Is crimson'd as it may be here at dawn:
I would the youth of man did so decline;
But that still darkeneth to the cloudy close.
Alexius. There is an after-dawn.

Comnenus.

To that I look,—

Wont to look onward still and never backward.

Thy coming hath deranged this.

Alexius.

How is our cousin Anna?

Comnenus.

Let it rest.

Well, quite well :

The natural infirmities of youth,

Sadness and softness, hopefulness, wishfulness,
All pangs for which we do not see good cause,
Let's take no count of. If at ninety years
A man shall die, accusing no disease,
Only by reason of the ninety years,
So shall a maiden languish at nineteen
Only by reason of the time and state.
Enough for nature if she keep us sound
In the slow tide and tenor of our lives,
Betwixt youth's flushings and the lapse of age.

Alexius. A rumour went our gentle cousin's charms Were to have fill'd for thee this gap of life.

If she grew up with what I call to mind

Of gifts that graced her childhood, none could match her.
Comnenus. I own it; but I have no care for beauty.
Seest thou yon rainbow based and glass'd on ocean?
I look on that as on a lovely thing,

But not a thing of promise.

Alexius.

Doth she not love thee?

Comnenus. That is a point to which most men would speak

In words of dubious import, to imply

That they are loved, but very loth to tell it.

I answer, Yes, she loves me.

Alexius.

And thou her?

Comnenus. Ay;-with a difference though: her love's

untold,

Though I am not so young in the world to doubt it;

I tell her that I love her every day.

I have design'd her for a happier fate,

And she shall learn to love herself, not me;
Which is soon taught.

Alexius.

And wherefore not love both?

Comnenus. Because she never can be true to both. Hast no talk meeter for a battle's eve?

Alexius. All is arranged; there's nought upon my mind.

Comnenus. Nor need there be; but there is much on mine,

A weight of foregone years crowding along,

That seem press'd back by some approaching close.
We'll talk of times to come to-morrow night.

What time the watch is set I shall depart :

I mean to sleep beside Blachernæ.

Alexius.

Is't not too near the walls?

Comnenus.

Why?

I go alone,

And one at dusk will scarcely be observed.
Alexius. Take you no guard then?

Comnenus.

Not so far as there.

I have a watchful eye to yon monks' kennel;
For, as I said, if aught be stirring there,
I'll seize upon the post by break of day.
Alexius. You fear not for our sister?
Comnenus.

But thus far:

I think when Pagans such as we make war,
My own is better than the Church's safeguard.
Alexius. My way is with you half the distance.
Comnenus.

Macrinus then shall lead; we'll play the spy.
Let's to his tent; there must be orders given;
My armour too is there; ere all is done

Dusk will be well nigh here, and we'll set forth.

Good.

SCENE II.-Evening.-An outpost of the camp. Tents in the distance. Fires at intervals, reaching to the shore, and throwing light across the Propontic. Soldiers lying on their arms. In front a Sentinel walking his rounds is met by ALEXIUS.

Alexius. Thou art one of Count Isaac's men, art not? Sentinel. How dost thou know that? Methinks by thy sun-burnt face thou should'st belong to my Lord Alexius.

Alexius. True, I am from the east; but we are comrades for all that.

Sentinel. Yes; for we are all Count Isaac's men now, mind'st thou.

Alexius. True.

Sentinel. Count Alexius is now no more than second in command.

Alexius. No more.

Sentinel. And in so small an army that is next to nothing.

Alexius. 'Tis little, but as much as he deserves.

Sentinel. Nay, I did not mean that; only I would have thee understand that thy master serves my master. Alexius. He does. There are few men worthy to serve thy master. I would that Count Alexius were. Sentinel. Not that I mean any ill of Count Alexius; he's young.

Alexius. Ay, but one might be wiser even at his years. Sentinel. Nay, I know not that. When I was two and twenty I know not if I had much more sense than he has now. 'Tis a miracle how sense will grow upon a man after he has mounted guard a few years. Thou would'st not believe how many thoughts come and go in a wise man's head as he walks his four hours backwards and forwards upon an outpost.

Alexius. How long hast thou been walking here?
Sentinel. The matter of an hour.

Alexius. And what thoughts have come and gone in thy head?

Sentinel. The matter of four.

Alexius. What was thy first thought?

Sentinel. I bethought me that the wind was easterly, and one ought to hear the waves break upon the Symplegades.

Alexius. What was thy second thought?

Sentinel. I thought when the moon rose I should see the tops of the fig-trees at Galatá; that's my birth-place. Alexius. And thy third?

Sentinel. I thought if I was to fall to-morrow, I could like it were thereabouts.

Alexius. Thy fourth?

Sentinel. I thought when Count Isaac was emperor, he would be for recasting the army, and I should tell him I was getting old in the service and could like to be one of the Immortals.

Alexius. That I'll be bound for him thou shalt.
Sentinel. How canst thou tell?

Alexius. I know he takes care of those that stick to their old generals and look cold on the new.

Sentinel. How know'st thou that? Thou art of the eastern forces.

Alexius. None knows thy master better.

Enter an Officer.

Officer. My lord, your brother waits you hard by where the roads meet.

Alexius. I come. Farewell to thee. See thou keep a keen look-out to the north and west; the moon will soon be up, and on the scout side of the field; all thou need'st take heed of comes between thee and the light. Farewell. I'll tell Count Isaac thy deserts.

[Exeunt ALEXIUS and Officer. Sentinel. Holy Mother of God! that will be the young Count himself. "Tis well he takes it no worse; for to say the truth, I did him but scant justice. What was it I said to him? No doubt but I told him plain

out every thought that has come into my head for this year

and more.

SCENE III.-A Churchyard.-COMNENUS, ALEXIUS, and

Guide.

Comnenus. This road is but uneven. How is this? Guide. It is the burial-ground, my lord; these hills are graves.

Comnenus. Then do we trespass; but the dead ne'er
heed us.

Ha! Pray you, trip not up my heels, good friends,
That lie in wait so stilly.

Guide.

Hush, my lord.

Comnenus. I tell thee that they heed us not.
Guide.

Our feet
They heed not and they hear not; but some tell
How a light word's recorded till the day

When they shall burst their graves.

Comnenus.

And so it is

;

Words though from earth with wings they fly away
Yet perish not nor lose themselves in space,
But bend their course towards eternity,

And roost beneath the judgment-seat of God.

What be yon shape hewn out upon the tomb-stone?
Guide. A cherub 'tis, my lord.

Comnenus. What, with that damnable visage ?

Guide. It is thus, my lord, they carve them. Comnenus. 'Tis wondrous hideous. When I die,

Alexius,

I'll have an image of another mould

Shall smile a cherub's blessing o'er my dust.

What, ha! again—that rogue,

The blundering sexton, misconceived his task,

And buried us the epitaph; this stone

Hath but one knob above ground, which obtrudes "Siste Viator" to who journey darkling.