And war with fiends for her; that were a "quest'
That were true chivalry; to bring my Judge

This jewel for His crown; this noble soul,
Worth thousand prudish clods of barren clay,

Who mope for heaven because earth's grapes are sour— Her, full of youth, flushed with the heart's rich firstfruits,

Tangled in earthly pomp-and earthly love.

Wife? Saint by her face she should be: with such looks
The queen of heaven, perchance, slow pacing came
Adown our sleeping wards, when Dominic

Sank fainting, drunk with beauty:-she is most fair!
Pooh! I know nought of fairness-this I know,
She calls herself my slave, with such an air

As speaks her queen, not slave; that shall be looked to-
She must be pinioned, or she will range abroad

Upon too bold a wing; 'twill cost her pain

But what of that? there are worse things than pain-
What! not yet here? I'll in, and there await her
In prayer before the altar; I have need on't:
And shall have more before this harvest's ripe.

As CONRAD goes out, ELIZABETH, ISENTRUDIS, and GUTA

enter.

Eliz. I saw him just before us: let us onward

We must not seem to loiter.

Isen.

Then you promise

Exact obedience to his sole direction

Henceforth in every scruple?

Eliz.

In all I can,

And be a wife..

Guta.

Is it not a double bondage?

A husband's will is clog enough. Be sure,
Though free, I crave more freedom.

Eliz.

This servitude shall free me-from myself.
Therefore I'll swear.

Isen.

Eliz.

So do I

To what?

I know not wholly :

But this I know, that I shall swear to-night

To yield my will unto a wiser will;

To see God's truth through eyes, which, like the eagle's,
From higher Alps undazzled eye the sun.
Compelled to discipline from which my sloth
Would shrink, unbidden,-to deep devious paths
Which my dull sight would miss, I now can plunge,
And dare life's eddies fearless.

Isen.

Eliz. I do repent, even now.

You will repent it.
Therefore I'll swear-

And bind myself to that, which once being right,

Will not be less right, when I shrink from it.
No; if the end be gained-if I be raised

To freer, nobler use, I'll dare, I'll welcome

Him and his means, though they were racks and flames. Come, ladies, let us in, and to the chapel.

UNIV

Library.

Of Califor

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Chamber. GUTA, IsentRudis, and a Lady.

Lady. Doubtless she is most holy-but for wisdom— Say if 'tis wise to spurn all rules, all censures,

And mountebank it in the public ways

Till she becomes a jest?

Isen.

Lady.

How's this?

For one thing

Yestreen I passed her in the open street,
Following the vocal line of chanting priests,
Clad in rough serge, and with her bare soft palms
Wooing the ruthless flints; the gaping crowd
Unknowing whom they held, did thrust and jostle
Her tender limbs; she saw me as she passed-
And blushed and veiled her face, and smiled withal.
Isen. Oh, think, she 's not seventeen yet.

Guta.

Wisdom with love in all?

Why expect

Each has his gift

Our souls are organ pipes of diverse stop
And various pitch; each with its proper notes
Thrilling beneath the self-same breath of God.
Though poor alone, yet joined, they're harmony.
Besides, these higher spirits must not bend
To common methods; in their inner world
They move by broader laws, at whose expression
We must adore, not cavil: here she comes-

The ministering Saint, fresh from the poor of Christ.

ELIZABETH enters without cloak or shoes, carrying an empty

basket.

Isen. What's here, my princess?

robes!

Rest, rest, my child!

Guta, fetch her

Eliz. [Throwing herself on a seat.] Oh! I have seen such things!

I shudder still; your bright looks dazzle me;
As those who long in hideous darkness pent
Blink at the daily light; this room's too gay !
We sit in a cloud, and sing, like pictured angels,
And say, the world runs smooth-while right below
Welters the black, fermenting heap of life
On which our state is built: I saw this day
What we might be, and still be Christian women:
And mothers too-I saw one, laid in childbed
These three cold weeks upon the black damp straw;
No nurses, cordials, or that nice parade

With which we try to balk the curse of Eve-
And yet she laughed, and showed her buxom boy,
And said, Another week, so please the Saints,
She'd be at work a-field. Look here-and here-
[Pointing round the room.

I saw no such things there; and yet they lived.
Our wanton accidents take root, and grow
To vaunt themselves God's laws, until our clothes,
Our gems, and gaudy books, and cushioned litters.
Become ourselves, and we would fain forget
There live who need them not.

[GUTA offers to robe her.

Let be, beloved

I will taste somewhat this same poverty—

Try these temptations, grudges, gnawing shames,
For which 'tis blamed; how probe an unfelt evil?

Would 'st be the poor man's friend? Must freeze with him

Test sleepless hunger-let thy crippled back
Ache o'er the endless furrow; how was He,
The blessed One, made perfect? Why, by grief—
The fellowship of voluntary grief-

He read the tear-stained book of poor men's souls,
As I must learn to read it. Lady! lady!
Wear but one robe the less-forego one meal—
And thou shalt taste the core of many tales
Which now flit past thee, like a minstrel's songs,
The sweeter for their sadness.—

Lady.

Forgive me!

Eliz. How?

Heavenly wisdom!

What wrong is mine, fair dame?

Lady. I thought you, to my shame-less wise than holy.

But

you have conquered: I will test these sorrows

On mine own person; I have toyed too long

In painted pinnace down the stream of life,

Witched with the landscape, while the weary rowers

Faint at the groaning oar: I'll be thy pupil.

Farewell. Heaven bless thy labours and thy lesson. [Exit. Isen. We are alone. Now tell me, dearest lady,

How came you in this plight?

Eliz.

Oh! chide not, nurse—