Seed for the coming days ; without revocation de- 
 
 parteth 
 Now from your lips the confession ; Bethink ye, 
 
 before ye make answer ! 
 Think not, O think not with guile to deceive the 
 
 questioning Teacher. 
 Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests 
 
 upon falsehood. 
 Enter not with a lie on Life's journey ; the mul- 
 titude hears you, 
 Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon 
 
 earth is and holy 
 Standeth before your sight as a witness ; the Judge 
 
 everlasting 
 Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels in 
 
 waiting beside him 
 Grave your confession in letters of fire upon tab- 
 lets eternal. 
 
The Childrefi of the Lord's Supper 129 
 
 Thus then, — believe ye in God, in the Father who 
 
 this world created ? 
 Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit 
 
 where both are united ? 
 Will ye promise me here, (a holy promise !) to 
 
 cherish 
 God more than all things earthly, and every man 
 
 as a brother ? 
 Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith by 
 
 your living, 
 Th' heavenly faith of affection ! to hope, to forgive, 
 
 and to suffer, 
 Be what it may your condition, and walk before 
 
 God in uprightness ? 
 Will ye promise me this before God and man ? " — 
 
 With a clear voice 
 Answered the young men Yes ! and Yes ! with lips 
 
 softly-breathing 
 Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from 
 
 the brow of the Teacher 
 Clouds with the lightnings therein, and he spake in 
 
 accents more gentle. 
 Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Babylon's 
 
 rivers. 
 
 " Hail, then, hail to you all ! To the heirdom of 
 heaven be ye welcome ! 
 Children no more from this day, but by covenant 
 brothers and sisters ! 
 
130 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Yet, — for what reason not children ? Of such ic- 
 
 the kingdom of heaven. 
 Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in 
 
 heaven one father, 
 Ruling them all as his household, — forgiving In 
 
 turn and chastising, 
 That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has 
 
 taught us. 
 Blest are the pure before God ! Upon purity and 
 
 upon virtue 
 Resteth the Christian Faith ; she herself from on 
 
 high is descended. 
 Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of 
 
 the doctrine. 
 Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and 
 
 died on the cross for. 
 O, as ye wander this day from childhood's sacred 
 
 asylum 
 Downward and ever downward, and deeper in 
 
 Age's chill valley, 
 O, how soon will ye come, — too soon ! — and 
 
 long to turn backward 
 Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, 
 
 where Judgment 
 Stood like a father before you, and Pardon, cla(3 
 
 like a mother. 
 Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart 
 
 was forgiven. 
 Life was a play and your hands grasped after the 
 
 roses of heaven ! 
 
The Children of the Lord's Supper 131 
 
 Seventy years have I lived already ; the father 
 
 eternal 
 Gave me gladness and care ; but the loveliest 
 
 hours of existence, 
 When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I 
 
 have instantly known them, 
 Known them all again ; — they were my child- 
 hood's acquaintance. 
 Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the 
 
 paths of existence, 
 Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Inno- 
 cence, bride of man's childhood. 
 Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world 
 
 of the blessed, 
 Beautiful, and in her hand a lily ; on life's roaring 
 
 billows 
 Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not, in the 
 
 ship she is sleeping. 
 Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men ; 
 
 in the desert 
 \ngels descend and minister unto her ; she herself 
 
 knoweth 
 Naught of her glorious attendance ; but follows 
 
 faithful and humble, 
 Follows so long as she may her friend ; O do 
 
 not reject her. 
 For she cometh from God and she holdeth the 
 
 keys of the heavens. — 
 Prayer is Innocence' friend; and willingly flyeth 
 
 incessant 
 
132 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of 
 heaven. 
 
 Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the 
 Spirit 
 
 Tugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like 
 flame ever upward. 
 
 Still he recalls with emotion his father's manifold 
 mansions, 
 
 Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed 
 more freshly the flowerets, 
 
 Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with 
 the winged angels. 
 
 Then grows the earth too narrow, too close ; and 
 homesick for heaven 
 
 Longs the wanderer again ; and the Spirit's long- 
 ings are worship ; 
 
 Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its 
 tongue is entreaty. 
 
 Ah ! when the infinite burden of life descendeth 
 upon us. 
 
 Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in 
 the graveyard, 
 
 Then it is good to pray unto God ; for his sorrow- 
 ing children 
 
 Turns he ne'er from his door, but he heals and 
 helps and consoles them. 
 
 Yet is it better to pray when all things are pros- 
 perous with us. 
 
 Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful 
 Fortune 
 
The Children of the Lord's Supper 133 
 
 Kneels before the Eternal's throne ; and, with 
 
 hands interfolded, 
 Praises thankful and moved the only giver of bless- 
 ings. 
 Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that 
 
 comes not from Heaven ? 
 What has mankind forsooth, the poor ! that it has 
 
 not received ? 
 Therefore, fall in the dust and pray ! The seraphs 
 
 adoring 
 Cover with pinions six their face in the glory of him 
 
 who 
 Hung his masonry pendant on naught, when the 
 
 world he created. 
 Earth declareth his might, and the firmament ut- 
 ters his glory. 
 Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward 
 
 from heaven. 
 Downward like withered leaves ; at the last stroke 
 
 of midnight, millenniums 
 Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, 
 
 but counts them as nothing. 
 Who shall stand in his presence? The wrath of 
 
 the judge is terrific, 
 Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he 
 
 speaks in his anger 
 Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like 
 
 the roebuck. 
 Yet, — why are ye afraid, ye children ? This awful 
 
 avenger, 
 
134 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Ah ! is a merciful God ! God's voice was not in 
 
 the earthquake, 
 Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the 
 
 whispering breezes. 
 Love is tlie root of creation ; God's essence ; 
 
 worlds without number 
 Lie in his bosom like children j he made them for 
 
 this purpose only. 
 Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed 
 
 forth his spirit 
 Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it 
 
 laid its 
 Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a 
 
 flame out of heaven. 
 Quench, O quench not that flame ! It is the 
 
 breath of your being. 
 Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father, nor 
 
 mother 
 Loved you, as God has loved you ; for 't was that 
 
 you may be happy 
 Gave he his only son. When he bowed down his 
 
 head in the death-hour 
 Solemnized Love its triumph ; the sacrifice then 
 
 was completed. 
 Lo ! then was rent on a sudden the vail of the tem- 
 ple, dividing 
 Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from their 
 
 sepulchres rising 
 Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of 
 
 each other 
 
The Children of the Lord's Supper 135 
 
 Th' answer, but dreamed of before, to creation's 
 
 enigma, — Atonement ! 
 Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for Love 
 
 is Atonement. 
 Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merci- 
 ful Father ; 
 iVish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, 
 
 but affection ; 
 Fear is the virtue of slaves ; but the heart that lov- 
 
 eth is willing ; 
 Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and 
 
 Love only. 
 Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou 
 
 likewise thy brethren ; 
 One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is 
 
 Love also. 
 Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on 
 
 his forehead ? 
 Readest thou not in his face thine origin? Is he 
 
 not sailing 
 Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he 
 
 not guided 
 By the same stars that guide thee ? Why shouldst 
 
 thou hate then thy brother ? 
 Hateth he thee, forgive ! For 't is sweet to stam- 
 mer one letter 
 Of the Eternal's language ; — on earth it is called 
 
 Forgiveness ! 
 Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the crown of 
 thorns on his temples ? 
 
136 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers? 
 
 Say, dost thou know him ? 
 Ah ! thou confessest his name, so follow likewise 
 
 his example, 
 Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over 
 
 his failings, 
 Guide the erring aright ; for the good, the heavenly 
 
 shepherd 
 Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to 
 
 its mother. 
 This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that 
 
 we know it. 
 Love is the creature's welfare, with God ; but Love 
 
 among mortals 
 Is but an endless sigh ! He longs, and endures, 
 
 and stands waiting, 
 Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on 
 
 his eyelids. 
 Hope, — so is called upon earth, his recompense, 
 
 — Hope, the befriending, 
 Does what she can, for she points evermore up to 
 
 heaven, and faithful 
 Plunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the 
 
 grave, and beneath it 
 Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet 
 
 play of shadows ! 
 Races, better than we, have leaned on her waver- 
 ing promise, 
 Having naught else but Hope. Then praise we 
 
 our Father in heaven. 
 
The Children of the Lord's Supper 137 
 
 Him, who has given us more ; for to us has Hope 
 
 been transfigured, 
 Groping no longer in night; she is Faith, she is 
 
 Hving assurance. 
 Faith is enhghtened Hope ; she is Hght, is the eye 
 
 of affection. 
 Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves their 
 
 visions in marble. 
 Faith is the sun of life ; and her countenance 
 
 shines like the Hebrew's, 
 For she has looked upon God ; the heaven on its 
 
 stable foundation 
 Draws she with chains down to earth, and the New 
 
 Jerusalem sinketh 
 Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapors de- 
 scending. 
 There enraptured she wanders, and looks at the 
 
 figures majestic. 
 Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of them 
 
 all is her homestead. 
 Therefore love and believe ; for works will follow 
 
 spontaneous 
 Even as day does the sun ; the Right from the 
 
 Good is an offspring, 
 Love in a bodily shape ; and Christian works are 
 
 no more than 
 Animate Love and faith, as flowers are the animate 
 
 spring-tide. 
 Works do follow us all unto God ; there stand and 
 
 bear witness 
 
138 Ballads and other Poeins 
 
 Not what they seemed, — but what they were only. 
 
 Blessed is he who 
 Hears their confession secure \ they are mute upon 
 
 earth until death's hand 
 Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, does 
 
 Death e'er alarm you ? 
 Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is he, 
 
 and is only 
 More austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips 
 
 that are fading 
 Takes he the soul and departs, and rocked in the 
 
 arms of affection, 
 Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the face 
 
 of its father. 
 Sounds of his coming already I hear, — see dimly 
 
 his pinions, 
 Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon 
 
 them ! I fear not before him. 
 Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. On 
 
 his bosom 
 Freer breathes, in its coolness, my breast ; and face 
 
 to face standing 
 Look I on God as he is, a sun unpolluted by 
 
 vapors ; 
 Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits 
 
 majestic. 
 Nobler, better than I \ they stand by the throne all 
 
 transfigured, 
 Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and are 
 
 singing an anthem, 
 
The Children of the Lord's Supper 139 
 
 Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language 
 
 spoken by angels. 
 You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he one 
 
 day shall gather, 
 Never forgets he the weary ; — then welcome, ye 
 
 loved ones, hereafter ! 
 Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget 
 
 not the promise. 
 Wander from holiness onward to holiness ; earth 
 
 shall ye heed not ; 
 Earth is but dust and heaven is light; I have 
 
 pledged you to heaven. 
 God of the universe, hear me ! thou fountain of 
 
 Love everlasting. 
 Hark to the voice of thy servant ! I send up mj 
 
 prayer to thy heaven ! 
 Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit 
 
 of all these, 
 Whom thou hast given me here ! I have loved 
 
 them all like a father. 
 May they bear witness for me, that I taught them 
 
 the way of salvation. 
 Faithful, so far as I knew, of thy word ; again may 
 
 they know me. 
 Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy face 
 
 may I place them. 
 Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and ex- 
 claiming with gladness. 
 Father, lo ! I am here, and the children, whom thou 
 
 hast given me ! " 
 
140 Ballads and other Poeins 
 
 Weeping he spake in these words ; and now at 
 the beck of the old man 
 
 Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round the 
 altar's enclosure. 
 
 Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecra- 
 tion, and softly 
 
 With him the children read ; at the close, with 
 tremulous accents, 
 
 Asked he the peace of heaven, a benediction upon 
 them. 
 
 Now should have ended his task for the day ; the 
 following Sunday 
 
 Was for the young appointed to eat of the Lord's 
 
 holy Supper. j 
 
 Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teach- 
 er silent and laid his 
 
 Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward ; 
 while thoughts high and holy 
 
 Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes 
 glanced with wonderful brightness. 
 
 " On the next Sunday, who knows ! perhaps I shall 
 rest in the graveyard ! 
 
 Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken un- 
 timely. 
 
 Bow down his head to the earth r why delay I ? the 
 hour is accomplished. 
 
 Warm is the heart ; — I will ! for to-day grows the 
 hai'\'est of heaven. 
 
 What I began accomplish I now ; what failing 
 therein is 
 
The Children of the Lord's Supper 141 
 
 I, the old man, will answer to God and the reverend 
 father. 
 
 Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come 
 in heaven, 
 
 Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of Atone- 
 ment ? 
 
 What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have 
 told it you often. 
 
 Of the new covenant symbol it is, of Atonement a 
 token, 
 
 Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by his 
 sins and transgressions 
 
 Far has wandered from God, from his essence. 
 'T was in the beginning 
 
 Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it 
 hangs its crown o'er the 
 
 Fall to this day ; in the Thought is the Fall ; in 
 the Heart the Atonement. 
 
 Infinite is the fall, — the Atonement infinite like- 
 wise. 
 
 See ! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, 
 and forward, 
 
 Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her 
 wearied pinions, 
 
 Sin and Atonement incessant go through the life- 
 time of mortals. 
 
 Sin is brought forth full-grown ; but Atonement 
 sleeps in our bosoms 
 
 Still as the cradled babe ; and dreams of heaven 
 and of angels, 
 
142 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Cannot awake to sensation; is like the tones in 
 
 the harp's strings, 
 Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliv- 
 erer's finger. 
 Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the 
 
 Prince of Atonement, 
 Woke the slumberer from sleep, and she stands 
 
 now with eyes all resplendent, 
 Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with Sin 
 
 and o'ercomes her. 
 Downward to earth he came and transfigured, 
 
 thence reascended, 
 Not from the heart in like wise, for there he still 
 
 lives in the Spirit, 
 Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time is, 
 
 is Atonement. 
 Therefore with reverence take this day her visible 
 
 token. 
 Tokens are dead if the things live not. The light 
 
 everlasting 
 Unto the blind is not, but is born of the eye that 
 
 has vision. 
 Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart that 
 
 is hallowed 
 Lieth forgiveness enshrined ; the intention alone 
 
 of amendment 
 Fruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, 
 
 and removes all 
 Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with his 
 
 arms wide extended, 
 
TJie Children of the Lords Supper 143 
 
 Penitence weeping and praying ; the Will that is 
 tried, and whose gold flows 
 
 Purified forth from the flames ; in a word, mankind 
 by Atonement 
 
 Breaketh Atonement's bread, and drinketh Atone- 
 ment's wine-cup. 
 
 But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with hate 
 in his bosom, 
 
 Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty of Christ's 
 blessed body, 
 
 And the Redeemer's blood ! To himself he eateth 
 and drinketh 
 
 Death and doom ! And from this, preserve us, 
 thou heavenly Father ! 
 
 Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the brea4 of 
 Atonement ? " 
 
 Thus with emotion he asked, and together an- 
 swered the children, 
 
 " Yes ! " with deep sobs interrupted. Then read 
 he the due supplications, 
 
 Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed the 
 organ and anthem : 
 
 " O Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our trans- 
 gressions. 
 
 Hear us ! give us thy peace ! have mercy, have 
 mercy upon us ! " 
 
 Th' old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly 
 pearls on his eyelids. 
 
 Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt round 
 the mystical symbols. 
 
141 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 O, then seemed it to me as if God, with the broad 
 
 eye of midday, 
 Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees 
 
 in the churchyard 
 Bowed down their summits of green, and the grass 
 
 on the graves 'gan to shiver. 
 But in the children (I noted it well ; I knew it) 
 
 there ran a 
 Tremor of holy rapture along through their ice-cold 
 
 members. 
 Decked like an altar before them, there stood the 
 
 green earth, and above it 
 Heaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen ; 
 
 they saw there 
 Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand 
 
 the Redeemer. 
 Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings, 
 
 and angels from gold clouds 
 Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their 
 
 pinions of purple. 
 
 Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven 
 
 in their hearts and their faces. 
 Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, 
 
 weeping full sorely, 
 Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of 
 
 them pressed he 
 Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his 
 
 hands full of blessings, 
 Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent 
 
 tresses. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 
 
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 
 
 UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree 
 The village smithy stands ; 
 The smith, a mighty man is he, 
 
 With large and sinewy hands ; 
 And the muscles of his brawny arms 
 Are strong as iron bands. 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long. 
 
 His face is like the tan ; 
 His brow is wet with honest sweat, 
 
 He earns whate'er he can. 
 And looks the whole world in the face, 
 
 For he owes not any man. 
 
 Week in, week out, from morn till night. 
 You can hear his bellows blow ; 
 
 You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
 With measured beat and slow. 
 
 Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
Ballads and other Poems 
 
 And children coming home from school 
 Look in at the open door ; 
 
 They love to see the flaming forge, 
 And hear the bellows roar, 
 
 And catch the burning sparks that fly- 
 Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 
 
 He goes on Sunday to the church, 
 
 And sits among his boys ; 
 He hears the parson pray and preach. 
 
 He hears his daughter's voice, 
 Singing in the village choir, 
 
 And it makes his heart rejoice. 
 
 It sounds to him like her rnother's voice, 
 
 Singing in Paradise ! 
 He needs must think of her once more. 
 
 How in the grave she lies ; 
 And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 
 
 A tear out of his eyes. 
 
 Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, 
 Onward through life he goes ; 
 
 Each morning sees some task begin, 
 Each evening sees it close ; 
 
 Something attempted, something done, 
 Has earned a night's repose. 
 
Endymion 149 
 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
 For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
 
 Thus at the flaming forge of life 
 Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
 
 Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
 Each burning deed and thought ! 
 
 T 
 
 ENDYMION 
 
 HE rising moon has hid the stars 
 Her level rays, like golden bars, 
 Lie on the landscape green, 
 With shadows brown between. 
 
 And silver white the river gleams, 
 As if Diana, in her dreams. 
 Had dropt her silver bow 
 Upon the meadows low. 
 
 On such a tranquil night as this. 
 
 She woke Endymion with a kiss. 
 
 When, sleeping in the grove. 
 
 He dreamed not of her love. 
 
150 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 
 Love gives itself, but is not bought j 
 Nor voice, nor sound betrays 
 Its deep, impassioned gaze. 
 
 It comes, — the beautiful, the free, 
 The crown of all humanity, — 
 In silence and alone 
 To seek the elected one. 
 
 It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep. 
 Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep. 
 And kisses the closed eyes 
 Of him, who slumbering lies. 
 
 O weary hearts ! O slumbering eyes ! 
 
 O drooping souls, whose destinies 
 Are fraught with fear and pain, 
 Ye shall be loved again ! 
 
 No one is so accursed by fate. 
 No one so utterly desolate. 
 
 But some heart, though unknown, 
 
 Responds unto his own. 
 
 Responds, — as if with unseen wings. 
 An angel touched its quivering strings ; 
 And whispers, in its song, 
 " Where hast thou stayed so long ! " 
 
The Two Locks of Hair 151 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER 
 
 A YOUTH, light-hearted and content, 
 I wander through the world ; 
 Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent 
 And straight again is furled. 
 
 Yet oft I dream, that once a wife 
 Close in my heart was locked, 
 
 And in the sweet repose of life 
 A blessed child I rocked. 
 
 I wake ! Away that dream, — away ! 
 
 Too long did it remain ! 
 So long, that both by night and day 
 
 It ever comes again. 
 
 The end lies ever in my thought ; 
 
 To a grave so cold and deep 
 The mother beautiful was brought j 
 
 Then dropt the child asleep. 
 
 But now the dream is wholly o'er, 
 
 I bathe mine eyes and see ; 
 And wander through the world once more, 
 
 A youth so light and free. 
 
152 Ballads and other Poeins 
 
 Two locks, — and they are wondrous fair,- 
 
 Left me that vision mild ; 
 The brown is from the mother's hair, 
 
 The blond is from the child. 
 
 And when I see that lock of gold, 
 Pale grows the evening-red ; 
 
 And when the dark lock I behold, 
 I wish that I were dead. 
 
 IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY 
 
 No hay pdjaros en los nidos de antano. 
 
 Spanish Proverb. 
 
 THE sun is bright, — the air is clear. 
 The darting swallows soar and sing, 
 And from the stately elms I hear 
 The blue-bird prophesying Spring. 
 
 So blue yon winding river flows. 
 It seems an outlet from the sky, 
 
 Where waiting till the west wind blows, 
 The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 
 
 All things are new ; — the buds, the leaves. 
 That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, 
 
 And even the nest beneath the eaves ; — 
 There are no birds in last year's nest ! 
 
The Rainy Day 153 
 
 All things rejoice in youth and love, 
 The fulness of their first delight ! 
 
 And learn from the soft heavens above 
 The melting tenderness of night. 
 
 Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme. 
 Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay , 
 
 Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, 
 For O ! it is not always May ! 
 
 Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, 
 To some good angel leave the rest ; 
 
 For Time will teach thee soon the truth. 
 There are no birds in last year's nest ! 
 
 THE RAINY DAY 
 
 THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 The vine still clings to the mouldering wall. 
 But at every gust the dead leaves fall. 
 And the day is dark and dreary. 
 
 My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 
154 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, 
 But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast 
 And the days are dark and dreary. 
 
 Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; 
 Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; 
 Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
 Into each life some rain must fall, 
 
 Some days must be dark and dreary. 
 
 GOD'S-ACRE 
 
 I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls 
 The burial-ground God's-Acre ! It is just ; 
 It consecrates each grave within its walls. 
 
 And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. 
 
 God's-Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
 Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown 
 
 The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts. 
 Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. 
 
 Into its furrows shall we all be cast. 
 
 In the sure faith, that we shall rise again 
 
 At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast 
 Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. 
 
To the River Charles 155 
 
 Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, 
 In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 
 
 And each bright blossom, mingle its perfume 
 With that of flowers, which never bloomed 011 
 earth. 
 
 With thy rude ploughshare. Death, turn up the sod, 
 And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; 
 
 This is the field and Acre of our God, 
 This is the place, where human harvests grow ! 
 
 TO THE RIVER CHARLES 
 
 RIVER ! that in silence windest 
 Through the meadows, bright and free, 
 Till at length thy rest thou findest 
 In the bosom of the sea ! 
 
 Four long years of mingled feeling, 
 
 Half in rest, and half in strife, 
 I have seen thy waters stealing 
 
 Onward, like the stream of life. 
 
 Thou hast taught me, Silent River ! 
 
 Many a lesson, deep and long ; 
 Thou hast been a generous giver ; 
 
 I can give thee but a song. 
 
156 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Oft in sadness and in illness, 
 
 I have watched thy current glide, 
 
 Till the beauty of its stillness 
 Overflowed me, like a tide. 
 
 And in better hours and brighter, 
 When I saw thy waters gleam, 
 
 I have felt my heart beat lighter. 
 And leap onward with thy stream. 
 
 Not for this alone I love thee. 
 Nor because thy waves of blue 
 
 From celestial seas above thee 
 Take their own celestial hue. 
 
 Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, 
 
 And thy waters disappear, 
 Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, 
 
 And have made thy margin dear. 
 
 More than this ; — thy name reminds me 
 Of three friends, all true and tried \ 
 
 And that name, like magic, binds me 
 Closer, closer to thy side. 
 
 Friends my soul with joy remembers ! 
 
 How like quivering flames they start. 
 When I fan the living embers 
 
 On the hearth-stone of my heart ! 
 
14 
 
 Blind Bartimeus 15^ 
 
 T is for this, thou Silent River ! 
 
 That my spirit leans to thee ; 
 Thou hast been a generous giver, 
 
 Take this idle song from me. 
 
 BLIND BARTIMEUS 
 
 BLIND Bartimeus at the gates 
 Of Jericho in darkness waits ; 
 He hears the crowd ; — he hears a breath 
 Say, " It is Christ of Nazareth ! " 
 And calls, in tones of agony, 
 I?;o"oi), eXerjcrou fie / 
 
 The thronging multitudes increase ; 
 Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! 
 But still, above the noisy crowd. 
 The beggar's cry is shrill and loud ; 
 Until they say, " He calleth thee ! " 
 
 Qdpaei, eyeipai, (pcoveT (re/ 
 
 Then saith the Christ, as silent stands 
 The crowd, " What wilt thou at my hands ? " 
 And he replies, " O give me light ! 
 Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight ! " 
 And Jesus answers, "Ynayc • 
 'H TTto-riy (Tov (rea-<0K6 ae I 
 
158 Ballads a7td other Poems 
 
 Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, 
 In darkness and in misery, 
 Recall those mighty Voices Three, 
 
 *l-q(TOv, iXerjaov fie ! 
 Qdpcrei, eyeipai, vnaye / 
 *H TTia-TLS aov trecratKe are/ 
 
 THE GOBLET OF LIFE 
 
 FILLED is Life's goblet to the brim ; :' 
 
 And though my eyes with tears are dim^ 
 I see its sparkling bubbles swim. 
 And chant a melancholy hymn 
 With solemn voice and slow. 
 
 No purple flowers, — no garlands green, j 
 
 Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, I 
 
 Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene, I 
 
 Like gleams of sunshine, flash between | 
 
 Thick leaves of mistletoe. } 
 
 This goblet, wrought with curious art, 
 Is filled with waters, that upstart, 
 When the deep fountains of the heart. 
 By strong convulsions rent apart. 
 Are running all to waste. 
 
The Goblet of Life 159 
 
 And as it mantling passes round, 
 With fennel is it wreathed and crowned, 
 Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned 
 Are in its waters steeped and drowned, 
 And give a bitter taste. 
 
 Above the lowly plants it towers. 
 The fennel, with its yellow flowers, 
 And in an earlier age than ours 
 Was gifted with the wondrous powers, 
 Lost vision to restore. 
 
 It gave new strength, and fearless mood ; 
 And gladiators, fierce and rude. 
 Mingled it in their daily food ; 
 And he who battled and subdued, 
 A wreath of fennel wore. 
 
 Then in Life's goblet freely press. 
 The leaves that give it bitterness, 
 Nor prize the colored waters less, 
 For in thy darkness and distress 
 
 New light and strength they give ! 
 
 And he who has not learned to know 
 How false its sparkling bubbles show, 
 How bitter are the drops of woe. 
 With which its brim may overflov;, 
 He has not learned to live. 
 
I 
 
 ^ J. 
 
 60 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 The prayer of Ajax was for light ; 
 Through all that dark and desperate fight, \ 
 
 The blackness of that noonday night, ; 
 
 He asked but the return of sight, 
 To see his foeman's face. 
 
 Let our unceasing, earnest prayer 
 Be, too, for light, — for strength to bear 
 Our portion of the weight of care. 
 That crushes into dumb despair 
 One half the human race. 
 
 O suffering, sad humanity ! i 
 
 ye afflicted ones, who lie ■ 
 Steeped to the lips in misery, ; 
 Longing, and yet afraid to die, \ 
 
 Patient, though sorely tried ! \ 
 
 1 pledge you in this cup of grief, \ 
 Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf I | 
 The Battle of our Life is brief, \ 
 The alarm, — the struggle, — the relief, \ 
 
 Then sleep we side by side. ^ 
 
MaidenJiood jgi 
 
 MAIDENHOOD 
 
 MAIDEN ! with the meek, brown eyes, 
 In whose orbs a shadow Hes 
 Like the dusk in evening skies ! 
 
 Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
 Golden tresses, wreathed in one. 
 As the braided streamlets run ! 
 
 Standing, with reluctant feet, 
 Where the brook and river meet, 
 Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 
 
 Gazing, with a timid glance, 
 On the brooklet's swift advance. 
 On the river's broad expanse ! 
 
 Deep and still, that gliding stream 
 Beautiful to thee must seem, 
 As the river of a dream. 
 
 Then why pause with indecision. 
 When bright angels in thy vision 
 Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? 
 
1 62 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 Seest thou shadows sailing by, 
 As the dove, with startled eye, 
 Sees the falcon's shadow fly ? 
 
 Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
 That our ears perceive no more, 
 Deafened by the cataract's roar ? 
 
 O, thou child of many prayers ! 
 
 Life hath quicksands, — Life hath snares ! 
 
 Care and age come unawares ! 
 
 Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
 Morning rises into noon. 
 May glides onward into June. 
 
 Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
 Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — 
 Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 
 
 Gather, then, each flower that grows. 
 When the young heart overflows. 
 To embalm that tent of snows= 
 
 Bear a lily in thy hand ; 
 
 Gates of brass cannot withstand 
 
 One touch of that magic wand 
 
Excelsior 163 
 
 Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
 In thy heart the dew of youth, 
 On thy Ups the smile of truth. 
 
 O, that dew, Hke bahn, shall steal 
 Into wounds, that cannot heal, 
 Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; 
 
 And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
 Into many a sunless heart, 
 For a smile of God thou art. 
 
 EXCELSIOR 
 
 THE shades of night were falling fast, 
 As through an Alpine village passed 
 A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
 A banner with the strange device. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 His brow was sad ; his eye beneath. 
 Flashed like a falchion from its sheath. 
 And like a silver clarion rung 
 The accents of that unknown tongue, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
:64 Ballads and other Poems 
 
 In happy homes he saw the hght 
 Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; 
 Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
 And fi'om his lips escaped a groan, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " Try not the Pass ! " the old man said ; 
 " Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
 The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " 
 And loud that clarion voice replied. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " O stay," the maiden said, " and rest 
 Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 
 A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
 But still he answered, with a sigh, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
 Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
 This was the peasant's last Good-night, 
 A voice replied, far up the height. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 At break of day, as heavenward 
 The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
 Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
 A voice cried through the startled air, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
Excelsior 1 65 
 
 A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
 Half-buried in the snow was found, 
 Still grasping in his hand of ice 
 That banner with the strange device, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 There in the twilight cold and gray, 
 Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay. 
 And from the sky, serene and far, 
 A voice fell, like a falling star. 
 Excelsior \ 
 
POEMS ON SLAVERY 
 
 *^ I'? 
 
[The following poems, with one exceDt;on, were written at 
 sea, in the latter part of October, 1842. I had not then 
 heard of Dr. Channing's death. Since that event, the 
 poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate. I have 
 decided, however, to let it remain as it was written, in 
 testimony of my admiration for a great and good man.] 
 
TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING 
 
 THE pages of thy book I read, 
 And as I closed each one, 
 My heart, responding, ever said, 
 " Servant of God ! well done ! " 
 
 Well done ! Thy words are great and bold 
 
 At times tliey seem to me, 
 Like Luther's, in .the days of old, 
 
 Half-battles for the free. 
 
 Go on, until this land revokes 
 
 The old and chartered Lie, 
 The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes 
 
 Insult humanity. 
 
 A voice is ever at thy side 
 
 Speaking in tones of might. 
 Like the prophetic voice, that cried 
 
 To John in Patmos, " Write 1 " 
 
I/O Poems on Slavery 
 
 Write ! and tell out this bloody tale ; 
 
 Record this dire eclipse, 
 This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail, 
 
 This dread Apocalypse ! 
 
 THE SLAVE'S DREAM 
 
 BESIDE the ungathered rice he lay, 
 His sickle in his hand ; 
 His breast was bare, his matted hair 
 
 Was buried in the sand. 
 Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, 
 He saw his Native Land. 
 
 Wide through the landscape of his dreams 
 
 The lordly Niger flowed ; 
 Beneath the palm-trees on the plain 
 
 Once more a king he strode ; 
 And heard the tinkling caravans 
 
 Descend the mountain-road. 
 
 He saw once more his dark-eyed queen 
 
 Among her children stand ; 
 They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, 
 
 They held him by the hand ! — 
 A tear burst from the sleeper's lids 
 
 And fell into the sand. 
 
The Slaves Dream 171 
 
 And then at furious speed he rode 
 
 Along the Niger's bank ; 
 His bridle-reins were golden chains, 
 
 And, with a martial clank, 
 At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel 
 
 Smiting his stallion's flank. 
 
 Before him, like a blood-red flag, 
 
 The bright flamingoes flew ; 
 From morn till night he followed their flight 
 
 O'er plains where the tamarind grew, 
 Till he saw the roofs of Caflre huts, 
 
 And the ocean rose to view. 
 
 At night he heard the lion roar. 
 
 And the hyaena scream. 
 And the river-horse, as he crushed the reed.* 
 
 Beside some hidden stream ; 
 And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, 
 
 Through the triumph of his dream. 
 
 The forests, with their myriad ton^gues, 
 
 Shouted of liberty ; 
 And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud. 
 
 With a voice so wild and free, 
 That he started in his sleep and smiled 
 
 At their tempestuous glee. 
 
1/2 Poems on Slavery 
 
 He did not feel the driver's whip, 
 
 Nor the burning heat of day ; 
 For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep, 
 
 And his lifeless body lay 
 A worn-out fetter, that the soul 
 
 Had broken and thrown away ! 
 
 THE GOOD PART, THAT SHALL 
 NOT BE TAKEN AWAY 
 
 SHE dwells by Great Kenhawa's side, 
 In valleys green and cool ; 
 And all her hope and all her pride 
 Are in the village school. 
 
 Her soul, like the transparent air 
 
 That robes the hills above, 
 Though not of earth, encircles there 
 
 All things with arms of love. 
 
 And thus she walks among her girls 
 With praise and mild rebukes ; 
 
 Subduing e'en rude village churls 
 By her angelic looks. 
 
 She reads to them at eventide 
 Of One who came to save ; 
 
The Good Part 173 
 
 To cast the captive's chains aside 
 And liberate the slave. 
 
 And oft the blessed time foretells 
 
 When all men shall be free ; 
 And musical, as silver bells, 
 
 Their falling chains shall be. 
 
 And following her beloved Lord, 
 
 In decent poverty, 
 She makes her life one sweet record 
 
 And deed of charity. 
 
 For she was rich, and gave up all 
 
 To break the iron bands 
 Of those who waited in her hall. 
 
 And labored in her lands. 
 
 Long since beyond the Southern Sea 
 Their outbound sails have sped, 
 
 While she, in meek humility. 
 Now earns her daily bread. 
 
 It is their prayers, which never cease, 
 That clothe her with such grace ; 
 
 Their blessing is the light of peace 
 That shines upon her face. 
 
174 Poems on Slavery 
 
 THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL 
 SWAMP 
 
 IN dark fens of the Dismal Swamp 
 The hunted Negro lay ; 
 He saw the fire of the midnight camp, 
 And heard at times a horse's tramp 
 And a bloodhound's distant bay. 
 
 Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-worms shine, 
 
 In bulrush and in brake ; 
 Where waving mosses shroud the pine, 
 And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine 
 
 Is spotted like the snake ; 
 
 Where hardly a human foot could pass. 
 
 Or a human heart would dare. 
 On the quaking turf of the green morass 
 He crouched in the rank and tangled grass, 
 
 Like a wild beast in his lair. 
 
 A poor old slave, infirm and lame ; 
 
 Great scars deformed his face ; 
 On his forehead he bore the brand of shame, 
 And the rags, that hid his mangled frame, 
 
 Were the livery of disgrace. 
 
The Slave Singmg at Midnight 175 
 
 All things above were bright and fair, 
 
 All things were glad and free ; 
 Lithe squirrels darted here and there, 
 And wild birds filled the echoing air 
 
 With songs of Liberty ! 
 
 On him alone was the doom of pain. 
 
 From the morning of his birth ; 
 On him alone the curse of Cain 
 Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain, 
 And struck him to the earth ! 
 
 THE SLAVE SINGING AT 
 MIDNIGHT 
 
 LOUD he sang the psalm of David ! 
 He, a Negro and enslaved, 
 Sang of Israel's victory, 
 Sang of Zion, bright and free. 
 
 In that hour, when night is calmest. 
 Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist, 
 In a voice so sweet and clear 
 That I could not choose but hear. 
 
 Songs of triumph, and ascriptions. 
 Such as reached the swart Egyptians, 
 
iy6 Poems on Slavery 
 
 When upon the Red Sea coast 
 Perished Pharaoh and his host. 
 
 And the voice of his devotion 
 Filled my soul with strange emotion \ 
 For its tones by turns were glad, 
 Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. 
 
 Paul and Silas, in their prison, 
 Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen. 
 And an earthquake's arm of might 
 Broke their dungeon-gates at night. 
 
 But, alas ! what holy angel 
 Brings the Slave this glad evangel ? 
 And what earthquake's arm of might 
 Breaks his dungeon-gates at night t 
 
 THE WITNESSES 
 
 IN Ocean's wide domains, 
 Half buried in the sands. 
 Lie skeletons in chains, 
 
 With shackled feet and hands. 
 
 Beyond the fall of dews. 
 Deeper than plummet lies, 
 
The Witnesses 177 
 
 Float ships, with all their crews, 
 No more to sink nor rise. 
 
 There the black Slave-ship swims, 
 
 Freighted with human forms, 
 Whose fettered, fleshless limbs 
 
 Are not the sport of storms. 
 
 These are the bones of Slaves ; 
 
 They gleam from the abyss ; 
 They cry, from yawning waves, 
 
 " We are the Witnesses ! " 
 
 Within Earth's wide domains 
 
 Are markets for men's lives ; 
 Their necks are galled with chains, 
 
 Their wrists are cramped with gyves 
 
 Dead bodies, that the kite 
 
 In deserts makes its prey ; 
 Murders, that with affright 
 
 Scare school-boys from their play ! 
 
 All evil thoughts and deeds ; 
 
 Anger, and lust, and pride ; 
 The foulest, rankest weeds, 
 
 That choke Life's groaning tide ! 
 
1/8 Poems on Slavery 
 
 These are the woes of Slaves ; 
 
 They glare from the abyss ; 
 They cry, from unknown graves, 
 
 " We are the Witnesses 1 " 
 
 THE QUADROON GIRL 
 
 THE Slaver in the broad lagoon 
 Lay moored with idle sail ; 
 He waited for the rising moon. 
 And for the evening gale. 
 
 Under the shore his boat was tied, 
 
 And all her listless crew 
 Watched the gray alligator slide 
 
 Into the still bayou. 
 
 Odors of orange-flowers, and spice, 
 Reached them from time to time, 
 
 Like airs that breathe from Paradise 
 Upon a world of crime. 
 
 The Planter, under his roof of thatch, 
 Smoked thoughtfully and slow ; 
 
 The Slaver's thumb was on the latch, 
 He seemed in haste to go. 
 
The Quadroon Girl 179 
 
 He said, " My ship at anchor rides 
 
 In yonder broad lagoon ; 
 I only wait the evening tides, 
 
 And the rising of the moon." 
 
 Before them, with her face upraised. 
 
 In timid attitude. 
 Like one half curious, half amazed, 
 
 A Quadroon maiden stood. 
 
 Her eyes were large, and full of light. 
 
 Her arms and neck were bare ; 
 No garment she wore save a kirtle bright. 
 
 And her own long, raven hair. 
 
 And on her lips there played a smile 
 
 As holy, meek, and faint, 
 As lights in some cathedral aisle 
 
 The features of a saint. 
 
 " The soil is barren, — the farm is old " ; 
 
 The thoughtful Planter said ; 
 Then looked upon the Slaver's gold, 
 
 And then upon the maid. 
 
 His heart within him was at strife 
 
 With such accursed gains : 
 For he knew whose passions gave her life. 
 
 Whose blood ran in her veins. 
 
8o Poems on Slavery 
 
 But the voice of nature was too weak ; 
 
 He took the glittering gold ! 
 Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek, 
 
 Her hands as icy cold. 
 
 The Slaver led her from the door, 
 
 He led her by the hand, 
 To be his slave and paramour 
 
 In a strange and distant land ! 
 
 THE WARNING 
 
 BEWARE ! The Israelite of old, who tore 
 The lion in his path, — when, poor and blind, 
 He saw the blessed light of heaven no more. 
 
