Lewis. I would speak to him--
And learn his secret.--We'll await him here.

[Enter Conrad.]

Con. Peace to you, reverend and war-worn knight,
And you, fair youth, upon whose swarthy lip
Blooms the rich promise of a noble manhood.
Methinks, if simple monks may read your thoughts,
That with no envious or distasteful eyes
Ye watch the labours of God's poor elect.

Wal. Why--we were saying, how you cunning rooks
Pitch as by instinct on the fattest fallows.

Con. For He who feeds the ravens, promiseth
Our bread and water sure, and leads us on
By peaceful streams in pastures green to lie,
Beneath our Shepherd's eye.

Lewis. In such a nook, now,
To nestle from this noisy world--

Con. And drop
The burden of thyself upon the threshold.

Lewis. Think what rich dreams may haunt those lowly roofs!

Con. Rich dreams,--and more; their dreams will find fulfilment--
Their discipline breeds strength--'Tis we alone