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The abbot, who to all did honour great,
A few days after this convivial scene,
Gave to Morgante a fine horse, well train'd,
Which he long time had for himself maintain'd.
LXVIII.

The horse Morgante to a meadow led,
To gallop, and to put him to the proof,
Thinking that he a back of iron had,

Or to skim eggs unbroke was light enough;
But the horse, sinking with the pain, fell dead,
And burst, while cold on earth lay head and hoof.
Morgante said, 'Get up, thou sulky cur!"
And still continued pricking with the spur

LXIX.

But finally he thought fit to dismount,

And said, 'I am as light as any feather, And he has burst;-to this what say you, Count?" Orlando answer'd, Like a ship's mast rather You seem to me, and with the truck for front: Let him go! Fortune wills that we together Should march, but you on foot Morgante still.' To which the giant answer'd, 'So I will.

LXX.

'When there shall be occasion, you will see How I approve my courage in the fight.' Orlando said, 'I really think you'll be,

If it should prove God's will, a goodly knight; Nor will you napping there discover me.

But never mind your horse, though out of sight 'Twere best to carry him into some wood, If but the means or way I understood.'

LXXI.

The giant said, 'Then carry him I will,
Since that to carry me he was so slack-
To render, as the gods do, good for ill;
But lend a hand to place him on my back.'
Orlando answer'd, If my counsel still

May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake
To lift or carry this dead courser, who,
As you have done to him, will do to you.

LXXII.

'Take care he don't revenge himself, though dead, As Nessus did of old beyond all cure.

I don't know if the fact you've heard or read; But he will make you burst, you may be sure." 'But help him on my back,' Morgante said,

'And you shall see what weight I can endure. In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey, With all the bells, I'd carry yonder belfry.'

LXXIII.

The abbot said, 'The steeple may do well,
But, for the bells, you 've broken them, I wot.
Morgante answer'd, 'Let them pay in hell
The penalty who lie dead in yon grot;'
And hoisting up the horse from where he fell,
He said, 'Now look if I the gout have got,
Orlando, in the legs-or if I have force ;'-
And then he made two gambols with the horse.

LXXIV.

Morgante was like any mountain framed;
So if he did this 'tis no prodigy;
But secretly himself Orlando blamed,
Because he was one of his family;

And fearing that he might be hurt or maim'd,
Once more he bade him lay his burden by:
'Put down, nor bear him further the desert in.'
Morgante said, 'I'll carry him for certain.'

LXXV.

He did; and stow'd him in some nook away, And to the abbey they return'd with speed, Orlando said, 'Why longer do we stay?

Morgante, here is nought to do indeed. The abbot by the hand he took one day,

And said, with great respect, he had agreed To leave his reverence; but for this decision He wish'd to have his pardon and permission.

LXXVI.

The honours they continued to receive
Perhaps exceeded what his merits claim'd:
He said, 'I mean, and quickly, to retrieve
The lost days of time past, which may be blam'd;
Some days ago I should have ask'd your leave,
Kind father, but I really was ashamed,
And know not how to show my sentiment,
So much I see you with our stay content.

LXXVII.

'But in my heart I bear through every clime
The abbot, abbey, and this solitude-
So much I love you in so short a time;

For me, from heaven reward you with all good The God so true, the eternal Lord sublime! Whose kingdom at the last hath open stood. Meantime we stand expectant of your blessing, And recommend us to your prayers with pressing.' LXXVIII.

Now when the abbot Count Orlando heard,
His heart grew soft with inner tenderness,
Such fervour in his bosom bred each word;
And, Cavalier,' he said, if I have less
Courteous and kind to your great worth appear'd,
Than fits me for such gentle blood to express,

I know I have done too little in this case;
But blame our ignorance, and this poor place.

LXXIX.

'We can indeed but honour you with masses, And sermons, thanksgivings, and pater-nosters, Hot suppers, dinners (fitting other places

In verity much rather than the cloisters); But such a love for you my heart embraces, For thousand virtues which your bosom fosters, That wheresoe'er you go I too shall be, And, on the other part, you rest with me.

LXXX.

This may involve a seeming contradiction; But you I know are sage, and feel, and taste. And understand my speech, with full conviction For your just pious deeds may you be graced

With the Lord's great reward and benediction,
By whom you were directed to this waste:
To his high mercy is our freedom due,
For which we render thanks to him and you.
LXXXI.

'You saved at once our life and soul: such fear The giants caused us, that the way was lost By which we could pursue a fit career

In search of Jesus and the saintly host; And your departure breeds such sorrow here, That comfortless we all are to our cost; But months and years you would not stay in sloth, Nor are you form'd to wear our sober cloth,

LXXXII.

But to bear arms, and wield the lance; indeed, With these as much is done as with this cowl; In proof of which the Scriptures you may read. This giant up to heaven may bear his soul By your compassion: now in peace proceed. Your state and name I seek not to unroll; But, if I'm ask'd, this answer shall be given, That here an angel was sent down from heaven.

LXXXIII.

'If you want armour or aught else, go in,

Look o'er the wardrobe, and take what you choose, And cover with it o'er this giant's skin.

Orlando answer'd, If there should lie loose Some armour, ere our journey we begin,

Which might be turn'd to my companion's use,

The gift would be acceptable to me.'
The abbot said to him, 'Come in and see.

LXXXIV.

And in a certain closet, where the wall Was cover'd with old armour like a crust, The abbot said to them, 'I give you all.'

Morgante rummaged piecemeal from the dust The whole, which, save one cuirass, was too small, And that too had the mail inlaid with rust. They wonder'd how it fitted him exactly, Which ne'er has suited others so compactly.

LXXXV.

'Twas an immeasurable giant's, who By the great Milo of Agrante fell Before the abbey many years ago.

The story on the wall was figured well; In the last moment of the abbey's foe, Who long had waged a war implacable; Precisely as the war occurr'd they drew him, And there was Milo as he overthrew him.

LXXXVI.

Seeing this history, Count Orlando said
In his heart, 'Oh God, who in the sky
Know'st all things! how was Milo hither led?
Who caused the giant in this place to die?
And certain letters, weeping, then he read,

So that he could not keep his visage dry,-
As I will tell in the ensuing story.
From evil keep you the high King of glory!

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

ACT I.

SCENE I.-Manfred alone.-Scene, a Gothic
Gallery.-Time, Midnight,

Man. 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, pass ions, 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!
[A 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 gallery: it is stationary; and a voice is heard singing.

First Spirit.

Mortal to thy bidding bowl, From my mansion in the cloud,

300

Which the breath of twilight builds,
And the summer's sunset 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!

Voice 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 base-
And 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 birthplace,
Thy bidding to bide-
Thy spell hath subdued me,
Thy will be my guide!

Fifth Spirit.

I am 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
'Twill sink ere night be past.

Sixth Spirit.

My dwelling is the shadow of the nigh
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?
The Seven Spirits.

Earth, ocean, air, night, mountains, winds, thy star,

Are at thy beck and bidding, Child of Clay! Before thee at thy quest their spirits are

What wouldst thou with us, son of mortalssay?

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