Yes, Love is ever busy with his shuttle,
Is ever weaving into life's dull warp
Bright,
gorgeous
flowers and scenes Arcadian;
Hanging our gloomy prison-house about
With tapestries, that make its walls dilate
In never-ending vistas of delight.
Longfellow
SCENE I. -- A cross-road through a wood. In the background a
distant village spire. VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO, as travelling
students, with guitars, sitting under the trees. HYPOLITO plays
and sings.
SONG.
Ah, Love!
Perjured, false, treacherous Love!
Enemy
Of all that mankind may not rue!
Most untrue
To him who keeps most faith with thee.
Woe is me!
The falcon has the eyes of the dove.
Ah, Love!
Perjured, false, treacherous Love!
Vict.
Yes, Love is ever busy with his shuttle,
Is ever weaving into life's dull warp
Bright,
gorgeous
flowers and scenes Arcadian;
Hanging our gloomy prison-house about
With tapestries, that make its walls dilate
In never-ending vistas of delight.
Hyp. Thinking to walk in those Arcadian pastures,
Thou hast run thy noble head against the wall.
SONG (continued).
Thy deceits
Give us clearly to comprehend,
Whither tend
All thy pleasures, all thy sweets!
They are cheats,
Thorns below and flowers above.
Ah, Love!
Perjured, false, treacherous Love!
Vict. A very pretty song. I thank thee for it.
Hyp. It suits thy case.
Vict. Indeed, I think it does.
What wise man wrote it?
