LITMIR.BIZ

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it?—Look on me—I live.

      C. Hun. This is convulsion, and no healthful life.

      Man. I tell thee, man! I have lived many years, Many long years, but they are nothing now To those which I must number: ages—ages— Space and eternity—and consciousness, With the fierce thirst of death—and still unslaked!

      C. Hun. Why on thy brow the seal of middle age Hath scarce been set; I am thine elder far.50

Man. Think'st thou existence doth depend on time?128 It doth; but actions are our epochs: mine Have made my days and nights imperishable, Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore, Innumerable atoms; and one desert, Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break, But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks, Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness.

      C. Hun. Alas! he's mad—but yet I must not leave him.

      Man. I would I were—for then the things I see60 Would be but a distempered dream.

      C. Hun. What is it That thou dost see, or think thou look'st upon?

      Man. Myself, and thee—a peasant of the Alps— Thy humble virtues, hospitable home, And spirit patient, pious, proud, and free; Thy self-respect, grafted on innocent thoughts; Thy days of health, and nights of sleep; thy toils, By danger dignified, yet guiltless; hopes Of cheerful old age and a quiet grave, With cross and garland over its green turf,70 And thy grandchildren's love for epitaph! This do I see—and then I look within— It matters not—my Soul was scorched already!

      C. Hun. And would'st thou then exchange thy lot for mine?

      Man. No, friend! I would not wrong thee, nor exchange My lot with living being: I can bear— However wretchedly, 'tis still to bear— In life what others could not brook to dream, But perish in their slumber.

      C. Hun. And with this— This cautious feeling for another's pain,80 Canst thou be black with evil?—say not so. Can one of gentle thoughts have wreaked revenge Upon his enemies?

      Man. Oh! no, no, no! My injuries came down on those who loved me— On those whom I best loved: I never quelled An enemy, save in my just defence— But my embrace was fatal.

      C. Hun. Heaven give thee rest! And Penitence restore thee to thyself; My prayers shall be for thee.

      Man. I need them not, But can endure thy pity. I depart—90 'Tis time—farewell!—Here's gold, and thanks for thee— No words—it is thy due.—Follow me not— I know my path—the mountain peril's past: And once again I charge thee, follow not! Exit Manfred.

Scene II.—A lower Valley in the Alps.—A Cataract.

      Enter Manfred.

It is not noon—the Sunbow's rays129 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, And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail, The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death, As told in the Apocalypse.130 No eyes But mine now drink this sight of loveliness; I should be sole in this sweet solitude,10 And with the Spirit of the place divide The homage of these waters.—I will call her.

      Manfred takes some of the water into the palm of his hand and flings it into the air, muttering the adjuration. After a pause, the Witch of the Alps rises beneath the arch of the sunbow of the torrent.

      Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light,

       And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form

       The charms of Earth's least mortal daughters grow

       To an unearthly stature, in an essence

       Of purer elements; while the hues of youth,—

       Carnationed like a sleeping Infant's cheek,

       Rocked by the beating of her mother's heart,

       Or the rose tints, which Summer's twilight leaves20

       Upon the lofty Glacier's virgin snow,

       The blush of earth embracing with her Heaven,—

       Tinge thy celestial aspect, and make tame

       The beauties of the Sunbow which bends o'er thee.

       Beautiful Spirit! in thy calm clear brow,

Wherein is glassed serenity of Soul,ay Which of itself shows immortality, I read that thou wilt pardon to a Son Of Earth, whom the abstruser powers permit At times to commune with them—if that he30 Avail him of his spells—to call thee thus, And gaze on thee a moment.

      Witch. Son of Earth! I know thee, and the Powers which give thee power! I know thee for a man of many thoughts, And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both, Fatal and fated in thy sufferings. I have expected this—what would'st thou with me?

      Man. To look upon thy beauty—nothing further. The face of the earth hath maddened me, and I Take refuge in her mysteries, and pierce40 To the abodes of those who govern her— But they can nothing aid me. I have sought From them what they could not bestow, and now 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?

      Man. A boon;— But why should I repeat it? 'twere in vain.

      Witch. I know not that; let thy lips utter it.

Man. Well, though it torture me, 'tis but the same; My pang shall find a voice. From my youth upwards50 My Spirit walked not with the souls of men, Nor looked 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, 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,60 I held but slight communion; but instead, My joy was in the wilderness,—to breathe The difficult air of the iced mountain's top,131 Where the birds dare not build—nor insect's wing Flit o'er the herbless granite; or to plunge Into the torrent, and to roll along On the swift whirl of the new-breaking wave Of river-stream, or Ocean, in their flow.132 In these my early strength exulted; or To follow through the night the moving moon,13370 The stars and their development; or catch The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim; Or to look, list'ning, on the scattered leaves, While Autumn winds were at their evening song. These were my pastimes, and to be alone; For if the beings, of whom I was one,— Hating to be so,—crossed me in my path, I felt myself degraded back to them, And was all clay again. And then I dived, In my lone wanderings, to the caves of Death,80 Searching its cause in its effect; and drew From withered bones, and skulls, and heaped up dust Conclusions most forbidden.134 Then I passed— The nights of years in sciences untaught, Save in the old-time; and with time and toil, And terrible ordeal, and such penance As in itself hath power upon the air, And spirits that do compass air and earth, Space, and the peopled Infinite, I made Mine eyes familiar with Eternity,90 Such as, before me, did the Magi, and He who from out their fountain-dwellings raised Eros and Anteros,135 at Gadara, As I do thee;—and with my knowledge grew The thirst of knowledge, and the power

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