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To And fe
Lak A thou
Below The de Webe
Sous And I Wash And And
And Becau The d.
I said Isaid
Which 'gainst the world in war had stood,
But yet I forced it on to cheer
Which the soul's war doth leave behind.
Which have not seen the sun 80 rise He was past all mirth or woe:
For years--I cannot count them o'er, Nothing more remain'd below
I lost their long and heavy score, But sleepless nights and heavy days,
When my last brother droop'd and died,
And I lay living by his side.
They chain'd us each to a column stone,
And we were three-yet, each alone,
We could not move a single pace,
We could not see each other's face,
But with that pale and livid light
That made us strangers in our sight; And flows--and cannot cease to flow.
And thus together-yet apart, Still was his seal’d-up bosom baunted
Fetter'd in hand, but pined in heart;
'Twas still some solace in the dearth By thoughts which nature hath implanted; Too deeply rooted thence to vanish,
Of the pure elements of earth, Howe'er our stifled tears we banish;
To hearken to each other's speech,
And each turn comforter to each,
With some new hope, or legend old,
Or song heroically bold; But flow back to the fountain head,
But even these at length grew cold. And resting in their spring more pure,
Our voices took a dreary tone,
An echo of the dungeon-stone,
A grating sound not full and free
As they of yore were wont to be: With inward starts of feeling left,
It might be fancy-but to me To throb o'er those of life bereft;
They never sounded like our own. Without the power to fill again
I was the eldest of the three, The desert gap which made his pain;
And to uphold and cheer the rest Without the hope to meet them where
I ought to do—and did my best United souls shall gladness share,
And each did well in his degree. With all the consciousness that he
The youngest, whom my father loved, Had only pass'd a just decree;
Because our mother's brow was given That they had wrought their doom of ill;
To him with eyes as blue as heaven, Yet Azo's age was wretched still.
For him my soul was sorely moved ; The tainted branches of the tree,
And truly might it be distrest, If lopp'd with care, a strength may give,
To see such bird in such a nest; By which the rest shall bloom and live
For he was beautiful as dayAll greenly fresh and wildly free:
(When day was beautiful to me But if the lightning, in its wrath,
As to young eagles, being free) The waving boughs with fury scathe,
A polar day, which will not see The massy trunk the ruin feels,
A sunset till its summer's gone, And never more a leaf reveals.
Its sleepless summer of long light,
The snow-clad offspring of the sun:
And in his natural spirit gay,
And in each ring there is a chain;
For in these limbs its teeth remain, With marks that will not wear away, Till I have done with this new day, Which now is painful to these eyes,
It was For And The Was Our Have
And thus he was as pure and bright,
With tears for nought but others' ills,
And perish'd in the foremost rank
With joy:--but not in chains to pine:
I saw it silently decline-
Those relics of a home so dear.
He was a hunter of the hills,
But he, the favourite and the flower,
Most cherish'd since his natal hour,
His mother's image in fair face,
The infant love of all his race,
His martyr'd father's dearest thought,
My latest care, for whom I sought
To hoard my life, that his might be
Less wretched now, and one day free;
He, too, who yet had held untired
A spirit natural or inspired
He, too, was struck, and day by day
Was wither'd on the stalk away.
Oh God! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing
In any shape, in any mood :-
I've seen it rushing forth in blood,
I've seen it on the breaking ocean
Strive with a swoln convulsive motion,
I've seen the sick and ghastly bed
Of sin delirious with its dread:
But these were horrors, this was woe
Unmix'd with such-but sure and slow:
He faded, and so calm and meek,
So softly worn, so sweetly weak,
So tearless, yet so tender kind,
And grieved for those he left behind;
With all the while a cheek wliose bloom
Was as a mockery of the tomb,
Whose tints as gently sank away
As a departing rainbow's ray-
An eye of most transparent light,
That almost made the dungeon bright,
And not a word of murmur-not
A groan o'er his untimely lot,
A little talk of better days,
A little hope my own to raise,
For I was sunk in silence-lost
In this last loss, of all the most;
And then the sighs he would suppress
Of fainting nature's feebleness,
More slowly drawn, grew less and less;
I listen'd, but I could not hear-
I call’d, for I was wild with fear;
I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread
Would not be thus admonished;
I call’d, and thought I heard a sound-
I burst my chain with one strong bound,
And rush'd to him:-I found him not,
I only stirr’d in this black spot,
I only lived-I only drew
The accursed breath of dungeon-dew;
The last--the sole-the dearest link
Between me and the eternal brink,
Which bound me to my failing race,
Was broken in this fatal place.
One on the earth, and one beneath-
My brothers—both had ceased to breathe:
I took that hand which lay so still;
Alas! my own was full as chill:
I had not strength to stir, or strive,
But felt that I was still alive
A frantic feeling, when we know
MANFRED INVOKES THE WITCH OF THE ALPS.
That what we love shall ne'er be so.
Which made me both to weep and smile; I know not why
I sometimes deem'd that it might be I could not die,
My brother's soul come down to me; I had no earthly hope—but faith,
But then at last away it flew, And that forbade a selfish death.
And then 'twas mortal-well I knew,
For he would never thus bave flown, What next befell me then and there
And left me twice so doubly lone,I know not well-I never knew
Lone—as the corse within its shroud, First came the loss of light, and air,
Lone-as a solitary cloud, And then of darkness too:
A single cloud on a sunny day, I had no thought, no feeling-none
While all the rest of heaven is clear, Among the stones I stood a stone,
A frown upon the atmosphere, And was, scarce conscious what I wist,
That hath no business to appear
When skies are blue, and earth is gay.
SCENES FROM MANFRED.
A lower Valley in the Alps. A Cataract.
