Henry Longfellow - The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Don J. Try golden cymbals.

Don L. 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).

Thou bright and flaming minister of Love!

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 nevermore henceforth

Shall mortal lips press thine; and nevermore

A mortal name be whispered in thine ear.

Go! keep my secret!

(Drinks and dashes the goblet down.)

Don J. Ite! missa est!

(Scene closes.)

SCENE X. — Street and garden wall. Night. Enter CRUZADO and

BARTOLOME.

Cruz. 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.

Bart. Why not?

Cruz. Because she is not at home.

Bart. No matter; we can wait. But how is this? The gate is

bolted. (Sound of guitars and voices in a neighboring street.)

Hark! There comes her lover with his infernal serenade! Hark!

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Good night! Good night, beloved!

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.

Cruz. They are not coming this way.

Bart. 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!

Bart. Woe be to him, if he comes this way!

Cruz. Be quiet, they are passing down the street.

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!

Bart. 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.)

Bart. 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.)

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an armchair, in an undress. DOLORES watching her.

Dol. She sleeps at last!

(Opens the window, and listens.)

All silent in the street,

And in the garden. Hark!

Prec. (in her sleep). I must go hence!

Give me my cloak!

Dol. He comes! I hear his footsteps.

Prec. 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.)

Dol. (from the window). Who's there?

Voice (from below). A friend.

Dol. I will undo the door. Wait till I come.

Prec. 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!

(She wakes.)

How late is it, Dolores?

Dol. It is midnight.

Prec. We must be patient. Smooth this pillow for me.

(She sleeps again. Noise from the garden, and voices.)

Voice. Muera!

Another Voice. O villains! villains!

Lara. So! have at you!

Voice. Take that!

Lara. O, I am wounded!

Dol. (shutting the window). Jesu Maria!

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

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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!

Vict. 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.

Hyp. 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.

I hope thou wilt profit by it; and in earnest

Try to forget this lady of thy love.

Vict. 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 forever

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 grasp 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