And I will dream thou'rt lovelier than ever.
Come, follow me. (_To Bernardo._)

_Ros._ Nay, father, stay; I'm sure
Thou art not well--thine eyes are strangely lit,
The task, I fear, has over-worked thy brain.

_Gia._ Dearest Rosalia, what were eyes or brain
Compared with banishment of sorrow? Come.

_Ber._ (_Aside to Rosalia._)
I will indulge awhile this curious humor;
Adieu; I shall be with thee soon again.

_Gia._ (_Overhearing him._)
When Satan shall regain his wings, and sit
Approved in heaven, perchance, but not till then.

_Ber._ What, not till then?

_Gia._ Shall he be worthy deemed
To walk, as thou hast said the people thought,
Arm in arm with the high-souled philosopher:--
And yet the people sometimes are quite right,
The devil's at our elbow oftener than
We know.

(_He gives Bernardo his arm, and they enter the laboratory._)

_Ros._ (_Alone._) He never looked so strange before;
His cheeks, asudden, are grown pale and thin;
His very hair seems whiter than it did.
Oh, surely, 'tis a fearful trade that crowds
The work of years into a single day.
It may be that the sadness which I wear
Hath clothed him in its own peculiar hue.
The very sunshine of this cloudless day
Seemed but a world of broad, white desolation--
While in my ears small melancholy bells
Knolled their long, solemn and prophetic chime;--
But hark! a louder and a holier toll,
Shedding its benediction on the air,
Proclaims the vesper hour--
Ave Maria!

[_Exit Rosalia._

SCENE III. _Giacomo and Bernardo discovered in the laboratory._

_Gia._ What say'st thou now, Bernardo?

_Ber._ Let me live
Or die in drawing this delicious breath,
I ask no more.

_Gia._ (_Aside._) Mark, how with wondering eyes
He gazes on the burning crucibles,
As if to drink the rising vapor with
His every sense.

_Ber._ Is this the balm thou spak'st of?

_Gia._ Ay, sir, the same.

_Ber._ Oh, would that now my heart
Were torn with every grief the earth has known,
Then would this sense be sweeter by tenfold!
Where didst thou learn the secret, and from whom?

_Gia._ From Gebber down to Paracelsus, none
Have mentioned the discovery of this--
The need of it was parent of the thought.

_Ber._ How long will these small crucibles hold out?

_Gia._ A little while, but there are two beside,
That when thy sense is toned up to the point
May then be fired; and when thou breath