Enter MANFRED. No check-no change—no good-no crime
It is not noon-the sunbow's rays still arch But silence, and a stirless breath
The torrent with the many hues of heaven, Which neither was of life nor death;
And roll the sheeted silver's waving column A sea of stagnant idleness,
O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular, Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless !
And fing its lines of foaming light along,
And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail, A light broke in upon my brain,
The giant steed, to be bestrode by death, It was the carol of a bird;
As told in the Apocalypse. No eyes It ceased, and then it came again,
But mine now drink this sight of loveliness; The sweetest song ear ever heard,
I should be sole in this sweet solitude, And mine was thankful till my eyes
And with the Spirit of the place divide Ran over with the glad surprise,
The homage of these waters. I will call her. And they that moment could not see
(MANFRED takes some of the water into the pals I was the mate of misery;
of his hand, and flings it in the air, mutterBut then by dull degrees came back
ing the adjuration. After a pause, the My senses to their wonted track.
WITCH OF THE Alps rises beneath the arch I saw the dungeon walls and floor
of the sunbeam of the torrent.) Close slowly round me as before,
Man. Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light, I saw the glimmer of the sun
And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form Creeping as it before had done,
The charms of earth's least-mortal daughters grow But through the crevice where it came
To an unearthly stature, in an essence That bird was perch'd, as fond and tame,
Of purer elements; while the hues of youth,And tamer than upon the tree;
Carnation'd like a sleeping infant's cheek, A lovely bird, with azure wings,
Rock'd by the beating of her mother's heart, And song that said a thousand things,
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 But was not half so desolate,
The beauties of the sunbow which bends o'er thee. And it was come to love me when
Beautiful Spirit! in thy calm clear brow, None lived to love me so again,
Wherein is glass'd serenity of soul, And cheering from my dungeon's brink
Which of itself shows immortality, Had brought me back to feel and think.
I read that thou wilt pardon to a son I know not if it late were free,
Of earth, whom the abstruser powers permit Or broke its cage to perch on mine,
At times to commune with them if that he But knowing well captivity,
Avail him of his spells—to call thee thus, Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine!
And gaze on thee a moment. Or if it were, in winged guise,
Witch. A visitant from Paradise ;
I know thee, and the powers which give thee power;
I know thee for a man of many thoughts,
TI Or W
TI fo H
Son of earth!
Fatal and fated in thy sufferings.
Of this most bright intelligence, until-
Man. To look upon thy beauty-nothing further. Man. Oh! I but thus prolong'd my words,
As I approach the core of my heart's grief,
But to my task. I have not named to thee
If I had such, they seem'd not such to me-
Yet there was one-
Man. 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,
Pity, and smiles, and tears-which I had not ;
And tenderness—but that I had for her;
Her faults were mine her virtues were her own-
I loved her, and destroy'd her!
With thy hand?
Man. Not with my land, but heart, which broke
It gazed on mine, and wither’d. I have shed
Blood, but not hers—and yet her blood was shed
I saw-and could not stanch it.
And for this-
A being of the race thou dost despise,
'The order which thine own would rise above,
The gifts of our great knowledge, and shrink'st back
To recreant mortality-Away!
But words are breath-look on me in my sleep,
My solitude is solitude no more,
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 shrank from me,
Of an all-pitiless demon held me back,
The affluence of my soul-which one day was
But, like an ebbing wave, it daslı'd me back
Into the gulph of my unfathom'd thought.
I plunged amidst mankind-Forgetfulness
I sought in all, save where 'tis to be found,
And that I have to learn-my sciences,
My long pursued and super-human art,
And live and live for ever.
'That I can aid thee.
And gaz'd o'er heaven in vain in search of thee.
MANFRED ADDRESSES THE SPIRIT OF ASTARTE.
(The Phantom of ASTARTE rises. Do so-in any shape-in any hour
Man. Can this be death? there's bloom upon her With any torture—so it be the last.
But now I see it is no living hue, (check: Witch. That is not in my province; but if thou But a strange hectic-like the unnatural red Wilt swear obedience to my will, and do
Which autumn plants upon the perish'd leaf. My bidding, it may help thee to thy wishes.
It is the same! Oh, God! that I should dread Man. I will not swear-Obey! and whom the To look upon the same-Astarte!-No, spirits
I cannot speak to her—but bid her speak-
Forgive me or condemn me.
By the power which hath broken
T'he grave which enthrallid thee,
Speak to him who hath spoken,
Or those who have call'd thee!
She is silent, Man. (alone.) We are the fools of time and terror: And in that silence I am more than answer'd. days
Nem. My powerextends no further. Prince of air! Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live,
It rests with thee alone-command her voice. Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
Ari. Spirit-obey this sceptre! In all the days of this detested yoke
She is not of our order, but belongs
And we are baffled also.
Hear me, hear me-
Astarte! my beloved! speak to me:
Too much, as I loved thee: we were not made
To torture thus each other, though it were And ask them what it is we dread to be:
The deadliest sin to love as we have loved. The sternest answer can but be the grave,
Say that thou loath'st me not that I do bear And that is nothing—if they answer not
This punishment for both-that thou wilt be The buried prophet answer'd to the Hag
One of the blessed and that I shall die; Of Endor; and the Spartan monarch drew
For hitherto all hateful things conspire From the Byzantine maid's unsleeping spirit
To bind me in existence in a life An answer and his destiny-he slew
Which makes me shrink from immortality-
A future like the past. I cannot rest.
I know not what I ask, nor what I seek:
feel but what thou art and what I am;
If I had never lived, that which I love
Speak to me! I have wander'd o'er the earth
This once once more!
Phantom of Astarte. Manfred!