RIBERA.
Child, his Royal Highness
Prince John of Austria.
DON JOHN.
Good-day, signora.
Already twice my gracious stars have smiled.
I saw you in the street. You wore your mantle,
As the noon sun might wear a veil of cloud,
Covering, but not concealing.
MARIA.
I, sir, twice
Have unaware stood in your royal presence.
You are welcome to my father's home and mine.
I scarce need crave your pardon for my entrance;
Yourself must see how well assured I felt
My father was alone.
DON JOHN.
And so you hoped
To find him—shall I read your answer thus?
RIBERA.
Nay, press her not. Your Highness does her wrong,
So harshly to construe her simpleness.
My daughter and myself are one, and both
Will own an equal pleasure if you bide.
DON JOHN (seating himself).
You chain me with kind words.
MARIA.
My father, sir,
Hath surely told you our delight and marvel
At the enchantments of your feast. For me
The night was brief, rich, beautiful, and strange
As a bright dream.
DON JOHN.
I will gainsay you not.
A beauteous soul can shed her proper glory
On mean surroundings. I have likewise dreamed,
Nor am I yet awake. This morn hath been
A feast for mind and eye. Yon shepherd-prince,
Whom angels visit in his sleep, shall crown
Your father's brow with a still fresher laurel,
And link in equal fame the Spanish artist
With the Lord's chosen prophet.
RIBERA.
That may be,
For in the form of that wayfarer
I drew myself. So have I slept beneath
The naked heavens, pillowed by a stone,
With no more shelter than the wind-stirred branches,
While the thick dews of our Valencian nights
Drenched my rude weeds, and chilled through blood and bone.
Yet to me also were the heavens revealed,
And angels visited my dreams.
DON JOHN.
How strange
That you, dear masters, standing on the crown
Of a long life's continuous ascent,
Should backward glance unto such dark beginnings.