The works of lord Byron

The future,till the past be gulf'd in darkness, | Have baffled me; my gains to-day will scarce It is not of my search. My mother Earth! Repay my break-neck travail.___ What is here? And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Who seems not of my trade, and yet hath Mountains,

Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye.
And thou, the bright eye of the universe,
That openest over all, and unto all
Art a delight—thou shinest not on my heart.
And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge
I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath
Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs
In dizziness of distance; when a leap,
A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring
My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed
To rest for ever-wherefore do I pause?
I feel the impulse-yet I do not plunge;
I see the peril-yet do not recede;
And my brain reels—and yet my foot is firm:
There is a power upon me which withholds
And makes it my fatality to live;
If it be life to wear within myself
This barrenness of spirit, and to be

reach'd

A height which none even of our mount-
aineers,

Save our best hunters, may attain: his garb
Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air
Proud as a free-born peasant's, at this
distance.-

I will approach him nearer.

Manf. (Not perceiving the other.) To be thus

Gray-hair'd with anguish, like these blasted pines,

Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branch-
less,

A blighted trunk upon a cursed root,
Which but supplies a feeling to decay—
And to be thus, eternally but thus,
Having been otherwise! Now furrow'd o'er
With wrinkles, plough'd by moments, not
by years;

My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased
To justify my deeds unto myself—
The last infirmity of evil. Ay,
Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister,
[An eagle passes.
Whose happy flight is highest into heaven,
Well may'st thou swoop so near me-II hear ye momently above, beneath,
Crash with a frequent conflict; but ye pass,
And only fall on things that still would live;
On the young flourishing forest, or the hut
And hamlet of the harmless villager.

And hours-all tortured into ages-hours
Which I outlive!-Ye toppling crags of ice!
Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down
In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and
crush me!

should be

Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou

art gone

Where the eye cannot follow thee; but thine
Yet pierces downward, onward, or above
With a pervading vision.-Beautiful!
How beautiful is all this visible world!
How glorious in its action and itself!
But we,

who name ourselves its sovereigns,

we,

Half dust, half deity, alike unfit

To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make
A conflict of its elements, and breathe
The breath of degradation and of pride,
Contending with low wants and lofty will
Till our mortality predominates,

And men are what they name not to them-
selves,

And trust not to each other. Hark! the note,
[The Shepherd's pipe in the distance
is heard.

The natural music of the mountain-reed-
For here the patriarchal days are not
A pastoral fable-pipes in the liberal air,
Mix'd with the sweet bells of the sauntering

herd;

My soul would drink those echoes. — Oh,

C. Hunt. The mists begin to rise from up
the valley;

I'll warn him to descend, or he may chance
To lose at once his way and life together.
Manf. The mists boil up around the

glaciers; clouds

Rise curling fast beneath me, white and
sulphury,

Like foam from the roused ocean of deep
Hell,

Whose every wave breaks on a living shore,
Heap'd with the damn'd like pebbles.—I am
giddy.

C. Hunt. I must approach him cautiously;

if near,

A sudden step will startle him, and he
Seems tottering already.

Manf. Mountains have fallen,
Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the
shock

Rocking their Alpine brethren; filling up
The ripe green valleys with destruction's
splinters,

Damming the rivers with a sudden dash,
Which crush'd the waters into mist,and made
Their fountains find another channel - thus,
Thus, in its old age, did Mount Rosenberg-
Why stood I not beneath it?

C. Hunt. Friend! have a care,
Your next step may be fatal!—for the love
Of him who made you, stand not on that
brink!

Manf. (Not hearing him.) Such would | My way of life leads me but rarely down have been for me a fitting tomb; To bask by the huge hearths of those old halls,

My bones had then been quiet in their depth;

They had not then been strewn upon the rocks Carousing with the vassals; but the paths, For the wind's pastime-as thus-thus they | Which step from out our mountains to their shall be

doors,

In this one plunge.-Farewell, ye opening I know from childhood-which of these is

heavens!

Look not upon me thus reproachfully

Ye were not meant for me-Earth! take these atoms!

(AS MANFRED is in act to spring from the cliff, the CHAMOIS HUNTER seizes and retains him with a sudden grasp.) C. Hunt. Hold, madman!—though aweary of thy life,

Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood.

