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

Hyp. (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!

Vict.

Good night!

But not to bed; for I must read awhile,

[Exit.

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

Must read, or sit in reverie and watch
The changing colour 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?

Oh, 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.
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,
And sinks again into its silent deeps,

Ere the enamoured knight can touch her robe !
'Tis this ideal that the soul of man,

Like the enamoured 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 depths 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!

ACT II.

SCENE I.-PRECIOSA'S chamber.

ANGELICA.

[Gradually sinks asleep.

Morning. PRECIOSA and

Prec. 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?

Ang.

The Count of Lara.

Prec. The Count of Lara? Oh, beware that man! Mistrust his pity,— hold no parley with him!

And rather die an outcast in the streets

Than touch his gold.

Ang.

Prec.

You know him, then!

As much

As any woman may, and yet be pure.

As you would keep your name without a blemish,
Beware of him.

Ang.

Alas! what can I do?

I cannot choose my friends. Each word of kindness,
Come whence it may, is welcome to the poor.

Prec. Make me your friend. A girl so young and fair
Should have no friends but those of her own sex.

What is your name?

Ang

Prec.

Angelica.

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.
Oh, 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 streets.
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 angel.

Ang. (rising). I thank you for this counsel, dearest lady.
Prec. Thank me by following it.

Ang.
Indeed I will.
Prec. Pray do not go. I have much more to say.
Ang. My mother is alone. I dare not leave her.
Prec. 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.

I thank you, lady.

Ang.
Prec. 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.
Ang. Oh, my dear lady! how shall I be grateful
For so much kindness?

Remember that you come again to-morrow.

Ang. I will. And may the blessed Virgin guard you,

And all good angels.

Prec.

May they guard thee too,

And all the poor; for they have need of angels.
Now bring me, dear Dolores, my basquiña,
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.)

Gold! gold!

Prec. What is thy will with me?

Cruz.
Prec. I gave thee yesterday; I have no more.
Cruz. The gold of the Busné,-give me his gold!
Prec. I gave the last in charity to-day.

Cruz. That is a foolish lie.

[Exit.

Prec.

It is the truth.

Cruz. Curses upon thee! Thou art not my child!
Hast thou given gold away, and not to me!

Not to thy father? To whom, then?

Prec.

Who needs it more.

Cruz.

To one

No one can need it more.

Prec. Thou art not poor.
Cruz.

What, I, who lurk about

In dismal suburbs and unwholesome lanes;
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!

Prec. Thou hast a stout heart and strong hands.
Thou canst supply thy wants; what wouldst thou more?
Cruz. The gold of the Busné!* give me his gold!
Prec. Beltran Cruzado! hear me once for all.

I speak the truth. So long as I had gold,
gave it to thee freely, at all times,

Never denied thee; never had a wish,

But to fulfil thine own.

Be merciful, be patient,

Thou shalt have more.

Cruz.

Now go in peace!

and, ere long,

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.

Prec.

What! march again?

Cruz. 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 Calés!+

Prec. God speed thee on thy march!-I cannot go.
Cruz. Remember who I am, and who thou art!

Be silent and obey! Yet one thing more.

Bartolomé Román

Prec. (with emotion). Oh, I beseech thee!

If my obedience and blameless life,

If my humility and meek submission

In all things hitherto, can move in thee

*Busné is the name given by the Gipsies to all who are not of their race.

+ The Gipsies call themselves Calés. See Borrow's valuable and extremely interesting work, The Zincali, or an Account of the Gipsies in Spain, London, 1841.

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!
I do not love him!
On my knees I beg thee
To use no violence, nor do in haste
What cannot be undone!

Cruz.
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.

Prec.

Woe is me!

I have a strange misgiving in my heart!
But that one deed of charity I'll do,

Befall what may; they cannot take that from me.

SCENE II-A room in the ARCHBISHOP's palace.

BISHOP and a CARDINAL seated.

[Exit.

[Exit.

The ARCH

Arch. 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,
By seasonable stop put here in Spain
To bull-fights and lewd dances on the stage.
All this you know.

Card.

Arch.

That by a mandate from his Holiness

The first have been suppressed.

Card.

It was a cruel sport.

Arch.

Know and approve.

And farther,

I trust for ever.

A barbarous pastime,

Yet the people

Disgraceful to the land that calls itself

Most Catholic and Christian.

Card.

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 Panem 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.

B