Читать книгу The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло, Doris Hayman - Страница 72

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Worn with speed is my good steed, And I march me hurried, worried; Onward, caballito mio, With the white star in thy forehead! Onward, for here comes the Ronda, And I hear their rifles crack! Ay, jaleo! Ay, ay, jaleo! Ay, jaleo! They cross our track.

(Song dies away. Enter PRECIOSA, on horseback, attended by

VICTORIAN, HYPOLITO, DON CARLOS, and CHISPA, on foot, and armed.)

Vict. This is the highest point. Here let us rest.

See, Preciosa, see how all about us

Kneeling, like hooded friars, the misty mountains

Receive the benediction of the sun!

O glorious sight!

Prec. Most beautiful indeed!

Hyp. Most wonderful!

Vict. And in the vale below,

Where yonder steeples flash like lifted halberds,

San Ildefonso, from its noisy belfries,

Sends up a salutation to the morn,

As if an army smote their brazen shields,

And shouted victory!

Prec. And which way lies Segovia?

Vict. At a great distance yonder.

Dost thou not see it?

Prec. No. I do not see it.

Vict. The merest flaw that dents the horizon's edge.

There, yonder!

Hyp. 'T is a notable old town,

Boasting an ancient Roman aqueduct,

And an Alcazar, builded by the Moors,

Wherein, you may remember, poor Gil Blas

Was fed on Pan del Rey. O, many a time

Out of its grated windows have I looked

Hundreds of feet plumb down to the Eresma,

That, like a serpent through the valley creeping,

Glides at its foot.

Prec. O yes! I see it now,

Yet rather with my heart than with mine eyes,

So faint it is. And all my thoughts sail thither,

Freighted with prayers and hopes, and forward urged

Against all stress of accident, as in

The Eastern Tale, against the wind and tide

Great ships were drawn to the Magnetic Mountains,

And there were wrecked, and perished in the sea!

(She weeps.)

Vict. O gentle spirit! Thou didst bear unmoved

Blasts of adversity and frosts of fate!

But the first ray of sunshine that falls on thee

Melts thee to tears! O, let thy weary heart

Lean upon mine! and it shall faint no more,

Nor thirst, nor hunger; but be comforted

And filled with my affection.

Prec. Stay no longer!

My father waits. Methinks I see him there,

Now looking from the window, and now watching

Each sound of wheels or footfall in the street,

And saying, "Hark! she comes!" O father! father!

(They descend the pass. CHISPA remains behind.)

Chispa. I have a father, too, but he is a dead one. Alas and

alack-a-day. Poor was I born, and poor do I remain. I neither

win nor lose. Thus I was, through the world, half the time on

foot, and the other half walking; and always as merry as a

thunder-storm in the night. And so we plough along, as the fly

said to the ox. Who knows what may happen? Patience, and

shuffle the cards! I am not yet so bald that you can see my

brains; and perhaps, after all, I shall some day go to Rome, and

come back Saint Peter. Benedicite!

[Exit.

(A pause. Then enter BARTOLOME wildly, as if in pursuit, with a

carbine in his hand.)

Bart. They passed this way! I hear their horses' hoofs!

Yonder I see them! Come, sweet caramillo,

This serenade shall be the Gypsy's last!

(Fires down the pass.)

Ha! ha! Well whistled, my sweet caramillo! Well whistled!—I have missed her!—O my God!

(The shot is returned. BARTOLOME falls).