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Accursed ! what have I to do with days?
They are too long already. — Hence — begone!


Yet p.iuse : being here, our will would do thee service;
Bethink thee, is there then no other gift
Which we can make not worthless in thine eyes?


No, none : yet stay — one moment, ere we part —
I would behold ye face to face. I hear
Your voices, sweet and melancholy sounds,
As music on the waters ; and I ,>ee
The steady aspect of a clear large star,
Hut nothmg more. Approach me as ye are,
Or one, or all, in your accustom'd forms.


We have no forms beyond the elements
Of which we arc the mind and principle:
But choose a form — in that we will appear.


I have no choice ; there is no form on earth
Hideous or beautiful to me. Let him,
Who is most powerful of ye, take such aspect
As unto him may seem most fitting — Come I

Seventh Spirit (Appearing in the shape of a beautiful female figure. )



Oh God ! if it be thus, and thou

Art not a madness and a mockery,

I yet might be most happy.—I will clasp thee,

And we again will be

( The figure vanishes. )

My heart is crush'd!

( Mamfhed/h#.s senseless.')

(A Voicb if heard in the incantation which follows.)

When the moon is on the wave,

And the glow-worm in the grass,
And the meteor on the grave,

And the wisp on the morass;
When the falling stars are shooting,
And the answer'd owls are hooting,
And the silent leaves are still
In the shadow of the hill,
Shall my soul be upon thine,
With a power and with a sign. v

Though thy slumber may be deep,

Yet thy spirit shall not sleep; ,

There are shades which will not vanish,

There are thoughts thou canst not banish;

By a power to thee unknown,

Thou canst never be alone;

Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,

Thou art gathered in a cloud;

And for ever shah thou dwell

In the spirit of this spell.

Though thou scest me not pass by,
Thou shall feel me with thine eye
As a thing that, though unseen,
Must be near thee, and hath been;
And when in that secret dread
Thou hast turn'd around thy head,
Thou shah marvel I am not
As thy shadow on the spot,
And the power which thou dost feel
Shall be what thou must conceal.

And a magic voice and verse
Hath baptized thee with a curse;
And a spirit of the air
Ilath begirt thee with a snare;
In the wnd there is a voice
Shall forbid thee to rejoice;
And to thee shall Night deny
All the quiet of her sky;
And the Day shall have a sun,
Which shall make thee wish it done.

From thy false tears I did distil

An essence which hath strength to kill;

From thy own heart I then did wring

The black blood in its blackest spring;

From thy own smile I snatch'd the snake,

For there it coil'd as in a brake;

From thy own lip I drew the charm

Which gave all these their chiefest harm;

In proving every poison known,

I found the strongest was thine own.

By thy cold breast and serpent smile,

By thy unfathom'd gulfs of guile,

By that most seeming virtuous eye,

By thy shut soul's hypocrisy;

By thc perfection of thine art

Which pass'd for human thine own heart;

By thy delight in others' pain,

And by thy brotherhood of Cain,

I call upon thee! and compel

Thyself to be thy proper Hell!

And on thy head I pour the vial

Which doth devote thee to this trial;

Nor to slumber, nor to die,

Shall be in thy destiny;

Though thy death shall still seem near

To thy wish, but as a fear;

Lo! the spell now works around thee,

And the claukless chain hath bound thee;

O'er thy heart and brain together

Hath the word been pass'd—now wither!


The Mountain of the Jung-frau.Time, Morning.—
Manfked alone upon the cliffs.


The spirits I have raised abandon me—
The spells which I have studied baffle me—
The remedy I reck'd of tortured me;
I lean no more on super-human aid,
It hath no power upon the past, and for
The future, till the past be gulfd in darkness,
It is not of my search.—My mother Earth I

And ihou, fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains,

Why are ye beautiful ? I cannot love ye.

And thou, the bright eye of the universe,

That opencst over all, and unto all

Art a delight—thou shiu'st 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;

1 see the perils—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

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 pastes.)

Whose happy flight is highest into heaven,
Well may'st thou swoop so near me—I 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

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