Count Manfred, was, as now, within his tower,-- And watchings-her, whom of all earthly things The lady Astarte, his Hush! who comes here? Enter the ABBOT. ABBOT. Where is your master? ABBOT. I must speak with him. MANUEL. "Tis impossible; He is most private, and must not be thus Intruded on. Аввот. Upon myself I take The forfeit of my fault, if fault there be- Knock, and apprise the Count of my approach. HER. We dare not. ABBOT. Then it seems I must be herald Of my own purpose. MANUEL. I pray you pause. Аввот. Reverend father, stop- Why so? MAN. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains.-Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade I learn'd the language of another world. Begun and died upon the gentle wind. Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule 'Twas such a night! 'Tis strange that I recall it at this time; But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight Even at the moment when they should array Themselves in pensive order. Аввот. Enter the ABbot. My good Lord! I crave a second grace for this approach; May light upon your head-could I say heartCould I touch that, with words or prayers, I should Recall a noble spirit which hath wander'd; But is not yet all lost. ΜΑΝ. Thou know'st me not; My days are number'd, and my deeds recorded: ABBOT. Thou dost not mean to menace me? ΜΑΝ. I simply tell thee peril is at hand, And would preserve thee. Not I; And steadfastly ;-now tell me what thou seest? ABBOT. That which should shake me,-but I fear it not I see a dusk and awful figure rise Like an infernal god from out the earth; His face wrapt in a mantle, and his form Robed as with angry clouds; he stands between MAN. Thou hast no cause-he shall not harm theebut His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy. I say to thee-Retire! Аввот. And I reply-- Never---till I have battled with this fiend--What doth he here? ΜΑΝ. Why---ay---what doth he here?-- I did not send for him,---he is unbidden. [these ABBOT. Alas! lost mortal! what, with guests like Hast thou to do? I tremble for thy sake; Why doth he gaze on thee, and thou on him? Avaunt!-- ΜΑΝ. SPIRIT. Pronounce---what is thy mission? ABBOT. What art thou, unknown being? answer! ---speak! [time. SPIRIT. The genius of this mortal.-Come! 'tis I have commanded |