worms shine,

In bulrush and in brake; Where waving mosses shroud the pine,

And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine

Is spotted like the snake;

Where hardly a human foot could pass,

Or a human heart would dare, On the quaking turf of the green

morass

He crouched in the rank and tangled grass,

Like a wild beast in his lair.

A poor old slave, infirm and lame;
Great scars deformed his face;

On his forehead he bore the brand of shame,

And the rags, that hid his mangled frame,

Were the livery of disgrace.

All things above were bright and fair,

All things were glad and free; Lithe squirrels darted here and there, And wild birds filled the echoing air With songs of Liberty!

On him alone was the doom of pain,
From the morning of his birth;
On him alone the curse of Cain
Fell, like a flail on the garnered
grain,

And struck him to the earth!

Perished Pharaoh and his host,

And the voice of his devotion
Filled my soul with strange emotion;
For its tones by turns were glad,
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad.

Paul and Silas, in their prison,
Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen.
And an earthquake's arm of might
Broke their dungeon-gates at night.

But, alas! what holy angel

Brings the Slave this glad evangel? And what earthquake's arm of might Breaks his dungeon-gates at night?

THE WITNESSES

IN Ocean's wide domains,
Half buried in the sands,
Lie skeletons in chains,

With shackled feet and hands.

Beyond the fall of dews,
Deeper than plummet lies,
Float ships, with all their crews,
No more to sink nor rise.

There the black Slave-ship swims, Freighted with human forms, Whose fettered, fleshless limbs

Are not the sport of storms.

These are the bones of Slaves; They gleam from the abyss; They cry, from yawning waves, "We are the Witnesses!"

Lara. Why, all the town and court. The house was crowded; and the busy fans

Among the gayly dressed and perfumed ladies

Fluttered like butterflies among the flowers.

There was the Countess of Medina

Celi;

The Goblin Lady with her Phantom
Lover,

Her Lindo Don Diego; Doña Sol,
And Doña Serafina, and her cousins. 10
Don C. What was the play?
Lara.
It was a dull affair ;
One of those comedies in which you

see,

As Lope says, the history of the world Brought down from Genesis to the day of Judgment.

There were three duels fought in the first act,

Three gentlemen receiving deadly wounds,

Laying their hands upon their hearts, and saying,

"Oh, I am dead!" a lover in a closet, An old hidalgo, and a gay Don Juan, A Doña Inez with a black mantilla, 20 Followed at twilight by an unknown lover,

Who looks intently where he knows she is not!

Don C. Of course, the Preciosa
danced to-night?

Lara. And never better.
footstep fell

Every

As lightly as a sunbeam on the water.
I think the girl extremely beautiful.
Don C. Almost beyond the privi-
lege of woman!

I saw her in the Prado yesterday.
Her step was royal, -queen-like,

and her face

As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise. 30 Lara. May not a saint fall from her Paradise,

And be no more a saint?

Don C.
Why do you ask?
Lara. Because I have heard it said
this angel fell,

And though she is a virgin outwardly, Within she is a sinner; like those panels

Of doors and altar-pieces the old

monks

Some pledge and keepsake of her higher nature,

And, like the diamond in the dark, retains

Some quenchless gleam of the celestial light!

Lara. Yet Preciosa would have taken the gold.

70

Don C. (rising). I do not think so. Lara. I am sure of it. But why this haste? Stay yet a little longer,

And fight the battles of your Dulcinea. Don C. 'Tis late. I must begone, for if I stay You will not be persuaded. Lara. Yes; persuade me. Don C. No one so deaf as he who will not hear!

Lara. No one so blind as he who will not see!

Don C. And so good-night. I wish you pleasant dreams, And greater faith in woman. [Exit. Lara. Greater faith!

I have the greatest faith; for I believe

80

To-morrow morning bring that ring to

me.

Do not forget. Now light me to my bed. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A street in Madrid. Enter CHISPA, followed by musicians, with a bagpipe, guitars, and other instruments.

Chispa. Abernuncio Satanas! and a plague on all lovers who ramble about at night drinking the clements, 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 cow-keeper, 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 daugh ter! 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.

Chispa. Every tub smells of the wine that is in it. Pray, Gerónimo, is not Saturday an unpleasant day with thee?