That very cheat had cheer'd me then! Although detected, welcome still, Reminding me, through every ill,

Of the abodes of men.

XVI.

«Onward we went-but slack and slow;

His savage force at length o'erspent, The drooping courser, faint and low, All feebly foaming went.

A sickly infant had had power

To guide him forward in that hour;

But useless all to me.

Ilis new-born tameness nought avail'd,

My limbs were bound; my force had fail'd, Perchance, had they been free.

With feeble effort still I tried

To rend the bonds so starkly tied—
But still it was in vain;

My limbs were only wrung the more,
And soon the idle strife gave o'er,

Which but prolong'd their pain:
The dizzy race seem'd almost done,
Although no goal was nearly won:

Some streaks announced the coming sun-
How slow, alas! he came!

Methought that mist of dawning grey
Would never dapple into day;
How heavily it roll'd away-

Before the castern flame

Rose crimson, and deposed the stars,
And call'd the radiance from their cars,

And fill'd the earth, from his deep throne,
With lonely lustre, all his own.

XVII.

Up rose the sun; the mists were curl'd
Back from the solitary world
Which lay around-behind-before
What booted it to traverse o'er
Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute,
Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot,
Lay in the wild luxuriant soil;
No sign of travel-none of toil;
The very air was mute;

And not an insect's shrill small horn,
Nor matin bird's new voice was borne
From herb nor thicket. Many a werst,
Panting as if his heart would burst,
The weary brute still stagger'd ou:
And still we were-or seem'd alone:
At length, while reeling on our way,
Methought I heard a courser neigh,
From out yon tuft of blackening firs.
Is it the wind those branches stirs ?
No, no! from out the forest prance

A trampling troop; I see them come! In one vast squadron they advance !

I strove to cry-my lips were dumb. The steeds rush on in plunging pride; But where are they the reins to guide? A thousand horse-and none to ride! With flowing tail, and flying mane, Wide nostrils-never stretch'd by pain, Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,

And feet that iron never shod,
And flanks unscarr'd by spur or rod.
A thousand horse, the wild, the free,
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
Came thickly thundering on,
As if our faint approach to meet ;
The sight re-nerved my courser's feet,
A moment staggering, feebly fleet,
A moment with a faint low neigh,
He answer'd, and then fell;
With gasps and glazing eyes he lay,
And reeking limbs immoveable,

His first and last career is done!
On came the troop-they saw him stoop,
They saw me strangely bound along

His back with many a bloody thong:
They stop-they start-they snuff the air,
Gallop a moment here and there,
Approach, retire, wheel round and round,
Then plunging back with sudden bound,
Headed by one black mighty steed,
Who seem'd the patriarch of his breed,
Without a single speck or hair

Of white upon his shaggy hide;

They snort-they foam-neigh-swerve aside, And backward to the forest fly,

By instinct from a human eye.

They left me there, to my despair,
Link'd to the dead and stiffening wretch,
Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch.
Relieved from that unwonted weight,
From whence I could not extricate
Nor him nor me-and there we lay,
The dying on the dead!

I little deem'd another day

Would see my houseless, helpless head.
And there from morn till twilight bound,
I felt the heavy hours toil round,
With just enough of life to see
My last of suns go down on me,
In hopeless certainty of mind,
That makes us feel at length resign'd
To that which our foreboding years
Presents the worst and last of fears
Inevitable-even a boon,

Nor more unkind for coming soon:
Yet shunn'd and dreaded with such care,
As if it only were a snare

That prudence might escape:

At times both wish'd for and implored,
At times sought with self-pointed sword,
Yet still a dark and hideous close
To even intolerable woes,

And welcome in no shape.

And, strange to say, the sous of pleasure,
They who have revell'd beyond measure
In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure,
Die calm, and calmer oft than he
Whose heritage was misery:

For he who hath in turn run through

All that was beautiful and new,

Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave;
And, save the future (which is view d

Not quite as men are base or good,
But as their nerves may be endued).
With nought perhaps to grieve

The wretch still hopes his woes must end, And Death, whom he should deem his friend, Appears to his distemper'd eyes Arrived to rob him of his prize, The tree of his new Paradise. To-morrow would have given him all, Repaid his pangs, repair'd his fall; To-morrow would have been the first Of days no more deplored or curst, But bright, and long, and beckoning years, Seen dazzling through the mist of tears, Guerdon of many a painful hour; To-morrow would have given him To rule, to shine, to smite, to saveAnd must it dawn upon his Crave?

XVIII.

power

« The sun was sinking--still I lay
Chain'd to the chill and stiffening steed,
I thought to mingle there our clay;

And my dim eyes of death had need,
No hope arose of being freed:
I cast my last looks up the sky,

And there between me and the sun

I saw the expecting raven fly,

Who scarce would wait till both should die,
Ere his repast begun;

He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more,
And each time nearer than before;
I saw his wing through twilight flit,
And once so near me he alit

I could have smote, but lack'd the strength;
But the slight motion of my hand,
And feeble scratching of the sand,
The exerted throat's faint struggling noise,
Which scarcely could be call'd a voice,
Together scared him off at length.-
I know no more-my latest dream
Is something of a lovely star
Which fix'd my dull

eyes

from afar,

And went and came with wandering beam, And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense

Sensation of recurring sense,

And then subsiding back to death,
And then again a little breath,

A little thrill, a short suspense,
An icy sickness curdling o'er
My heart, and sparks that cross'd
A gasp, a throb, a start of pain,
A sigh, and nothing more.

