A graveyard. The Man and George are seen sitting by a grave, over which stands a gothic monument, with arches, pillars, and mimic towers. THE MAN. Take off thy hat, George, kneel, and pray for thy mother's soul! GEORGE. Hail, Mary, full of grace! Mary, Queen of Heaven, Lady of all that blooms on earth, that scents the fields, that paints the fringes of the streams ... THE MAN. Why changest thou the words of the prayer? Pray for thy mother as thou hast been taught to do; for thy dear mother, George, who perished in her youth, just ten years ago this very day and hour. GEORGE. Hail, Mary, full of grace; the Lord is with thee! I know that thou art blessed among the angels, and as thou glidest softly through them, each one plucks a rainbow from his wings to cast under thy feet, and thou floatest softly on upon them as if borne by waves.... THE MAN. George! GEORGE. Be not angry with me, father! these words _force_ themselves into my mind; they pain me so dreadfully in my head, that I must say them.... THE MAN. Rise, George. Such prayers will never reach God! Thou art not thinking of thy mother; thou dost not love her! GEORGE. I love her. I see mamma very often. THE MAN. Where, my son? GEORGE. In dreams--yet not exactly in dreams, but just as I am going to sleep. I saw her yesterday. THE MAN. What do you mean, George? GEORGE. She looked so pale and thin! THE MAN. Has she ever spoken to you, darling? GEORGE. She goes wandering up and down--through an immense Dark--she roams about entirely alone, so white and so pale! She sang to me yesterday. I will tell thee the words of her song: 'I wander through the universe, I search through infinite space, I press through Chaos, Darkness, To bring thee light and grace; I listen to the angels' song To catch the heavenly tone; Seek every form of beauty, To bring to thee, mine own! 'I seek from greatest spirits, From those of lower might, Rainbow colors, depth of shadow, Burning contrasts, dark and bright; Rhythmed music, hues from Eden, Floating through the heavenly bars; Sages' wisdom, seraphs' loving, Mystic glories from the stars-- That thou mayst be a Poet, richly gifted from above To win thy father's fiery heart, and _keep_ his _changeful love_!' Thou seest, dear father, that my mother does speak to me, and that I remember, word for word, what she says to me; indeed I am telling you no lie. THE MAN (_leaning against one of the pillars of the tomb_). Mary! wilt thou destroy thine own son, and burden my Soul with the ruin of both?... But what folly! She is calm and tranquil now in heaven, as she was pure and sweet on earth. My poor boy only dreams ... GEORGE. I hear mamma's voice now, father! THE MAN. From whence comes it, my son? GEORGE. From between the two elms before us glittering in the sunset. Listen!