Then cursed inyself till sunset ;-I have pray'd
For madness as a blessing-'tis denied me.
I have affronted death-but in the war
Of elements the waters shrunk from me,
And fatal things pass'd harmless-the cold hand
Of an all-pitiless demon held me back,
Back by a single hair, which would not break.
In phantasy, imagination, all

The affluence of my soul-which one day was
A Croesus in creation-I plunged deep,
But, like an ebbing wave, it dash'd me back
Into the gulf of my unfathom'd thought.
I plunged amidst mankind-Forgetfulness
I sought in all, save where 'tis to be found,
And that I have to learn-my sciences,
My long pursued and superhuman art,
Is mortal here-I dwell in my despair-
And live-and live forever.

That which I love would still be beautiful-
Happy and giving happiness. What is she?
What is she now?-a sufferer for my sins-
A thing I dare not think upon-or nothing.
Within few hours I shall not call in vain-
Yet in this hour I dread the thing I dare:
Until this hour I never shrunk to gaze
On spirit, good or evil-now I tremble,
And feel a strange cold thaw upon my heart,
But I can act even what I most abhor,
And champion human fears.-the night approaches
[Brit

SCENE III.

The Summit of the Jungfrau Mountain

Enter FIRST DESTINY.

The moon is rising broad, and round, and bright,
And here on snows, where never human foot
Of common mortal trod, we nightly tread,
And leave no traces; o'er the savage sea,
The glassy ocean of the mountain ice,
We skim its rugged breakers, which put on
The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam,
Frozen in a moment-a dead whirlpool's image;
And this most steep fantastic pinnacle,

Man. (alone.) We are the fools of time and terror:
Days

Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
In all the days of this detested yoke-
This vital weight upon the struggling heart,
Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pain,
Or joy that ends in agony or faintness-
In all the days of past and future, for
In life there is no present, we can number
How few-how less than few-wherein the soul
Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws back
As from a stream in winter, though the chill
Be but a moment's. I have one resource
Still in my science-I can call the dead,
And ask them what it is we dread to be:
The sternest answer can but be the Grave,
And that is nothing-if they answer not-
The buried Prophet answer'd to the Hag
Of Endor; and the Spartan Monarch drew
From the Byzantine maid's unsleeping spirit
An answer and his destiny-he slew
That which he loved, unknowing what he slew,
And died unpardon'd-though he call'd in aid
The Phyxian Jove, and in Phigalia roused
The Arcadian Evocators to compel
The indignant shadow to depose her wrath,
Or fix her term of vengeance-she replied
In words of dubious import, but fulfilled.3
If I had never lived, that which I love
Had still been living; had I never loved,

Pause to repose themselves in passing by-
Is sacred to our revels, or our vigils;
Here do I wait my sisters, on our way

To the Hall of Arimanes, for to-night

Is our great festival-'tis strange they come not
A Voice without, singing.
The Captive Usurper,
Hurl'd down from the throne,
Lay buried in torpor,

Forgotten and lone;

I broke through his slumbers,
I shiver'd his chain,

I leagued him with numbers-
He's Tyrant again!

With the blood of a million he'll answer my care,
With a nation's destruction-his flight and despair.

Second Voice, without.

The ship sail'd on, the ship sail'd fast,
But I left not a sail, and I left not a mast:
There is not a plank of the hull or the deck,
And there is not a wretch to lament o'er his wreck
Save one, whom I held, as he swam, by the hair.
And he was a subject well worthy my care;
A traitor on land, and a pirate at sea-
But I saved him to wreak further havoc for me!

FIRST DESTINY, answering

The city lies sleeping;

The morn, to deplore it, May dawn on it weeping:

Sullenly, slowly,

The black plague flew o'er it,--
Thousands lie lowly;

Tens of thousands shall perish-
The living shall fly from
The sick they should cherish;
But nothing can vanquish
The touch that they die from
Sorrow and anguish

First Des.

Enter NEMESIS.

