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MANUEL.

That was a night indeed; I do remember
'Twas twilight, as it may be now, and such
Another evening;-yon red cloud, which rests
On Eigher's pinnacle, so rested then,-
So like that it might be the same; the wind
Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows
Began to glitter with the climbing moon;
Count Manfred was, as now, within his tower,-
How occupied, we knew not, but with him
The sole companion of his wanderings

And watchings-her, whom of all earthly things
That lived, the only thing he seem'd to love,
As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do,

The lady Astarte, his,-Hush! who comes here?

(Enter the ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE.)

ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE.

Where is your master?

HERMAN.

Yonder, in the tower.

ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE.

I must speak with him.

MANUEL.

'Tis impossible;

He is most private, and must not be thus

Intruded on.

ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE

Upon myself I take

The forfeit of my fault, if fault there be

But I must see him.

This eve already.

HERMAN.

Thou hast seen him once

ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE.

Herman! I command thee,

Knock, and apprize the Count of my approach.

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The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains.-Beautiful!
I linger yet with Nature, for the night

Hath been to me a more familiar face

Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness

I learn'd the language of another world.
I do remember me, that in my youth,
When I was wandering,-upon such a night
I stood within the Coliseum's wall,

Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome;
The trees which grew along the broken arches
Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars
Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar
The watchdog bayed beyond the Tiber; and
More near from out the Cæsar's palace came
The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly,
Of distant sentinels the fitful song
Begun and died upon the gentle wind.
Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach
Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood
Within a bowshot-where the Caesars dwelt,
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst
A grove which springs through levell'd battlements,
And twines its roots with the imperial hearths,
Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth;—
But the gladiator's bloody Circus stands,
A noble wreck in ruinous perfection!

While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls,
Grovel on earth in indistinct decay.-

And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Which soften'd down the hoar austerity
Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up,
As 'twere, anew, the gaps of centuries;
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,
And making that which was not, till the place

Became religion, and the heart ran o'er
With silent worship of the great of old!-
The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule
Our spirits from their urns.-'Twas such a night!
'Tis strange that I recall it at this time;

But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight
Even at the moment when they should array
Themselves in pensive order.

(Enter the ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE.)

ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE.

My good Lord!

I crave a second grace for this approach;
But yet let not my humble zeal offend
By its abruptness-all it hath of ill

Recoils on me; its good in the effect

May light upon your head-could I say heart-
Could I touch that, with words or prayers, I should
Recall a noble spirit which hath wandered,
But is not yet all lost.

MANFRED.

Thou know'st me not;

My days are numbered, and my deeds recorded:
Retire, or 'twill be dangerous-Away!

ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE.

Thou dost not mean to menace me?

MANFRED.

I simply tell thee peril is at hand,
And would preserve thee.

Not I;

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And steadfastly; now tell me what thou seest?

ABBOT OF SAINT MAURICE.

That which should shake me,-but I fear it not-
I see a dusk and awful figure rise

Like an infernal god from out the earth;

His face wrapt in a mantle, and his form

Robed as with angry clouds; he stands between
Thyself and me-but I do fear him not.

MANFRED.

Thou hast no cause he shall not harm thee-but
His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy.

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Why-ay-what doth he here?

I did not send for him, he is unbidden.

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