The Tartar, comrade of my fighting days ; And l'vo been up tho mountain. Brother Hugo, How good for him, who's hastening towards his grave, It is to contcmplato tho wido expanse Of all tho bright, free, living world of God, Where all seeds sown to such fair harvest como ! And those seeds, Hugo, wo too havo been sowing, They are not lost ? COMMANDER. Be that as tho Lord will ! I question not j God grant a happy end ! MOLAY. Thou'rt como forth of thy cell full early. COMMANDER. Yes! Tho howling of tho storm, the thunder's roll By two o'clock had driven me out, God mend it ! Sure never havo I known so wild a night ; 'Twas e'en as though tho foul fiend with his knaves Wero playing skittles. MOLAY. God has fore-ordained The skittle ho shall strike ; the servant plays ; Tho Lord doth win tho game. Brother, thou'rt arm'd ! (As his glance falls on the COMMANDER'S armour.) COMMANDER. Comrade ! I must confess myself to thee ; 'Tis foolish, but, God mend it ! everything Just now's a chari-vari !—And so I thought, My Brother ; " Thou shouldst show thyself onco more, In all thy pomp of arms, to these thine old Companions here ; for all too soon thou'lt bo Surrounded by a young and frivolous world." Therefore I went, and dedicated sword And lance to old Hugh, and the Holy Maid ; And then—deride me not, my comrade,—then 2-28 THE TEMPLARS IN CYPRUS. [ACT VI.