DON JOHN of AUSTRIA. JOSEF RIBERA, the Spagnoletto. LORENZO, noble young Italian artist, pupil of Ribera. DON TOMMASO MANZANO. LUCA, servant to Ribera. A GENTLEMAN....
Well-nigh two thousand years hath Israel Suffered the scorn of man for love of God; Endured the outlaw's ban, the yoke, the rod, With perfect patience. Empires rose and fell,...
A brackish lake is there with bitter pools Anigh its margin, brushed by heavy trees. A piping wind the narrow valley cools, Fretting the willows and the cypresses....
If the sudden tidings came That on some far, foreign coast, Buried ages long from fame, Had been found a remnant lost Of that hoary race who dwelt By the golden Nile divine,...
The Autumn promised, and he keeps His word unto the meadow-rose. The pure, bright lightnings herald Spring, Serene and glad the fresh earth shows. The rain has quenched her children's thirst,...
Oh, that the golden lyre divine Whence David smote flame-tones were mine! Oh, that the silent harp which hung Untuned, unstrung, Upon the willows by the river, Would throb beneath my touch and quiver...
Down the long hall she glistens like a star, The foam-born mother of Love, transfixed to stone, Yet none the less immortal, breathing on. Time's brutal hand hath maimed but could not mar....
How strange, in some brief interval of rest, Backward to look on her far-stretching past. To see how much is conquered and repressed, How much is gained in victory at last!...
With heavy groans did I approach my friends, Heavy as though the mountains I would move. The flagon they were murdering; they poured Into the cup, wild-eyed, the grape's red blood....
Yet life is not a vision nor a prayer, But stubborn work; she may not shun her task. After the first compassion, none will spare Her portion and her work achieved, to ask....
Sweet empty sky of June without a stain, Faint, gray-blue dewy mists on far-off hills, Warm, yellow sunlight flooding mead and plain, That each dark copse and hollow overfills;...
What hast thou done to this dear friend of mine, Thou cold, white, silent Stranger? From my hand Her clasped hand slips to meet the grasp of thine; Here eyes that flamed with love, at thy command...