the bull in his tracks. The man and the bull remained so still that the spectators thought themselves looking at a group hewn in stone. But in that apparent repose there was a tremendous exertion of two struggling forces. The bull's feet, as well as the man's, sank in the sand, and the dark,[Pg 7] shaggy body was curved so that it seemed a gigantic ball. Which of the two would fail first? Which would fall first? Meanwhile a dull roar resembling a groan was heard from the arena, after which a brief shout was wrested from every breast, and again there was silence. Duller and duller, hoarser and hoarser, more and more painful grew the groan of the bull as it mingled with the whistling breath from the breast of the giant. The head of the beast began to turn in the iron hands of the barbarian, and from his jaws crept forth a long, foaming tongue. A moment more and to the ears of the spectators sitting nearer came, as it were, the crack of breaking bones; then the beast rolled on the earth, dead. The giant removed in a twinkling the ropes that bound the maiden to the horns of the bull. His face was very pale; he stood as if only half conscious; then he raised his eyes and looked at the spectators. The amphitheater had gone wild. The walls of the building were trembling from the roar of tens of thousands of people. Everywhere were heard cries for mercy, passionate and persistent, which soon turned into one unbroken thunder. The giant understood that they were asking for his life and liberty, but his thoughts were not for himself. He raised the unconscious maiden in his arms, and, going to Nero's padium, held her up and looked up imploringly. Vinicius sprang over the barrier, which separated the lower seats from the arena, and, running to Lygia, covered her with his toga. Then he tore apart the tunic on his breast, laid bare the scars left by wounds received in the Armenian war, and stretched out his hands to the multitude. At this the enthusiasm passed everything ever seen in a circus before. Voices choking with tears began to demand mercy. Yet Nero halted and hesitated. He would have preferred to see the giant and the maiden rent by the horns of the bull. [Pg 8]Nero was alarmed. He understood that to oppose longer was simply dangerous. A disturbance begun in the circus might seize the whole city. He looked once more, and, seeing everywhere frowning brows, excited faces and eyes fixed on him, he slowly raised his hand and gave the sign for mercy. 8 Then a thunder of applause broke from the highest seats to the lowest. But Vinicius heard it not. He dropped on his knees in the arena, stretched his hands toward heaven and cried: "I believe! Oh, Christ! I believe! I believe!" FOOTNOTE: [1] Copyright, 1896, by Jeremiah Curtin. THE ARROW AND THE SONG[2] H. W. Longfellow I shot an arrow into the air. It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow in its flight. I breathed a song into the air. It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong That it can follow the flight of song. Long, long afterward, in an oak, I found the arrow still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend. FOOTNOTE: [2] Used by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers of his works. AUX ITALIENS R. Bulwer Lytton At Paris it was, at the opera there; And she looked like a queen that night, With a wreath of pearl in her raven hair, And the brooch in her breast so bright.[Pg 9] Of all the operas that Verdi wrote, The best, to my taste, is the "Trovatore": And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note, The souls in purgatory. The moon on the tower slept soft as snow; And who was not thrilled in the strangest way, As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low, "Non ti scordar di me?" The Emperor there in his box of state, Looked grave; as if he had just then seen The red flag wave from the city gate, Where the eagles in bronze had been. The Empress, too, had a tear in her eye; You'd have thought that her fancy had gone back again, For one moment, under the old blue sky, To that old glad life in Spain. Well! there in our front row box we sat Together, my bride betrothed and I; My gaze was fixed on my opera hat, And hers on the stage hard by. And both were silent and both were sad; Like a queen she leaned on her full white arm, With that regal indolent air she had; 9 So confident of her charm! I have not a doubt she was thinking then Of her former lord, good soul that he was, Who died the richest and roundest of men, The Marquis of Carabas. I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven, Through a needle's eye he had not to pass;[Pg 10] I wish him well for the jointure given To my lady of Carabas. Meanwhile I was thinking of my first love As I had not been thinking of aught for years; Till over my eyes there began to move Something that felt like tears. I thought of the dress that she wore last time, When we stood neath the cypress-trees