smile upon thy brightness! What say'st thou,
Bernardo, didst thou ever dream such things?

_Ber._ That she is beautiful I had no cause to dream,
Mine eyes have known the fact for many a day.
What villains didst thou speak of even now?

_Gia._ Two precious villains--Carbon and Azote--
They have perplexed me heretofore; but now
The thing is plain enough. This morning, ere
I left my chamber, all the mystery stood
Asudden in an awful revelation!

_Ber._ I'm glad success has crowned thy task to-day,
But do not overtoil thy brain. These themes
Are dangerous things, and they who mastered most
Have fallen at last but victims to their slaves.

_Gia._ It is a glorious thing to fall and die
The victim of a noble cause.

_Ber._ Ay, true--
The man who battles for his country's right
Hath compensation in the world's applause.
The victor when returning from the field
Is crowned with laurel, and his shining way
Is full of shouts and roses. If he fall,
His nation builds his monument of glory.
But mark the alchemist who walks the streets,
His look is down, his step infirm, his hair
And cheeks are burned to ashes by his thought;
The volumes he consumes, consume in turn;
They are but fuel to his fiery brain,
Which being fed requires the more to feed on.
The people gaze on him with curious looks,
And step aside to let him pass untouched,
Believing Satan hath him arm in arm.

_Gia._ Are there no wrongs but what a nation feels?
No heroes but among the martial throng?
Nay, there are patriot souls who never grasped
A sword, or heard the crowd applaud their names,
Who lived and labored, died and were forgot,
And after whom the world came out and reapt
The field, and never questioned who had sown.

_Ber._ I did not think of that.

_Gia._ Now mark ye well,
I am not one to follow phantom themes,
To waste my time in seeking for the stone,
Or chrystalizing carbon to o'erflood
The world with riches which would keep it poor;
Nor do I seek the elixir that would make
Not life alone, but misery immortal;
But something far more glorious than these.

_Ber._ Pray what is that?

_Gia._ A cure, sir, for the heart-ache.
Come, thou shalt see. The day is on the wane--
Mark how the moon, as by some unseen arm,
Is thrusted upward, like a bloody shield!
On such an hour the experiment must begin.
Come, thou shalt be the first to witness this
Most marvelous discovery. And thou,
My pretty one, betake thee to thy bower,