FRAN. So comes a rapture with the serpent's bite, And so a frost calls back the violet's bloom, VEL. Cast to the swine your pearls, and let them rend ye, While I talk kindness to the cannibals. FRAN. They are no cannibals ;-pardon, my lord! VEL. Go woo a tiger as ye'd woo a lover! VEL. Throw sympathy to crocodiles and condors. FRAN. There is a golden chord of sympathy Tuned in the harp of every human soul, And melts the ice of hate to streams of love, And naught but kindness that sweet chord can touch. THE BELLS OF TIME. TENNYSON. Ring out wild bells to the wild sky, Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin! Ring out false pride in place and blood, Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be. THE TRUE CONQUEROR. (Scene from a Drama.) DAY K. LEE. (Enter Velasquez, Edmondo, and Cortez.) ED. Thy usual mood is hope and will; And sure, when victory sits on all our tents VEL. All I have won I'll hold, nor fear for that! Yet will they die, I deem, or e'er they'll yield. Worse to subdue than the hard hills he treads. CORT. Our fortune met us as Arnaldo pledged. VEL. He shows a scoundrel in that base betrayal; CORT. Hist, ho! he comes! Lifting a look we'd worship in St. Peter! ARN. Triumphed ye not to ample satisfaction? And here we wait for further consultations. VEL. And when our purposes are all fulfilled, In what wise way may we conclude this war, ED. Women and all! VEL. Not one sole savage head except. ARN. The triumph ye have reapt opes wide the gates To a most lovely Andalusia, While it hath cost me agonies of soul The wealth of Coromandel could not buy. Their champion is a friend I should have died for. me, And here I'm plotting like a fiend his fate! But far upon a mountain of the isle There shines a gem in peerless beauty bright, I'd lose my soul's salvation to possess. |