1 am too well avenged!-but 'twas my right;
Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent
To be the Nemesis who should requite-
Nor did Heaven choose so near an instrument.

Mercy is for the merciful!-If thou

Hast been of such, 'twill be accorded now.

Thy nights are banish'd from the realms of sleep!-
Yes! they may flatter thee, but thou must feel
A hollow agony which will not heal,
For thou art pillow'd on a curse too deep;
Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap
The bitter harvest in a wo as real!

I have had many foes, but none like thee;

For 'gainst the rest myself I could defend,
And be avenged, or turn them into friend;

But thou in safe implacability

Hadst nought to dread-in thine own weakness

shielded,

And in my love, which hath but too much yielded,
And spared, for thy sake, some I should not spare-
And thus upon the world-trust in thy truth—
And the wild fame of my ungovern'd youth-

On things that were not, and on things that are—
Even upon such a basis hast thou built
A monument, whose cement hath been guilt!
The moral Clytemnestra of thy lord,
And hew'd down, with an unsuspected sword,
Fame, peace, and hope—and all the better life

Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart,
Might still have risen from out the grave of strife,
And found a nobler duty than to part.
But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice,
Trafficking with them in a purpose cold,
For present anger and for future gold-
And buying other's grief at any price.
And thus once enter'd into crooked ways,
The early truth, which was thy proper praise,
Did not still walk beside thee-but at times,
And with a breast unknowing its own crimes,
Deceit, averments incompatible,
Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell
In Janus-spirits—the significant eye
Which learns to lie with silence-the pretext
Of Prudence, with advantages annex'd-
The acquiescence in all things which tend,
No matter how, to the desired end-

All found a place in thy philosophy,
The means were worthy, and the end is won-
I would not do by thee as thou hast done!

September, 1816.

STANZAS.

"COULD LOVE FOR EVER.'

COULD Love for ever

Run like a river,

And Time's endeavor

Be tried in vain

No other pleasure

With this could measure;

And like a treasure

We'd hug the chain. But since our sighing

Ends not in dying,

And, form'd for flying,

In the original manuscript of the first Canto of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

THE THIRD ACT OF MANFRED,

Thou may'st retire.

[Exit HERMAN.]

Man. (alone.) There is a calm upon me-
Inexplicable stillness! which till now
Did not belong to what I knew of life.
If that I did now know philosophy
To be of all our vanities the motliest,
The merest word that ever fool'd the ear

From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem
The golden secret, the sought "Kalon" found
And seated in my soul. It will not last,

But it is well to have known it, though but once;
It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense,
And I within my tables would note down.
That there is such a feeling. Who is there?

Re-enter HERMAN.

Her. My lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice craves To greet your presence.

Enter the ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE.

Abbot.
Peace be with Count Manfred!
Man. Thanks, holy father! welcome to these
walls:

Thy presence honors them, and bless those
Who dwell within them.

Abbot.

Would it were so, Count! But I would fain confer with thee alone. Man. Herman retire. What would my reverend guest? [Exit HERMAN, Abbot. Thus, without prelude;-Age and zeal, my office,

And good intent, must plead my privilege ;
Our near, though not acquainted, neighborhood

May also be my herald. Rumors strange,

Abbot. Then, hear and tremble! For the head strong wretch

Who in the mail of innate hardihood

Would shield himself, and battle for his sins,

There is the stake on earth, and beyond earth eternal

Man. Charity, most reverend father, Becomes thy lips so much more than this menace, That I would call thee back to it: but say, What wouldst thou with me?

Abbot.

It may be there are Things that would shake thee-but I keep them back,

And give thee till to-morrow to repent.
Then if thou dost not all devote thyself
To penitence, and with gift of all thy lands
To the monastery--
Man.
I understand thee, -well.
Abbot. Expect no mercy; I have warned thee
Man. (opening the casket.)
Stop

There is a gift for thee within this casket.

[MANFRED opens the casket, strikes a lighɩ ̧ an¿1 burns some incense.

Ho! Ashtaroth!

The DEMON ASHTAROTH appears, singing as folloze The raven sits

On the raven stone,

And his black wing flits

O'er the milk-white bone;

To and fro, as the night winds blow, The carcass of the assassin swings; And there alone, on the raven-stone,* The raven flaps his dusky wings.

