ACT III. SCENE I. 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. SONG. Ah, Love! Perjured, false, treacherous Love Enemy Of all that mankind may not rue! Most untrue To him who keeps most faith with thee. 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 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, All thy pleasures, all thy sweets! Thorns below, and flowers above. Perjured, false, treacherous Love! VICTORIAN. A very pretty song. I thank thee for it. It suits thy case. HYPOLITO. VICTORIAN. Indeed, I think it does What wise man wrote it? HYPOLITO. Lopez Maldonadc VICTORIAN. In truth, a pretty song. HYPOLITO. With much truth in it. I hope thou wilt profit by it; and in earnest Try to forget this lady of thy love. VICTORIAN. 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, HYPOLITO. Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more! To conquer love, one need but will to conquer. VICTORIAN. Yet, good Hypolito, it is in vain I throw into Oblivion's sea the sword With gemmed and flashing hilt, it will not sink. HYPOLITO. And yet at last Down sank Excalibar to rise no more. This is not well. In truth, it vexes me. 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. VICTORIAN. Yet I fain would die! To go through life, unloving and unloved; 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! HYPOLITO. We shall all be soon. VICTORIAN. 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; HYPOLITO. 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. VICTORIAN. I confess, That were the wiser part. But Hope no longer Who, struggling to climb up into the boat, Helpless and hopeless! HYPOLITO. 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.) VICTORIAN. 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, |