VICTORIAN.

Nay, like the Sibyl's volumes, thou shouldst say;
Those that remained, after the six were burned,
Being held more precious than the nine together.
But listen to my tale. Dost thou remember
The Gipsy girl we saw at Córdova

Dance the Romalis in the market-place?

Thou meanest Preciosa.

HYPOLITO.

VICTORIAN.

Ay, the same.

Thou knowest how her image haunted me
Long after we returned to Alcalá.

She's in Madrid.

HYPOLITO.

I know it.

VICTORIAN.

And I'm in love.

HYPOLITO.

And therefore in Madrid when thou shouldst be

In Alcalá.

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.

Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.

lover,

It serves for food and raiment. Give a Spaniard
His mass, his olla, and his Doña Luisa,
Thou knowest the proverb. But pray
tell me,
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! cujus calcem clare
Nec 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 Alcalá

Enamored of a Gipsy? Tell me frankly,

She was betrothed to one Bartolomé,

If I remember rightly, a young Gipsy
Who danced with her at Córdova.

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'll 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?

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, e'er she fell asleep,
Rises and falls with the soft tide of dreams,
Like a light barge safe moored.

O, would I had the old magician's glass
To see her as she lies in child-like sleep!

And wouldst thou venture?

HYPOLITO.

VICTORIAN.

Ay, indeed I would!

HYPOLITO.

Thou art courageous. Hast thou e'er reflected
How much lies hidden in that one word, now?

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,

What 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!
What 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 Glaucè.

VICTORIAN.

She cares not for me.

She

Hold thy peace! may wed another,

Or

go into a convent, and, thus dying, Marry Achilles in the Elysian Fields.

HYPOLITO (rising).

And so, good night! Good morning, I should say.

(Clock strikes three.)

Hark! how the loud and ponderous mace of Time

Knocks at the golden portals of the day!

And so, once more, good night! We'll speak more largely Of Preciosa when we meet again.

Get thee to bed, and the magician, Sleep,
Shall show her to thee, in his magic glass,
In all her loveliness. Good night!

[Exit.

VICTORIAN.

Good night!

But not to bed; for I must read awhile.

(Throws himself into the arm-chair which HYPOLITO hus left, and lays a large book open upon his knees.)

Must read, or sit in reverie and watch
The changing color of the waves that break
Upon the idle seashore 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!
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.