 Shorn of his noble strength and forced to grind 
 In prison, and at last led forth to be 
 A pander to Philistine revelry, — 
 
 Upon the pillars of the temple laid 
 His desperate hands, and in its overthrow 
 
 Destroyed himself, and with him those who made 
 A cruel mockery of his sightless woe ; 
 
 The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all. 
 
 Expired, and thousands perished in the fall ! 
 
The Warning i8i 
 
 There is a poor, blind Samson in this land, 
 
 Shorn of his strength, and bound in bonds of 
 steel, 
 
 Who may, in some grim revel, raise his hand, 
 And shake the pillars of this Commonweal, 
 
 rill the vast Temple of our liberties 
 
 A. shapeless mass of wreck and rubbish lies. 
 
THE SPANISH STUDENT 
 
 1843 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONyE 
 
 Victorian, ) v, j * r at t 
 
 \ Sticdents of Alcala. 
 
 )- . . . Gentlemen of Madrid. 
 
 Hypolito, 
 
 The Count of Lara, 
 
 Don Carlos, 
 
 The Archbishop of Toledo. 
 
 A Cardinal. 
 
 Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Gypsies. 
 
 Bartolome Roman, . . . . A young Gypsy. 
 The Padre Cura of Guadarrama. 
 
 Pedro Crespo, Alcalde. 
 
 Pancho, Algnacil. 
 
 Francisco, Lara's Serzwit. 
 
 Chispa, Victorian'' s Servant. 
 
 Baltasar, Innkeeper. 
 
 Preciosa, A Gypsy girl. 
 
 Angelica, A poor girl. 
 
 Martina, The Padre Cnra's Jiiece. 
 
 Dolores, Preci^sa^s maid. 
 
 Gypsies, Musicians^ 6^^. 
 
THE SPANISH STUDENT 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. TJie Count of Lara's chambers. Night. 
 The Count m his dressing-gown^ smoking and convers- 
 ing with Don Carlos. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 ^TQIJ were not at the play to-night, Don Carlos ; 
 How happened it ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 I had engagements elsewhere. 
 Pray who was there ? 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Why, all the town and court. 
 The house was crowded ; and the busy fans 
 Among the gayly dressed and perfumed ladies 
 Fluttered like butterflies among the flowers. 
 There was the Countess of Medina Cell ; 
 The Goblin Lady with her Phantom Lover, 
 Her Lindo Don Diego ; Dona Sol, ' 
 And Dona Serafina, and her cousins. 
 
1 86 The Spanish Student 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 What was the play ? 
 
 LARA. 
 
 It was a dull affair ; 
 One of those comedies in which you see, 
 As Lope says, the history of the world 
 Brought down from Genesis to the Day of Judg- 
 ment. 
 There were three duels fought in the first act, 
 Three gentlemen receiving deadly wounds, 
 Laying their hands upon their hearts, and saying, 
 " O, I am dead 1 " a lover in a closet, 
 An old hidalgo, and a gay Don Juan, 
 A Dona Inez with a black mantilla, 
 Followed at twilight by an unknown lover. 
 Who looks intently where he knows she is not ! 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Of course, the Preciosa danced to-night ? 
 
 LARA, 
 
 And never better. Ever}^ footstep fell 
 As lightly as a sunbeam on the water. 
 I think the girl extremely beautiful. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Almost beyond the privilege of woman ! 
 
 I saw her in the Prado yesterday. 
 
 Her step was royal, — queen-like, — and her face 
 
 As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise. 
 
The Spanish Student i8) 
 
 LARA. 
 
 May not a saint fall from her Paradise, 
 And be no more a saint ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Why do you ask ? 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Because I have heard it said this angel fell, 
 And, though she is a virgin outwardly, 
 Within she is a sinner ; Hke those panels 
 Of doors and altar-pieces the old monks 
 Painted in convents, with the Virgin Mary 
 On the outside, and on the inside Venus ! 
 
 DON CARLOS. • 
 
 You do her wrong ; indeed, you do her wrong ! 
 She is as virtuous as she is fair. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 How credulous you are ! Why look you, friend. 
 There 's not a virtuous woman in Madrid, 
 In this whole city ! And would you persuade me 
 That a mere dancing-girl, who shows herself, 
 Nightly, half naked, on the stage, for money, 
 And with voluptuous motions fires the blood 
 Of inconsiderate youth, is to be held 
 A model for her virtue t 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 You forget 
 She is a Gypsy girl. 
 
1 88 The Spanish Student 
 
 LARA. 
 
 And therefore won 
 The easier. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Nay, not to be won at all ! 
 The only virtue that a Gypsy prizes 
 Is chastity. That is her only virtue. 
 Dearer than life she holds it. I remember 
 A Gypsy woman, a vile, shameless bawd, 
 Whose craft was to betray the young and fair ; 
 And yet this woman was above all bribes. 
 And when a noble lord, touched by her beauty, 
 The wild and wizard beauty of her race, 
 Offered her gold to be what she made others, 
 She turned upon him, with a look of scorn. 
 And smote him in the face ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 And does that prove 
 That Preciosa is above suspicion ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 It proves a nobleman may be repulsed 
 When he thinks conquest easy. I believe 
 That woman, in her deepest degradation, 
 Holds something sacred, something undefiled. 
 Some pledge and keepsake of her higher nature. 
 And, like the diamond in the dark, retains 
 Some quenchless gleam of the celestial light ! 
 
The Spanish Student 189 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Yet Preciosa would have taken the gold. 
 
 DON CARLOS {rising). 
 
 I do not think so. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 I am sure of it. 
 But why this haste ? Stay yet a little longer. 
 And fight the battles of your Dulcinea. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 'T is late. I must begone, for if I stay 
 You will not be persuaded. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Yes ; persuade me, 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 No one so deaf as he who will not hear ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 No one so blind as he who will not see ! 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 And so good night. I wish you pleasant dreams, 
 And greater faith in woman. \^Exit 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Greater faith ! 
 I have the greatest faith ; for I believe 
 Victorian is her lover. I believe 
 That I shall be to-morrow ; and thereafter 
 Another, and another, and another. 
 
190 The Spanish Student 
 
 Chasing each other through her zodiac, 
 As Taurus chases Aries. 
 
 {Better Francisco with a casket.) 
 
 Well, Francisco, 
 What speed with Preciosa ? 
 
 FRANCISCO. 
 
 None, my lord. 
 She sends your jewels back, and bids me tell you 
 She is not to be purchased by your gold. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Then I will try some other way to win her. 
 Pray, dost thou know Victorian ? 
 
 FRANCISCO. 
 
 Yes, my lord ; 
 I saw him at the jeweller's to-day. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 What was he doing there ? 
 
 FRANCISCO. 
 
 I saw him buy 
 A golden ring, that had a ruby in it. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Was there another like it ? 
 
 FRANCISCO. 
 
 One so like it 
 I could not choose between them. 
 
The Spanish Sticdent 191 
 
 LARA. 
 
 It is well. 
 To-morrow morning bring that ring to me. 
 Do not forget. Now light me to my bed 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A street in Madrid. Enter Chispa, follmued by musicians, 
 with a bagpipe, guitars, and other instruments. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Abernuncio Satanas ! and a plague on all lovers 
 who ramble about at night, drinking the elements, 
 instead of sleeping quietly in their beds. Every 
 dead man to his cemetery, say I ; and every friar 
 to his monastery. Now, here 's my master, Victo- 
 rian, yesterday a cow-keeper, and to-day a gentle- 
 man ; yesterday a student, and to-day a lover; 
 and I must be up later than the nightingale, for 
 as the abbot sings so must the sacristan respond. 
 God grant he may soon be married, for then shall 
 all this serenading cease. Ay, marr}^ ! marr}- ! mar- 
 ry ! Mother, what does marr>^ mean .? It means to 
 spin, to bear children, and to weep, my daughter ! 
 And, of a truth, there is something more in matri- 
 mony than the wedding-ring. ( To the musicians. ) And 
 now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum ! as the ass said to 
 
192 The Spanish Student 
 
 the cabbages. Pray, walk this way ; and don't hang 
 down your heads. It is no disgrace to have an old 
 father and a ragged shirt. Now, look you, you are 
 gentlemen who lead the life of crickets \ you en- 
 joy hunger by day and noise by night. Yet, I 
 beseech you, for this once be not loud, but pa- 
 thetic ; for it is a serenade to a damsel in bed, and 
 not to the Man in the Moon. Your object is not 
 to arouse and terrify, but to soothe and bring lulling 
 dreams. Therefore, each shall not play upon his 
 instrument as if it were the only one in the uni- 
 verse, but gently, and with a certain modesty, ac- 
 cording with the others. Pray, how may I call thy 
 name, friend? 
 
 FIRST MUSICIAN. 
 
 Gerdnimo Gil, at your service. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Every tub smells of the wine that is in it. Pray, 
 Gerdnimo, is not Saturday an unpleasant day with 
 thee? 
 
 FIRST MUSICIAN. 
 
 Why so ? 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Because I have heard it said that Saturday is 
 an unpleasant day with those who have but one 
 shirt. Moreover, I have seen thee at the tavern, 
 and if thou canst run as fast as thou canst drink, 
 I should like to hunt hares with thee. What in- 
 strument is that? 
 
The Spanish Student 193 
 
 FIRST MUSICIAN. 
 
 An Aragonese bagpipe. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bu- 
 jalance, who asked a maravedi for playing, and 
 ten for leaving off? 
 
 FIRST MUSICIAN. 
 
 No, your honor. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 I am glad of it. What other instruments have 
 we ? 
 
 SECOND AND THIRD MUSICIANS. 
 
 We play the bandurria. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 A pleasing instrument. And thou ? 
 
 FOURTH MUSICIAN. 
 
 The fife. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 I like it ; it has a cheerful, soul-stirring sound, 
 that soars up to my lady's window like the song 
 of a swallow. And you others ? 
 
 OTHER MUSICIANS. 
 
 We are the singers, please your honor. 
 
 CHISPA, 
 
 You are too many. Do you think we are going 
 to sing mass in the cathedral of Cordova ? Four 
 men can make but little use of one shoe, and I see 
 
 VOL. IV. 9 M 
 
194 The Spanish Student 
 
 not how you can all sing in one song. But follow 
 me along the garden wall. That is the way my 
 master climbs to the lady's window. It is by the 
 Vicar's skirts that the Devil climbs into the belfry. 
 Come, follow me, and make no noise. {Exetmt, 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Preciosa's chamber. She stands at the open windcnv. 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 How slowly through the lilac-scented air 
 Descends the tranquil moon ! Like thistle-down 
 The vapory clouds float in the peaceful sky ; 
 And sweetly from yon hollow vaults of shade 
 The nightingales breathe out their souls in song. 
 And hark ! what songs of love, what souMike 
 
 sounds. 
 Answer them from below ! 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 Stars of the summer night ! 
 
 Far in yon azure deeps, 
 Hide, hide your golden light ! 
 
 She sleeps ! 
 My lady sleeps ! 
 
 Sleeps ! 
 
 Moon of the summer night ! 
 
 Far down yon western steeps, 
 
The Spanish Student 195 
 
 Sink, sink in silver light ! 
 
 She sleeps ! 
 My lady sleeps ! 
 
 Sleeps ! 
 
 Wind of the summer night ! 
 
 Where yonder woodbine creepe, 
 Fold, fold thy pinions light ! 
 
 She sleeps ! 
 My lady sleeps ! 
 Sleeps ! 
 
 Dreams of the summer night ! 
 
 Tell her, her lover keeps 
 Watch ! while in slumbers light 
 
 She sleeps ! 
 My lady sleeps ! 
 
 Sleeps * 
 
 {Enter Victorian by the balcony^ 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Poor little dove ! Thou tremblest like a leaf ' 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I am so frightened ! 'T is for thee I tremble \ 
 I hate to have thee climb that wall by night ! 
 Did no one see thee ? 
 
 VICTORIAN, 
 
 None, my love, but thou. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 'T is very dangerous ; and when thou art gone 
 I chide myself for letting thee come here 
 
196 The Spanish Student 
 
 Thus stealthily by night. Where hast thou been ? 
 Since yesterday I have no news from thee. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Since yesterday I 've been in Alcald. 
 Erelong the time will come, sweet Preciosa, 
 When that dull distance shall no more divide us ; 
 And I no more shall scale thy wall by night 
 To steal a kiss from thee, as I do now. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 An honest thief, to steal but what thou gwest. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 And we shall sit together unmolested, 
 
 And words of true love pass from tongue to tongue, 
 
 As singing birds from one bough to another. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 That were a life to make time envious ! 
 
 I knew that thou wouldst come to me to-night. 
 
 I saw thee at the play. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Sweet child of air I 
 Never did I behold thee so attired 
 And garmented in beauty as to-night ! 
 What hast thou done to make thee look so fair ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Am I not always fair ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Ay, and so fair 
 
The Spanish Student 197 
 
 That I am jealous of all eyes that see thee, 
 And wish that they were blind. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I heed them not j 
 When thou art present, I see none but thee ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 There 's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes 
 Something from thee, that makes it beautiful. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 And yet thou leavest me for those dusty books. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Thou comest between me and those books too 
 
 often ! 
 I see thy face in everything I see ! 
 The paintings in the chapel wear thy looks, 
 The canticles are changed to sarabands, 
 And with the learned doctors of the schools 
 I see thee dance cachuchas. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 In good sooth, 
 I dance with learned doctors of the schools 
 To-morrow morning. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 And with whom, I pray ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 A grave and reverend Cardinal, and his Grace 
 The Archbishop of Toledo. 
 
198 TJie Spatiish Student 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 What mad jest 
 Is this ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 It is no jest ; indeed it is not. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Prithee, explain thyself. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Why, simply thus. 
 Thou knowest the Pope has sent here into Spain 
 To put a stop to dances on the stage. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I h^ve heard it whispered. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Now the Cardinal, 
 Who for this purpose comes, would fain behold 
 With his own eyes these dances ; and the Arch- 
 bishop 
 Has sent for me — 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 That thou may'st dance before them ! 
 Now viva la cachucha ! It will breathe 
 The fire of youth into these gray old men ! 
 T will be thy proudest conquest ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Saving one. 
 
The Spanish SttLdcnt 199 
 
 And yet I fear these dances will be stopped, 
 And Preciosa be once more a beggar. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 The sweetest beggar that e'er asked for alms ; 
 With such beseeching eyes, that when I saw thee 
 I gave my heart away ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Dost thou remember 
 When first we met ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 It was at Cordova, 
 In the cathedral garden. Thou wast sitting 
 Under the orange-trees, beside a fountain. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 'T was Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees 
 Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy. 
 The priests were singing, and the organ sounded. 
 And then anon the great cathedral bell. 
 It was the elevation of the Host. 
 We both of us fell down upon our knees. 
 Under the orange boughs, and prayed together. 
 I never had been happy till that moment. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Thou blessed angel ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 And when thou wast gone 
 I felt an aching here. I did not speak 
 
200 The Spanish Student 
 
 To any one that day. But from that day 
 Bartolome grew hateful unto me. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Remember him no more. Let not his shadow 
 Come between thee and me. Sweet Preciosa ! 
 I loved thee even then, though I was silent ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I thought I ne'er should see thy face again. 
 Thy farewell had a sound of sorrow in it. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 That was the first sound in the song of love ! 
 Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound. 
 Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings 
 Of that mysterious instrument, the soul, 
 And play the prelude of our fate. We hear 
 The voice prophetic, and are not alone. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 That is my faith. Dost thou believe these warn- 
 ings? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 So far as this. Our feelings and our thoughts 
 Tend ever on, and rest not in the Present. 
 As drops of rain fall into some dark well. 
 And from below comes a scarce audible sound, 
 So fall our thoughts into the dark Hereafter, 
 And their mysterious echo reaches us. 
 
The Spanish Student 201 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I have felt it so, but found no words to say it ! 
 I cannot reason ; I can only feel ! 
 But thou hast language for all thoughts and feel- 
 ings. 
 Thou art a scholar ; and sometimes I think 
 We cannot walk together in this world ! 
 The distance that divides us is too great ! 
 Henceforth thy pathway lies among the stars ; 
 I must not hold thee back. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Thou little sceptic ! 
 Dost thou still doubt? What I most prize in 
 
 woman 
 Is her affections, not her intellect ! 
 The intellect is finite ; but the affections 
 Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted. 
 Compare me with the great men of the earth ; 
 What am I ? Why, a pygmy among giants ! 
 But if thou lovest, — mark me ! I say lovest. 
 The greatest of thy sex excels thee not ! 
 The world of the affections is thy world, 
 Not that of man's ambition. In that stillness 
 Which most becomes a wonian, calm and holy, 
 Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart. 
 Feeding its flame. The element of fire 
 Is pure. It cannot change nor hide its nature, 
 But burns as brightly in a Gypsy camp 
 As in a palace hall. Art thou convinced ? 
 
202 The Spanish Student 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Yes, that I love thee, as the good love heaven ; 
 But not that I am worthy of that heaven. 
 How shall I more deserve it ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Loving more. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I cannot love thee more ; my heart is full. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Then let it overflow, and I will drink it, 
 As in the summer-time the thirsty sands 
 Drink the swift waters of the Manzanares, 
 And still do thirst for more. 
 
 A WATCHMAN {in the street). 
 
 Ave Maria 
 Purissima ! 'T is midnight and serene ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Hear'st thou that cry ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 It is a hateful sound, 
 To scare thee from me ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 As the hunter's horn 
 Doth scare the timid stag, or bark of hounds 
 The moor-fowl from his mate. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Pray, do not go ! 
 
The Spanish Student 203 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 [ must away to Alcala to-night. 
 Think of me when I am away. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Fear not ! 
 1 have no thoughts that do not think of thee. 
 
 VICTORIAN {giving her a ring). 
 
 And to remind thee of my love, take this ; 
 
 A serpent, emblem of Eternity ; 
 
 A ruby, — say, a drop of my heart's blood. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 It is an ancient saying, that the ruby 
 Brings gladness to the wearer, and preserves 
 The heart pure, and, if laid beneath the pillow. 
 Drives away evil dreams. But then, alas ! 
 It was a serpent tempted Eve to sin. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 What convent of barefooted Carmelites 
 Taught thee so much theology ? 
 
 PRECIOSA {laying her hand upon his mouth). 
 
 Hush! Hush! 
 Good night ! and may all holy angels guard thee ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Good night ! good night ! Thou art my guardian 
 
 angel ! 
 I have no other saint than thou to pray to ! 
 {He descends by the balcony. ) 
 
204 The Spanish Student 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Take care, and do not hurt thee. Art thou safe ? 
 
 VICTORIAN {from the garden). 
 
 Safe as my love for thee ! But art thou safe ? 
 Others can cHmb a balcony by moonlight 
 As well as I. Pray shut thy window close ; 
 I am jealous of the perfumed air of night 
 That from this garden climbs to kiss thy lips. 
 PRECIOSA [throiuing dozvn her handkerchief). 
 
 Thou silly child ! Take this to blind thine eyes. 
 It is my benison ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 And brings to me 
 Sweet fragrance from thy lips, as the soft wind 
 Wafts to the out-bound mariner the breath 
 Of the beloved land he leaves behind. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Make not thy voyage long. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 To-morrow night 
 Shall see me safe returned. Thou art the star 
 To guide me to an anchorage. Good night ! 
 My beauteous star ! My star of love, good night ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Good night ! 
 
 WATCHMAN [at a distance). 
 Ave Maria Purissima 1 
 
The Spanish Student 205 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 An inn on the road to Alcald. Baltasar asleep on a 
 bench. Enter Chispa. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 And here we are, half way to Alcala, between 
 cocks and midnight. Body o' me ! what an inn 
 this is ! The Hghts out, and the landlord asleep. 
 Hold, ! ancient Baltasar ! 
 