Say, where hast thou been?
My sisters and thyself are slow to-night.
Nem. I was detain'd repairing shatter'd thrones,
Marrying fools, restoring dynasties,
Avenging men upon their enemies,

And making them repent their own revenge;
Goading the wise to madness; from the dull
Shaping out oracles to rule the world
Afresh, for they were waxing out of date,
And mortals dared to ponder for themselves,
To weigh kings in the balance, and to speak
Of freedom, the forbidden fruit.-Away!
We have outstay'd the hour-mount we our clouds !

SCENE IV.

[Exeun!.

On the bare ground, have I bow'd down my face,
And strew'd my head with ashes; I have known
The fulness of humiliation, for

I sunk before my vain despair, and knelt
To my own desolation.

Hymn of the SPIRITS.

Hail to our Master!-Prince of Earth and Air! Who walks the clouds and waters-in his hand The sceptre of the elements-which tear

Themselves to chaos at his high command!
He breatheth-and a tempest shakes the sea;
He speaketh-and the clouds reply in thunder;
He gazeth-from his glance the sunbeams flee;
He moveth-carthquakes rend the world asunder.
Beneath his footsteps the volcanoes rise;

His shadow is the Pestilence; his path
The comets herald through the crackling skies;
And planets turn to ashes at his wrath.
To him War offers daily sacrifice;

To him Death pays his tribute; Life is his,
With all its infinite of agonies-
And his the spirit of whatever is!

Enter the DESTINIES and NEMESIS.
First Des. Glory to Arimanes! on the earth
His power increaseth-both my sisters did
His bidding, nor did I neglect my duty!

Second Des. Glory to Arimanes! we who bow
The necks of men, bow down before his throne!
Third Des. Glory to Arimanes! we await
His nod!

Nem. Sovereign of Sovereigns! we are thine,

Crush the worm!

First Des.
Hence! Avaunt!-he's mine.
Prince of the Powers invisible! This man
Is of no common order, as his port
And presence here denote; his sufferings
Have been of an immortal nature, like
Our own; his knowledge, and his powers, and will,
As far as is compatible with clay,
Which clogs the ethereal essence, have been such
As clay hath seldom borne; his aspirations
Have been beyond the dwellers of the earth,
And they have only taught him what we know—
That knowledge is not happiness, and science
But an exchange of ignorance for that
Which is another kind of ignorance.
This is not all-the passions, attributes
Of earth and heaven, from which no power, noz
being,

Nor breath from the worm upwards is exempt,
Have pierced his heart; and in their consequence
Made him a thing, which I, who pity not,
Yet pardon those who pity. He is mine,
And thine, it may be-be it so, or not,
No other Spirit in this region hath
A soul like his-or power upon his soul.
Nem. What doth he here then?
First Des.

Let him answer that. Man. Ye know what I have known; and without

power

I could not be among ye: but there are

Powers deeper still beyond-I come in quest
Of such, to answer unto what I seek.
Nem. What would'st thou ?
Man.

Shadow! or Spirit!

Whatever thou art,

Which still doth inherit

The whole or a part

Of the form of thy birth,
Of the mould of thy clay,
Which return'd to the earth,
Reappear to the day!
Bear what thou borest,

The heart and the form,
And the aspect thou worest,

Redeem from the worm.
Appear!-Appear!-Appear!

Who sent thee there requires thee here!
[The Phantom of ASTARTE rises and stands in
the midst.

Man. Can this be death? there's bloom upon her cheek;

But now I see it is no living hue,

But a strange hectic-like the unnatural red
Which Autumn plants upon the perish'd leaf.
It is the same! Oh, God! that I should dread
To look upon the same-Astarte !-No,
I cannot speak to her-but bid her speak-
Forgive me or condemn me.

Man.

Hear me, hear me

Astarte! my beloved! speak to me:

I have so much endured-so much endure-
Look on me! the grave hath not changed thee more
Than I am changed for thee. Thou lovedst me
Too much, as I loved thee: we were not made
To torture thus each other, though it were
The deadliest sin to love as we have loved.
Say that thou loath'st me not-that I do bear
This punishment for both-that thou wilt be.
One of the blessed-and that I shall die;
For hitherto all hateful things conspire
To bind me in existence-in a life

And I would hear yet once more before I perish
The voice which was my music-Speak to me!
For I have call'd on thee in the still night,
Startled the slumbering birds from the hush'd
boughs,

And woke the mountain wolves, and made the caver
Acquainted with thy vainly echoed name,
Which answer'd me-many things answer'd me-
Spirits and men-but thou wert silent all.
Yet speak to me! I have outwatch'd the stars,
And gazed o'er heaven in vain in search of thee.
Speak to me! I have wander'd o'er the earth,
And never found thy likeness-Speak to me!
Look on the fiends around-they feel for me:

I fear them not, and feel for thee alone-
Speak to me! though it be in wrath ;-but say-
I reck not what-but let me hear thee once-
This once-once more!

