FRIAR CUTHBERT.

Farewell, Prince!

I cannot stay to argue and convince.

PRINCE HENRY.

This is indeed the blessed Mary's land,

Virgin and Mother of our dear Redeemer!

All hearts are touched and softened at her

name;

Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand,

The priest, the prince, the scholar, and the

peasant,

The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer,

Pay homage to her as one ever present!
And even as children, who have much offended

A too indulgent father, in great shame,
Penitent, and yet not daring unattended
To go into his presence, at the gate
Speak with their sister, and confiding wait
Till she goes in before and intercedes;
So men, repenting of their evil deeds,

And yet not venturing rashly to draw near
With their requests an angry father's ear,
Offer to her their prayers and their confession,
And she for them in heaven makes inter-

cession.

And if our Faith had given us nothing more
Than this example of all womanhood,

So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good,
So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure,

This were enough to prove it higher and truer
Than all the creeds the world had known

before.

PILGRIMS, chaunting afar off.
Urbs cœlestis, urbs beata,

Supra petram collocata,

Urbs in portu satis tuto

De longinquo te saluto,

Te saluto, te suspiro,

Te affecto, te requiro!

THE INN AT GENOA.

A terrace overlooking the sea. Night.

PRINCE HENRY.

Ir is the sea, it is the sea,

In all its vague immensity,

Fading and darkening in the distance! Silent, majestical, and slow,

The white ships haunt it to and fro, With all their ghostly sails unfurled, As phantoms from another world Haunt the dim confines of existence! But ah! how few can comprehend Their signals, or to what good end From land to land they come and go!

Upon a sea more vast and dark
The spirits of the dead embark,
All voyaging to unknown coasts.

We wave our farewells from the shore,
And they depart, and come no more,
Or come as phantoms and as ghosts.

Above the darksome sea of death
Looms the great life that is to be,
A land of cloud and mystery,

A dim mirage, with shapes of men
Long dead, and passed beyond our ken.
Awe-struck we gaze, and hold our breath
Till the fair pageant vanisheth,

Leaving us in perplexity,

And doubtful whether it has been

A vision of the world unseen,
Or a bright image of our own
Against the sky in vapors thrown.

LUCIFER, singing from the sea.

Thou didst not make it, thou canst not

mend it,

But thou hast the power to end it!

The sea is silent, the sea is discreet,
Deep it lies at thy very feet;

There is no confessor like unto Death!

Thou canst not see him, but he is near;

Thou needest not whisper above thy breath,

And he will hear;

He will answer the questions,

The vague surmises and suggestions,

That fill thy soul with doubt and fear!

PRINCE HENRY.

The fisherman, who lies afloat,

With shadowy sail, in yonder boat,

Is singing softly to the Night!

But do I comprehend aright

The meaning of the words he sung
So sweetly in his native tongue?