 BALTASAR {waking). 
 
 Here I am. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Yes, there you are, like a one-eyed Alcalde in 
 a town without inhabitants. Bring a light, and 
 let me have supper. 
 
 BALTASAR. 
 
 Where is your master ? 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Do not trouble yourself about him. We have 
 stopped a moment to breathe our horses ; and, 
 if he chooses to walk up and down in the open 
 air, looking into the sky as one who hears it rain, 
 that does not satisfy my hunger, you know. But 
 be quick, for I am in a hurry, and every man 
 stretches his legs according to the length of his 
 coverlet. What have we here ? 
 
2o6 The Spanish Student 
 
 BALTASAR [setting a light on the table). 
 Stewed rabbit. 
 
 CHISPA [eating). 
 
 Conscience of Portalegre ! Stewed kitten, you 
 mean ! 
 
 BALTASAR. 
 
 And a pitcher of Pedro Ximenes/with a roasted 
 pear in it. 
 
 CHISPA [drinking). 
 
 Ancient Baltasar, amigo ! You know how to 
 cry wine and sell vinegar. I tell you this is noth- 
 ing but Vino Tinto of La Mancha, with a tang 
 of the swine-skin. 
 
 BALTASAR. 
 
 I swear to you by Saint Simon and Judas, it is 
 all as I say. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 And I swear to you by Saint Peter and Saint 
 Paul, that it is no such thing. Moreover, your 
 tfupper is like the hidalgo's dinner, very little meat 
 and a great deal of table-cloth. 
 
 BALTASAR. 
 
 Ha ! ha 1 ha ! 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 And more noise than nuts. 
 
 BALTASAR. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! You must have your joke, Mas* 
 
The Spanish Student 207 
 
 ter Chispa. But shall I not ask Don Victorian in, 
 to take a draught of the Pedro Ximenes ? 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 No ; you might as well say, " Don't-you- want- 
 some ? " to a dead man. 
 
 BALTASAR. 
 
 Why does he go so often to Madrid ? 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 For the same reason that he eats no supper. 
 He is in love. Were you ever in love, Baltasar ? 
 
 BALTASAR. 
 
 I was never out of it, good Chispa. It has been 
 the torment of my life. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 What! are you on fire, too, old hay-stack? 
 Why, we shall never be able to put you out. 
 
 VICTORIAN {without). 
 
 Chispa ! 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Go to bed, Pero Grullo, for the cocks are crow- 
 ing. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Ea ! Chispa ! Chispa ! 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Ea ! Sefior. Come with me, ancient Baltasai, 
 
2o8 The Spanish Student 
 
 and bring water for the horses. I will pay for the 
 supper to-morrow. {Exetmt. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Victorian's chambers at Alcald. Hypolito asleep in an 
 arm-chair. He awakes slowly. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 I must have been asleep ! ay, sound asleep ! 
 And it was all a dream. O sleep, sweet sleep ! 
 Whatever form thou takest, thou art fair, 
 Holding unto our lips thy goblet filled 
 Out of Oblivion's well, a healing draught ! 
 The candles have burned low ; it must be late. 
 Where can Victorian be ? Like Fray Carrillo, 
 The only place in which one cannot find him 
 Is his own cell. Here 's his guitar, that seldom 
 Feels the caresses of its master's hand. 
 Open thy silent lips, sweet instrument ! 
 And make dull midnight merry with a song. 
 
 {He plays and sings.) 
 
 Padre Francisco ! 
 Padre Francisco ! 
 What do you want of Padre Francisco? 
 Here is a pretty young maiden 
 Who wants to confess her sins ! 
 Open the door and let her come in, 
 I will shrive her from every sin. 
 
 {Enter Victorian.) 
 
The Spanish Student 209 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Padre Hypolito ! Padre Hypolito ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 What do you want of Padre Hypolito ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Come, shrive me straight j for, if love be a sin, 
 I am the greatest sinner that doth live. 
 I will confess the sweetest of all crimes, 
 A maiden wooed and won. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 The same old tale 
 Of the old woman in the chimney corner. 
 Who, while the pot boils, says, " Come here, my 
 
 child ; 
 I '11 tell thee a story of my wedding-day." 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Nay, listen, for my heart is full ; so full 
 That I must speak. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Alas ! that heart of thine 
 Is like a scene in the old play ; the curtain 
 Rises to solemn music, and lo ! enter 
 The eleven thousand virgins of Cologne ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Nay, like the Sibyl's volumes, thou shouldst say j 
 Those that remained, after the siit were burned, 
 
 VOL. IV. N 
 
210 The Spaiiish Student 
 
 Being held more precious than the nine together. 
 But Usten to my tale. Dost thou remember 
 The Gypsy girl we saw at Cordova 
 Dance the Romalis in the market-place } 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Thou meanest Preciosa. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Ay, the same. 
 Thou knowest how her image haunted me 
 Long after we returned to Alcala. 
 She 's in Madrid. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 I know it. 
 
 VICT0RIAJ3'. 
 
 And I 'm in love. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 And therefore in Madrid when thou shouldst be 
 In Alcala. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 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. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! I see thou art in love. 
 
The Spanish Student 211 
 
 Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak. 
 
 It serves for food and raiment. Give a Spaniard 
 
 His mass, his olla, and his Dona 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 ; 
 Sing as the monk sang to the Virgin Mary, 
 
 Ave! cujns calcem dare 
 Nee centenni commendare 
 Sciret Seraph studio ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Pray, do not jest ! This is no time for it ! 
 I am in earnest ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Seriously enamored ? 
 What, ho ! The Primus of great Alcala 
 Enamored of a Gypsy .? Tell me frankly, 
 How meanest thou ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I mean it honestly. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Surely thou wilt not marry her ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Why not ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 She was betrothed to one Bartolomd, 
 
212 The Spanish Student 
 
 If I remember rightly, a young Gypsy 
 Who danced with her at Cordova. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 They quarrelled, 
 And so the matter ended. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 But in truth 
 Thou wilt not marry her. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 In truth I will. 
 The angels sang in heaven when she was born ! 
 She is a precious jewel I have found 
 Among the filth and rubbish of the world. 
 I '11 stoop for it ; but when I wear it here, 
 Set on my forehead like the morning star, 
 The world may wonder, but it will not laugh. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 If thou wear'st nothing else upon thy forehead, 
 'T will be indeed a wonder. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Out upon thee 
 With thy unseasonable jests ! Pray tell me, 
 Is there no virtue in the world ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Not much. 
 What, think'st thou, is she doing at this moment ; 
 Now, while we speak of her ? 
 
 f- 
 
The Spanish Sttident 213 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 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. 
 Rises and falls with the soft tide of dreams, 
 Like a light barge safe moored. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Which means, in prose, 
 She 's sleeping with her mouth a little open ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 O, would I had the old magician's glass 
 To see her as she lies in child-like sleep 1 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 And wouldi>t thou venture ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Ay, indeed I would ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Thou art courageous. Hast thou e'er reflected 
 How much lies hidden in that one word, 7iow .? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 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, 
 
214 The Spanish Student 
 
 IVhat fearful glances downward might we cast 
 
 Into the hollow chasms of human life ! 
 
 What groups should we behold about the death-bed, 
 
 Putting to shame the group of Niobe ! 
 
 What joyful welcomes, and what sad farewells ! 
 
 What stony tears in those congealed eyes ! 
 
 What visible joy or anguish in those cheeks ! 
 
 AVhat bridal pomps, and what funereal shows ! 
 
 What foes, like gladiators, fierce and struggling ! 
 
 What lovers with their marble lips together ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 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 
 
 Of love and anger, like the maid of Colchis, 
 
 Whom thou, another faithless Argonaut, 
 
 Having won that golden fleece, a woman's love, 
 
 Desertest for this Glauce. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 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. 
 
 HYPOLITO {rising). 
 
 A.nd so, good night ! Good morning, I should say. 
 
-f 
 
 The Spanish Student 21 5 
 
 {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 ! \Exit. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Good night ! 
 But not to bed ; for I must read awhile. 
 {Thrcnvs himself into the arm-chair ivhich Hypolito has left, 
 and lays a large book open upon his knees.) 
 
 Must read, or sit in reverie and watch 
 
 The changing color of the waves tnat break 
 
 Upon the idle sea-shore of the mind ! 
 
 Visions of Fame ! that once did visit me. 
 
 Making night glorious with your smile, where are 
 
 ye? 
 
 O, who shall give me, now that ye are gone, 
 Juices of those immortal plants that bloom 
 Upon Olympus, making us immortal ? 
 Or teach me where that wondrous mandrake grows 
 Whose magic root, torn from the earth with groans, 
 At midnight hour, can scare the fiends away, 
 And make the mind prolific in its fancies ? 
 I have the wish, but want the will, to act ! 
 
2i6 The Spanish Student 
 
 Souls of great men departed ! Ye whose words 
 
 Have come to light from the swift river of Time, 
 
 Like Roman swords found in the Tagus' bed, 
 
 Where is the strength to wield the arms ye bore ? 
 
 From the barred visor of Antiquity 
 
 Reflected shines the eternal light of Truth, 
 
 As from a mirror ! All the means of action — 
 
 The shapeless masses, the materials — 
 
 Lie everywhere about us. What we need 
 
 Is the celestial fire to change the flint 
 
 Into transparent crystal, bright and clear. 
 
 That fire is genius ! The rude peasant sits 
 
 At evening in his smoky cot, and draws 
 
 With charcoal uncouth figures on the wall. 
 
 The son of genius comes, foot-sore with travel, 
 
 And begs a shelter from the inclement night. 
 
 He takes the charcoal from the peasant's hand, 
 
 And, by the magic of his touch at once 
 
 Transfigured, all its hidden virtues shine. 
 
 And, in the eyes of the astonished clown, 
 
 It gleams a diamond ! Even thus transformed. 
 
 Rude popular traditions and old tales 
 
 Shine as immortal poems, at the touch 
 
 Of some poor, houseless, homeless, wandering bard, 
 
 Who had but a night's lodging for his pains. 
 
 But there are brighter dreams than those of Fame, 
 
 Which are the dreams of Love ! Out of the heart 
 
 Rises the bright ideal of these dreams, 
 
 As from some woodland fount a spirit rises 
 
The Spanish Student 217 
 
 And sinks again into its silent deeps, 
 Ere the enamored knight can touch her robe ! 
 'T is 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, 
 Clad in a mortal shape ! Alas ! how many 
 Must wait in vain ! The stream flows evermore, 
 But from its silent deeps no spirit rises ! 
 Yet I, born under a propitious star, 
 Have found the bright ideal of my dreams. 
 Yes ! she is ever with me. I can feel, 
 Here, as I sit at midnight and alone, 
 Her gentle breathing ! on my breast can feel 
 The pressure of her head ! God's benison 
 Rest ever on it ! Close those beauteous eyes, 
 [ Sweet Sleep ! and all the flowers that bloom at 
 
 night 
 
 (With balmy lips breathe in her ears my name ! 
 {Gradually sinks asleep.) 
 
2i8 The Spanish Student 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I, Preciosa's chamber. Morning. Preciosa an^ 
 Angelica. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 WHY will you go so soon ? Stay yet awhile. 
 The poor too often turn away unheard 
 From hearts that shut against them with a sound 
 That will be heard in heaven. Pray, tell me more 
 Of your adversities. Keep nothing from me. 
 What is your landlord's name ? 
 
 ANGELICA. 
 
 The Count of Lara. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 The Count of Lara ? O, beware that man ! 
 Mistrust his pity, — hold no parley with him ! 
 And rather die an outcast in the streets 
 Than touch his gold. 
 
 ANGELICA. 
 
 You know him, then ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 As much 
 As any woman may, and yet be pure. 
 As you would keep your name without a blemish. 
 Beware of him 1 
 
T'te Spanish Student 219 
 
 ANGELICA. 
 
 Alas ! what can 1 do ? 
 I cannot choose my friends. Each word of kind- 
 ness, 
 Come whence it may, is welcome to the poor. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Make me your friend. A girl so young and fair 
 Should have no friends but those of her own sex. 
 What is your name ? 
 
 ANGELICA. 
 
 Angelica. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 That name 
 Was given you, that you might be an angel 
 To her who bore you ! When your infant smile 
 Made her home Paradise, you were her angel. 
 O, be an angel still ! She needs that smile. 
 So long as you are innocent, fear nothing. 
 No one can harm you ! I am a poor girl, 
 Whom chance has taken from the public street 
 I have no other shield than mine own virtue. 
 That is the charm which has protected me ! 
 Amid a thousand perils, I have worn it 
 Here on my heart ! It is my guardian ang^l. 
 
 ANGELICA {rismg). 
 
 I thank you for this counsel, dearest lady. 
 
220 The Spanish Student 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Thank me by following it. 
 
 ANGELICA. 
 
 Indeed I will. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 ^ray, do not go. I have much more to say. 
 
 ANGELICA. 
 
 My mother is alone. I dare not leave her. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Some other time, then, when we meet again. 
 You must not go away with words alone 
 ( Gives her a purse. ) 
 
 Take this. Would it were more. 
 
 ANGELICA. 
 
 I thank you, lady 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 No thanks. To-morrow come to me again. 
 I dance to-night, — perhaps for the last time. 
 But what I gain, I promise shall be yours. 
 If that can save you from the Count of Lara. 
 
 ANGELICA. 
 
 O, my dear lady ! how shall I be grateful 
 For so much kindness ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I deserve no thanks. 
 Thank Heaven, not me. 
 
The Spanish Student 221 
 
 ANGELICA. 
 
 Both Heaven and you. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Farewell. 
 Remember that you come again to-morrow. 
 
 ANGELICA. 
 
 I will. And may the Blessed Virgin guard you, 
 And all good angels. \Exit 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 May they guard thee too, 
 And all ihe poor ; for they have need of angels. 
 Now bring me, dear Dolores, my basquina. 
 My richest maja dress, — my dancing dress. 
 And my most precious jewels ! Make me look 
 Fairer than night e'er saw me ! I Ve a prize 
 To win this day, worthy of Preciosa ! 
 {Enter Beltran Cruzado.) 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Ave Maria ! 
 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 
 God ! my evil genius ! 
 
 
 What seekest thou here to-day ? 
 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 
 Thyself, - 
 
 -my child 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 
 What is thy will with me ? 
 
 
222 The Spanish Student 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Gold! gold! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I gave thee yesterday ; I have no more. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 The gold of the Busne, — give me his gold ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I gave the last in charity to-day. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 That is a foolish lie. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 It is the truth. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Curses upon thee ! Thou art not my child ! 
 Hast thou given gold away, and not to me ? 
 Not to thy father ? To whom, then t 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 To one 
 Who needs it more. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 No one can need it more. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Thou art not poor. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 What, I, who lurk about 
 Ip- dismal suburbs and unwholesome lanes j 
 
The Spanish Student 223 
 
 I, who am housed worse than the galley slave ; 
 I, who am fed worse than the kennelled hound ; 
 I, who am clothed in rags, — Beltran Cruzado, — 
 Not poor ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Thou hast a stout heart and strong hands. 
 Thou canst supply thy wants ^ what wouldst thou 
 more? 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 The gold of the Busne ! give me his gold ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Beltran Cruzado ! hear me once for all. 
 I speak the truth. So long as I had gold, 
 I gave it to thee freely, at all times. 
 Never denied thee ; never had a wish 
 But to fulfil thine own. Now go in peace 1 
 Be merciful, be patient, and erelong 
 Thou shalt have more. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 And if I have it not, 
 Thou shalt no longer dwell here in rich chambers, 
 Wear silken dresses, feed on dainty food, 
 And live in idleness ; but go with me. 
 Dance the Romalis in the public streets. 
 And wander wild again o'er field and fell ; 
 For here we stay not long. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 What \ march again } 
 
224 1^^^ Spanish Student 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Ay, with all speed. I hate the crowded town ! 
 I cannot breathe shut up within its gates ! 
 Air, — 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 mountain-tops. 
 Then I am free and strong, — once more myself, 
 Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 God speed thee on thy march ! — I cannot go. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Remember who I am, and who thou art ! 
 Be silent and obey ! Yet one thing more. 
 Bartolome Roman 
 
 PRECIOSA {%vith emotion). 
 
 O, I beseech thee ! 
 If my obedience and blameless life, 
 If my humility and meek submission 
 In all things hitherto, can move in thee 
 One feeling of compassion ; if thou art 
 Indeed my father, and canst trace in me 
 One look of her who bore me, or one tone 
 That doth remind thee of her, let it plead 
 In my behalf, who am a feeble girl. 
 Too feeble to resist, and do not force me 
 To wed that man ! I am afraid of him 1 
 
The Spanish SUident 225 
 
 I do not love him ! On my knees I beg thee 
 To use no violence, nor do in haste 
 What cannot be undone ! 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 O child, child, child ! 
 Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as a bird 
 Betrays her nest, by striving to conceal it. 
 I will not leave thee here in the great city 
 To be a grandee's mistress. Make thee ready 
 To go with us ; and until then remember 
 A watchful eye is on thee. t^-^^^- 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Woe is me ! 
 I have a strange misgiving in my heart ! 
 But that one deed of charity I '11 do, 
 Befall what may ; they cannot take that from me. 
 
 {^Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A room in the Archbishop's Palace. The Archbishop 
 and a Cardinal seated. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 Knowing how near it touched the public morals, 
 And that our age is grown corrupt and rotten 
 By such excesses, we have sent to Rome, 
 Beseeching that his Holiness would aid 
 In curing the gross surfeit of the time, 
 
226 The Spanish Student 
 
 By seasonable stop put here in Spain 
 
 To bull-fights and lewd dances on the stage. 
 
 All this you know. 
 
 CARDINAL. 
 
 Know and approve. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 And farther, 
 That, by a mandate from his Holiness, 
 The first have been suppressed. 
 
 CARDINAL. 
 
 I trust forever, 
 It was a cruel sport. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 A barbarous pastime, 
 Disgraceful to the land that calls itself 
 Most Catholic and Christian. 
 
 CARDINAL. 
 
 Yet the people 
 Murmur at this ; and, if the public dances 
 Should be condemned upon too slight occasion, 
 Worse ills might follow than the ills we cure. 
 As Fanem et Circenses was the cry 
 Among the Roman populace of old, 
 So Pan y Toros is the cry in Spain. 
 Hence I would act advisedly herein ; 
 And therefore have induced your grace to see 
 These national dances, ere we interdict them. 
 {Enter a Servant. ) 
 
The Spanish Student 227 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 The dancing-girl, and with her the musicians 
 Your grace was pleased to order, wait without. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 Bid them come in. Now shall your eyes behold 
 In what angelic yet voluptuous shape 
 The Devil came to tempt Saint Anthony. 
 
 {Enter Preciosa, with a mantle thrown over her head. Sh^ 
 advances slowly, in a modest, half-ti7nid attitude. ) 
 
 CARDINAL {aside). 
 
 O, what a fair and ministering angel 
 
 Was lost to heaven when this sweet woman fell ! 
 
 PRECIOSA {kneeling before the KKCnvA'Anov). 
 
 I have obeyed the order of your grace. 
 If I intrude upon your better hours, 
 I proffer this excuse, and here beseech 
 Your holy benediction. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 May God bless thee, 
 And lead thee to a better life. Arise. 
 
 CARDINAL {aside). 
 
 Her acts are modest, and her words discreet ! 
 I did not look for this ! Come hither, child. 
 Is thy name Preciosa ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Thus I am called. 
 
228 The Spanish Student 
 
 CARDINAL. 
 
 That is a Gypsy name. Who is thy father ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 I have a dim remembrance of that man ; 
 He was a bold and reckless character, 
 A sun-burnt Ishmael ! 
 
 CARDINAL. 
 