Phantom of Astarte. Manfred!
Man.

Say on, say on

Man. One word for mercy! Say, thou lovest me. Phan. Manfred!

[The Spirit of Astarte disappears. Nem. She's gone, and will not be recall'd; Her words will be fulfill'd. Return to the earth. A Spirit. He is convulsed-This is to be a mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.

Another Spirit. Yet, see, he mastereth himself, and makes

His torture tributary to his will.

Had he been one of us, he would have made
An awful spirit

Man. WHAT is the hour? Her. And promises a lovely twilight.

Must serve who fain would sway-and sooth-and

sue

And watch all time-and pry into all place-
And be a living lie-who would become
A mighty thing among the mean, and such
The mass are; I disdain'd to mingle with
A herd, though to be leader-and of wolves.
The lion is alone, and so am I.

Abbot. And why not live and act with other men?
Man. Because my nature was averse from life;
And yet not cruel; for I would not make,
But find a desolation :-like the wind,
The red-hot breath of the most lone Simoom,
Which dwells but in the desert, and sweeps o'er
The barren sands which bear no shrubs to blast,
And revels o'er their wild and arid waves,
And seeketh not, so that it is not sought,
But being met is deadly; such hath been
The course of my existence; but there came
Things in my path which are no more.
Abbot.

Alas!

I 'gin to fear that thou art past all aid
From me and from my calling; yet so young,
I still would-

Man.

Look on me! there is an order

Of mortals on the earth, who do become
Old in their youth, and die ere middle age,
Without the violence of warlike death;
Some perishing of pleasure-some of study-
Some worn with toil-some of mere weariness-
Some of disease-and some of insanity-
And some of wither'd, or of broken hearts,
For this last is a malady which slays
More than are number'd in the lists of Fate,
Taking all shapes, and bearing many names.
Look upon me! for even of all these things
Have I partaken; and of all these things
One were enough; then wonder nor that 1
Am what I am, but that I ever was,
Or having been, that I am still on earth.
Abbot. Yet, hear me still-
Man.
Old man! I do respect
Thine order, and revere thy years; I deem
Thy purpose pious, but it is in vain:
Think me not churlish; I would spare thyself,
Far more than me, in shunning at this time
All further colloquy-and so-farewell.

[Exit MANFRED.
Abbot. This should have been a noble creature: he
Hath all the energy which would have made
A goodly frame of glorious elements,
Had they been wisely mingled; as it is,

It is an awful chaos-light and darkness-
And mind and dust-and passions and pure thoughts,
Mix'd, and contending without end or order,
All dormant or destructive: he will perish,
And yet he must not; I will try once more,
For such are worth redemption; and my duty
Is to dare all things for a righteous end.
I'll follow him-but cautiously, though surely.

SCENE II.

Another Chamber.

MANFRED and HERMAN.

[Exit ABBOT.

[MANFRED advances to the Window of the Hall
Glorious Orb! the ido.

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 wert 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 heart
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 was 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 III.

[Exit MANFRED).

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

HERMAN, MANUEL, and other Dependants of MANFRED.

Her. 'Tis strange enough; night after night, for years,

He hath pursued long vigils in this tower,
Without a witness. I have been within it.-
So have we all been ofttimes, but from it,
Or its contents, it were impossible
To draw conclusions absolute, of aught
His studies tend to. To be sure, there is
One chamber where none enter: I would give
The fee of what I have to come these three years
To pore upon its mysteries.

Manuel. "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 castleHow many years is't?

Manuel.

Ere Count Manfred's birth, I served his father, whom he naught resembles. Her. There be more sons in like predicament. But wherein do they differ?

He sinks behind the mountain.

Merrier than day; he did not walk the rocks