XIX.

my

brain

«I woke Where was I?-Do I see
A human face look down on me?
And doth a roof above me close?
Do these limbs on a couch repose?
Is this a chamber where I lie?
And is it mortal yon bright eye,
That watches me with gentle glance?
I closed my own again once more,
As doubtful that the former trance
Could not as yet be o'er.

A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tall,
Sate watching by the cottage wall;

The sparkle of her eye I caught,
Even with my first return of thought;
For ever and anon she threw

A prying, pitying glance on me
With her black eyes so wild and free:
I gazed, and gazed, until I knew
No vision it could be,-

But that I lived, and was released
From adding to the vulture's feast:
And when the Cossack maid beheld
My heavy eyes at length unseal'd,
She smiled-and I essay'd to speak,

But fail'd-and she approach'd, and made
With lip and finger signs that said,
I must not strive as yet to break
The silence, till my strength should be
Enough to leave my accents free ;
And then her hand on mine she laid,
And smooth'd the pillow for my head,
And stole along on tiptoe tread,
And gently oped the door, and spake
In whispers -ne'er was voice so sweet!
Even music follow'd her light feet!

But those she call'd were not awake, And she went forth; but ere she pass'd, Another look on me she cast,

Another sign she made, to say, That I had nought to fear, that all Were near, at my command or call,

And she would not delay

Her due return; -while she was gone,
Methought I felt too much alone.

XX.

«She came with mother and with sireWhat need of more?--I will not tire With long recital of the rest, Since I became the Cossacks' guest: They found me senseless on the plainThey bore me to the nearest hutThey brought me into life againMe-one day o'er their realm to reign! Thus the vain fool who strove to glut His rage, refining on my pain,

pass

Sent me forth to the wilderness,
Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone,
To the desert to a throne.-
What mortal his own doom may guess?
Let none despond, let none despair!
To-morrow the Borysthenes

May see our coursers graze at ease
Upon his Turkish bank,-and never
Had I such welcome for a river

As I shall yield when safely there. Comrades, good night!»-The Hetman threw His length beneath the oak-tree shade, With leafy couch already made,

A bed nor comfortless nor new
To him, who took his rest whene'er
The hour arrived, no matter where.-

His eyes the hastening slumbers steep.
And if ye marvel Charles forgot

To thank his tale, he wonder'd not,-
The king had been an hour asleep.

The Scene of the Drama is amongst the Higher Alps -partly in the Castle of Manfred, and partly in the Mountains.

MANFRED.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Gothic Gallery.-Time, Midnight.

MANFRED (alone).

THE lamp must be replenish'd, but even then
It will not burn so long as I must watch:
My slumbers--if I slumber-are not sleep,
But a continuance of enduring thought,
Which then I can resist not: in my heart
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close
To look within: and yet I live, and bear
The aspect and the form of breathing men.
But grief should be the instructor of the wise:
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,
The tree of knowledge is not that of life.
Philosophy and science, and the springs
Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world,
I have essay'd, and in my mind there is
A power to make these subject to itself-
But they avail not: I have done men good,
And I have met with good even among men-
But this avail'd not: I have had my foes,

And none have baffled, many fallen before me-
But this avail'd not:-good or evil, life,
Powers, passions, all I see in other beings,
Have been to me as rain unto the sands,
Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread,

And feel the curse to have no natural fear,

Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes,
Or lurking love of something on the earth.--
Now to my task.-

Mysterious Agency!
Ye spirits of the unbounded universe!
Whom I have sought in darkness and in light-
Ye, who do compass earth about, and dwell

In subtler essence-ye, to whom the tops
Of mountains inaccessible are haunts,
And earth's and ocean's caves familiar things--
I call upon ye by the written charm
Which gives me power upon you-Rise! appear!
[1 pause.

They come not yet.-Now by the voice of him
Who is the first among you-by this sign,
Which makes you tremble-by the claims of him
Who is undying, rise! appear!-Appear!

[A pause.

If it be so.-Spirits of earth and air,
Ye shall not thus elude me: by a power,
Deeper than all yet urged, a tyrant-spell,
Which had its birth-place in a star condemn'd,
The burning wreck of a demolish'd world,
A wandering hell in the eternal space;
By the strong curse which is upon my soul,
The thought which is within me and around me,
I do compel ye to my will.-Appear!

[A star is seen at the darker end of the gal-
lery; it is stationary; and a voice is heard
singing.]

FIRST SPIRIT.

Mortal! to thy bidding bow'd,
From my mansion in the cloud,
Which the breath of twilight builds,
And the summer sun-set gilds
With the azure and vermilion,"
Which is mix'd for my pavilion;
Though thy quest may be forbidden,
On a star-beam I have ridden;
To thine adjuration bow'd,
Mortal-be thy wish avow'd!

