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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.

Man. And what are they who do avouch these things? Abbot. My pious brethren-the scared peasantryEven thy own vassals-who do look on thee

With most unquiet eyes. Thy life's in peril.
Man. Take it.

Abbot.

I come to save, and not destroy

I would not pry into thy secret soul;

But if these things be sooth, there still is time

For penitence and pity: reconcile thee

With the true church, and through the church to Heave
Man. 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 ha my mediator. Have I sinn'd

Agust your ordinances? prove and punish!

Abbt. My son! I did not speak of punishment,
But penitence and pardon ;-with thyself
The choice of such remains-and for the last,
Our institutions and our strong belief

Have given me power to smooth the path from ein
To higher hope and better thoughts; the first

I leave to Heaven,-"Vengeance is Mine alone !"
So saith the Lord, and with all humbleness

His servant echoes back the awful word.

Man. Old man! there is no power in holy men,
Nor charm in prayer-nor purifying form
Of penitence-nor outward look-nor fast
Nor agony-nor, greater than all these,
The innate tortures of that deep despair,
Which is remorse without the fear of hell,
But all in all sufficient to itself

Would make a hell of heaven-can exorcise
From out the unbounded spirit, the quick senso
Of its own sins, wrongs, sufferance, and reveng
Upon itself; there is no future pang

Can deal that justice on the self-condemn'd
He deals on his own soul.

All this is well;

Abbot.
For this will pass away and be succeeded
By an auspicious hope, which shall look up
With calm assurance to that blessed place,
Which all who seek may win, whatever be
Their earthly errors, so they be atoned:
And the commencement of atonement is
The sense of its necessity.-Say on--

And all our church can teach thee shall be taught;
And all we can absolve thee shall be pardon'd.

Man. When Rome's sixth emperor was near his last, The victim of a self-inflicted wound,

To shun the torments of a public death

From senates once his slaves, a certain soldier,
With show of loyal pity, would have stanch'd
The gushing throat with his officious robe;
The dying Roman thrust him back, and said-
Some empire still in his expiring glance-
"It is too late-is this fidelity?"

Abbot. And what of this?

Man.

"It is too late!"

Abbot.

I answer with the Roman-

It never can be so,

To reconcile thyself with thy own soul,

And thy own soul with Heaven. Hast thou no hope? "Tis strange-even those who do despair above,

Yet shape themselves some fantasy on earth,

To which frail twig they cling, like drowning men.

Man. Ay-father! I have had those earthly visions
And noble aspirations in my youth,

To make my own the mind of other men,
The enlightener of nations; and to rise
I knew not whither--it might be to fall;
But fall even as the mountain-cataract,

Which having leapt from its more dazzling height,
Even in the foaming strength of its abyss
(Which casts up misty columns that become
Clouds raining from the reascended skies),

Lies low but mighty still.-But this is past,
My thoughts mistook themselves.

Abbot.

And wherefore so?

Man. I could not tame my nature down; for he

Must serve who fain would sway-and soothe—and sueAnd watch all time-and pry into all place

And be a living lie-who would become

A mighty thing amongst 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 i
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.

Allot

Alas!

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

Man. Look on me! there is an order
Of mortais 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 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,
Cne were enough; then wonder not that I
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
The 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.

[Exit ABBOT.

SCENE II.

Another Chamber.

MANFRED and HERMAN.

Her. My lord, you bade me wait on you at sunset: le sinks behind the mountain.

Man.

I will look on him.

Doth he so?

[MANFRED advances to the Window of the Hall

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 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 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!
Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth
Endurable, and temperest the hues

Thou chief star!

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.

[Exit MANFRED.

SCENE III.

The Mountains-the Castle of Manfred at some 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 oft-times: 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 it came to pass, that the Sons of God saw the daughters of men, that they were fair," &c.-"There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the Sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown."-Genesis, ch. vi. verses 9 and 4-B.