Away with me- I will not quit my hold. Manf. I am most sick at heart - nay, grasp me not

I am all feebleness-the mountains whirl Spinning around me--I grow blind.—What art thou?

C. Hunt. I'll answer that anon.-Away with me

The clouds grow thicker-there-now lean

on me

Place your foot here-here, take this staff, and cling

A moment to that shrub-now give me your hand,

And hold fast by my girdle-softly-wellThe Chalet will be gain'd within an hour— Come on, we'll quickly find a surer footing, And something like a pathway, which the

torrent

Hath wash'd since winter.-Come, 'tis bravely done

You should have been a hunter-Follow me. (As they descend the rocks with difficulty, the scene closes.)

ACT II.

thine?

Manf. No matter.

C. Hunt. Well,Sir,pardon me the question, And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; Tis of an ancient vintage; many a day T has thaw'd my veins among our glaciers,

now

Let it do thus for thine-Come, pledge me fairly.

Manf. Away, away! there's blood upon the brim!

Will it then never-never sink in the earth? C. Hunt. What dost thou mean? thy senses wander from thee.

Manf. I say 'tis blood-my blood! the pure warm stream Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours

When we were in our youth, and had one heart,

And loved each other as we should not love,

And this was shed: but still it rises up, Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven,

Where thou art not-and I shall never be. C. Hunt. Man of strange words, and some half-maddening sin, Which makes thee people vacancy, whate'er Thy dread and sufferance be, there's comfort yet

The aid of holy men, and heavenly patienceManf. Patience, and patience! Hencethat word was made

For brutes of burthen, not for birds of

prey;

Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine.I am not of thine order.

C. Hunt. Thanks to Heaven!

SCENE I-A Cottage amongst the Bernese I would not be of thine for the free fame

Alps.

MANFRED and the CHAMOis Hunter.

C. Hunt. No, no-yet pause-thou must not yet go forth:

Thy mind and body are alike unfit
To trust each other, for some hours, at least;
When thou art better, I will be thy guide-
But whither?

Manf. It imports not: I do know My route full well, and need no further guidance.

C. Hunt. Thy garb and gait bespeak thee of high lineage

One of the many chiefs, whose castled crags Look o'er the lower valleys-which of these May call thee Lord? I only know their portals;

Of William Tell; but whatsoe'er thine ill, It must be borne, and these wild starts are

Manf. Think'st thou existence doth de- | SCENE II-A lower Valley in the Alps.— pend on time?

It doth: but actions are our epochs: mine
Have made my days and nights imperishable,
Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore,
lanumerable atoms; and one desert,
Barren and cold, on which the wild waves
break,

But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks,
Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness.
C. Hunt. Alas! he's mad-but yet I must
not leave him.

Manf. I would I were for then the things
I see

Would be but a distemper'd dream.

C. Hunt. What is it

That thou dost see, or think thou look'st upon?

Manf. Myself and thee a peasant of
the Alps-

Thy humble virtues, hospitable home,
And spirit patient, pious, proud and free;
Thy self-respect, grafted on innocent
thoughts;

Thy days of health, and nights of sleep;
thy toils,

By danger dignified, yet guiltless; hopes
Of cheerful old age and a quiet grave,
With cross and garland over its green turf,
And thy grandchildren's love for epitaph;
This do I see-and then I look within-
It matters not-my soul was scorch'd already!
C. Hunt. And wouldst thou then exchange
thy lot for mine?

Manf. No, friend! I would not wrong
thee, nor exchange

My lot with living being: I can bear-
However wretchedly, 'tis still to bear-
In life what others could not brook to
dream,

But perish in their slumber.

C. Hunt. And with this-
This cautious feeling for another's pain,
Canst thou be black with evil?-say not so,
Can one of gentle thoughts have wreak'd
revenge

Upon his enemies?

Manf. Oh! no, no, no!

My injuries came down on those who loved

On those whom I best loved: I never quell'd
An enemy, save in my just defence —
But my embrace was fatal.

C. Hunt. Heaven give thee rest!
And penitence to restore thee to thyself;
My prayers shall be for thee.

Manf. I need them not,

But can endure thy pity. I depart-
'Tis time-farewell!-Here's gold, and
thanks for thee-

A Cataract.