 Dost thou remember 
 Thy earlier days ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Yes ; by the Darro's side 
 My childhood passed. I can remember still 
 The river, and the mountains capped with snow \ 
 The villages, where, yet a little child, 
 I told the traveller's fortune in the street ; 
 The smuggler's horse, the brigand and the shep- 
 herd ; 
 The march across the moor ; the halt at noon ; 
 The red fire of the evening camp, that lighted 
 The forest where we slept ; and, farther back, 
 As in a dream or in some former life, 
 Gardens and palace walls. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 'T is the Alhambra, 
 
The Spanish StiLdent 22\j 
 
 Under whose towers the Gypsy camp was pitched. 
 But the time wears ; and we would see thee dance. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Your grace shall be obeyed. 
 
 {She lays aside her vianiilla. The jniisic of the cachucha is 
 played, and the dance begins. The Archbishop and the 
 Cardinal look on with gravity and an occasional from n ; 
 then make signs to each other ; and, as the dance continues, 
 hecoTue more and moj'e pleased and excited ; and at length 
 rise from their seats, throw their caps in the air, and ap- 
 plaud vehemently as the scene closes. ) 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 77/1? Prado. A long avenue of trees leading to the gate of A to- 
 cha. On the right the dome and spires of a convent. A 
 fountain. Evening. Don Carlos and Hypolito meet- 
 ing. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Hola ! good evening, Don Hypolito. 
 
 hypolito. 
 And a good evening to my friend, Don Carlos. 
 Some lucky star has led my steps this way. 
 I was in search of you. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Command me always, 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Do you remember, in Quevedo's Dreams, 
 
230 The SpaiiisJi SUideni 
 
 The miser, who, upon the Day of Judgment, 
 Asks if his money-bags would rise ? 
 
 But what of that ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 I do; 
 
 ] 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 \ 
 
 I am that wretched man 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 You mean to tell me yours have risen empty? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 And amen ! said my Cid the Campeador. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Pray, how much need you ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Some half-dozen ounces 
 Which, with due interest 
 
 DON CARLOS {giving his purse). 
 
 What, am I a Jew 
 To put my moneys out at usury ? 
 Here is my purse. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Thank you. A pretty purse, 
 Made by the hand of some fair Madrilena ; 
 perhaps a keepsake. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 No, 't is at your service. 
 
The Spanish Student 231 \ 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Thank you again. Lie there, good Chrysostom, 
 And with thy golden mouth remind me often, 
 I am the debtor of my friend. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 But tell me, 
 Come you to-day from Alcala ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 This moment. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 And pray, how fares the brave Victorian ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Indifferent well ; that is to say, not well. 
 A damsel has ensnared him with the glances 
 Of her dark, roving eyes, as herdsmen catch 
 A steer of Andalusia with a lazo. 
 He is in love. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 And is it faring ill 
 To be in love ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 In his case very ill. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Why so ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 For many reasons. First and foremost. 
 
232 The Spanish Student 
 
 Because he is in love with an ideal ; 
 A creature of his own imagination ; 
 A child of air ; an echo of his heart ; 
 And, like a lily on a river floating, 
 She floats upon the river of his thoughts ! 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 A common thing with poets. But who is 
 This floating lily ? For, in fine, some woman, 
 Some living woman, — not a mere ideal, — 
 Must wear the outward semblance of his thought. 
 Who is it ? Tell me. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Well, it is a woman ! 
 But, look you, from the cofter of his heart 
 He brings forth precious jewels to adorn her, 
 As pious priests adorn some favorite saint 
 With gems and gold, until at length she gleams 
 One blaze of glory. Without these, you know, 
 And the priest's benediction, 't is a doll. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Well, well ! who is this doll ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Why, who do you think ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 His cousin Violante. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Guess again. 
 
The Spanish Student 233 
 
 To ease his laboring heart, in the last storm 
 He threw her overboard, with all her ingots. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 I cannot guess ; so tell me who it is. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Not I. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Why not ? 
 
 HYPOLITO {mysteriously). 
 
 Why? Because Mari Franca 
 Was married four leagues out of Salamanca ! 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Jesting aside, who is it ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Preciosa. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Impossible ! The Count of Lara tells me 
 She is not virtuous. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Did I say she was ? 
 The Roman Emperor Claudius had a wife 
 Whose name was Messalina, as I think ; 
 Valeria Messalina was her name. 
 But hist ! I see him yonder through the trees, 
 Walking as in a dream. 
 
 DON CARLOS. , 
 
 He comes this way. 
 
234 '^^^^ Spanish Student 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 It has been truly said by some wise man, 
 That money, grief, and love cannot be hidden. 
 {Enter NiQ.TO'SAKi^ in front.) 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Where'er thy step has passed is holy ground ! 
 These groves are sacred ! I behold thee walking 
 Under these shadowy trees, where we have walked 
 At evening, and I feel thy presence now ; 
 Feel that the place has taken a charm from thee, 
 And is forever hallowed. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Mark him well ! 
 See how he strides away with lordly air, 
 Like that odd guest of stone, that grim Commander 
 Who comes to sup with Juan in the play. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 What ho ! Victorian ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Wilt thou sup with us ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Hola ! amigos ! Faith, I did not see you. 
 How fares Don Carlos ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 At your service ever. 
 
The Spanish Student 235 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 How is that young and green-eyed Gaditana 
 That you both wot of? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Ay, soft, emerald eyes ! 
 She has gone back to Cadiz. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Ay de mi ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 You are much to blame for letting her go back. 
 A pretty girl ; and in her tender eyes 
 Just that soft shade of green we sometimes see 
 In evening skies. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 But, speaking of green eyes. 
 
 Are thine green ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Not a whit. Why so ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 The slightest shade of green would be becomin 
 For thou art jealous. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 No, I am not jealous. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Thou shouldst be. 
 
 I think S 
 
236 The Spanish Sttideftt 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Why? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Because thou art in love. 
 And they who are in love are always jealous. 
 Therefore thou shouldst be. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Marry, is that all ? 
 Farewell ; I am in haste. Farewell, Don Carlos. 
 Thou sayest 1 should be jealous ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Ay, in truth 
 I fear there is reason. Be upon thy guard. 
 I hear it whispered that the Count of Lara 
 Lays siege to the same citadel. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Indeed ! 
 Then he will have his labor for his pains. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 He does not think so, and Don Carlos tells me 
 He boasts of his success. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 How 's this, Don Carltx? .^ 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Some hints of it I heard from his own lips. 
 He spoke but lightly of the lady's virtue^ 
 As a gay man might speak. 
 
The Spanish Student 237 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Death and damnation ! 
 I '11 cut his lying tongue out of his mouth, 
 And throw it to my dog 1 But no, no, no ! 
 This cannot be. You jest, indeed you jest. 
 Trifle with me no more. For otherwise 
 We are no longer friends. And so, farewell ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Now what a coil is here ! The Avenging Child 
 
 Hunting the traitor Quadros to his death. 
 
 And the great Moor Calaynos, when he rode 
 
 To Paris for the ears of Oliver, 
 
 Were nothing to him ! O hot-headed youth ! 
 
 But come ; we will not follow. Let us join 
 
 The crowd that pours into the Prado. There 
 
 We shall find merrier company ; I see 
 
 The Marialonzos and the Almavivas, 
 
 And fifty fans, that beckon me already. {^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Preciosa's chamber. She is sittmg, luith a book in her hand, 
 near a table, on which are flowers. A bird singing in ih 
 cage. The Count of Lara enters behind iinpcrccived. 
 
 PRECIOSA {reads). 
 All are sleeping, weary heart ! 
 Thou, thou only sleepless art ! 
 
238 The Spanish Student 
 
 Heigho ! I wish Victorian were here. 
 
 I know not what it is makes me so restless ! 
 
 ( The bird sings. ) 
 
 Thou little prisoner with thy motley coat, 
 That from thy vaulted, wiry dungeon singest, 
 Like thee I am a captive, and, like thee, 
 I have a gentle jailer. Lack-a-day ! 
 
 All are sleeping, weary heart ! 
 Thou, thou only sleepless art ! 
 All this throbbing, all this aching, 
 Evennore shall keep thee waking, 
 For a heart in sorrow breaking 
 Thinketh ever of its smart ! 
 
 Thou speakest truly, poet ! and methinks 
 More hearts are breaking in this world of ours 
 Than one would say. In distant villages 
 And solitudes remote, where winds have wafted 
 The barbed seeds of love, or birds of passage 
 Scattered them in their flight, do they take root, 
 And grow in silence, and in silence perish. 
 Who hears the falling of the forest leaf ? 
 Or who takes note of every flower that dies ? 
 Heigho ! I wish Victorian would come. 
 Dolores ! 
 
 {Turns to lay dmvn her book, and perceives the CoUNT.) 
 
 Ha! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Senora, pardon me ! 
 
The Spanish Student 239 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 How 's this ? Dolores ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Pardon me 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Dolores ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Be not alarmed ; I found no one in waiting. 
 If I have been too bold 
 
 PRECIOSA {turning her back Jtpon him). 
 
 You are too bold ! 
 Retire ! retire, and leave me ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 My dear lady. 
 First hear me ! I beseech you, let me speak ! 
 'T is for your good I come. 
 
 PRECOSIA {turning toward him zuith ijtdignation). 
 
 Begone ! Begone ! 
 You are the Count of Lara, but your deeds 
 Would make the statues of your ancestors 
 Blush on their tombs ! Is it Castilian honor, 
 Is it Castilian pride, to steal in here 
 Upon a friendless girl, to do her wrong ? 
 O shame ! shame ! shame ! that you, a nobleman, 
 Should be so little noble in your thoughts 
 As to send jewels here to win my love. 
 And think to buy my honor with your gold ! 
 
240 The Spanish Student 
 
 I have no words to tell you how I scorn you ! 
 Begone ! The sight of you is hateful to me ! 
 Begone, I say ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Be calm ; I will not harm you. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Because you dare not. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 I dare anything ! 
 Therefore beware ! You are deceived in me. 
 In this false world, we do not always know 
 Who are our friends and who our enemies. 
 We all have enemies, and all need friends. 
 Even you, fair Preciosa, here at court 
 Have foes, who seek to wrong you. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 If to this 
 I owe the honor of the present visit, 
 You might have spared the coming. Having 
 
 spoken, 
 Once more I beg you, leave me to myself. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 I thought it but a friendly part to tell you 
 What strange reports are current here in town. 
 For my own self, I do not credit them ; 
 But there are many who, not knowing you, 
 Will lend a readier ear. 
 
The Spanish Student 241 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 There was no need 
 That you should take upon yourself the duty 
 Of telling me these tales. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Malicious tongues 
 Are ever busy with your name. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Alas I 
 I Ve no protectors. I am a poor girl, 
 Exposed to insults and unfeeling jests. 
 They wound me, yet I cannot shield myself. 
 I give no cause for these reports. I live 
 Retired ; am visited by none. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 By none ? 
 O, then, indeed, you are much wronged ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 How mean you ? 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Nay, nay \ I will not wound your gentle soul 
 By the report of idle tales. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Speak out ! 
 What are these idle tales ? You need not spare 
 me. 
 
242 The Spanish Student 
 
 LARA. 
 
 I will deal frankly with you. Pardon me ; 
 
 This window, as I think, looks toward the street. 
 
 And this into the Prado, does it not ? 
 
 In yon high house, beyond the garden wall, — 
 
 You see the roof there just above the trees, — 
 
 There lives a friend, who told me yesterday, 
 
 That on a certain night, — be not offended 
 
 If I too plainly speak, — he saw a man 
 
 Climb to your chamber window. You are silent ! 
 
 I would not blame you, being young and foir • 
 
 IHe tries to embrace her. She starts back, and dra'd's a dagget 
 from her bosoju.) 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 Beware ! beware ! I am a Gypsy girl ! 
 Lay not your hand upon me. One step nearer 
 And I will strike 1 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Pray you, put up that dagger. 
 Fear not. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I do not fear. I have a heart 
 In whose strength I can trust. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Listen to me. 
 I come here as your friend, — I am your friend, — - 
 And by a single word can put a stop 
 To all those idle tales, and make your name 
 
The Spanish SUident 243 
 
 Spotless as lilies are. Here on my knees, 
 P^air Preciosa ! on my knees I swear, 
 I love you even to madness, and that love 
 Has driven me to break the rules of custom, 
 And force myself unasked into your presence. 
 (VICTORIAN etiters beJmid.) 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Rise, Count of Lara ! That is not the place 
 For such as you are. It becomes you not 
 To kneel before me. I am strangely moved 
 To see one of your rank thus low and humbled; 
 For your sake I will put aside all anger, 
 All unkind feeling, all dislike, and speak 
 In gentleness, as most becomes a woman. 
 And as my heart now prompts me. I no more 
 Will hate you, for all hate is painful to me. 
 But if, without offending modesty 
 And that reserve which is a woman's glory, 
 I may speak freely, I will teach my heart 
 To love you. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 O sweet angel ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Ay, in truth, 
 Far better than you love yourself or me. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Give me some sign of this, — the slightest token. 
 Let me but kiss your hand ! 
 
244 ^-^^ Spanish Student 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Nay, come no nearer. 
 The words I utter are its sign and token. 
 Misunderstand me not ! Be not deceived ! 
 The love wherewith I love you is not such 
 As you would offer me. For you come here 
 To take from me the only thing I have, 
 My honor. You are wealthy, you have friends 
 And kindred, and a thousand pleasant hopes 
 That fill your heart with happiness ; but I 
 Am poor, and friendless, having but one treasure, 
 And you would take that from me, and for what ? 
 To flatter your own vanity, and make me 
 What you would most despise. O Sir, such love, 
 That seeks to harm me, cannot be true love. 
 Indeed it cannot. But my love for you 
 Is of a different kind. It seeks your good. 
 It is a holier feeling. It rebukes 
 Your earthly passion, your unchaste desires, 
 And bids you look into your heart, and see 
 How you do wrong that better nature in you, 
 And grieve your soul with sin. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 I swear to you, 
 I would not harm you ; I would only love you. 
 I would not take your honor, but restore it. 
 And in return I ask but some slight mark 
 Of your affection. If indeed you love me. 
 
The Spanish Student 245 
 
 As you confess you do, O let me thus 
 With this embrace 
 
 VICTORIAN {ncshijig fo-zvard). 
 
 Hold ! hold ! This is too much. 
 What means this outrage ? 
 
 LARA. 
 
 First, what right have you 
 To question thus a nobleman of Spain ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I too am noble, and you are no more ! 
 Out of my sight ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Are you the master here t 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Ay, here and elsewhere, when the wrong of others 
 Gives me the right ! 
 
 PRECIOSA {to LARA). 
 
 Go ! I beseech you, go ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I shall have business with you. Count, anon ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 You cannot come too soon ! \Exit, 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Victorian ! 
 O we have been betrayed ! 
 
246 The Spanish Student 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! betrayed ! 
 'T is I have been betrayed, not we ! — not we ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Dost thou imagine 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I imagine nothing > 
 I see how 't is thou whilest the time away 
 When I am gone ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 O speak not in that tone ! 
 It wounds me deeply. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 'T was not meant to flatter. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Too well thou knowest the presence of that man 
 Is hateful to me ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Yet I saw thee stand 
 And listen to him, when he told his love. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I did not heed his words. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Indeed thou didst, 
 A-nd answeredst them with love. 
 
The Spanish Student 247 
 
 I heard enough. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Hadst thou heard all 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Be not so angry with me. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I am not angry ; I am very calm. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 If thou wilt let me speak • 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Nay, say no more. 
 T know too much already. Thou art false ! 
 I do not like these Gypsy marriages ! 
 ^Vhere is the ring I gave thee ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 In my casket. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 There let it rest ! I would not have thee wear it : 
 I thought thee spotless, and thou art polluted ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I call the Heavens to witness 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Nay, nay, nay ! 
 Take not the name of Heaven upon thy lips ! 
 They are forsworn ! 
 
248 The Spanish Student 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Victorian ! dear Victoria*^ ^ 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I gave up all for thee ; myself, my fame, 
 My hopes of fortune, ay, my very soul ! 
 And thou hast been my ruin ! Now, go on ! 
 Laugh at my folly with thy paramour, 
 And, sitting on the Count of Lara's knee, 
 Say what a poor, fond fool Victorian was ! 
 {He casts her from him and rushes out. ) 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 And this from thee ! 
 
 {Scene closes.) 
 
 SCENE V. 
 The Count of Lara's rooms. Enter the Count. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 There 's nothing in this world so sweet as love, 
 And next to love the sweetest thing is hate ! 
 I Ve learned to hate, and therefore am revenged. 
 A silly girl to play the prude with me ! 
 
 The fire that I have kindled 
 
 {Enter Francisco.) 
 
 Well, Francisco, 
 
 What tidings from Don Juan ? 
 
The Spanish Student 249 
 
 FRANCISCO. 
 
 Good, P^y lord ; 
 He will be present. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 And the Duke of Lermos "> 
 
 Was not at home. 
 
 FRANCISCO. 
 LARA. 
 
 How with the rest } 
 
 FRANCISCO. 
 
 I 've found 
 The men you wanted. They will all be there, 
 And at the given signal raise a whirlwind 
 Of such discordant noises, that the dance 
 Must cease for lack of music. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Bravely done. 
 Ah ! little dost thou dream, sweet Preciosa, 
 What lies in wait for thee. Sleep shall not close 
 Thine eyes this night ! Give me my cloak and 
 sword. \_Exeiint. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 A retired spot beyond the city gates. Enter Victorian and 
 Hypolito. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 O shame ! O shame ! Why do I walk abroad 
 
250 The Spanish Student 
 
 By daylight, when the very sunshine mocks me, 
 And voices, and famihar sights and sounds 
 Cry, " Hide thyself ! " O what a thin partition 
 Doth shut out from the curious world the knowl- 
 edge 
 Of evil deeds that have been done in darkness ! 
 Disgrace has many tongues. My fears are win- 
 dows. 
 Through which all eyes seem gazing. Every face 
 Expresses some suspicion of my shame, 
 And in derision seems to smile at me ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Did I not caution thee ? Did I not tell thee 
 I was but half persuaded of her virtue ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 And yet, Hypolito, we may be wrong, 
 We may be over-hasty in condemning ! 
 The Count of Lara is a cursed villain. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 And therefore is she cursed, loving him. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 She does not love him ! 'T is for gold ! for gold ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Ay, but remember, in the public streets 
 
 He shows a golden ring the Gypsy gave him, 
 
 A serpent with a ruby in its mouth. 
 
The Spanish Student 251 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 She had that ring from me ! God ! she is false ! 
 But I will be revenged ! The hour is passed. 
 Where stays the coward ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Nay, he is no coward ; 
 A villain, if thou wilt, but not a coward. 
 I Ve seen him play with swords ; it is his pastime. 
 And therefore be not over-confident. 
 He '11 task thy skill anon. Look, here he comes. 
 {Enter Lara, followed by Francisco. ) 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Good evening, gentlemen. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Good evening, Count. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 I trust I have not kept you long in waiting. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Not long, and yet too long. Are you prepared .? 
 
 LARA. 
 
 I am. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 It grieves me much to see this quarrel 
 Between you, gentlemen. Ls there no way 
 Left open to accord this difference. 
 But you must make one with your swords ? 
 
252 The Spanish Student 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 No ! none » 
 I do entreat thee, dear Hypolito, 
 Stand not between me and my foe. Too long 
 Our tongues have spoken. Let these tongues of 
 
 steel 
 End our debate. Upon your guard, Sir Count ! 
 
 ( They fight. Victorian disarms the Count.) 
 
 Your life is mine ; and what shall now withhold me 
 From sending your vile soul to its account ? 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Strike ! strike ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 You are disarmed. I will not kill you, 
 I will not murder you. Take up your sword. 
 
