Manf. I then have call'd ye from your realms in vain;

Ye cannot, or ye will not, aid me.
Spirit. Say;

What we possess we offer; it is thine:
Bethink ere thou dismiss us, ask again-
Kingdom, and sway, and strength, and
length of days-

Manf. Accursed! what have I to do with days?

They are too long already. Hence – begone! 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?

Manf. No, none: yet stay-one moment, ere we part

I would behold ye face to face. I hear
Your voices, sweet and melancholy sounds,
As music on the waters; and I see
The steady aspect of a clear large star,
But nothing more. Approach me as ye are,
Or one, or all, in your accustom'd forms.
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.
Manf. 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! Manf. 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 [The figure vanishes. My heart is crush'd!

[Manfred falls senseless.

(A voice is heard in the Incantation which follows.)

When the moon is on the wave,
And the glow-worm in the grass,
And the meteor on the grave,
And the wisp on the morass;
When the falling stars are shooting,
And the answer'd owls are hooting,
And the silent leaves are still
In the shadow of the hill,
Shall my soul be upon thine,
With a power and with a sign.

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;
Thon 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.

halls,

In this one plunge.-Farewell, ye opening heavens!

Look not upon me thus reproachfully— Ye were not meant for me-Earth! take these atoms!

(AS MANFRED is in act to spring from the cliff, the CHAMOIS HUNTER Scizes and retains him with a sudden grasp.) C. Hunt. Hold, madman!—though aweary of thy life,

Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood.

Away with me-I will not quit my hold. Manf. I am most sick at heart-nay, grasp me not

I am all feebleness-the mountains whirl Spinning around mee-I grow blind.-What art thou?

C. Hunt. I'll answer that anon.-Away with me

The clouds grow thicker-there-now lean

A moment to that shrub-now give me your hand,

Carousing with the vassals; but the paths, Which step from out our mountains to their doors,

I know from childhood—which of these is thine?

Let it do thus for thine-Come, pledge me fairly.

Manf. Away, away! there's blood upon the brim!

Will it then never-never sink in the earth? C. Hunt. What dost thou mean? thy senses wander from thee.

Manf. I say 'tis blood-my blood! the pure warm stream

Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours

When we were in our youth, and had one heart,

And loved each other as we should not love,

And this was shed: but still it rises up, Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven,

torrent

Hath wash'd since winter.-Come, 'tis bravely done

You should have been a hunter -Follow me. (As they descend the rocks with difficulty, the scene closes.)

ACT II.

Which makes thee people vacancy, whate'er Thy dread and sufferance be, there's comfort yet

The aid of holy men, and heavenly patience – Manf. Patience, and patience! Hencethat word was made

For brutes of burthen, not for birds of

prey;

Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine,I am not of thine order.

C. Hunt. Thanks to Heaven!

Alps.

MANFRED and the CHAMOIS HUNTER.

C. Hunt. No, no-yet pause-thou must not yet go forth:

Thy mind and body are alike unfit
To trust each other, for some hours, at least ;
When thou art better, I will be thy guide-
But whither?

Manf. It imports not: I do know My route full well, and need no further guidance.

C. Hunt. Thy garb and gait bespeak thee of high lineage

One of the many chiefs, whose castled crags Look o'er the lower valleys—which of these May call thee Lord? I only know their portals;

pend on time?

Would be but a distemper'd dream.
C. Hunt. What is it

That thou dost see, or think thou look'st upon?

Manf. 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,
And thy grandchildren's love for epitaph;
This do I see and then I look within-
It matters not my soul was scorch'd already!
C. Hunt. And wouldst thou then exchange
thy lot for mine?

Manf. No, friend! I would not wrong thee, nor exchange

My lot with living being: I can bearHowever wretchedly, 'tis still to bearIn life what others could not brook to dream,

But perish in their slumber.

A Cataract.

Enter MANFRED.

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,
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.
(MANFRED takes some of the water into

the palm of his hand, and flings it in
the air, muttering the adjuration.
After a pause, the WITCH OF THE
ALPS rises beneath the arch of the
sunbeam of the torrent.)

Manf. 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-
Carnation'd like a sleeping infant's cheek,
Rock'd by the beating of her mother's heart,
Or the rose tints, which summer's twilight
leaves

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 glass'd serenity of soul,
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 he
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 wouldst thou with me?

Manf. To look upon thy beauty—nothing further.

The face of the earth hath madden'd me, and I Take refuge in her mysteries, and pierce To the abodes of those who govern herthey can nothing aid me. I have sought

From them what they could not bestow, and

now

I search no further.

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,

The thirst of knowledge, and the power and joy

Of this most bright intelligence, until
Witch. Proceed.

Manf. Oh! I but thus prolong'd my words,
Boasting these idle attributes, because
As I approach the core of my heart's grief—
But to my task. I have not named to thee
Father or mother, mistress, friend, or being,
With whom I wore the chain of human ties;
If I had such, they seem'd not such to me—
Yet there was one-

Witch. Spare not thyself-proceed. Manf. She was like me in lineaments— her eyes,

Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone Even of her voice, they said were like to mine;

But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty; She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings,

The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind To comprehend the Universe: nor these Alone, but with them gentler powers than

mine,

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.
In these my early strength exulted; or
To follow through the night the moving

moon,

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 eveningsong.

These were my pastimes, and to be alone;
For if the beings, of whom I was one,-
Hating to be so,—cross'd 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,
Searching its cause in its effect; and drew
From wither'd bones, and skulls, and heap'd-
up dust,

Conclusions most forbidden. Then I pass'd
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,
Such as, before me, did the Magi, and
He who from out their fountain-dwellings
raised

Eros and Anteros, at Gadara,

As I do thee;-and with my knowledge grew

Her faults were mine-her virtues were her

own

I loved her, and destroy'd her!
Witch. With thy hand?

Manf. Not with my hand, but heartwhich broke her heart

It gazed on mine, and wither'd. I have shed Blood, but not hers-and yet her blood was shed

1 saw-and could not staunch it. Witch. And for this

A being of the race thou dost despise, The order which thine own would rise above,

Mingling with us and ours, thou dost forego The gifts of our great knowledge, and shrink'st back

To recreant mortality-Away!

Manf. Daughter of Air! I tell thee, since that hour

But words are breath-look on me in my sleep,

Or watch my watchings—Come and sit by

me!

My solitude is solitude no more,

But peopled with the Furies; I have gnash'd
My teeth in darkness till returning morn,
Then cursed myself till sunset;—I have
pray'd

For madness as a blessing-'tis denied me.
I have affronted death-but in the war
Of elements the waters shrunk from me,
And fatal things pass'd harmless-the cold
hand

Of an all-pitiless demon held me back, Back by a single hair, which would not break.