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My brother chose his bed in flowers to make
And lay him down beneath the willow tree,
Till driv'n from rule by a familiar foe
He drank of dragon's blood, and ended all.
Then was I sold to an Ambassador,
And overseas, a slave, in alien court
I please your princes with my strange array
An exile, in a foreign land, en'slav'd,
Sure there are many more ill-starr'd than you.
(Hou-Ché retires left. Father Bernadine and Sophron enter from back in conversation.)
Father Bernadine:
Surely the Golden Age rolls round again
Since this fair summer came to bless our shore,
Each day brings a fresh wonder to the birth,
Or turns some wonted beauty fairer still,
More meekly musical these crooning doves
