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For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine;
The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb.
Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies,
And lamentations from the crypts below;
With the pathetic words, “ Although your sins
I LIFT mine eyes, and all the windows blaze
With forms of saints and holy men who died,
And the great Rose upon its leaves displays
With splendour upon splendour multiplied;
No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise. And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs
Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love,
And benedictions of the Holy Ghost;
O'er all the house-tops and through heaven above
O STAR of morning and of liberty:
O bringer of the light whose splendour shines
Forerunner of the day that is to be!
The voices of the mountains and the pines,
Are footpaths for the thought of Italy !
Through all the nations, and a sound is heard,
As of a mighty wind, and men devout,
In their own language hear thy wondrous word,
The Spanish Student.
. Gentlemen of Madrid
A Gipsy Girl.
. A poor Girl.
Gipsies, Musicians, dc.
smoking and conversing with Don CARLOS.
I had engagements elsewhere.
Why, all the town and court.
Carlos. What was the play ?
It was a dull affair;
Carlos. Of course, the Preciosa danced to-night!
Lara. And never better. Every footstep fell
Carlos. Almost beyond the privilege of woman!
Lara. May not a saint fall from her Paradise,
Why do you ask ?
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,
And therefore won
Carlos. Nay, not to be won at all!
And yet this woman was above all bribes.
And does that prove
Carlos. It proves a nobleman may be repulsed
Lara. Yet Preciosa would have taken the gold.
I am sure of it.
Carlos. 'Tis late. I must begone, for if I stay
Yes; persuade me.
Carlos. And so good night. I wish you pleasant dreams, And greater faith in woman.
[Enter FRANCISCO with a casket.)
None, my lord.
Lara. Then I will try some other way to win her.
Yes, my lord,
Lara. What was he doing there?
I saw him buy
Lara. Was there another like it?
One so like it
It is well.
SCENE II.- A street in Madrid. Enter CHISPA, followed by musicians, with a bagpipe,
guitars, and other instruments.” Chie. Abernancio 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, Victorian, yesterday a cowkeeper, and to-day a gentleman; 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, marry! marry! marry! Mother, what does marry mean? It means to spin, to bear children, and to weep, my daughter! And, of a truth, there is something more in matrimony than the wedding-ring. [To the musicians.] And now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum ! as the ass said to 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 enjoy hunger by day and noise by night. Yet, I beseech you, for this once be not loud, but pathetic; 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 universe, but gently, and with a certain modesty, according with the others. Pray, how may I call thy name, friend ?
First Mus. Gerónimo Gil, at your service.
Chis. Every tub smells of the wine that is in it. Pray, Gerónimo, is not Saturday an unpleasant day with thee ?
First Mus. Why so?
Chis. 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 instrument is that?
First Mus. An Aragonese bagpipe.
Chis. Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bujalance, who asked a maravedi for playing, and ten for leaving off ?
First Mus. No, your honour.
Chis. 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 Mus. We are the singers, please your honour.