“CAMMA!”—why there again I am most sure that some one call’d. O women, Ye will have Roman masters. I am glad I shall not see it. Did not some old Greek Say death was the chief good? He had my fate for it, Poison’d. (_Sinks back again_). Have I the crown on? I will go To meet him, crown’d! crown’d victor of my will— On my last voyage—but the wind has fail’d— Growing dark too—but light enough to row. Row to the blessed Isles! the blessed Isles!— Sinnatus! Why comes he not to meet me? It is the crown Offends him—and my hands are too sleepy To lift it off. [_PHŒBE takes the crown off._ Who touch’d me then? I thank you. [_Rises, with outspread arms._ There—league on league of ever-shining shore Beneath an ever-rising sun—I see him— “Camma, Camma!” Sinnatus, Sinnatus! [_Dies._ THE END. THE FALCON “THE FALCON” WAS PRODUCED AT THE ST. JAMES’S THEATRE, UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF MESSRS. HARE AND KENDAL, IN DECEMBER 1879, WITH THE FOLLOWING CAST:— THE COUNT FEDERIGO DEGLI ALBERIGHI MR. KENDAL. FILIPPO, _Count’s foster-brother_ MR. DENNY. THE LADY GIOVANNA MRS. KENDAL. ELISABETTA, _the Count’s nurse_ MRS. GASTON MURRAY. THE FALCON. SCENE.—_An Italian Cottage. Castle and Mountains seen through Window._ ELISABETTA discovered seated on stool in window darning. The COUNT with Falcon on his hand comes down through the door at back. A withered wreath on the wall. ELISABETTA. So, my lord, the Lady Giovanna, who hath been away so long, came back last night with her son to the castle. COUNT. Hear that, my bird! Art thou not jealous of her? My princess of the cloud, my plumed purveyor, My far-eyed queen of the winds—thou that canst soar Beyond the morning lark, and howsoe’er Thy quarry wind and wheel, swoop down upon him Eagle-like, lightning-like—strike, make his feathers Glance in mid heaven. [_Crosses to chair._ I would thou hadst a mate! Thy breed will die with thee, and mine with me: I am as lone and loveless as thyself. [_Sits in chair._ Giovanna here! Ay, ruffle thyself—_be_ jealous! Thou should’st be jealous of her. Tho’ I bred thee The full-train’d marvel of all falconry, And love thee and thou me, yet if Giovanna Be here again—No, no! Buss me, my bird! The stately widow has no heart for me. Thou art the last friend left me upon earth— No, no again to that.