 (F'rancisco hands the Count his sword, and Hypolito 
 interposes. ) 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Enough ! Let it end here ! The Count of Lara 
 Has shown himself a brave man, and Victorian 
 A generous one, as ever. Now be friends. 
 Put up your swords ; for, to speak frankly to you, 
 Your cause of quarrel is too slight a thing 
 To move you to extremes. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 I am content. 
 
The Spanish Student 253 
 
 I sought no quarrel. A few hasty words. 
 Spoken in the heat of blood, have led to this. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Nay, something more than that. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 I understand you. 
 Therein 1 did not mean to cross your path. 
 To me the door stood open, as to others. 
 But, had I known the girl belonged to you. 
 Never would I have sought to win her from you. 
 The truth stands now revealed ; she has been false 
 To both of us. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Ay, false as hell itself! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 In truth, I did not seek her j she sought me ; 
 And told me how to win her, telling me 
 The hours when she was oftenest left alone. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Say, can you prove this to me ? O, pluck out 
 These awful doubts, that goad me into madness ! 
 Let me know all ! all ! all ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 You shall know all. 
 Here is my page, who was the messenger 
 Between us. Question him. Was it not so, 
 Francisco t 
 
254 ^^^^ Spajiish Student 
 
 FRANCISCO. 
 
 Ay, my lord. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 If farther proof 
 Is needful, I have here a ring she gave me. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Pray let me see that ring ! It is the same ! 
 
 [Throws it upon the ground^ and tramples upon it.) 
 Thus may she perish who once wore that ring ! 
 Thus do I spurn her from me ; do thus trample 
 Her memory in the dust ! O Count of Lara, 
 We both have been abused, been much abused ! 
 I thank you for your courtesy and frankness. 
 Though, like the surgeon's hand, yours gave me 
 
 pain, 
 Yet it has cured my blindness, and I thank you. 
 I now can see the folly I have done. 
 Though 't is, alas ! too late. So fare you well ! 
 To-night I leave this hateful town forever. 
 Regard me as your friend. Once more, farewell ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Farewell, Sir Count. 
 
 {Exeunt Victorian and Hypolito. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Farewell ! farewell ! farewell ! 
 Thus have I cleared the field of my worst foe ! 
 
The Spanish Student 255 
 
 I have none else to fear ; the fight is done, 
 The citadel is stormed, the victory won ! 
 
 {Exit with Francisco. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 A lane in the snhnrbs. Night. Enter Cruzado and 
 Bartolome. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 And so, Bartolome, the expedition fliiled. But 
 where wast thou for the most part ? 
 
 bartolome. 
 
 In the Guadarrama mountains, near San Ilde- 
 fonso. 
 
 cruzado. 
 
 And thou bringest nothing back with thee? 
 Didst thou rob no one ? 
 
 bartolome. 
 There was no one to rob, save a party of stu- 
 dents from Segovia, who looked as if they would 
 rob us ; and a jolly little friar, who had nothing in 
 his pockets but a missal and a loaf of bread. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Pray, then, what brings thee back to Madrid ? 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 First tell me what keeps thee here } 
 
256 The Spanish Student 
 
 CRU2AD0. 
 
 Preciosa. 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 And she brings me back. Hast thou forgotten 
 thy promise ? 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 The two years are not passed yet. Wait pa- 
 tiently. The girl shall be thine, 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 I hear she has a Busne lover. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 That is nothing. 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 I do not like it. I hate him, — the son of a 
 Busne harlot. He goes in and out, and speaks 
 with her alone, and I must stand aside, and wait 
 his pleasure. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Be patient, I say. Thou shalt have thy revenge. 
 When the time comes, thou shalt waylay him. 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 Meanwhile, show me her house. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Come this way. But thou wilt not find her. 
 She dances at the play to-night. 
 
 bartolom:^. 
 No matter. Show me the house. [Exeunt. 
 
The St>aiiish Student 257 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 The Theatre. The orchestra plays the cachiicha. Sound of 
 castanets behind the scenes. The curtain rises, and discovers 
 Preciosa in the attitude of commencing the dance. The 
 cachucha. Tumult; hisses; cries of ^'■Brava !" and ^^Afu- 
 era ! " She falters and pauses. The music stops. General 
 confitsion. VKEClOSPi. faints. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 The Count of Lara's chambers. Lara and his friends at 
 
 supper. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 So, Caballeros, once more many thanks ! 
 You have stood by me bravely in this matter. 
 Pray fill your glasses. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Did you mark, Don Luis, 
 How pale she looked, when first the noise began. 
 And then stood still, with her large eyes dilated ! 
 Her nostrils spread ! her lips apart \ her bosom 
 Tumultuous as the sea ! 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 I pitied her. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Her pride is humbled \ and this very night 
 I mean to visit her. 
 
258 The Spanish Stndeiit 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Will you serenade her ? 
 
 LARA. 
 
 No music ! no more music 1 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 Why not music ? 
 It softens many hearts. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 Not in the humor 
 She now is in. Music would madden her. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Try golden cymbals. 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 Yes, try Don Dinero ; 
 A mighty wooer is your Don Dinero. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 To tell the truth, then, I have bribed her maid 
 But, Caballeros, you dislike this wine. 
 A bumper and away ; for the night wears. 
 A health to Preciosa. 
 
 ( They rise and drink. ) 
 ALL. 
 
 Preciosa. 
 
 LARA {holding up his glass). 
 
 7\ou bright and flaming minister of Love ! 
 
The Spanish Student 259 
 
 Thou wonderful magician ! who hast stolen 
 My secret from me, and mid sighs of passion 
 Caught from my lips, with red and fiery tongue, 
 Her precious name ! O never more henceforth 
 Shall mortal lips press thine ; and never more 
 A mortal name be whispered in thine ear. 
 Go ! keep my secret ! 
 
 {Drinks and dashes the goblet downJ) 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ite ! missa est ! 
 {Scene doses.) 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 Street and garden zuall. Night. Enter Cruzado and 
 Bartolom£. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 This is the garden wall, and above it, yonder, is 
 her house. The window in which thou seest the 
 light is her window. But we will not go in now. 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 Why not ? 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Because she is not at home. 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 No matter ; we can wait. But how is this ? The 
 
26o TJie SpanisJi Student 
 
 gate is bolted. {Sound of g^iitars and voices in a neighbor 
 
 ing street.) Hark! There comes her lover with hij 
 infernal serenade ! Hark ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Good night ! Good night, heloved 7 
 
 I come to watch o'er thee ! 
 To be near thee, — to be near thee, 
 
 Alone is peace for me. 
 
 Thine eyes are stars of morning, 
 
 Thy lips are crimson flowers ! 
 Good night ! Good night, beloved, 
 
 While I count the weary hours. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 They are not coming this way. 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 Wait, they begin again. 
 
 SONG {coming nearer) . 
 
 Ah ! thou moon that shinest 
 
 Argent-clear above ! 
 All night long enlighten 
 
 My sweet lady-love ! 
 
 Moon that shinest, 
 All night long enlighten ! 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 Woe be to him, if he comes this way ! 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Be quiet, they are passing down the street. 
 
The Spanish Student 261 
 
 SONG [dying away). 
 
 The nuns in the cloister 
 
 Sang to each other ; 
 For so many sisters 
 
 Is there not one brother ! 
 Ay, for the partridge, mother ! 
 
 The cat has run away with the partridge ! 
 Puss ! puss ! puss ! 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 Follow that ! follow that ! Come with me. Puss ! 
 
 puss ! 
 
 [Exeunt. On the opposite side enter the Count of Lara and 
 gentlemen, with Francisco.) 
 
 LARA. 
 
 The gate is fast. Over the wall, Francisco, 
 And draw the bolt. There, so, and so, and over. 
 Now, gentlemen, come in, and help me scale 
 Yon balcony. How now ? Her light still burns. 
 Move warily. Make fast the gate, Francisco. 
 [Exeunt. Re-enter Cruzado and Bartolome.) 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 They went in at the gate. Hark ! I hear them 
 in the garden. [Tries the gate.) Bolted again! Vive 
 Cristo ! Follow me over the wall. 
 ( They climb the wall. ) 
 
262 TJie Spanish Student 
 
 SCENE XL 
 
 Preciosa's bed-chai7iber. Midnight. She is sleeping in an 
 arm-chair^ in an undress. Dolores watching her. 
 
 DOLORES. 
 
 She sleeps at last ! 
 
 ( Opens the windcnv and listens. ) 
 
 All silent in the street, 
 And in the garden. Hark ! 
 
 PRECIOSA {in her sleep). 
 
 I must go hence ! 
 Give me my cloak ! 
 
 DOLORES. 
 
 He comes ! I hear his footsteps -. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Go tell them that I cannot dance to-night ; 
 I am too ill ! Look at me ! See the fever 
 That burns upon my cheek ! I must go hence. 
 I am too weak to dance. 
 
 {Signal from the garden. ) 
 
 DOLORES {from the windoiv). 
 Who 's there ? 
 
 VOICE {from below). 
 
 A friend. 
 
 DOLORES. 
 
 I will undo the door. Wait till I come. 
 
The Spanish Student 263 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I must go hence. I pray you do not harm me ! 
 Shame ! shame ! to treat a feeble woman thus ! 
 Be you but kind, I will do all things for you. 
 I 'm ready now, — give me my castanets. 
 Where is Victorian ? Oh, those hateful lamps ! 
 They glare upon me like an evil eye. 
 I cannot stay. Hark ! how they mock at me ! 
 They hiss at me like serpents ! Save me ! save 
 me 1 
 
 {She zuakcs. ) 
 
 How late is it, Dolores .? 
 
 DOLORES. 
 
 It is midnight. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 We must be patient. Smooth this pillow for me. 
 {She sleeps again. Noise frojn the garden^ and voices.) 
 VOICE. 
 
 Muera ! 
 
 ANOTHER VOICE. 
 
 O villains ! villains ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 So ! have at you ! 
 
 VOICE. 
 
 Take that ! 
 
 LARA. 
 
 O, I am wounded ! 
 
 DOLORES {shutting the windoTV) . 
 
 Jesu Maria ! 
 
264 T^he Spanish Student 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A cross-7-oad tkrotigh a loood. In the back- 
 ground distajit village spire. VICTORIAN and Hypo- 
 LITO, as travellijig students^ with guitars, sitting under the 
 trees. F vpoLITO plays and sings. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ah, Love ! 
 Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 
 
 Enemy 
 Of all that mankind may not rue ! 
 
 Most untrue 
 To him who keeps most faith with thee. 
 
 Woe is me ! 
 The falcon has the eyes of the dove. 
 
 Ah, Love ! 
 Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Yes, Love is ever busy with liis shuttle, 
 
 Is ever weaving into Hfe's dull warp 
 
 Bright, gorgeous flowers and scenes Arcadian ; 
 
 Hanging our gloomy prison-house about 
 
 With tapestries, that make its walls dilate 
 
 In never-ending vistas of delight. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Thinking to walk in those Arcadian pastures, 
 Thou hast run thy noble head against the wall. 
 
The Spanish Student 26$ 
 
 SONG {continued) . 
 Thy deceits 
 Give us clearly to comprehend, 
 
 Whither tend 
 All thy pleasures, all thy sweets ! 
 
 They are cheats, 
 Thorns below and flowers above. 
 
 Ah, Love ! 
 Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 A very pretty song. I thank thee for it. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 It suits thy case. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Indeed, I tliink it does. 
 What wise man wrote it ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Lopez Maldonado. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 In truth, a pretty song. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 With much truth in it. 
 I hope thou wilt profit by it ; and in earnest 
 Try to forget this lady of thy love. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I will forget her ! All dear recollections 
 Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book, 
 
266 The Spanish Student 
 
 Shall be torn out, and scattered to the winds ! 
 
 I will forget her ! But perhaps hereafter, 
 
 When she shall learn how heartless is the world, 
 
 A voice within her will repeat my name. 
 
 And she will say, " He was indeed my friend ! " 
 
 O, would I were a soldier, not a scholar, 
 
 That the loud march, the deafening beat of drums, 
 
 The shattering blast of the brass-throated trumpet. 
 
 The din of arms, the onslaught and the storm. 
 
 And a swift death, might make me deaf forever 
 
 To the upbraidings of this foolish heart ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more ! 
 To conquer love, one need but will to conquer. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Yet, good Hypolito, it is in vain 
 
 I throw into Oblivion's sea the sword 
 
 That pierces me ; for, like Excalibar, 
 
 With gemmed and flashing hilt, it will not sink. 
 
 There rises from below a hand that grasps it, 
 
 And waves it in the air ; and wailing voices 
 
 Are heard along the shore. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 And yet at last 
 Down sank Excalibar to rise no more. 
 This is not well. In truth, it vexes me. 
 vDSitead of whistling to the steeds of Time, 
 
The Spanish Student 26) 
 
 To make them jog on merrily with hfe's burden, 
 Like a dead weight thou hangest on the wheels. 
 Thou art too young, too full of lusty health 
 To talk of dying. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Yet I fain would die ! 
 To go through life, unloving and unloved ; 
 To feel that thirst and hunger of the soul 
 We cannot still ; that longing, that wild impulse, 
 And struggle after something we have not 
 And cannot have ; the effort to be strong ; 
 And, like the Spartan boy, to smile, and smile, 
 While secret wounds do bleed beneath our cloaks ; 
 All this the dead feel not, — the dead alone ! 
 Would I were with them ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 We shall all be soon. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 It cannot be too soon ; for I am weary 
 Of the bewildering masquerade of Life, 
 Where strangers walk as friends, and friends as 
 
 strangers ; 
 Where whispers overheard betray false hearts ; 
 And through the mazes of the crowd we chase 
 Some form of loveliness, that smiles, and beckons, 
 And cheats us with fair words, only to leave us 
 A mockery and a jest ; maddened, — confused, — 
 Not knowing friend from foe. 
 
268 The Spanish Student 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Why seek to know ? 
 Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy youth ! 
 Take each fair mask for what it gives itself, 
 Nor strive to look beneath it. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I confess, 
 That were the wiser part. But Hope no longer 
 Comforts my soul. I am a wretched man, 
 Much like a poor and shipwrecked mariner. 
 Who, struggling to climb up into the boat, 
 Has both his bruised and bleeding hands cut off. 
 And sinks again into the weltering sea, 
 Helpless and hopeless ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Yet thou shalt not perish. 
 The strength of thine own arm is thy salvation. 
 Above thy head, through rifted clouds, there shines 
 A glorious star. Be patient. Trust thy star ! 
 {Sound of a village bell in the distance.) 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Ave Maria ! I hear the sacristan 
 
 Ringing the chimes from yonder village belfry ! 
 
 A solemn sound, that echoes far and wide 
 
 Over the red roofs of the cottages, 
 
 And bids the laboring hind a-field, the shepherd, 
 
 Guarding his flock, the lonely muleteer. 
 
The Spanish Student 269 
 
 And all the crowd in village streets, stand still, 
 And breathe a prayer unto the blessed Virgin ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Amen ! amen I Not half a league from hence 
 The village lies. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 This path will lead us to it, 
 Over the wheat fields, where the shadows sail 
 Across the running sea, now green, now blue, 
 And, like an idle mariner on the main, 
 Whistles the quail. Come, let us hasten on. 
 
 \Exeiint. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Public square in the village of Guadarrajua. The Ave Maria 
 still tolling. A cro^ud of villagers, with their hats in their 
 hands, as if in prayer. In front, a group of Gypsies. The. 
 bell rings a merrier peal. A Gypsy dance. Enter Pan- 
 cno, followed by Pedro Crespo. 
 
 PANCHO. 
 
 Make room, ye vagabonds and Gypsy thieves ! 
 Make room for the Alcalde and for me ! 
 
 PEDRO CRESPO. 
 
 Keep silence all ! I have an edict here 
 From our most gracious lord, the King of Spain, 
 Jerusalem, and the Canary Islands, 
 Which I shall publish in the market-place. 
 Open your ears and listen ! 
 
2/0 TJic Spanish S hi dent 
 
 {Enter the Padre Cura at the door of his cottage.) 
 Padre Cura, 
 Good day ! and, pray you, hear this edict read. 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Good day, and God be with you ! Pray, what is 
 it? 
 
 PEDRO CRESPO. 
 
 An act of banishment against the Gypsies ! 
 {Agitation and mnnmirs in the croivd.) 
 
 PANCHO. 
 
 Silence ! 
 
 PEDRO CRESPO {reads). 
 
 " I hereby order and command, 
 That the Egyptian and Chaldean strangers. 
 Known by the name of Gypsies, shall henceforth 
 Be banished from the realm, as vagabonds 
 And beggars ; and if, after seventy days. 
 Any be found within our kingdom's bounds, 
 They shall receive a hundred lashes each ; 
 The second time, shall have their ears cut off; 
 The third, be slaves for life to him who takes them, 
 Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I, the King." 
 Vile miscreants and creatures unbaptized ! 
 You hear the law ! Obey and disaj^jDear ! 
 
 PANCHO. 
 
 And if in seventy days you are not gone, 
 Dead or alive I make you all my slaves. 
 
The Spanish Student 271 
 
 {The Gypsies go out in confusion, sho^aing signs of fear and 
 discontent. FANcnofot/ozc's.) 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 A righteous law ! A very righteous law ! 
 Pray you, sit down. 
 
 PEDRO CRESPO. 
 
 I thank you heartily. 
 
 {They seat themselves on a bench at the Padre Cura's door. 
 Sound of guitars heard at a distance, approaching during 
 the dialogue which follows. ) 
 
 A very righteous judgment, as you say. 
 
 Now tell me, Padre Cura, — you know all things, — 
 
 How came these Gypsies into Spain ? 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 AVhy, look yot» ; 
 They came with Hercules from Palestine, 
 And hence are thieves and vagrants, Sir Alcalde, 
 As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus. 
 And, look you, as Fray Jayme Bleda says, 
 There are a hundred marks to prove a Moor 
 Is not a Christian, so 't is with the Gypsies. 
 They never marry, never go to mass, 
 Never baptize their children, nor keep Lent, 
 Nor see the inside of a church, — nor — nor -^ 
 
 PEDRO CRESPO. 
 
 Good reasons, good, substantial reasons all ! 
 No matter for the other ninety-five. 
 
272 The Spanish StJidmf 
 
 They should be burnt, I see it plain enough, 
 They should be burnt. 
 
 {Enter Victorian and Hypolito playing. ) 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 And pray, whom have we here ? 
 
 PEDRO CRESPO. 
 
 More vagrants ! By Saint Lazarus, more vagrants ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Good evening, gentlemen ! Is this Guadarrama 'i 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Yes, Guadarrama, and good evening to you. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 We seek the Padre Cura of the village ; 
 
 And, judging from your dress and reverend mien, 
 
 You must be he. 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 I am. Pray, what 's your pleasure ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 We are poor students, travelling in vacation. 
 You know this mark ? 
 
 ( Touching the wooden spoon in his hat-band. ) 
 
 PADRE CURA {joyfully). 
 
 Ay, know it, and have worn it 
 
 PEDRO CRESPO {aside). 
 
 Soup-eaters ! by the mass ! The worst of vagrants ! 
 
The Spanish Student 273 
 
 And there 's no law against them. Sir, your ser- 
 vant. lExit. 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Your servant, Pedro Crespo. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Padre Cura, 
 From the first moment I beheld your face, 
 I said within myself, " This is the man ! " 
 There is a certain something in your looks, 
 A certain scholar-like and studious something, — 
 You understand, — which cannot be mistaken ; 
 Which marks you as a very learned man, 
 In fine, as one of us. 
 
 VICTORIAN [aside]. 
 
