CHORUS.

Proceed, noble singer, again!

No terrors our hearts can annoy;
The spirits of darkness we hold in disdain,
While crowning the full cup of joy.

STRANGER.

I who a wretched murderer am,
A frightful life I lead;

By night I lurk in gloomy caves,
Where toads and adders breed.
By day, in search of herbs and roots,
I scour the forests drear,

And strive once more the voice of man,
Though from afar, to hear.

My feet are mangled; on my brow
The mark of Cain I bear;

My voice is as the torrents hoarse,
With whom my home I share:
My soul is rugged as the cliffs,
Who now my comrades are.
And when the fatal hour draws nigh,
Marked by the rolling spheres,
A bloody star shoots up the sky,
A spectre black appears.

And till that star in ocean sets,

O'er cliff, and crag, and thorn,

Close in the gloomy phantom's track,

With frantic speed, I'm bornę.

March on, march on, thou spectre black!
I follow close behind;

March on, march on, thou spectre black!
Athwart the stormy wind.

Well, why do you not

cups away from mine?

repeat the chorus? Why do you draw your Cowards and visionaries, what fear ye ?

CASTELLAN.

Pilgrim, if this is the last stanza of thy song, and the last chapter of thy history; if thy words, thy appearance, and thy conduct lie not; if thou art indeed a murderer

LA HERMOSA (aside, gazing on the stranger.) Yet he is so handsome!

STRANGER: (bursting into a laugh.)

Ha ha ha! You will make me die of laughter! Ha! ha! ha! All these brave champions, these intrepid bacchanals, see them, paler than their cups of agate! Look out! look out! Room for the spectre! Well, do you see it? But no; 't is a different shade; it appears to me! I see it; I hear it! Listen to its song:

I who a gallant warrior am,
A glorious life I lead;

My foe I in the mountains hold,
In nought can he succeed.
For there I press and weary him,
I harass and affright;

I shut him up in dark defiles,
Nor give him chance of flight.

His hosts with terror I consume,
His bloody flag tear down,
And trample 'neath my courser's feet
His power and his renown.

And when the thrilling clarion sounds,
I charge impetuously;

Hurrah! hurrah! my good black crest!
On! on to victory!

My plume, half-broken by the balls,
Floats to the wind so free!

CHORUS.

Hurrah! hurrah! my good black crest!
On! on to victory!

My plume, though broken by the balls,
Shall yet my triumph see.

He sings right well:

of his cup boil over.

CASTELLAN.

his eyes sparkle; his hand makes the wine Drain that cup, my brave singer; thou hast well deserved it; but if thou wouldst sit among us, and drink till night, and from night till morning, thou must sing the song of our country.

CHORUS.

Thou must sing us to-day, O stranger! the lay

Of our native mountain and plain,

If thou till the morrow wouldst wash away sorrow,

And the full cup of joy with us drain.

STRANGER.

I will, but it must be when I please, and as I please. Meanwhile, hear this stanza :

I who a careless rover am,

A reckless life I lead;

I wander from the crowded town,
And off to the mountains speed;

And thence I bear the maidens fair,

To my mansion rich and gay,

Where we whisper our loves in myrtle groves,

And wile the time away;

And when ennui, like a sable owl,

O'ershadows me in air,

I fill my goblet to the brim,

And I drown the bird of care.

Drink, drink, and die, thou night-bird black!

Drink, drink of the mantling cup,

'T is life to me, 't is death to thee!

We both must drink it up.

Back to thy nest on the church-yard yew!

On the hapless victim's tomb,

Go, on the spectre's shoulder perch!

Thy own, thy proper home."

Do you like that? Perhaps I am wrong again. Will you hear

another?

I who an humble hermit am,

A pious life lead I;

I watch and pray by night and day,

In my cell on the mountain high.

I lodge the weary pilgrims there,

I give their cares relief;

I expiate their sins and mine,
By penitential grief.

And when the moon in heaven rides high,
And the bright stars look pale,

And nought is heard but the chamois' cry,
Borne faintly on the gale,

Low on the lonely heath kneel I,

And raise my suppliant wail.

PRAYER.

To thee in this my solitude, I lift my humble cry,
And in the silent desert before thee weeping lie:

Ye splendors of the starry night, ye hosts of heaven above,

O witness ye my sorrow, and witness ye my love!

And ye, O guardian angels, bright messengers, who bear

From heaven to earth our pardon, as from earth to heaven our prayer,
Who float amid the harmony of the celestial spheres,

Who in the moon's mild beams descend to this our vale of tears,

Who over us, but all unseen, direct your rapid flight,

With the circles of the rolling stars, and the gloomy veil of night :
Weep, weep with me; repeat my prayers; to you for aid I fly,
Receive my tears of penitence, and bear them to the sky,

And for my pardon plead with Him who hears the sinner's cry.

I have changed the measure.

then, join in the refrain:

Does it please you now? Come,

To me a poor black penitent, O be thy mercy given !

It comes! and peace on earth is mine, and mercy, sent from heaven.

CHORUS.

To thee, to thee, black penitent, be peace and mercy given!
Be peace on earth for ever thine, and mercy sent from heaven.

CASTELLAN.

