"Sing it again," said the improvisatore.
Horace felt some reluctance to comply with the request from one who was himself a master of the musical art; he would rather have listened than sung. At Raphael's desire, however, he repeated the strain, the improvisatore listening intently, and keeping time to the music with his hand.
"And now let me hear you," said Horace; "and let us have something more cheerful."
Raphael took up his guitar, and struck a few chords full of harmony and tone in a different and far richer key than that in which Horace had been singing. He afterwards remained for several minutes silent, gathering and arranging his thoughts.
"I will be your echo," he then said with a smile; "but I will give back your notes in more joyous strain, less meet for the poet, but more for the Christian;" and catching up the air, Raphael sang in Italian as follows:—
"Earth's bright hopes must fade
Not those which grace hath given;
Joys were fleeting made,
But not the joys of heaven!
Stars that shine above,
And flowers that cannot wither,
These are types of peace and love
That shall abide for ever!
"Who that seeks the skies
Would mourn earth's pleasures blighted.
Weep o'er broken ties
Soon to be re-united!
Blest e'en awhile to be
In darkness and in sorrow,
Assured we soon the dawn shall see
Of an eternal morrow!"
Raphael did not lay down his guitar. The last thought seemed to link itself on to another, and changing the mournful air to a burst of triumphant melody which appeared to well up fresh from a deep spring of joy within him, the Rossignol poured forth in his richest tones the following:
SONG OF HOPE.
"Now in the east Hope's trembling light
Proclaims a brighter dawning;
Though woe endureth for a night,
Joy cometh in the morning!
"For many weary ages past
Hath sin's dark night prevailing
A gloom o'er all the nations cast,
Whence rose the sounds of wailing!
The idol-gods have many a shrine
Where, bound in chains of error,
Myriads, shut out from light divine,
Crouch down in shame and terror!
But in the cast Hope's rosy light
Proclaims a brighter dawning;
Though woe endureth for a night,
Joy cometh in the morning!
"Like Cynthia from her silvery car,
The Church could darkness lighten;
Each high example, like a star,
Shone forth to cheer and lighten.
But I shall need not star nor moon
In that clear day before me,
The sun of righteousness shall soon
Burst forth in cloudless glory!
Yes, in the east, Hope's kindling light
Proclaims a brighter dawning;
Though woe endureth for a night,
Joy cometh in the morning."
"Hark!" exclaimed Horace suddenly. "The robbers are in the wood!"
The music had scarcely died on the lips of Raphael. His eyes were fixed upon the sky as if already beholding in its blue depths the signs of the coming triumph. He turned them now towards the forest, and something of the brightness of hope lingered in them as he said, leaning over the rocky parapet to gaze: