Prec.  O yes!  I see it now,
Yet rather with my heart than with mine eyes,
So faint it is.  And all my thoughts sail thither,
Freighted with prayers and hopes, and forward urged
Against all stress of accident, as in
The Eastern Tale, against the wind and tide
Great ships were drawn to the Magnetic Mountains,
And there were wrecked, and perished in the sea! 
(She weeps.)

Vict.  O gentle spirit!  Thou didst bear unmoved
Blasts of adversity and frosts of fate! 
But the first ray of sunshine that falls on thee
Melts thee to tears!  O, let thy weary heart
Lean upon mine! and it shall faint no more,
Nor thirst, nor hunger; but be comforted
And filled with my affection.

Prec.  Stay no longer! 
My father waits.  Methinks I see him there,
Now looking from the window, and now watching
Each sound of wheels or footfall in the street,
And saying, “Hark! she comes!” O father! father!

(They descend the pass.  Chispa remains behind.)

Chispa.  I have a father, too, but he is a dead one.  Alas and alack-a-day.  Poor was I born, and poor do I remain.  I neither win nor lose.  Thus I was, through the world, half the time on foot, and the other half walking; and always as merry as a thunder-storm in the night.  And so we plough along, as the fly said to the ox.  Who knows what may happen?  Patience, and shuffle the cards!  I am not yet so bald that you can see my brains; and perhaps, after all, I shall some day go to Rome, and come back Saint Peter.  Benedicite! [Exit.

(A pause.  Then enter Bartolome wildly, as if in pursuit, with a carbine in his hand.)

Bart.  They passed this way!  I hear their horses’ hoofs! 
Yonder I see them!  Come, sweet caramillo,
This serenade shall be the Gypsy’s last!

(Fires down the pass.)

Ha! ha!  Well whistled, my sweet caramillo! 
Well whistled!—­I have missed her!—­O my God!

(The shot is returned.  Bartolome falls).

****************

THE BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS

THE BELFRY OF BRUGES CARILLON

In the ancient town of Bruges,
In the quaint old Flemish city,
As the evening shades descended,
Low and loud and sweetly blended,
Low at times and loud at times,
And changing like a poet’s rhymes,
Rang the beautiful wild chimes
From the Belfry in the market
Of the ancient town of Bruges.

Then, with deep sonorous clangor
Calmly answering their sweet anger,
When the wrangling bells had ended,
Slowly struck the clock eleven,
And, from out the silent heaven,
Silence on the town descended. 
Silence, silence everywhere,
On the earth and in the air,
Save that footsteps here and there
Of some burgher home returning,
By the street lamps faintly burning,
For a moment woke the echoes
Of the ancient town of Bruges.