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
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.
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,
Love plumes his wing; Then for this reason
Let's love a season,
But let that season be only Spring.
When lovers parted Feel broken-hearted And all hopes are thwarted, Expect to die
A few years older, Ah! how much colder They might behold her For whom they sigh! When link'd together, In every weather, They pluck Love's feather From out his wing- He'll stay for ever,
But sadly shiver
Without his plumage, waen past the Spring
Like Chiefs of Faction His life is action-
A formal paction
That curbs his reign, Obscures his glory, Despot no more, he Such territory
Quits with disdain. Still, still advancing With banners glancing, His power enhancing,
He must move on- Repose but cloys him, Retreat destroys him,
Love brooks not a degraded throne
Wait not, fond lover: Till years are over, And then recover,
As from a dream. While each bewailing The other's failing, With wrath and railing
All hideous seem- While first decreasing, Yet not quite ceasing, Wait not till teasing
All passion blight:
If once diminish'd Love's reign is finish'd-
Then part in friendship,—and bid good-night.
So shall Affection,
To recollection
The dear connection
Bring back with joy; You had not waited Till, tired or hated, Your passions sated Began to cloy. Your last embraces Leave no cold tracesThe same fond faces
As through the past: And eyes, the mirrors
Of your sweet errors
Reflect but rapture-not least though last.
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?
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.
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,
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!
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.
'Abbot. I fear thee not-hence-henceAvaunt thee, evil one!-help, ho! without there! Man. Convey this man to the Shreckhorn-to its peak
Man. And what are they who do avouch these To its extremest peak-watch with him there things?
From now till sunrise; let him gaze, and know
Abbot. My pious brethren-the scared peasantry-He ne'er again will be so near to heaven, Even thy own vassals-who do look on thee
With most unquiet eyes. Thy life's in peril. Man. Take it.
But harm him not; and when the morrow breaks, Set him down safe in his cell-away with him! Ash. Had I not better bring his brethren too,
I come to save, and not destroy-Convent and all to bear him company?
I would not pry into thy secret soul;
But if these things be sooth, there still is time For penitence and pity: reconcile thee
Man. No, this will serve for the present. Take him up.
Ash. Come, friar! now an exorcism or two,
With the true church, and through the church to And we shall fly the lighter.
Man. I hear thee. This is my reply; whate'er
I may have been, or am, doth rest between Heaven and myself.-I shall not choose a mortal To be my mediator. Have I sinn'd
Against your ordinances? prove and punish! *
• It will be perceived that, as far as this, the original matter of the Third Act has been retained.
[ASHTAROTH disappears with the ABBOT, singing as follows:
A prodigal son and a maid undone,
And a widow re-wedded within the year; And a wordly monk and a pregnant nun, Are things which every day appear.
• "Raven-stone, (Rabenstein,) a translation of the German word for the gibbet, which in Germany and Switzerland is permanent, and made at stores.❤
Man. Why would this fool break in on me, and 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?
Of features or of form, but mind and habits: Count Sigismund was proud,-but gay and free,-
Her. My lord, you bade me wait on you at sunset: A warrior and a reveller; he dwelt not He sinks behind the mountain.
With books and solitude, nor made the night A gloomy vigil, but a festal time, Merrier than day, he did not walk the rocks
[MANFRED advances to the window of the hall. And forests like a wolf, nor turn aside
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.
The Mountains.-The Castle of Manfred at some distance.-A Terrace before a Tower.-Time, Twilight.
HERMAN, MANUEL, and other Dependants of
From men and their delights.
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―――
Look-look-the towerThe tower's on fire. Oh, heavens and earth! what sound,
What dreadful sound is that?
[A crash like thunder. Manuel. Help, help, there !-to the rescue of the Count,
The Count's in danger,-what ho! there! approach: [The Servants, Vassals, and Peasantry ap proach, stupified with terror.
If there be any of you who have heart Her. 'Tis strange enough; night after night, for And love of human kind, and will to aid
He hath pursed long vigils in this tower, Without a witness. I have been within it,- Bo 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
• This soliloquy, and a great part of the subsequent scene, have been ened in the present form of the drama.
Those in distress-pause not-but follow meThe portal's open, follow.
[MANUEL goes in Come-Who follows?
Her. (within.) Not so-even now methought he He changes rapidly. Her. Manuel. Oh! what a death is this! that I should live
But it is dark-so bear him gently out- Softly-how cold he is! take care of his temples
In winding down the staircase.
To shake my gray hairs over the last chief Of the house of Sigismund.—And such a death!
Re-enter MANUEL and HERMAN, bearing MANFRED Alone-we know not how-unshrived-untended
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!
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