Moon of the Summer night!
Far down yon western steeps,
Sink, sink in silver light!
She sleeps!

My Lady sleeps!
Sleeps!

Wind of the summer night!

Where yonder woodbine creeps,

Fold, fold thy pinions light!

She sleeps!

My Lady sleeps!

Sleeps!

Dreams of the summer night!

Tell her, her lover keeps

Watch! while in slumbers light

She sleeps!

My Lady sleeps!

Sleeps!

Enter VICTORIAN by the balcony.

VICTORIAN.

Poor little dove! thou tremblest like a leaf!

PRECIOSA.

I am so frightened! 'Tis for thee I tremble!
I hate to have thee climb that wall by night!
Did no one see thee?

VICTORIAN.

None, my love, but thou.

PRECIOSA.

"Tis very dangerous; and when thou art gone

I chide myself for letting thee come here
Thus stealthily by night. Where hast thou been?
Since yesterday I have no news from thee.

VICTORIAN.

Since yesterday I've been in Alcalá.

Ere long the time will come, sweet Preciosa,
When that dull distance shall no more divide us;
And I no more shall scale thy wall by night
To steal a kiss from thee, as I do now.

PRECIOSA.

An honest thief, to steal but what thou givest.

VICTORIAN.

And we shall sit together unmolested,

And words of true love pass from tongue to tongue, As singing birds from one bough to another.

PRECIOSA.

That were a life indeed to make Time envious!

I knew that thou wouldst visit me to-night.

I saw thee at the play.

VICTORIAN.

Sweet child of air!

Never did I behold thee so attired

And garmented in beauty as to-night!

What hast thou done to make thee look so fair!

PRECIOSA.

Am I not always fair?

VICTORIAN.

Ay, and so fair

That I am jealous of all eyes that see thee,
And wish that they were blind.

PRECIOSA.

I heed them not;

When thou art present I see none but thee!

VICTORIAN.

There's nothing fair nor beautiful but takes
Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.

PRECIOSA.

And yet thou leavest me for those dusty books.

VICTORIAN.

Thou comest between me and those books too often!

I see thy face in every thing I see!

The paintings in the chapel wear thy looks,

The canticles are changed to serabands,

And with the learned doctors of the schools
I see thee dance cachuchas.

PRECIOSA.

In good sooth,

I dance with learned doctors of the schools

To-morrow morning.

VICTORIAN.

And with whom, I pray?

PRECIOSA.

A grave and reverend Cardinal, and his Grace
The Archbishop of Toledo.

Thou knowest the Pope has sent here into Spain
To put a stop to dances on the stage.

VICTORIAN.

I have heard it whispered.

PRECIOSA.

Now the Cardinal,

Who for this purpose comes, would fain behold
With his own eyes these dances; and the Archbishop
Has sent for me

VICTORIAN.

That thou may'st dance before them!

Now viva la cachucha! It will breathe The fire of youth into these gray old men! "Twill be thy proudest conquest!

PRECIOSA.

Saving one.

And yet I fear these dances will be stopped,
And Preciosa be once more a beggar.

VICTORIAN.

The sweetest beggar that e'er asked for alms;

With such beseeching eyes, that when I saw thee I gave my heart away!

PRECIOSA.

Dost thou remember

When first we met?

VICTORIAN.

It was at Córdova,

In the cathedral garden. Thou wast sitting
Under the orange-trees, beside a fountain.

PRECIOSA.

"Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy. The priests were singing, and the organ sounded, And then anon the great cathedral bell.

It was the elevation of the Host.

We both of us fell down upon our knees

Under the orange-boughs, and prayed together. I never had been happy till that moment.

Thou blessed angel!

VICTORIAN.

PRECIOSA.

And when thou wast gone,

I felt an aching here. I did not speak

To any one that day. But from that day
Bartolomé grew hateful unto me.

VICTORIAN.

Remember him no more. Let not his shadow Come between thee and me. Sweet Preciosa! I loved thee even then, though I was silent!

PRECIOSA.

I thought I ne'er should see thy face again.
Thy farewell had a sound of sorrow in it.

VICTORIAN.

That was the first sound in the song of love!
Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound.
Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings
Of that mysterious instrument, the soul,

And play the prelude of our fate. We hear
The voice prophetic, and are not alone.

PRECIOSA.

That my faith. Dost thou believe these warnings?

VICTORIAN.

So far as this. Our feelings and our thoughts
Tend ever on, and rest not in the Present.

As drops of rain fall into some dark well,
And from below comes a scarce audible sound,
So fall our thoughts into the dark Hereafter,
And their mysterious echo reaches us.

PRECIOSA.

I have felt it so, but found no words to say it!

I cannot reason; I can only feel!

But thou hast language for all thoughts and feelings. Thou art a scholar; and sometimes I think

We cannot walk together in this world;

The distance that divides us is too great!

Henceforth thy pathway lies among the stars;
I must not hold thee back.

VICTORIAN.

Thou little sceptic!

Dost thou still doubt? What I most prize in woman

Is her affections, not her intellect !

The intellect is finite; but the affections

Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted.

Compare me with the great men of the earth;
What am I? Why, a pigmy among giants!
But if thou lovest,-mark me! I say lovest,
The greatest of thy sex excels thee not!
The world of the affections is thy world,
Not that of man's ambition. In that stillness
Which most becomes a woman, calm and holy,
Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart,
Feeding its flame. The element of fire

Is pure. It cannot change nor hide its nature,
But burns as brightly in a Gipsy camp
As in a palace hall. Art thou convinced?

PRECIOSA.

Yes, that I love thee, as the good love heaven.