THE DAWN. 501 



they read Cicero and Virgil : they preserved the Roman 

 Law. Bright, indeed, yet scanty are these gleams. In 

 the long night of the Dark Ages we look upon the earth, 

 and'only the convent and the castle appear to be alive. 

 In the convent the sound of honourable labour mingles 

 with the sound of prayer and praise. In the castle sits 

 the baron with his children on his lap, and his wife 

 leaning on his shoulder : the troubadour sings, and the 

 page and demoiselle exchange a glance of love. The 

 castle is the home of music and chivalry and family 

 affection. The convent is the home of religion and 

 of art. But the people cower in their wooden huts, 

 half starved, half frozen, and wolves sniff at them 

 through the chinks in the walls. The convent prays, 

 and the castle sings : the cottage hungers, and groans, 

 and dies. Such is the dark night : here and there a 

 star in the heaven : here and there a torch upon the 

 earth : all else is cloud and bitter wind. But now, 

 behold the light glowing in the east: it brightens, it 

 broadens, the day is at hand. The sun is rising, 

 and will set no more : the castle and the convent 

 disappear : the world is illumined : freedom is restored. 

 Italy is a garden, and its blue sea shines with sails. 

 New worlds are discovered, new arts are invented : 

 the merchants enrich Europe, and their sons set her 

 free. In a hall at Westminster, in a redoubt at 

 Bunker Hill, in a Tennis Court at Versailles, great 

 victories are won, and liberty at last descends even 

 to the poor French peasant growing grey in his furrow, 

 even to the negro picking cotton in the fields. Yet 

 after all, how little has been done ! The sun shines 

 as yet only on a corner of the earth : Asia and 

 Africa are buried in the night. And even here in 

 this island, where liberty was born, where wealth is 