Foice of the SECOND SPIRIT.
Mont-Blanc is the monarch of mountains,
They crown'd him long ago

On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
With a diadem of snow.

Around his waist are forests braced,
The avalanche in his hand;
But ere it fall, that thundering ball
Must pause for my command.
The glacier's cold and restless mass
Moves onward day by day;
But I am he who bids it pass,
Or with its ice delay.

I am the spirit of the place,

Could make the mountain bow And quiver to his cavern'd baseAnd what with me wouldst thou?

Voice of the THIRD SPIRIT. In the blue depth of the waters, Where the wave hath no strife.

Where the wind is a stranger, And the sea-snake hath life, Where the mermaid is decking

Her green hair with shells; Like the storm on the surface Came the sound of thy spells; O'er my calm hall of coral The deep echo roll'dTo the Spirit of Ocean Thy wishes unfold!

FOURTH SPIRIT.

Where the slumbering earthquake
Lies pillow'd on fire,
And the lakes of bitumen

Rise boilingly higher;
Where the roots of the Andes

Strike deep in the earth,

As their summits to heaven
Shoot soaringly forth;
I have quitted my birth-place
Thy bidding to bide-
Thy spell hath subdued me,
Thy will be my guide!

FIFTH SPIRIT.

I'm the rider of the wind,
The stirrer of the storm;
The hurricane I left behind

Is yet with lightning warm;

To speed to thee, o'er shore and sea I swept upon the blast:

The fleet I met sail'd well, and yet T will sink ere night be past.

SIXTH SPIRIT.

My dwelling is the shadow of the night, Why doth thy magic torture me with light?

SEVENTH SPIRIT.

The star which rules thy destiny
Was ruled, ere earth began, by me:
It was a world as fresh and fair
As e'er revolved round sun in air;
Its course was free and regular,
Space bosom'd not a lovelier star.
The hour arrived-and it became
A wandering mass of shapeless flame,
A pathless comet, and a curse,

The menace of the universe;
Still rolling on with innate force,
Without a sphere, without a course,
A bright deformity on high,
The monster of the upper sky!

And thou! beneath its influence born-
Thou, worm! whom I obey and scorn-
Forced by a power (which is not thine,
And lent thee but to make thee mine)
For this brief moment to descend,
Where these weak spirits round thee bend,
And parley with a thing like thee-

What wouldst thou, child of clay, with me?

FIRST SPIRIT.

Of what-of whom-and why?

MANFRED.

Of that which is within me; read it there -Ye know it, and I cannot utter it.

SPIRIT.

We can but give thee that which we possess ;
Ask of us subjects, sovereignty, the power
O'er earth, the whole, or portion, or a sign
Which shall control the elements, whereof
We are the dominators—each and all,
These shall be thine.

MANFRED.

Oblivion, self-oblivionCan ye not wring from out the hidden realms Ye offer so profusely what I ask?

SPIRIT.

It is not in our essence, in our skill; But-thou mayst die.

MANFRED.

Will death bestow it on me?
SPIRIT.

We are immortal, and do not forget;

We are eternal, and to us the past

Is, as the future, present. Art thou answer'd?

MANFRED.

Ye mock me-but the power which brought ye here
Hath made you mine. Slaves, scoff not at my will!
The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark,
The lightning of my being, is as bright,
Pervading, and far-darting as your own,

And shall not yield to yours, though coop'd in clay!
Answer, or I will teach you what I am.

SPIRIT.

We answer as we answer'd; our reply Is even in thine own words.

MANFRED.

Why say ye so?

SPIRIT.

If, as thou say'st, thine essence be as ours,
We have replied in telling thee, the thing
Mortals cali death hath nought to do with us.

MANFRED.

I then have call'd ye from your realms in vain; Ye cannot, or ye will not, aid me.

SPIRIT.

Say;

What we possess we offer; it is thine:
Bethink ere thou dismiss us, ask again—

Kingdom, and sway, and strength, and length of days——

MANFRED.

Accursed! what have I to do with days?

They are too long already.-Hence-begone!

SPIRIT.

Yet pause: 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?

MANFRED.

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 see
The steady aspect of a clear large star;
But nothing more. Approach me as ye are,
Or one, or all, in your accustom'd forms.

I yet might be most happy.-I will clasp thee,
And we again will be——

[The figure vanishes.
My heart is crushed!
[MANFRED falls senseless.

(A voice is 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.

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 gather'd in a cloud;
And for ever shalt thou dwell
Ju the spirit of this spell.

Though thou seest me not pass by.
Thou shalt 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 shalt 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 baptised thee with a curse;
And a spirit of the air

Hath begirt thee with a snare;
In the wind 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 the 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 clankless chain hath bound thee;
O'er thy heart and brain together

Hath the word been pass'd-now wither!

SCENE II.

The Mountain of the Jungfrau.-Time, Morning.MANFRED alone upon the cliffs.

MANFRED.

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!

And thou, fresh breaking day, and you, ye 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
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,