THE SPANISH STUDENT.

LONGFELLOW.

SCENE. A cross-road through a wood. In the back-ground a distant village spire. VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO, as travelling students, with guitars, sitting under the trees. HYPOLITO plays and sings.

Ah, Love!

SONG.

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 his shuttle,

Is ever weaving into life'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.

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!

Vict. A very pretty song. I thank thee for it.
Hyp. It suits thy case.

Vict. Indeed, I think it does.

What wise man wrote it?

Hyp. Lopez Maldonado.
Vict. In truth, a pretty song.
Hyp. With much truth in it.

Vict. I hope thou wilt profit by it; and in earnest Try to forget this lady of thy love.

I will forget her! All dear recollections

Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book,
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 for ever
To the upbraidings of this foolish heart!

Hyp. Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more!
To conquer love, one need but will to conquer.
Vict. 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.

Hyp. And yet at last

Down sank Excalibar to rise no more.

This is not well. In truth, it vexes me.

Instead of whistling to the steeds of Time,

To make them jog on merrily with life's burden,
Like a dead weight thou hangest on the wheels.
Thou art too young, too full of lusty health
To talk of dying.

Vict. 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!

Hyp. We shall all be soon.

Vict. 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.

Hyp. 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.

Vict. 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!

Hyp. 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.)

Vict. 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,

And all the crowd in village streets, stand still,

And breathe a prayer unto the Blessed Virgin!

Hyp. Amen! amen! Not half a league from hence

The village lies.

Vict. 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.

THE TRIAL OF ANNE BOLEYN.

BOKER.

On one

The Great Hall of the Tower, arranged for the Queen's trial. side are seated Dukes of NORFOLK, SUFFOLK, and RICHMOND, Marquis of EXETER, Earl of ARUNDEL, and other Peers, as Lords Triers, with officers, &c.; on the other, QUEEN ANNE, in the custody of Sir WILLIAM KINGSTON, Ladies, Attendants, Guards, &c.

Norfolk. Are we agreed? [To the Lords.]
Suffolk. Here is our verdict, sir.

[Hands a paper.]

[RICHMOND and SUFFOLK talk apart.]

Richmond. I hope, your grace, I have damned my soul enough To please the most fastidious father.

Suf. Stuff!

Rich. Yes, "stuff!" substantial, downright villany. That I shall bear upon my aching heart

Till death unload it.

Suf. Come, be cheerful, sir.

It ill becomes heroic minds to shrink

From the first blood of triumph. You are young
And dainty-minded; time will strengthen you.
Rich. Courage but adds deformity to crime.
A wicked heart, though placid as a lake,
Girt and controlled by rigid barriers,
Can but reflect each blessing of sweet heaven,
And every bordering virtue of our earth,
All topsy-turvy. I am hardened, sir;

If not by years, at least by sinfulness,
That wrinkled register of ill-spent days,
Who scars his moments on the erring heart,
While yet the brow is smooth!

Suf. The saints look down!

This pretty sermon must have washed you clean.

Hist! hear the sentence.

Nor. Lady Anne Boleyn,

Marchioness of Pembroke, sometime England's queen

Though most unworthily, as the strict course

Of equal justice has so clearly proved

Arise. [The QUEEN rises.] Lay off your crown and vestured marks Of royal dignity, to hear from me

The solemn finding of this high tribunal.

[QUEEN ANNE puts off her crown and robe of state.]

Queen Anne. Your grace's first commands, though harshly meant, Are merciful indeed.

Nor. Be silent, madam!

Upon each several charge, whereon you stand

Indicted by the law, we do pronounce

Your guilt most clear; and therefore do condemn you,

At such time as his majesty may name,

To suffer death by burning at the stake,

Or by beheading, as may please the king.

God give you patience to endure your doom!

Queen A. I doubt it not. O Father, O Creator, Who art the way, the life, the truth, Thou knowest If I deserve this death!

Rich. O base, base, base!

This pardons Herod in the eye of heaven.

[Aside.]

Nor. Marchioness of Pembroke, have you aught to say

Touching the judgment of this court?

Queen A. My lords,

I will not say your sentence is unjust-
Presuming that my reasons can prevail

Against your firm convictions;-I would rather
Believe that you have reasons for your acts,
Of ample power to vindicate your fames;
But, then, they must be other than the court
Has heard produced: for by the evidence
I have been cleared, to all unbiassed minds,
Of each offence 'gainst which that proof was brought.
I have been ever to his majesty

A faithful wife: O! could I say as truly
That I have shown him the humility
His goodness, and the honor he conferred,
Deserved from me! I have, I do confess,
Had jealous fancies and suspicious thoughts-

In which, perchance, I wronged him—that had I
Been more discreet and anxious to conceal,

I had been more the queen, but less the wife,
God is my witness, that in no way else

Have I e'er sinned against him.

Think not, my lords, I say this to prolong

My heavy life; for God has fortified

My trust in Him, and taught me how to die.
Think me not so bewildered in my mind,
As not to lay my chastity to heart,