And of unholy nature, are abroad,

And busy with thy name-a noble name For centuries; may he who bears it now Transmit it unimpaired!

Man.

Proceed, I listen.

Abbot. 'Tis said thou holdest converse with the things

Which are forbidden to the search of man;
That with the dwellers of the dark abodes,
The many evil and unheavenly spirits
Which walk the valley of the shade of death,
Thou communest. I know that with mankind,
Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely
Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude
Is as an anchorite's, were it but holy.

The fetters creak-and his ebon beak

Croaks to the close of the hollow sound And this is the tune by the light of the moon To which the witches dance their round,Merrily, merrily, cheerily, cheerily,

;

Merrily, merrily speeds the ball:

The dead in their shrouds, and the demons in cloud> Flock to the witches' carnival.

things?

Abbot. My pious brethren-the scared peasantryEven thy own vassals-who do look on thee With most unquiet eyes. Thy life's in peril. Man. Take it.

Abbot.

I would not pry into thy secret soul;

But if these things be sooth, there still is time For penitence and pity: reconcile thee

MANFRED alone.

One chamber where none enter; I would give

force

My art to pranks fantastical ?—no matter,
It was not of my seeking. My heart sickens
And weighs a fix'd foreboding on my soul;
But it is calm-calm as a sullen sea
After the hurricane; the winds are still,
But the cold waves swell high and heavily,
And there is danger in them. Such a rest
Is no repose. My life hath been a combat,
And every thought a wound, till I am scarr'd
In the immortal part of me.-What now?

Re-enter HERMAN.

"Twere dangerous; Content thyself with what thou know'st already. Her. Ah! Manuel! thou art elderly and wise, And couldst say much; thou hast dwelt within the castle

Man.

I will look on him.

Doth he so?

Glorious orb!* the idol

Of early nature, and the vigorous race
Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons
Of the embrace of angels, with a sex
More beautiful than they, which did draw down
The erring spirits who can ne'er return.-
Most glorious orb! that were a worship, ere
The mystery of thy making was reveal'd!
Thou earliest minister of the Almighty,
Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts
Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd
Themselves in orisons! thou material God!
And representative of the Unknown-

Who chose thee for his shadow! thou chief star!
Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth
Endurable, and temperest the hues

And hearts of all who walk within thy rays!
Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes,
And those who dwell in them! for, near or far,
Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee,
Even as our outward aspects;-thou dost rise,
And shine, and set in glory! Fare thee well!
I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance
Of love and wonder for thee, then take
My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one
To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been
Of a more fatal nature. He is gone:
I follow.

SCENE II.

Her.

Come, be friendly;
Relate me some, to while away our watch:
I've heard thee darkly speak of an event
Which happen'd hereabouts, by this same tower.
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 it 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 seem'd to love,
As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do,
The lady Astarte, his-
Her.

Look-look-the tower

The Mountains.-The Castle of Manfred at some distance.-A Terrace before a Tower.-Time, Twilight.

HERMAN, MANUEL, and other Dependants of

MANFRED.

sound,

moved;

'Tis all in vain

[HERMAN inclining his head and listening. I hear a word

Or two-but indistinctly-what is next? What's to be done? let's bear him to the castle. [MANFRED motions with his hand not to remove

him.

Manuel. He disapproves-and 'twere of no avail—

"Twill soon be over.

But it is dark-so bear him gently out-
Softly-how cold he is! take care of his temples
In winding down the staircase.

Re-enter MANUEL and HERMAN, bearing MANFRED in their arms.

Manuel. Hie to the castle, some of ye, and bring What aid you can. Saddle the barb, and speed For the leech to the city-quick! some water there! Her. His cheek is black-but there is a faint beat Still lingering about the heart. Some water.

[They sprinkle MANFRED with water: after a pause, he gives some signs of life

To shake my gray hairs over the last chief
Of the house of Sigismund.-And such a death!
Alone we know not how-unshrived-untended-
With strange accompaniments and fearful signs—
I shudder at the sight-but must not leave him.
Man. (speaking faintly and slowly.) Old man!
'tis not so difficult to die.

[MANFRED having said this expires. Iler. His eyes are fix'd and lifeless.-He is gone. Manuel. Close them.-My old hand quivers.He departs

Whither? I dread to think-but he is gone!