together, In that lost land, in that soft clime, In the crimson evening weather; Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot); And her warm white neck in its golden chain; And her full soft hair just tied in a knot, And falling loose again. And the Jasmine flower in her fair young breast; (O the faint sweet smell of that Jasmine flower!) And the one bird singing alone to its nest; And the one star over the tower. I thought of our little quarrels and strife, And the letter that brought me back my ring; And it all seemed there in the waste of life, Such a very little thing. For I thought of her grave below the hill, Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over; And I thought, "Were she only living still, How I could forgive her and love her!" And I swear as I thought of her thus in that hour, And of how, after all, old things are best, That I smelt the smell of that Jasmine flower Which she used to wear in her breast.[Pg 11] And I turned and looked; she was sitting there, In a dim box over the stage; and drest In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair, And that Jasmine in her breast! I was here, and she was there; And the glittering horse-shoe curved between;-- From my bride betrothed, with her raven hair And her sumptuous scornful mien, To my early love with her eyes downcast, And over her primrose face the shade, (In short from the future back to the past) There was but a step to be made. To my early love from my future bride One moment I looked, then I stole to the door, I traversed the passage; and down at her side I was sitting a moment more. My thinking of her or the music's strain, Or something which never will be expressed, Had brought her back from the grave again, With the Jasmine in her breast. She is not dead, and she is not wed! 10 But she loves me now and she loved me then! And the very first words that her sweet lips said, My heart grew youthful again. The Marchioness there, of Carabas, She is wealthy and young and handsome still, And but for her ... well, we'll let that pass; She may marry whomever she will. But I will marry my own first love, With her primrose face, for old things are best;[Pg 12] And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above The brooch in my lady's breast. The world is filled with folly and sin, And love must cling where it can, I say, For beauty is easy enough to win, But one isn't loved every day. And I think in the lives of most women and men, There's a moment when all would go smooth and even, If only the dead could find out when To come back and be forgiven. But O! the smell of that Jasmine flower! And O that music! and O the way That voice rang out from the donjon tower, Non ti scordar di me, Non ti scordar di me! BOBBY SHAFTO[3] Daniel Henry, Jr. Theme. "Bobby Shafto's gone to sea:-- Silver buckles on his knee-- He'll come back and marry me, Pretty Bobby Shafto!" "Mother Goose Melodies." "With his treasures won at sea, Spanish gold and Portugee, And his heart, still fast to me, Pretty Bobby Shafto! "In a captain's pomp and pride, With a gold sword at his side,[Pg 13] He'll come back to claim his bride, Pretty Bobby Shafto!" So she sang, the winter long, Till the sun came, golden-strong, And the blue birds caught her song: All of Bobby Shafto. Days went by, and autumn came, Eyes grew dim, and feet went lame, But the song, it was the same, All of Bobby Shafto. Never came across the sea, Silver buckles on his knee, Bobby to his bride-to-be, Fickle Bobby Shafto! For where midnight never dies, In the Storm-King's caves of ice, Stiff and stark, poor Bobby lies-- 11 Heigho! Bobby Shafto. FOOTNOTE: [3] From "Under a Fool's Cap." CARCASSONNE Gustav Nadaud, translated by M. E. W. Sherwood "How old I am! I'm eighty years! I've worked both hard and long; Yet patient as my life has been, One dearest sight I have not seen,-- It almost seems a wrong. A dream I had when life was new; Alas, our dreams! they come not true; I thought to see fair Carcassonne,-- That lovely city,--Carcassonne![Pg 14] "One sees it dimly from the height Beyond the mountains blue, Fain would I walk five weary leagues,-- I do not mind the road's fatigues,-- Through morn and evening's dew; But bitter frost would fall at night; And on the grapes,--that yellow blight! I could not go to Carcassonne, I never went to Carcassonne. "They say it is as gay all times As holidays at home! The gentles ride in gay attire, And in the sun each gilded spire Shoots up like those of Rome! The bishop the procession leads, The generals curb their prancing steeds. Alas! I know not Carcassonne-- Alas! I saw not Carcassonne! "Our Vicar's right! he preaches loud, And bids us to beware; He says, 'O guard the weakest-part, And most that traitor in the heart Against ambition's snare.' Perhaps in autumn I can find Two sunny days with gentle wind; I then could go to Carcassonne, I still could go to Carcassonne. "My God, my Father! pardon
