MARIANA.

'Tis gone-the storm has past.

'Twas but a bitter hail-shower, and the sun
Laughs out again within the tranquil blue.
Henceforth, Firmilian, thou art safe with me.
If all the world conspired to do thee wrong,
And heap its ugly slanders on thy head—
Yea, though an angel should denounce my love,
I would not listen. From thy lips alone

I'll hear confession.

FIRMILIAN.

And the penance, sweet—

Make it no more than this.

O balmy breath!

[The scene closes.

SCENE III.

A Tavern. ALPHONZO D'AGUILAR, GARCIA PEREZ, ALONZO OLIVAREZ, and FIRMILIAN.

PEREZ.

You take it far too hotly, D'Aguilar—

All men are fanciful in love, and beauty

Is as abundant as the open air

In every region of this bounteous world.

You stand for Spanish beauty-what's your type? Dark hair, vermilion lips, an olive tint,

A stately carriage, and a flashing eye,

Go northward: there's your Dutchman-he prefers
Blonde tresses, dove-like glances and a form
Of most enticing plumpness. Then the Dane
Is all for red and blue; the brighter color

Pertaining chiefly to the lady's hair,

The duller to her eyes. For my own part,

I love variety.

D'AGUILAR.

And so do I,

Within its proper bounds. No grander show
Could poet fancy in his wildest dreams,
Than a great tournament of Europe's knights,
The free, the strong, the noble, and the brave,
Splintering their lances in a guarded list,
Beneath a balcony of Europe's dames.

Oh, could I sound a trump and bring them here,

In one vast troop of valor and renown!

The gay, light-hearted chivalry of France,

The doughty English, and the hardy Scot,
The swart Italian, and the ponderous Swede,
With those who dwell beside the castled Rhine.
Nor they alone, but with them all the flowers
That send their odor over Christendom-

The fair and blushing beauties of the lands

From the far Baltic to our inland sea.

By him of Compostella! 'twere a field
Wherein a noble might be proud to die.

FIRMILIAN.

I am not noble, and I'd rather die

At peace in my own bed. But, D'Aguilar,-
Are you not too exclusive? I have read-
For I have been a student of romance,

And pored upon the tomes of chivalry-
How ere the days of mighty Charlemagne
The South did glorious battle with the North,
And Afric's atabals were heard to clang
Among the thickets by the turbid Seine.

Yea, I have heard of knights of old descent,

Cross-hilted warriors, Paladins indeed,

Who would have bartered all the boasted charms

Of Europe's beauties, for one kindly glance

Shot from the eyelids of a Paynim maid.

D'AGUILAR.

Firmilian, thou blasphemest! Never knight
To whom the stroke of chivalry was given,
Could stoop to such an utter infamy!

FIRMILIAN.

Your pardon, Count! When English Richard bore

Upon his bosom the Crusader's sign,

And fought in Palestine, he laid his sword

Upon the shoulder of a Moslem chief

And dubbed him, knight.

D'AGUILAR.

The greater villain he!

I've heard of that same Richard as a most

Malignant child of Luther.

FIRMILIAN.

Have you so?