THE MODERN DRAMA.
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| He takes the charcoal from the peasant’s hand, |
| And by the magic of his touch at once |
| Transfigured, all its hidden virtues shine, |
| And in the eyes of the astonished clown, |
| It gleams a diamond. Even thus transformed, |
| Rude popular traditions and old tales |
| Shine as immortal poems, at the touch |
| Of some poor houseless, homeless, wandering bard, |
| Who had but a night’s lodging for his pains. |
| But there are brighter dreams than those of fame, |
| Which are the dreams of love! Out of the heart |
| Rises the bright ideal of these dreams, |
| As from some woodland fount a spirit rises |
| And sinks again into its silent deeps, |
| Ere the enamoured knight can touch her robe! |
| ’T is this ideal, that the soul of man, |
| Like the enamoured knight beside the fountain, |
| Waits for upon the margin of life’s stream; |
| Waits to behold her rise from the dark waters |
| Clad in a mortal shape! Alas! how many |
| Must wait in vain! The stream flows evermore, |
| But from its silent deeps no spirit rises. |
Or here,
I will forget her! All dear recollections
Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book,
Shall be torn out, and scattered to the winds;
I will forget her! But perhaps hereafter,
When she shall learn how heartless is the world,
A voice within her will repeat my name,
And she will say, ‘He was indeed my friend.’
Passages like these would give great pleasure in the chaste and carefully-shaded recitation of Macready or Miss Tree. The style of the play is, throughout, elegant and simple. Neither the plot nor characters can boast any originality, but the one is woven with skill and taste, the others very well drawn, for so slight handling.
We had purposed in this place to notice some of the modern
