Manfred (With Byron's Biography) - Lord Byron

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present. Art thou answered?

      Spirit. We answer—as we answered; our reply Is even in thine own words.

      Man. Why say ye so?160

      Spirit. If, as thou say'st, thine essence be as ours, We have replied in telling thee, the thing Mortals call death hath nought to do with us.

      Man. I then have called ye from your realms in vain; Ye cannot, or ye will not, aid me.

      Man. Accurséd! what have I to do with days? They are too long already.—Hence—begone!170

      Spirit. Yet pause: being here, our will would do thee service; Bethink thee, is there then no other gift Which we can make not worthless in thine eyes?

      Spirit. We have no forms, beyond the elements 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!

      When the Moon is on the wave,

       And the glow-worm in the grass,

       And the meteor on the grave,

      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 gathered in a cloud;

       And for ever shalt thou dwell210

       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 turned around thy head,

       Thou shalt marvel I am not

       As thy shadow on the spot,

       And the power which thou dost feel220

       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;

       In the wind there is a voice

       Shall forbid thee to rejoice;

       And to thee shall Night deny

       All the quiet of her sky;

       And the day shall have a sun,230

       Which shall make thee wish it done.

      From thy false tears I did distil

       An essence which hath strength to kill;

       From thy own heart I then did wring

       The black blood in its blackest spring;

       From thy own smile I snatched the snake,

       For there it coiled as in a brake;

       From thy own lip I drew the charm

       Which gave all these their chiefest harm;

       In proving every poison known,240

       I found the strongest was thine own.

      By the cold breast and serpent smile,

       By thy unfathomed gulfs of guile,

       By that most seeming virtuous eye,

       By thy shut soul's hypocrisy;

       By the perfection of thine art

       Which passed for human thine own heart;

       By thy delight in others' pain,

       And by thy brotherhood of Cain,

      And on thy head I pour the vial

       Which doth devote thee to this trial;

       Nor to slumber, nor to die,

       Shall be in thy destiny;

       Though thy death shall still seem near

       To thy wish, but as a fear;

       Lo! the spell now works around thee,

       And the clankless chain hath bound thee;

       O'er thy heart and brain together260

       Hath the word been passed—now wither!

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