 What impudence ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 As we approached, I said to my companion, 
 " That is the Padre Cura ; mark my words ! " 
 Meaning your Grace. " The other man," said I, 
 " Who sits so awkwardly upon the bench, 
 Must be the sacristan." 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Ah ! said you so ? 
 Why, that was Pedro Crespo, the alcalde ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Indeed ! you much astonish me ! His air 
 
274 ^^^^ Spanish S indent 
 
 Was not so full of dignity and grace 
 As an alcalde's should be. 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 That is true. 
 He 's out of humor with some vagrant Gypsies, 
 Who have their camp here in the neighborhood 
 There 's nothing so undignified as anger. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 The Padre Cura will excuse our boldness, 
 If, from his well-known hospitality, 
 We crave a lodging for the night. 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 I pray you/ 
 You do me honor ! I am but too happy 
 To have such guests beneath my humble roof. 
 It is not often that I have occasion 
 To speak with scholars ; and Eniollit mores, 
 Nee sinit esseferos, Cicero says. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 'T is Ovid, is it not ? 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 No, Cicero. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Your Grace is right. You are the better scholar. 
 Now what a dunce was I to think it Ovid ! 
 But hang me if it is not ! {Aside.) 
 
The Spanish Student 275 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Pass this way. 
 He was a very great man, was Cicero ! 
 Pray you, go in, go in ! no ceremony. lExeimt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A room in the Padre Cura's house. Enter the Padre and 
 Hypolito. 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 So then, Seiior, you come from Alcala. 
 
 I am glad to hear it. It was there I studied. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 And left behind an honored name, no doubt. 
 How may I call your Grace .? 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Gerdnimo 
 De -Santillana, at your Honor's service. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Descended from the Marquis Santillana ? 
 From the distinguished poet } 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 ^, ^ „ From the Marquis, 
 
 Not from Ihe poet. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Why, they were the same. 
 Let me **'iibrace you ! O some lucky star 
 
2/6 The Spanish Student 
 
 Has brought me hither ! Yet once more ! — once 
 
 more ! 
 Your name is ever green in Alcala, 
 And our professor, when we are unruly, 
 Will shake his hoary head, and- say, " Alas ! 
 It was not so in Santillana's time ! " 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 I chd not think my name remembered there. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 More than remembered ; it is idolized. 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Of what professor speak you ? 
 
 Timoneda. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 I don't remember any Timoneda. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 A grave and sombre man, whose beetling brow 
 O'erhangs the rushing current of his speech 
 As rocks o'er rivers hang. Have you forgotten? 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Indeed, I have. O, those were pleasant days. 
 
 Those college days ! I ne'er shall see the like ! 
 
 I had not buried then so many hopes ! 
 
 I had not buried then so many friends ! 
 
 I've turned my back on what was then before me ; 
 
The Spanish Student 277 
 
 And the bright faces of my young companions 
 Are wrinkled hke my own, or are no more. 
 Do you remember Cueva ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Cueva ? Cueva ? 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Fool that I am ! He was before your time. 
 You 're a mere boy, and I am an old man. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 I should not like to try my strength with you. 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Well, well. But I forget ; you must be hungry. 
 Martina ! ho ! Martina ! 'T is my niece. 
 {Enter Martina.) 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 You may be proud of such a niece as that. 
 I wish I had a niece. Emollit 7110 res. {Aside.) 
 He was a very great man, was Cicero ! 
 Your servant, fair Martina. 
 
 MARTINA. 
 
 Servant, sir. 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 This gentleman is hungry. See thou to it. 
 Let us have supper. 
 
 MARTINA. 
 
 'T will be ready soon. 
 
2/8 The Spanish Student 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 And bring a bottle of my Val-de-Penas 
 
 Out of the cellar. Stay ; I '11 go myself. 
 
 Pray you^ Sen or, excuse me. {Exit. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Hist! Martina! 
 One word with you. Bless me! what handsome 
 
 eyes ! 
 To-day there have been Gypsies in the village. 
 Is it not so ? 
 
 MARTINA. 
 
 There have been Gypsies here. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Yes, and they told your fortune. 
 
 MARTINA {embarrassed). 
 
 Told my fortune ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Yes, yes ; I know they did. Give me your hand. 
 I '11 tell you what they said. They said, — they 
 
 said. 
 The shepherd boy that loved you was a clown, 
 (l\.nd him you should not marry. Was it not 1 
 
 MARTINA {surprised). 
 How know you that t 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 O, I know more than that. 
 What a soft, little hand ! And then they said, 
 
The Spanish Student 279 
 
 A cavalier from court, handsome, and tall 
 And rich, should come one day to marry you, 
 And you should be a lady. Was it not ? 
 He has arrived, the handsome cavalier. 
 
 {Tries to kiss her. She runs off. Enter VICTORIAN, with a 
 letter.) 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 The muleteer has come. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 So soon ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 1 found him 
 
 Sitting at supper by the tavern door, 
 And, from a pitcher that he held aloft 
 His whole arm's length, drinking the blood-red 
 wine. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 What news from Court ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 He brought this letter only. {Reads.) 
 O cursed perfidy ! Why did I let 
 That lying tongue deceive me ! Preciosa, 
 Sweet Preciosa ! how art thou avenged ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 What news is this, that makes thy cheek turn pale, 
 And thy hand tremble ? 
 
28o The Spanish Student 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 O, most infamous ! 
 The Count of Lara is a worthless villain ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 That is no news, forsooth. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 He strove in vain 
 To steal from me the jewel of my soul, 
 The love of Preciosa. Not succeeding, 
 He swore to be revenged ; and set on foot 
 A plot to ruin her, which has succeeded. 
 She has been hissed and hooted from the stage, 
 Her reputation stained by slanderous lies 
 Too foul to speak of; and, once more a beggar, 
 She roams a wanderer over God's green earth, 
 Housing with Gypsies ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 To renew again 
 The Age of Gold, and make the shepherd swains 
 Desperate with love, like Gasper Gil's Diana. 
 Redit et Virgo ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Dear Hypolito, 
 How have I wronged that meek, confiding heart ! 
 I will go seek for her ; and with my tears 
 Wash out the wrong I 've done her ! 
 
The Spanish Studeitt 281 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 O beware ! 
 Act not that folly o'er again. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Ay, folly, 
 Delusion, madness, call it what thou wilt, 
 I will confess my weakness, — I still love her ! 
 Still fondly love her ! 
 
 {Enter the Padre Cura.) 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Tell us. Padre Cura, 
 ^Vho are these Gypsies in the neighborhood ? 
 
 padre cura. 
 Beltran Cruzado and his crew. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Kind Heaven, 
 I thank thee ! She is found ! is found again ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 And have they with them a pale, beautiful girl, 
 Called Preciosa? 
 
 > PADRE CURA. 
 
 Ay, a pretty girl. 
 The gentleman seems moved. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Yes, moved with hunger. 
 He is half famished with this long day's journey. 
 
282 The Spanish Student 
 
 PADRE CURA. 
 
 Then, pray you, come this way. The supper waits. 
 
 \_Exeiint. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 A post-house on the 7'oad to Segovia, not far from the village of 
 Guadarra?na. Enter Chispa, cracking a whip and sing- 
 ing the Cachucha. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Halloo ! Don Fulano ! Let us have horses, 
 and quickly. Alas, poor Chispa ! what a dog's 
 life dost thou lead ! I thought, when I left my old 
 master Victorian, the student, to serve my new 
 master Don Carlos, the gentleman, that I, too, 
 should lead the life of a gentleman ; should go to 
 bed early, and get up late. For when the abbot 
 plays cards, what can you expect of the friars? 
 But, in running away from the thunder, I have run 
 into the lightning. Here I am in hot chase after 
 my master and his Gypsy girl. And a good begin- 
 ning of the week it is, as he said who was hanged 
 on Monday morning. 
 
 {Enter Don Carlos. ) 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Are not the horses ready yet ? 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 I should think not, for the hostler seems to be 
 
The Spanish Student 283 
 
 asleep. Ho ! within there ! Horses ! horses ! 
 horses ! {ffe knocks at the gate with his zahip^ and enter 
 Mosquito, putting ojt his jacket.) 
 
 MOSQUITO. 
 
 Pray, have a Uttle patience. I 'm not a musket. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Health and pistareens ! I 'm glad to see you 
 come on dancing, padre ! Pray, what 's the news ? 
 
 MOSQUITO. 
 
 You cannot have fresh horses ; because there 
 are none. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Cachiporra ! Throw that bone to another dog. 
 Do I look like your aunt ? 
 
 MOSQUITO. 
 
 No ; she has a beard. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Go to ! go to ! 
 
 MOSQUITO. 
 
 Are you from Madrid ? 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Yes ; and going to Estramadura. Get us horses. 
 
 MOSQUITO. 
 
 What 's the news at Court ? 
 
284 The Spanish Student 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Why, the latest news is, that I am going to set 
 up a coach, and I have already bought the whip. 
 
 [Strikes him rotmd the legs. ) 
 
 MOSQUITO. 
 
 Oh ! oh ! you hurt me ! 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Enough of this folly. Let us have horses. [Gives 
 money to Mosquito.) It is almost dark ; and we are 
 in haste. But tell me, has a band of Gypsies 
 passed this way of late ? 
 
 MOSQUITO. 
 
 Yes ; and they are still in the neighborhood. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 And where ? 
 
 MOSQUITO. 
 
 Across the fields yonder, in the woods near 
 Guadarrama. [Exit. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Now this is lucky. We will visit the Gypsy 
 camp. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Are you not afraid of the evil eye ? Have you 
 a stag's horn with you ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Fear not. We will pass the night at the village. 
 
The Spanish Student 285 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 And sleep like the Squires of Hernan Daza, 
 nine under one blanket. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 I hope we may find the Preciosa among them. 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Among the Squires ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 No ; among the Gypsies, blockhead ! 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 I hope we may; for we are giving ourselves 
 trouble enough on her account. Don't you think 
 so ? However, there is no catching trout without 
 wetting one's trousers. Yonder come the horses. 
 
 \_Exac7it. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The Gypsy camp in the forest. Night. Gypsies working at a 
 forge. Others playing cards by the fire-light. 
 
 GYPSIES [at the forge sing). 
 On the top of a mountain I stand, 
 With a crown of red gold in my hand, 
 Wild Moors come trooping over the lea, 
 O how from their fury shall I flee, flee, flee ? 
 O how from their fury shall I flee ? 
 
 FIRST GYPSY [playing). 
 
 Down with your John-Dorados, my pigeon, 
 
286 The Spanish Student 
 
 Down with your John-Dorados, and let us make 
 an end. 
 
 GYPSIES [at the forge sing). 
 
 Loud sang the Spanish cavaher, 
 
 And thus his ditty ran ; 
 God send the Gypsy lassie here, 
 
 And not the Gypsy man. 
 
 FIRST GYPSY [playing). 
 
 There you are in your morocco ! 
 
 SECOND GYPSY. 
 
 One more game. The Alcalde's doves against 
 the Padre Cura's new moon. 
 
 FIRST GYPSY. 
 
 Have at you, Chirelin. 
 
 GYPSIES [at the forge sing). 
 At midnight, when the moon began 
 
 To show her silver flame, 
 There came to him no Gypsy man, 
 The Gypsy lassie came, 
 (^w/^;- Beltran Cruzado.) 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Come hither, Murcigalleros and Rastilleros ; 
 leave work, leave play ; listen to your orders for 
 the night. [Speaking to the right.) You will get you 
 to the village, mark you, by the stone cross. 
 
 GYPSIES. 
 
 Ay! 
 
The Spanish Student 287 
 
 CRUZADO {to the left). 
 And you, by the pole with the hermit's head 
 upon it. 
 
 GYPSIES. 
 
 Ay! 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 As soon as you see the planets are out, in with 
 you, and be busy with the ten commandments, 
 under the sly, and Saint Martin asleep. D'ye 
 hear? 
 
 GYPSIES. 
 
 Ay! 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Keep your lanterns open, and, if you see a 
 goblin or a papagayo, take to 3'our trampers. 
 Vineyards and Dancing John is the word. Am I 
 comprehended ? 
 
 Ay! ay 
 
 GYPSIES. 
 
 CRUZADO. 
 
 Away, then ! 
 
 {Exeunt severally. Cruzado walks iip the stage, and disap- 
 pears among the trees. Enter Preciosa. ) 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 How strangely gleams through the gigantic trees 
 The red light of the forge ! Wild, beckoning 
 
 shadows 
 Stalk through the forest, ever and anon 
 
288 The Spanish Stitdent 
 
 Rising and bending with the flickering flame, 
 Then flitting into darkness ! So within me 
 Strange hopes and fears do beckon to each other, 
 My brightest hopes giving dark fears a being 
 As the hght does the shadow. Woe is me ! 
 How stiU it is about me, and how lonely ! 
 (Bartolome ricshes in.) 
 
 BARTOLOM]^. 
 
 Ho ! Preciosa ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 O Bartolome ! 
 Thou here ? 
 
 BARTOLOM^. 
 
 Lo ! I am here. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Whence comest thou ? 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 From the rough ridges of the wild Sierra, 
 From caverns in the rocks, from hunger, thirst, 
 And fever ! Like a wfld wolf to the sheepfold 
 Come I fo: thee, my lamb. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 O touch me not ! 
 The Count of Lara's blood is on thy hands ! 
 The Count of Lara's curse is on thy soul ! 
 Do not come near me ! Pray, begone from here ! 
 
The Spanish Student 289 
 
 Thou art in danger ! They have set a price 
 Upon thy head ! 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 Ay, and I Ve wandered long 
 Among the mountains ; and for many days 
 Have seen no human face, save the rough swine- 
 herd's. 
 The wind and rain have been my sole companions. 
 I shouted to them from the rocks thy name, 
 And the loud echo sent it back to me, 
 Till I grew mad. I could not stay from thee, 
 And I am here ! Betray me, if thou wilt. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Betray thee ? I betray thee ? 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 Preciosa ! 
 I come for thee ! for thee I thus brave death ! 
 Fly with me o'er the borders of this realm ! 
 Fly with me ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Speak of that no more. I cannot 
 I 'm thine no longer. 
 
 BARTOLOM^. 
 
 O, recall the time 
 When we were children ! how we played together. 
 How we grew up together ; how we plighted 
 Our hearts unto each other, even in childhood ! 
 
290 TJie Spanish Student 
 
 Fulfil thy promise, for the hour has come. 
 I 'm hunted from the kingdom, like a wolf! 
 Fulfil thy promise. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 'T was my father's promise, 
 Not mine. I never gave my heart to thee, 
 Nor promised thee my hand ! 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 False tongue of woman ! 
 And heart more false ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Nay, listen unto me. 
 T will speak frankly. I have never loved thee ; 
 I cannot love thee. This is not my fault, 
 It is my destiny. Thou art a man 
 Restless and violent. What wouldst thou with me, 
 A feeble girl, who have not long to live. 
 Whose heart is broken .'' Seek another wife. 
 Better than I, and fairer ; and let not 
 Thy rash and headlong moods estrange her from 
 
 thee. 
 Thou art unhappy in this hopeless passion. 
 I never sought thy love ; never did aught 
 To make thee love me. Yet I pity thee, 
 And most of all I pity thy wild heart. 
 That hurries thee to crimes and deeds of blood. 
 Beware, beware of that. 
 
The Spmiish Student 291 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 For thy dear sake 
 I will be gentle. Thou shalt teach me patience. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Then take this farewell, and depart in peace. 
 Thou must not linger here. 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 Come, come with me. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Hark ! I hear footsteps. 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 I entreat thee, come ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 x\way ! It is in vain. 
 
 BARTOLOM^. 
 
 Wilt thou not come ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Never ! 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 Then woe, eternal woe, upon thee ! 
 Thou shalt not be another's. Thou shalt die. 
 
 \Exit. 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 All holy angels keep me in this hour ! 
 Spirit of her who bore me, look upon me 1 
 Mother of God, the glorified, protect me I 
 
292 The Spanish Student 
 
 Christ and the saints, be merciful unto me ! 
 Yet why should I fear death ? What is it to die ? 
 To leave all disappointment, care, and sorrow. 
 To leave all falsehood, treachery, and unkindness, 
 All ignominy, suffering, and despair, 
 And be at rest forever ! O dull heart, 
 Be of good cheer ! When thou shalt cease to beat, 
 Then shalt thou cease to suffer and complain ! 
 {Enter Victorian and Hypolito behind. ) 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 'T is she ! Behold, how beautiful she stands 
 Under the tent-like trees ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 A woodland nymph ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I pray thee, stand aside. Leave me. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Be wary. 
 Do not betray thyself too soon. 
 
 VICTORIAN {disgnising his voice). 
 
 Hist! Gypsy! 
 
 PRECIOSA {aside, with emotiofi). 
 
 That voice ! that voice from heaven ! O speak 
 
 again ! 
 Who is it calls ? 
 
 • VICTORIAN. 
 
 A friend. 
 
The Spanish Student 293 
 
 PRECIOSA [aside). 
 
 'Tishe! 'Tishe! 
 I thank thee, Heaven, that thou hast heard my 
 
 prayer, 
 And sent me this protector ! Now be strong, 
 Be strong, my heart ! 1 must dissemble here. 
 False friend or true ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 A true friend to the true ; 
 Fear not ; come hither. So ; can you tell fortunes ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Not in the dark. Come nearer to the fire. 
 Give me your hand. It is not crossed, I see. 
 
 VICTORIAN [putting a piece of gold into her hand). 
 
 There is the cross. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Is 't silver 1 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 No, 't is gold 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 There 's a fair lady at the Court, who loves you. 
 And for yourself alone. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Fie ! the old story I 
 Tell me a better fortune for my money ; 
 Not this old woman's tale ! 
 
 I- 
 
i 294 The Spmiish Student 
 
 { PRECIOSA. 
 
 You are passionate ; 
 And this same passionate humor in your blood 
 Has marred your fortune. Yes ; I see it now ; 
 The line of life is crossed by many marks. 
 
 I Shame ! shame ! O you have wronged the maid 
 
 who loved you ! 
 How could you do it ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I never loved a maid ; 
 For she I loved was then a maid no more. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 How know you that ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 A little bird in the air 
 Whispered the secret. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 There, take back your gold ! 
 Your hand is cold, like a deceiver's hand ! 
 There is no blessing in its charity ! 
 Make her your wife, for you have been abused ; 
 And you shall mend your fortunes, mending hers. 
 
 VICTORIAN {aside). 
 How like an angel's speaks the tongue of woman, 
 When pleading in another's cause her own ! 
 That is a pretty ring upon your finger. 
 Fray give it me. ( Tj-ies to take the rhig. ) 
 
The Spanish Student 295 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 No ; never from my hand 
 Shall that be taken ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Why, 't is but a ring. 
 I '11 give it back to you ; or, if I keep it, 
 Will give you gold to buy you twenty such. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Why would you have this ring ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 A traveller's fancy, 
 A whim, and nothing more. I would fain keep it 
 As a memento of the Gypsy camp 
 In Guadarrama, and the fortune-teller 
 Who sent me back to wed a widowed maid. 
 Pray, let me have the ring. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 No, never ! never ! 
 I will not part with it, even when I die ; 
 But bid my nurse fold my pale fingers thus, 
 That it may not fall from them. 'T is a token 
 Of a beloved friend, who is no more. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 How? dead? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Yes ; dead to me ; and worse than dead. 
 He is estranged ! And yet I keep this ring. 
 
296 The Spanish Student 
 
 I will rise with it from my grave hereafter, 
 To prove to him that I was never false. 
 
 VICTORIAN {aside). 
 
