eyes fixed on him, he slowly raised his hand and gave the
sign for mercy.
Then a thunder of applause broke from the highest seats to the lowest.
But Vinicius heard it not. He dropped on his knees in the arena,
stretched his hands toward heaven and cried: "I believe! Oh, Christ! I
believe! I believe!"
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Copyright, 1896, by Jeremiah Curtin.
THE ARROW AND THE SONG[2]
H. W. LONGFELLOW
I shot an arrow into the air. It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so
swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air. It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who
has sight so keen and strong That it can follow the flight of song.
Long, long afterward, in an oak, I found the arrow still unbroke; And
the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] Used by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers of his
works.
AUX ITALIENS
R. BULWER LYTTON
At Paris it was, at the opera there; And she looked like a queen that
night, With a wreath of pearl in her raven hair, And the brooch in her
breast so bright.
Of all the operas that Verdi wrote, The best, to my taste, is the
"Trovatoré": And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note, The souls in
purgatory.
The moon on the tower slept soft as snow; And who was not thrilled in
the strangest way, As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low,
"Non ti scordar di me?"
The Emperor there in his box of state, Looked grave; as if he had just
then seen The red flag wave from the city gate, Where the eagles in
bronze had been.
The Empress, too, had a tear in her eye; You'd have thought that her
fancy had gone back again, For one moment, under the old blue sky, To
that old glad life in Spain.
Well! there in our front row box we sat Together, my bride betrothed
and I; My gaze was fixed on my opera hat, And hers on the stage hard
by.
And both were silent and both were sad; Like a queen she leaned on her
full white arm, With that regal indolent air she had; So confident of her
charm!
I have not a doubt she was thinking then Of her former lord, good soul
that he was, Who died the richest and roundest of men, The Marquis of
Carabas.
I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven, Through a needle's eye he
had not to pass; I wish him well for the jointure given To my lady of
Carabas.
Meanwhile I was thinking of my first love As I had not been thinking
of aught for years; Till over my eyes there began to move Something
that felt like tears.
I thought of the dress that she wore last time, When we stood neath the
cypress-trees together, In that lost land, in that soft clime, In the
crimson evening weather;
Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot); And her warm white neck in
its golden chain; And her full soft hair just tied in a knot, And falling
loose again.
And the Jasmine flower in her fair young breast; (O the faint sweet
smell of that Jasmine flower!) And the one bird singing alone to its nest;
And the one star over the tower.
I thought of our little quarrels and strife, And the letter that brought me
back my ring; And it all seemed there in the waste of life, Such a very
little thing.
For I thought of her grave below the hill, Which the sentinel
cypress-tree stands over; And I thought, "Were she only living still,
How I could forgive her and love her!"
And I swear as I thought of her thus in that hour, And of how, after all,
old things are best, That I smelt the smell of that Jasmine flower Which
she used to wear in her breast.
And I turned and looked; she was sitting there, In a dim box over the
stage; and drest In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair, And that
Jasmine in her breast!
I was here, and she was there; And the glittering horse-shoe curved
between;-- From my bride betrothed, with her raven hair And her
sumptuous scornful mien,
To my early love with her eyes downcast, And over her primrose face
the shade, (In short from the future back to the past) There was but a
step to be made.
To my early love from my future bride One moment I looked, then I
stole to the door, I traversed the passage; and down
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