Enter MANFRED.

It is not noon-the sunbow's rays still arch
The torrent with the many hues of heaven,
And roll the sheeted silver's waving column
O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular,
And fling its lines of foaming light along,
And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail,
The Giant-steed, to be bestrode by Death,
As told in the Apocalypse. No eyes
But mine now drink this sight of loveliness;
I should be sole in this sweet solitude,
And with the Spirit of the place divide
The homage of these waters.- I will call her.
(MANFRED takes some of the water into

the palm of his hand, and flings it in
the air, muttering the adjuration.
After a pause, the WITCH OF THE
ALPS rises beneath the arch of the
sunbeam of the torrent.)

Manf. Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair
of light,

And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form
The charms of Earth's least-mortal daugh-

ters grow

To an unearthly stature, in an essence
Of purer elements; while the hues of youth-
Carnation'd like a sleeping infant's cheek,
Rock'd by the beating of her mother's heart,
Or the rose tints, which summer's twilight
leaves

Upon the lofty glacier's virgin snow,
The blush of earth embracing with her
heaven,-

Tinge thy celestial aspect, and make tame
The beauties of the sunbow which bends

o'er thee.

Beautiful Spirit! in thy calm clear brow,
Wherein is glass'd serenity of soul,
Which of itself shows immortality,

I read that thou wilt pardon to a Son
Of Earth, whom the abstruser powers permit
At times to commune with them—if that he
Avail him of his spells-to call thee thus,
And gaze on thee a moment.

Witch. Son of Earth!

I know thee and the powers which give
thee power;

I know thee, for a man of many thoughts,
And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both,
Fatal and fated in thy sufferings.

I have expected this-what wouldst thou
with me?

Manf. To look upon thy beauty-nothing

further.

The face of the earth hath madden'd me, and I Take refuge in her mysteries, and pierce To the abodes of those who govern herthey can nothing aid me. I have sought

No words-it is thy due.-Follow me not-But
I know my path-the mountain peril 's
past:-

And once again, I charge thee, follow not!
[Erit Manfred.

From them what they could not bestow, and

now

I search no further.

Made me a stranger; though I wore the form, I had no sympathy with breathing flesh, Nor midst the creatures of clay that girded me Was there but one who--but of her anon. I said, with men, and with the thoughts of men,

I held but slight communion; but instead, My joy was in the Wilderness, to breathe The difficult air of the iced mountain's top, Where the birds dare not build, nor insect's wing

Flit o'er the herbless granite; or to plunge Into the torrent, and to roll along

On the swift whirl of the new breaking

wave

Of river-stream, or ocean, in their flow.
In these my early strength exulted; or
To follow through the night the moving
moon,

The stars and their development; or catch The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim;

Or to look, list'ning, on the scattered leaves, While Autumn-winds were at their eveningsong.

These were my pastimes, and to be alone;
For if the beings, of whom I was one,-
Hating to be so,-cross'd me in my path,
I felt myself degraded back to them,
And was all clay again. And then I dived,
In my lone wanderings, to the caves of death,
Searching its cause in its effect; and drew
From wither'd bones, and skulls, and heap'd-
up dust,

Conclusions most forbidden. Then I pass'd
The nights of years in sciences untaught,
Save in the old-time; and with time and toil,
And terrible ordeal, and such penance
As in itself hath power upon the air,
And spirits that do compass air and earth,
Space, and the peopled Infinite, I made
Mine eyes familiar with Eternity,
Such as, before me, did the Magi, and
He who from out their fountain-dwellings
raised

Eros and Anteros, at Gadara,

As I do thee;—and with my knowledge grew

Manf. Oh! I but thus prolong'd my words, Boasting these idle attributes, because As I approach the core of my heart's griefBut to my task. I have not named to thee Father or mother, mistress, friend, or being, With whom I wore the chain of human ties; If I had such, they seem'd not such to me— Yet there was one-

Witch. Spare not thyself-proceed. Manf. She was like me in lineaments— her eyes,

Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone Even of her voice, they said were like to mine;

But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty; She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings,

The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind
To comprehend the Universe: nor these
Alone, but with them gentler powers than
mine,

Pity, and smiles, and tears-which I had not;
And tenderness - but that I had for her,
Humility-and that I never had.
Her faults were mine- her virtues were her

own

I loved her, and destroy'd her!
Witch. With thy hand?

