_Vic._ I will forget thee! All dear recollections Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book, Shall be torn out and scattered to the winds! I will forget thee! but perhaps hereafter, When thou shalt learn how heartless is the world, A voice within thee will repeat my name, And thou wilt say, “He was indeed my friend!” (_Enter Hypolito, dressed like Victorian._) _Hyp._ Still dreaming of the absent? _Vic._ Aye, still dreaming. Oh, would I were a soldier, not a scholar, That the loud march, the deafening beat of drums, The shattering blast of the brass-throated trumpet, The din of arms, the onslaught and the storm, And a swift death, might make me deaf forever To the upbraidings of this foolish heart! _Hyp._ Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more! To conquer love, one need but will to conquer. Thou art too young, too full of lusty health To talk of dying. _Vic._ Yet I fain would die! To go through life, unloving and unloved; To feel that thirst and hunger of the soul We cannot still; that longing, that wild impulse, And struggle after something we have not And cannot have; the effort to be strong; And, like the Spartan boy, to smile and smile While secret wounds do bleed beneath our cloaks: All this the dead feel not—the dead alone! I envy them because they are at rest! Would I were with them! _Hyp._ Thou wilt be soon. _Vic._ It cannot be too soon. My happiest day Will be that of my death. O, I am weary Of the bewildering masquerade of Life, Where strangers walk as friends, and friends as strangers; Where whispers overheard betray false hearts; And through the mazes of the crowd we chase Some form of loveliness, that smiles, and beckons, And cheats us with fair words, only to leave us A mockery and a jest; maddened—confused— Not knowing friend from foe. _Hyp._ Why seek to know? Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy youth! Take each fair mask for what it gives itself! Strive not to look beneath it. _Vic._ O, too often, Too often have I been deceived! The world Has lost its bright illusions. One by one The masks have gone; the lights burnt out; the music Dropped into silence, and I stand alone In the dark halls, and hear no sound of life Save the monotonous beating of my heart! Would that had ceased to beat! _Hyp._ If thou couldst do it, Wouldst thou lie down to sleep and wake no more? _Vic._ Indeed would I: as quietly as a child: As willingly as the tired artisan Lays by his tools and stretches him to sleep. _Hyp._ So would not I. Too many pleasant visions Hover before me; phantoms of delight Beckon me on, and wave their golden wings, Making the Future radiant with their smiles. _Vic._ Would it were so with me! For I behold