If God absolves thee, pilgrim, the justice of men cannot exact more than that of heaven. Seat thyself, and be purified from thy crimes by the tears of repentance; be cheered in thy calamity by the libations of joy.

STRANGER.

My crimes! my repentance! your pity! No, no, my good friends; the song does not finish thus. You must hear yet another stanza :

I who a bay-crowned poet am,

I gods and men despise :

I have songs for grief, and songs for joy,
For the shades, and for the skies.

A rhyme I have for the murd' rers knife,
And one for the bloody fray,

Another yet for love, and still

For repentance, one more lay.

'Tis thus I breathe my soul in verse,

And take no thought of time,

For what to me is the universe,

If I only have my rhyme?

And when ideas begin to fail,

Oh then I seize my lyre,

And make its chords ring merrily out,

Which fools with joy inspire.

Sound out! sound out! my lyre-chord good!

Thou dost ideas supply;

Sound out! sound out! let reason go!

The rhyme's the thing, say I.

CASTELLAN.

Dost thou mock our hospitality, audacious poet! Hast thou not a ready song, a complete melody? We have listened to thee an hour, subjected by turns to the sway of all the various emotions with which thou didst inspire us; and hardly hast thou raised to the skies a pious strain, when thou resumest the tone of a fiend, to laugh at God, at thy fellow men, and at thyself. Sing us, then, at least the song of our country, or we will wrest from thy hands the cup of joy.

CHORUS.

Yes, sing our native lay, or we

The cup of joy will wrest from thee.

STRANGER.

O God of shepherds, hear me ! and thou, O Mary, hear!
Thou mother mild of heaven, to whom the simple soul is dear;
O God of young hearts, hear me ! and thou, O Mary, hear!
Who dost inspire the lover, and confirm his vow sincere:
O God of battles, hear me! and thou, O Mary, hear!
Who dost preserve the valiant, and fill the foe with fear:
O God of hermits, hear me ! and thou, O Mary, hear!
Protectress of the pious, who lov'st the sacred tear:
Oh God of poets, hear me! and thou, O Mary, hear!
Thou most harmonious melody of the celestial sphere!
Sustain the weary pilgrim, conduct the traveller bold,
Preserve the gallant warrior, visit the hermit old;
Smile, smile upon the poet, receive benignantly
The incense of his heart, which now he offers unto thee;
Like to the mingled perfume of every flower that grows,

Whose odor on this barren earth, thou didst to him disclose.

Well, does the refrain embarrass you? You cannot follow the measure? Listen then, while I begin again :

I who a youthful goatherd am,
Would give, most willingly,
Full all the flocks th' sierra feeds,
If my fair would smile on me.
I who a dashing scholar am,

Would burn my books thrice o'er,

For a kiss, beneath the balcony,
Of her whom I adore.

I who a happy lover am,

Would give my love's caresses,

For one good blow at a pedant's head,
If e'er he her addresses;

I who a cheated lover am,

My very soul would sell,

To sheathe my poniard in the heart,

Of him she loves so well!

I who a hunted murd'rer am,

Love, vengeance, all, would give,

If as a glorious conqueror,

I might one moment live;

I who a conq'ring warrior am,

Would give my triumph's palms,

For but an instant of repose

From my troubled conscience' qualms :

I who a pious hermit am,

Would yield my hopes of heaven,
Were, in return, for but an hour,

The poet's phrenzy given :

I who at length a poet am,

My garland of gold so gay,

For but one spark of heavenly fire,
Would gladly give away;

But when my song doth her pinions ope,
And my proud foot spurns the ground,
And the music of the spheres I hope
To hear in the distance sound,

Some fiend accursed, a thick black cloud,
Like a gloomy veil, doth roll

All, all around my luckless head,
Around my branded soul !

Lost, gasping, tired, I trembling float
'Twixt hope and grim despair,

"Twixt light from heaven, and shades of hell,
"Twixt blasphemy and prayer;

And mourning cry, as to earth fall I,
Back, back to my native clay,
Alas! alas! that cloud-veil black!

My pinions, where are they?'

CHORUS.

Alas! alas! that cloud-veil black!
My pinions, where are they?

CASTELLAN.

Sit down, sit down, noble singer; thou hast conquered us.

DIEGO.

He has not sung the song of our country; not a single verse of it.

LA HERMOSA.

He has sung better than any of us. Stranger, take this branch of red sage; dip it in thy cup, and sing for me.

STRANGER.

I sing for no one, but only to please myself, when the whim takes me. Maiden, I accept thy gift. The spectre waits for me, in the forest. Adieu, credulous host! Adieu, all ye vulgar bacchanals, who ask the poet for sour wine, when he brings you the nectar of heaven. Sing your song of the country by yourselves! For my own part, the country makes me sick, and the wine of the country sicker.

Come, come with me, my poor black dog!

I have no friend but you;

'Tis time, my dog, for us to go:

Ye maidens fair, adieu!

CASTELLAN.

(Exit.)

A strange man!

DIEGO.

A bandit, I'll wager! Let us arrest him, and throw him into prison.

LA HERMOSA.

The walls would fall before his song; the spirits of heaven would descend to loose his chains.

ΒΟΥ.

My lord, you promised to own him for your friend and country