force

MANFRED alone.

One chamber where none enter; I would give

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.

How many years is't?

Manuel.

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

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 [I.

From men and their delights.

Her.

Beshrew the hour, But those were jocund times! I would that such Would visit the old walls again; they look As if they had forgotten them. Manuel. These walls Must change their chieftain first. Oh! I have seen Some strange things in these few years.*

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.

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

HERMAN, MANUEL, and other Dependants of

MANFRED.

sound,

[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

moved;

But it is dark-so bear him gently out

Softly-how cold he is! take care of his temples

In winding down the staircase.

"Twill soon be over.

Her.
Manuel. Oh! what a death is this! that I should
live

To shake my gray hairs over the last chief
Of the house of Sigismund.-And such a death!

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.

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. Her. 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!

Brave men were living before Agamemnon,'
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,

A good deal like him too, though quite the same none,
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten ;-I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem, (that is, for my new one ;)
So, as I have said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.
VI.

Most epic poets plunge in "medias res,"

(Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road,) And then your hero tells, whene'er you please, What went before-by way of episode, While seated after dinner at his ease,

Beside his mistress in some soft abode,

Palace or garden, paradise or cavern,
Which serves the happy couple for a tavern.

That is the usual method, but not mine-
My way is to begin with the beginning:
The regularity of my design

Forbids all wanderings as the worst of sinning, And therefore I shall open with a line,

(Although it cost me half an hour in spinning ` Narrating somewhat of Don Juan's father, And also of his mother, if you'd rather.

VIII.

In Seville was he born, a pleasant city,
Famous for oranges and women-he
Who has not seen it will be much to pity,

So says the proverb-and I quite agree;
Of all the Spanish towns is none more pretty,
Cadiz perhaps, but that you soon may see:—
Don Juan's parents lived beside the river,
A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquivir.

IX.

His father's name was Jose-Don, of course
A true Hidalgo, free from every stain
Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his source
Through the most Gothic gentlemen of Spain.
A better cavalier ne'er mounted horse,

Or, being mounted, e'er got down again,
Than Jose who begot our hero, who
Begot-but that's to come-Well, to renew

X.

His mother was a learned lady, famed

For every branch of every science knownIn every Christian language ever named,

With virtues equall'd by her wit alone, She made the cleverest people quite ashamed, And even the good with inward envy groan, Finding themselves so very much exceeded In their own way by all the things that she did.

XI.

Her memory was a mine: she knew by heart
All Calderon and greater part of Lopé,

So that if any actor miss'd his part,

She could have served him for the prompter's copy For her Feinagle's were an useless art,

And he himself obliged to shut up shop-he
Could never make a memory so fine as
That which adorned the brain of Donna Inez.

XII.

Her favorite science was the mathematical,
Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity,
Her wit (she sometimes tried at wit) was Attic all,
Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity;
In short, in all things she was fairly what I call
A prodigy-her morning dress was dimity,
Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin,
And other stuffs, with which I won't stay puzzling

XIII.

She knew the Latin-that is, "the Lords prayer,"
And Greek, the alphabet, I'm nearly sure;
She read some French romances here and there,
Although her mode of speaking was not pure.
For native Spanish she had no great care,
At least her conversation was obscure;
Her thoughts were theorems, her words a problem,
As if she deem'd that mystery would ennoble 'em