 Be still, my swelling heart ! one moment, still \ 
 Why, 't is the folly of a love-sick girl. 
 Come, give it me, or I will say 't is mine, 
 And that you stole it. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 O, you will not dare 
 To utter such a falsehood ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I not dare ? 
 Look in my face, and say if there is aught 
 I have not dared, I would not dare for thee \ 
 {She rushes into his amis. ) 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 'T is thou ! 't is thou ! Yes ; yes ; my heart's 
 
 elected ! 
 My dearest-dear Victorian ! my soul's heaven ! 
 Where hast thou been so long ? Why didst thou 
 
 leave me ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Ask me not now, my dearest Preciosa. 
 Let me forget we ever have been parted ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Hadst thou not come 
 
The Spanish Student 297 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I pray thee, do not chide me 1 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I should have perished here among these Gypsies. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Forgive me, sweet ! for what I made thee suffer. 
 Think'st thou tliis heart could feel a moment's joy, 
 Thou being absent ? O, believe it not ! 
 Indeed, since that sad hour I have not slept, 
 For thinking of the wrong I did to thee ! 
 Dost thou forgive me ? Say, wilt thou forgive me ? 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 I have forgiven thee. Ere those words of anger 
 Were in the book of Heaven writ down against 
 
 thee, 
 I had forgiven thee. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I 'm the veriest fool 
 That walks the earth, to have believed thee false. 
 It was the Count of Lara 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 That bad man 
 Has worked me harm enough. Hast thou not 
 heard 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 I have heard all. And yet speak on, speak on ! 
 
 i 
 
298 The Spanish Student 
 
 Let me but hear thy voice, and I am happy ; 
 For every tone, like some sweet incantation, 
 Calls up the buried past to plead for me. 
 Speak, my beloved, speak into my heart, 
 Whatever fills and agitates thine own. 
 ( They walk aside.) 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 All gentle quarrels in the pastoral poets, 
 All passionate love scenes in the best romances, 
 All chaste embraces on the public stage. 
 All soft adventures, which the liberal stars 
 Have winked at, as the natural course of things, 
 Have been surpassed here by my friend, the stu- 
 dent. 
 And this sweet Gypsy lass, fair Preciosa ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Senor Hypolito ! I kiss your hand. 
 Pray, shall I tell your fortune ? 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Not to-night ; 
 For, should you treat me as you did Victorian, 
 And send me back to marry maids forlorn. 
 My wedding day would last from now till Christ- 
 mas. 
 
 CHISPA {wiihifi). 
 
 What ho ! the Gypsies, ho ! Beltran Cruz ado ! 
 Halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! 
 
 [Enters booted, with a ivhip and lantej-n.) 
 
The Spanish Studmt 299 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 What now ? 
 Why such a fearful din ? Hast thou been robbed ? 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 Ay, robbed and murdered ; and good evening to 
 
 you, 
 My worthy masters. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Speak ; what brings thee here ? 
 CHISPA [to Preciosa). 
 Good news from Court ; good news ! Beltran Cru- 
 
 zado. 
 The Count of the Cales, is not your father, 
 But your true father has returned to Spain 
 Laden with wealth. You are no more a Gypsy. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 Strange as a Moorish tale ! 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 And we have all 
 
 Been drinking at the tavern to your health, 
 
 As wells drink in November, when it 
 
 rains. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 
 Where is the gentleman ? 
 
 
 CHISPA. 
 
 
 As the old 
 
 song says, 
 
 His body is in Segovia, 
 
 
 His soul is in Madrid. 
 
 
300 The Spajiish Student 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Is this a dream ? 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, HypoHto ! Speak ! speak ! 
 Let me not wake and find it all a dream ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 It is a dream, sweet child ! a waking dream, 
 
 A blissful certainty, a vision bright 
 
 Of that rare happiness, which even on earth 
 
 Heaven gives to those it loves. Now art thou rich, 
 
 As thou wast ever beautiful and good ; 
 
 And I am now the beggar. 
 
 PRECIOSA {giving 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 al- 
 monds ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 What more of this strange story ? 
 
 "' 
 
The Spanish Student 301 
 
 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 '11 hang her for the crime. 
 To make the celebration more complete. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 No ; let it be a day of general joy ; 
 
 Fortune comes well to all, that comes not late. 
 
 Now let us join Don Carlos. 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 So farewell. 
 The student's wandering life ! Sweet serenades, 
 Sung under ladies' windows in the night, 
 And all thai" makes vacation beautiful ! 
 To you, ye cloistered shades of Alcala, 
 To you, ye radiant visions of romance, 
 Written in books, but here surpassed by truth, 
 The Bachelor Hypolito returns, 
 And leaves the Gypsy with the Spanish Student 
 
302 The Spanish Student 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 A. pass in the Giiadarrama mountains. Early morning. 
 A muleteer crosses the stage, sitting sideways on his mule, 
 and lighting a paper cigar with flint and steel, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 If thou art sleeping, maiden, 
 Awake and open thy door, 
 
 I'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 doion the pass. Enter a Monk. A Shepherd 
 appears on the rocks above. ) 
 
 i MONK. 
 
 i 
 
 ^ Ave Maria, gratia plena. Ola ! good man i 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 Ola ! 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Is this the road to Segovia ? 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 It is, your reverence. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 How far is it ? 
 
The Spanish Student 303 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 I do not know. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 What is that yonder in the valley ? 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 San Ildefonso. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 A long way to breakfast. 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 Ay, marry. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Are there robbers in these mountains ? 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 Yes, and worse than that. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 What? 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 Wolves. 
 
 MONK. 
 
 Santa Maria ! Come with me to San Ildefonso, 
 and thou shalt be well rewarded. 
 
 SHEPHERD. 
 
 What wilt thou give me ? 
 
 MONK. 
 
 An Agnus Dei and my benediction. 
 
304 The Spanish Student 
 
 \ 
 
 ( They disappear. A inoimted Contrabandista passes, ivrapped 
 in his cloak, and a gun at his saddle-bozo. He goes down the 
 pass singing. ) 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Worn with speed is my good steed, 
 And I march me hurried, worried ; 
 Onward, caballito mio, 
 With the white star in thy forehead ! 
 Onward, for here comes the Ronda, 
 And I hear their rifles crack ! 
 Ay, jaleo ! Ay, ay, jaleo ! 
 ' Ay, jaleo ! They cross our track. 
 
 [Song dies away. Enter Preciosa, on horseback, attended by 
 Victorian, Hypolito, Don Carlos, and Chispa, on 
 foot, and armed.) 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 This is the highest point. Here let us rest. 
 
 See, Preciosa, see how all about us 
 
 Kneeling, like hooded friars, the misty mountains 
 
 Receive the benediction of the sun ! 
 
 O glorious sight ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 Most beautiful indeed ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 Most wonderful ! 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 And in the vale below, 
 Where yonder steeples flash like lifted halberds, 
 
The SpajiisJi Student 305 
 
 San Ildefonso, from its noisy belfries, 
 Sends up a salutation to the morn, 
 As if an army smote their brazen shields, 
 And shouted victory ! 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 And which way lies 
 Segovia ? 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 At a great distance yonder. 
 Dost thou not see it 1 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 No. I do not see it. 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 The merest flaw that dents the horizon's edge. 
 There, yonder ! 
 
 HYPOLITO. 
 
 'T is a notable old town. 
 Boasting an ancient Roman aqueduct. 
 And an Alcazar, builded by the Moors, 
 Wherein, you may remember, poor Gil Bias 
 Was fed on Pan del Rey. 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. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 O yes ! I see it now, 
 
 r 
 
3o6 The Spanish Student 
 
 Yet rather with my heart than with mine eyes, 
 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 tide 
 Great ships were drawn to the Magnetic Moun- 
 tains, 
 And there were wrecked, and perished in the 
 sea! {Shezveeps.) 
 
 VICTORIAN. 
 
 O gentle spirit ! Thou didst bear unmoved 
 Blasts of adversity and frosts of fate ! 
 But the first ray of sunshine that falls on thee 
 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. 
 
 PRECIOSA. 
 
 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 re??iains behind.) 
 CHISPA. 
 
 I have a father, too, but he is a dead one. Alas 
 
The Spmiish Student 307 
 
 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 thun- 
 der-storm in the night. And so we plough along, 
 as the fly said to the ox. Who knows what may 
 happen ? 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 
 
 {A pause. Then enter Bartolome zuildly, as if in pursuit^ 
 with a carbine in his hand. ) 
 
 BARTOLOME. 
 
 They passed this way ! I hear their horses' hoofs ! 
 Yonder I see them ! Come, sweet caramillo. 
 This serenade shall be the Gypsy's last ! 
 
 {Fires doxvn the pass.) 
 
 Ha ! ha ! Well whistled, my sweet caramillo ! 
 Well whistled ! — I have missed her ! — O my 
 
 God! 
 
 ( The shot is returned. BARTOLOMf yaZ/j.) 
 
NOTES 
 
 Page 49. Coplas de Manriqtie. 
 
 This poem of Manrique is a great favorite in Spain. No 
 less than four poetic Glosses, or running commentaries, upon 
 it have been published, no one of which, however, possesses 
 great poetic merit. That of the Carthusian monk, Rodrigo 
 de Valdepenas, is the best. It is known as the Glosa del 
 Cartujo. There is also a prose Commentary by Luis de 
 Aranda. 
 
 The following stanzas of the poem were found in the 
 author's pocket, after his death on the field of battle. 
 
 " O World ! so few the years we live, 
 Would that the life which thou dost give 
 Were life indeed ! 
 Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, 
 Our happiest hour is when at last 
 The soul is freed. 
 
 •' Our days are covered o'er with grief, 
 And sorrows neither few nor brief 
 Veil all in gloom ; 
 Left desolate of real good, 
 Within this cheerless solitude 
 No pleasures bloom. 
 
 •'Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, 
 And ends in bitter doubts and fears, 
 Or dark despair ; 
 Midway so many toils appear, 
 That he who lingers longest here 
 Knows most of care. 
 
312 Notes 
 
 "Thy goods are bought with many a groan. 
 By the hot sweat of toil alone, 
 And weary hearts ; 
 Fleet-footed is the approach of woe. 
 But with a lingering step and slow 
 Its form departs." 
 
 Page 83. My Grave! 
 
 Nils Juel was a celebrated Danish Admiral, and Peder 
 Wessel, a Vice-Admiral, who for his great prowess received 
 the popular title of Tordenskiold, or Thunder-shield. In 
 childhood he was a tailor's apprentice, and rose to his high 
 rank before the age of twenty-eight, when he was killed in a 
 duel. 
 
 Page 103. The Skeleton in Armor. 
 
 This Ballad was suggested to me while riding on the 
 sea-shore at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton 
 had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and corroded 
 armor ; and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with 
 the Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto 
 as the Old Windmill, though now claimed by the Danes as 
 a work of their early ancestors. Professor Rafn, in the 
 Memoires de la Societe Royale des Antiquaires du Nord, for 
 1838- 1839, says: — 
 
 " There is no mistaking in this instance the style in which the 
 more ancient stone edifices of the North were constructed, — 
 the style which belongs to the Roman or Ante-Gothic archi- 
 tecture, and which, especially after the time of Charlemagne, 
 diffused itself from Italy over the whole of the West and 
 North of Europe, where it continued to predominate until the 
 close of the twelfth century, — that style which some authors 
 have, from one of its most striking characteristics, called the 
 round arch style, the same which in England is denominated 
 
 s Saxon and sometimes Norman architecture. 
 
Notes 313 
 
 ** On the ancient structure m Newport there are no orna- 
 ments remaining, which might possibly have served to guide 
 us in assigning the probable date of its erection. That no 
 vestige whatever is found of the pointed arch, nor any approx- 
 imation to it, is indicative of an earlier rather than of a later 
 period. From such characteristics as remain, however, we can 
 scarcely form any other inference than one, in which I am 
 persuaded that all who are familiar with Old-Northern archi- 
 tecture will concur, that this building was erected at 
 
 A PERIOD DECIDEDLY NOT LATER THAN THE TWELFTH 
 
 CENTURY. This remark applies, of course, to the original 
 building only, and not to the alterations that it subsequently 
 received ; for there are several such alterations in the upper 
 part of the building which cannot be mistaken, and which 
 were most likely occasioned by its being adapted in modern 
 times to various uses ; for example, as the substructure of a 
 windmill, and latterly as a hay magazine. To the same times 
 may be referred the windows, the fireplace, and the apertures 
 made above the columns. That this building could not have 
 been erected fo^ a windmill, is what an architect will easily 
 discern." 
 
 I will not enter into a discussion of the point. It is suffi- 
 ciently well established for the purpose of a ballad ; though 
 doubtless many a citizen of Newport, who has passed his 
 days within sight of the Round Tower, will be ready to ex- 
 claim, with Sancho : " God bless me ! did I not warn you 
 to have a care of what you were doing, for that it was nothing 
 but a windmill ; and nobody could mistake it, but one who 
 had the like in his head." 
 
 Page 109. Skoal! 
 
 In Scandinavia, this is the customary salutation when 
 drinking a health. I have slightly changed the orthography 
 of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation. 
 
314 Notes 
 
 Pa2e 1 13. The Luck of Edejihall. 
 
 The tradition upon which this ballad is founded, and the 
 "shards of the Luck of Edenhall," still exist in England. 
 The goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher Musgrave, 
 Bart, of Eden Hall, Cumberland ; and is not so entirely shat- 
 tered as the ballad leaves it. 
 
 Page 116. The Elected Knight. 
 
 This strange and somewhat mystical ballad is from Nyerup 
 and Rahbek's Danske Viser of the Middle Ages. It seems 
 to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, 
 and to the institution of Knight-Errantry. The three maid- 
 ens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregu- 
 larities of the original have been carefully preserved in the 
 translation. 
 
 Page 186. As Lope says. 
 
 " La c61era 
 de un Espaiiol sentado no se templa, 
 sino le representan en dos horas 
 hasta el final juicio desde el Genesis," 
 
 Lopede Vega, 
 
 Page 191. Abernuncio Satanas. 
 
 "Digo, Senora, respondio Sancho, lo que tengo dicho, 
 que de los azotes abernuncio. Abrenuncio, habeis de decir, 
 Sancho, y no como decis, dijo el Duque." — Don Quixote^ 
 Part II. ch. 35. 
 
 Page 208. Fray Carrillo. 
 
 The allusion here is to a Spanish Epigram. 
 
 " Siempre Fray Carrillo estds 
 cansindonos aci fuera : 
 quien en tu celda estuviera 
 para no verte jamas 1 " 
 
 Ldhlde Faber. Florista, No. ^i. 
 
Notes 315 
 
 Page 208. Padre Francisco. 
 
 This is from an Italian popular song, 
 
 " ' Padre Francesco, 
 
 y Padre Francesco ! ' 
 
 — Cosa volete del Padre Francesco? — 
 
 'V e una bella ragazzina 
 
 Che si vuole confessar 1 * 
 
 Fatte 1' entrare, fatte 1' entrare I 
 
 Che la voglio confessare." 
 
 Kopisch. Volksthumliche Poesien aus alien Mun- 
 
 ; darten Itallens und seiner Inseln, p. 194. 
 
 I 
 t 
 
 '^ Page 211. Ave! cuj'us c ale em dare. 
 
 \ From a monkish hymn of the twelfth century, in Sir Alex- 
 
 i ander Croke's Essay on the Origin^ Progress, and Decline of 
 
 Rhyming Latin Verse, p. 109. 
 
 Page 222. The gold of the Biisne. 
 
 Busne is the name given by the Gypsies to all who are not 
 of their race. 
 
 Page 224. Count of the Cales. 
 
 The Gypsies call themselves Cales. See Borrow's valuable 
 and extremely interesting work, The Zincali ; or an Account 
 of the Gypsies in Spain. London, 184 1. 
 
 Pape 230. Asks if his money-bags would rise. 
 
 "iY volviendome a un lado, vi a un Avariento, que 
 estaba preguntando a otro, (que por haber sido embalsamado, 
 y estar lexos sus tripas no hablaba, porque no habian llegado 
 si habian de resucitar aquel dia todos los enterrados) si resu- 
 citarian unos bolsones suyos ? " — El Sueno de las Calaveras, 
 
3i6 Notes 
 
 Page 230. And amen! said my C id the Campeador, 
 
 A line from the ancient Poema del Cid. 
 
 " Amen, dixo Mio Cid el Campeador." 
 
 Line 3044. 
 
 Page 232. The river of his thoughts. 
 This expression is from Dante j 
 
 " Si che chiaro 
 Per essa scenda della mente il fiume." 
 
 Byron has likewise used the expression ; though I do not 
 recollect in which of his poems. 
 
 Page 233. Mari Frajica. 
 
 A common Spanish proverb, used to turn aside a question 
 one does not wish to answer ; 
 
 " Porque caso Mari Franca 
 quatro leguas de Salamanca." 
 
 Page 235. Ay, soft, emerald eyes. 
 
 The Spaniards, with good reason, consider this color of the 
 eye as beautiful, and celebrate it in song ; as, for example, in 
 the well-known Villancico : 
 
 " Ay ojuelos verdes, 
 ay los mis ojuelos, 
 ay hagan los cielos 
 que de mf te acuerdes I 
 
 Tengo confianza 
 de mis verdes ojos." 
 
 Bdht de Faber. Floresta, No. 255. 
 
 Dante speaks of Beatrice's eyes as emeralds. Purgatorio, 
 xxxi. 116. Lami says, in his Annotaziotii, " Erano i suoi 
 occhi d' un turchino verdiccio, simile a quel del mare. " 
 
ISTotes 317 
 
 Page 237. The Avenging Child. 
 
 See the ancient Ballads of El Infante Vengador^ and Ca- 
 laynos. 
 
 Page 237. All are sleeping. 
 
 From the Spanish. Bbhl de Faber. Floresta^ No. 282. 
 
 Page 260. Good night. 
 
 From the Spanish ; as are likewise the songs immediately 
 following, and that which commences the first scene of Act III. 
 
 Page 284. The evil eye. 
 
 "In the Gitano language, casting the evil eye is called 
 Querelar nasnla, which simply means making sick, and 
 which, according to the common superstition, is accomplished 
 by casting an evil look at people, especially children, who, 
 from the tenderness of their constitution, are supposed to be 
 more easily blighted than those of a more mature age. After 
 receiving the evil glance, they fall sick, and die in a few 
 hours. 
 
 *'The Spaniards have very little to say respecting the evil 
 eye, though the belief in it is very prevalent, especially in 
 Andalusia, amongst the lower orders. A stag's horn is con- 
 sidered a good safeguard, and on that account a small horn, 
 tipped with silver, is frequently attached to the children's 
 necks by means of a cord braided from the hair of a black 
 mare's tail. Should the evil glance be cast, it is imagined 
 that the horn receives it, and instantly snaps asunder. Such 
 horns may be purchased in some of the silversmiths' shops at 
 Seville." — BoRROw's Zincali, Vol. I. ch. ix. 
 
 Page 285. On the top of a mozmtain /stand. 
 
 This and the following scraps of song are from Borrow*s 
 Zincali; or an Account of the Gypsies in Spain. 
 
3 1 8 Notes 
 
 The Gypsy words in the same scene may be thus inter- 
 preted : — 
 
 John- Dorados, pieces of gold. 
 
 Pigeon, a simpleton. 
 
 In your morocco, stripped. 
 
 DoveSy sheets. 
 
 Moon, a shirt. 
 
 Chirelin, a thief. 
 
 Mitrcigalleros, those who steal at nightfall. 
 
 Rastilleros, footpads. 
 
 Hermity highway-robber. 
 
 Planets, candles. 
 
 Co7timandmcnts, the fingers. 
 
 Saint Martin asleep, to rob a person asleep. 
 
 Lanterns, eyes. 
 
 Goblin, police officer. 
 
 Papagayo, a spy. 
 
 Vineyards and Dancing John, to take flight 
 
 Page 302. If thou art sleeping, maiden. 
 
 From the Spanish ; as is likewise the song of the Contra- 
 bandista on page 304. 
 
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