peace,
The peace of Heaven, and in her sunshine of
Piety?

_Caes._ And what had _they_ done, whom the old
Romans o'erswept?--Hark!

_Arn._ They are soldiers singing
A reckless roundelay, upon the eve
Of many deaths, it may be of their own.

_Caes._ And why should they not sing as well as swans?
They are black ones, to be sure.

_Arn._ So, you are learned,
I see, too?

_Caes._ In my grammar, certes. I
Was educated for a monk of all times, 100
And once I was well versed in the forgotten
Etruscan letters, and--were I so minded--
Could make their hieroglyphics plainer than
Your alphabet.

_Arn._ And wherefore do you not?

_Caes._ It answers better to resolve the alphabet
Back into hieroglyphics. Like your statesman,
And prophet, pontiff, doctor, alchymist,
Philosopher, and what not, they have built
More Babels, without new dispersion, than
The stammering young ones of the flood's dull ooze, 110
Who failed and fled each other. Why? why, marry,
Because no man could understand his neighbour.
They are wiser now, and will not separate
For nonsense. Nay, it is their brotherhood,
Their Shibboleth--their Koran--Talmud--their
Cabala--their best brick-work, wherewithal
They build more----

_Arn._ (_interrupting him_). Oh, thou everlasting sneerer!
Be silent! How the soldier's rough strain seems
Softened by distance to a hymn-like cadence!
Listen!

_Caes._ Yes. I have heard the angels sing. 120

_Arn._ And demons howl.

_Caes._ And man, too. Let us listen:
I love all music.

_Song of the Soldiers within_.

The black bands came over
The Alps and their snow;
With Bourbon, the rover,
They passed the broad Po.
We have beaten all foemen,
We have captured a King[234],
We have turned back on no men,
And so let us sing! 130
Here's the Bourbon for ever!
Though penniless all,
We'll have one more endeavour
At yonder old wall.
With the Bourbon we'll gather