Dramatic Romances | Page 5

Adela
How
many birds it struck since May.
NOTES:
"Count Gismond: Aix in Provence" illustrates, in the person
of the woman who relates to a friend an episode of her
own life, the
power of innate purity to raise up for
her a defender when caught in
the toils woven by
the unsuspected envy and hypocrisy of her cousins

and Count Gauthier, who attempt to bring dishonor
upon her, on
her birthday, with the seeming intention
of honoring her. Her faith
that the trial by combat
between Gauthier and Gismond must end in
Gismond's
victory and her vindication reflects most truly, as Arthur

Symons has pointed out, the medieval atmosphere of
chivalrous
France.
124. Tercel: a male falcon.
THE BOY AND THE ANGEL
Morning, evening, noon and night,
"Praise God!" sang Theocrite.
Then to his poor trade he turned,
Whereby the daily meal was earned.
Hard he laboured, long and well;
O'er his work the boy's curls fell.
But ever, at each period,
He stopped and sang, "Praise God!"
Then back again his curls he threw,
And cheerful turned to work
anew. 10
Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done;
I doubt not thou art
heard, my son:
As well as if thy voice to-day
Were praising God, the Pope's great

way.
This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome
Praises God from Peter's dome."
Said Theocrite, "Would God that I
Might praise him, that great way,
and die!"
Night passed, day shone,
And Theocrite was gone. 20
With God a day endures alway,
A thousand years are but a day.
God said in heaven, "Nor day nor night
Now brings the voice of my
delight."
Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth
Spread his wings and sank to
earth;
.
Entered, in flesh, the empty cell,
Lived there, and played the
craftsman well;
And morning, evening, noon and night,
Praised God in place of
Theocrite. 30
And from a boy, to youth he grew:
The man put off the stripling's
hue:
The man matured and fell away
Into the season of decay:
And ever o'er the trade he bent,
And ever lived on earth content.
(He did God's will; to him, all one
If on the earth or in the sun.)
God said, "A praise is in mine ear;
There is no doubt in it, no fear: 40
So sing old worlds, and so
New worlds that from my footstool go.
Clearer loves sound other ways:
I miss my little human praise."

Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell
The flesh disguise,
remained the cell.
'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome,
And paused above Saint Peter's
dome.
In the tiring-room close by
The great outer gallery, 50
With his holy vestments dight,
Stood the new Pope, Theocrite:
And all his past career
Came back upon him clear,
Since when, a boy, he plied his trade,
Till on his life the sickness
weighed;
And in his cell, when death drew near,
An angel in a dream brought
cheer:
And rising from the sickness drear
He grew a priest, and now stood
here. 60
To the East with praise he turned,
And on his sight the angel burned.
"I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell
And set thee here; I did not
well.
"Vainly I left my angel-sphere,
Vain was thy dream of many a year.
"Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped--
Creation's chorus
stopped!
"Go back and praise again
The early way, while I remain. 70
"With that weak voice of our disdain,
Take up creation's pausing
strain.
"Back to the cell and poor employ:
Resume the craftsman and the

boy!"
Theocrite grew old at home;
A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.
One vanished as the other died:
They sought God side by side.
NOTES:
"The Boy and the Angel." An imaginary legend illustrating

the worth of humble, human love to God, who missed in
the praise
of the Pope, Theocrite, and of the Angel
Gabriel, the precious human
quality in the song of the
poor boy, Theocrite.
INSTANS TYRANNUS
I
Of the million or two, more or less
I rule and possess,
One man, for
some cause undefined,
Was least to my mind.
II
I struck him, he grovelled of course--
For, what was his force?
I
pinned him to earth with my weight
And persistence of hate:
And
he lay, would not moan, would not curse,
As his lot might be worse.
10
III
"Were the object less mean, would he stand
At the swing of my hand!

For obscurity helps him and blots
The hole where he squats."
So,
I set my five wits on the stretch
To inveigle the wretch.
All in vain!
Gold and jewels I threw,
Still he couched there perdue;
I tempted
his blood and his flesh,
Hid in roses my mesh, 20 Choicest cates and
the flagon's best spilth:
Still he kept to his filth.
IV

Had he kith now or kin, were access
To his heart, did I press:
Just a
son or a mother to seize!
No such booty as these.
Were it simply a
friend to pursue
'Mid my million or two,
Who could pay me in
person or pelf
What he owes me himself! 30 No: I could not but
smile through my chafe:
For the fellow lay safe
As his mates do,
the midge