Of which we are the mind and principle:
But choose a form in that we will appear.
Man. I have no choice; there is no form
on earth

Hideous or beautiful to me. Let him,
Who is most powerful of ye, take such aspect
As unto him may seem most fitting - Come!
Seventh Spirit (appearing in the shape of

a beautiful female figure). Behold! Man. Oh God! if it be thus, and thou Art not a madness and a mockery,

I yet might be most happy. I will clasp thee,

And we again will be

190

[The figure vanishes. My heart is crush'd! [MANFRED falls senseless.

Though thy slumber may be deep,
Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;
There are shades which will not vanish,
There are thoughts thou canst not banish;
By a power to thee unknown,
Thou canst never be alone;

Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,
Thou art gather'd in a cloud;
And for ever shalt thou dwell
In the spirit of this spell.

Though thou seest me not pass by,
Thou shalt feel me with thine eye
As a thing that, though unseen,
Must be near thee, and hath been;
And when in that secret dread
Thou hast turn'd around thy head,
Thou shalt marvel I am not
As thy shadow on the spot,
And the power which thou dost feel
Shall be what thou must conceal.

And a magic voice and verse

Hath baptized thee with a curse; And a spirit of the air

Hath begirt thee with a snare;

210

220

And thou, the bright eye of the universe,
That openest over all, and unto all
Art a delight thou shin'st not on my
heart.

And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge

I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath
Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs
In dizziness of distance; when a leap,
A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring
My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed 279
To rest for ever wherefore do I
I feel the impulse-yet I do not plunge;
I see the peril - yet do not recede;
And my brain reels - and yet my foot is
firm.

Half dust, half deity, alike unfit
To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make
A conflict of its elements, and breathe
The breath of degradation and of pride,
Contending with low wants and lofty will,
Till our mortality predominates,

And men are- what they name not to themselves,

And trust not to each other. Hark! the note,

[The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard. The natural music of the mountain reed (For here the patriarchal days are not 310 A pastoral fable) pipes in the liberal air, Mix'd with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd;

My soul would drink those echoes. — Oh, that I were

here?

Ye toppling crags of

Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me!

I hear ye momently above, beneath,
Crash with a frequent conflict; but ye pass,
And only fall on things that still would
live;

340

On the young flourishing forest, or the hut And hamlet of the harmless villager.

C. Hun. The mists begin to rise from up

the valley;

I'll warn him to descend, or he may chance To lose at once his way and life together. Man. The mists boil up around the gla

ciers; clouds

Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury,

It is not noon; the sunbow's rays still arch
The torrent with the many hues of heaven,
And roll the sheeted silver's waving column
O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular,
And fling its lines of foaming light along, 99
And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail,
The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death,
As told in the Apocalypse. No eyes
But mine now drink this sight of loveliness;
I should be sole in this sweet solitude,
And with the Spirit of the place divide
The homage of these waters. I will call
her.

I search no further.
Witch.
What could be the quest
Which is not in the power of the most
powerful,

The rulers of the invisible?

140

Man. A boon; But why should I repeat it? 't were in vain. Witch. I know not that; let thy lips utter

it.

Man. Well, though it torture me, 't is but the same;

My pang shall find a voice. From my youth

upwards

My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men, Nor look'd upon the earth with human

eyes;

The thirst of their ambition was not mine, The aim of their existence was not mine; My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my

powers,

Made me a stranger; though I wore the form,

150

I had no sympathy with breathing flesh, Nor midst the creatures of clay that girded

me

Was there but one who - but of her anon. I said, with men, and with the thoughts of

men,

I held but slight communion; but instead, My joy was in the Wilderness, to breathe The difficult air of the iced mountain's top, Where the birds dare not build, nor insect's

wing

Flit o'er the herbless granite; or to plunge