Racine: Phaedra

254
CALDERON
Under this tower, wall-eyed and musket-tong^ed,
With sentinels a-pacing up and down,
Crying All's well when all is far from well,
All the day long, and all the night, until
I dream—if what is dreaming be not waking
Of bells a-tolling and processions rolling
With candles, crosses, banners, San-benitos,
Of which I wear the flamy-finingest,
Through streets and places throng'd with fiery faces
To some back platform
Oh, I shall take a fire into my hand
With thinking of my own dear Muscovy
Only just over that Sierra there,
By which we tumbled headlong into—No-land.
Now, if without a bullet after me,
I could but get a peep of my old home
Perhaps of my own mule to take me there
All's still— perhaps the gentlemen within
Are dreaming it is night behind their masks
God send 'em a good nightmare !—Now then—Hark
Voices—and up the rocks—and armed men
Climbing like cats—Puss in the corner then. [He hides.
Enter Soldiers cautiously up the rocks.
Captain.—This is the frontier pass, at any rate,
Where Poland ends and Muscovy begins.
Soldier.—We must be close upon the tower, I know,
That half way up the mountain lies ensconced.
Captain.—How know you that ?
First Soldier.— He told me so—the Page
Who put us on the scent.
Second Soldier,— And, as I think,
Will soon be here to run it down with us.
Captain.—Meantime, our horses on these ugly rocks
Useless, and worse than useless with their clatter—^
Leave them behind, with one or two in charge.
And softly, softly, softly.
First Soldier.— There it is!
Second Soldier.—There what?
First Soldier.— The tower—the fortress