Manf. Not with my hand, but heartwhich broke her heart

It gazed on mine, and wither'd. I have shed Blood, but not hers-and yet her blood was shed

I saw-and could not staunch it.
Witch. And for this-

A being of the race thou dost despise, The order which thine own would rise above,

Mingling with us and ours, thou dost forego The gifts of our great knowledge, and

shrink'st back To recreant mortality-Away!

Manf. Daughter of Air! I tell thee, since that hour

But words are breath-look on me in my sleep,

Or watch my watchings-Come and sit by

me!

In phantasy, imagination, all

The affluence of my soul which one day was
A Croesus in creation-I plunged deep,
But, like an ebbing wave, it dash'd me back
Into the gulf of my unfathom'd thought.
I plunged amidst mankind-Forgetfulness
I sought in all, save where 'tis to be found,
And that I have to learn-my sciences,
My long pursued and super-human art,
Is mortal here -I dwell in my despair-
And live-and live for ever.
Witch. It may be

That I can aid thee.

Manf. To do this thy power

Must wake the dead, or lay me low with them.
Do so-in any shape-in any hour-
With any torture-so it be the last.

Witch. That is not in my province; but
if thou

Wilt swear obedience to my will, and do
My bidding, it may help thee to thy wishes.
Manf. I will not swear.-Obey! and
whom? the spirits

Whose presence 1 command, and be the slave
Of those who served me-Never!
Witch. Is this all!

If I had never lived, that which I love
Had still been living; had never loved,
That which I love would still be beautiful_
Happy and giving happiness. What is she?
What is she now?-a sufferer for my sins-
A thing I dare not think upon or nothing.
Within few hours I shall not call in vain
Yet in this hour I dread the thing I dare:
Until this hour I never shrunk to gaze
On spirit, good or evil-now I tremble,
And feel a strange cold thaw upon my heart;
But I can act even what I most abhor,
And champion human fears.--The night
approaches.
[Exit.

SCENE III-The Summit of the Jungfrau-
Mountain.

Enter FIRST DESTINY.

The moon is rising broad, and round, and
bright;

And here on snows, where never human foot
Of common mortal trod, we nightly tread,
And leave no traces; o'er the savage sea,
The glassy ocean of the mountain-ice,
We skim its rugged breakers, which put on

Hast thou no gentler answer?—Yet bethink The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam,

thee, And panse ere thou rejectest.

Manf. I have said it.

Witch. Enough!-I may retire then-say! Manf. Retire! [The Witch disappears. Manf. (alone.) We are the fools of time

and terror: Days

Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
In all the days of this detested yoke ---
This vital weight upon the struggling heart,
Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick
with pain,

Or joy that ends in agony or faintness -
In all the days of past and future, for
la life there is no present, we can number
How few-how less than few-wherein the
soul

Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws
back

As from a stream in winter, though the chill
Be but a moment's. I have one resource
Still in my science-I can call the dead,
And ask them what it is we dread to be:
The sternest answer can but be the Grave,
And that is nothing-if they answer not-
The buried Prophet answer'd to the Hag
Of Endor; and the Spartan Monarch drew
From the Byzantine maid's unsleeping spirit
An answer and his destiny-he slew
That which he loved, unknowing what he

slew,

And died unpardon'd though he call'd in aid
The Phyxian Jove, and in Phigalia roused
The Arcadian Evocators to compel
The indignant shadow to depose her wrath,
Or fix her term of vengeance she replied
In words of dubious import, but ful fill'd.

Frozen in a moment-a dead whirlpool's

A Voice without, singing.

The Captive Usurper,

Hurl'd down from the throne,
Lay buried in torpor,

Forgotten and lone;

I broke through his slumbers,
I shiver'd his chain,

I leagued him with numbers-
He's Tyrant again!

With the blood of a million he'll answer
my care,

With a nation's destruction-his flight and
despair.

Second Voice, without.
The ship sail'd on, the ship sail'd fast,
But I left not a sail, and I left not a mast;
There is not a plank of the hull or the deck,
And there is not a wretch to lament o'er

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