The fee of what I have to come these three To pore upon its mysteries. MANUEL. years, "Twere dangerous; Content thyself with what thou knowest already. HER. Ah! Manuel! thou art elderly and wise, And could'st say much; thou hast dwelt within the castleis't? How many years MANUEL. Ere Count Manfred's birth, I served his father, whom he nought resembles. HER. There be more sons in like predicament. But wherein do they differ? MANUEL. I speak not Of features or of form, but mind and habits: Count Sigismund was proud,—but gay and free, A warrior and a reveller; he dwelt not With books and solitude, nor made the night A gloomy vigil, but a festal time, Merrier than day; he did not walk the rocks From men and their delights. HER. Beshrew the hour, But those were jocund times! I would that such As if they had forgotten them. F MANUEL. These walls Must change their chieftain first. Oh! I have seen Some strange things in them, Herman. HER. Come, be friendly; Relate me some to while away our watch: I've heard thee darkly speak of an event So like that it might be the same; the wind And watchings-her, whom of all earthly things The lady Astarte, his Hush! who comes here? Enter the ABBOT. ABBOT. Where is your master? · HER. Yonder, in the tower. ABBOT. I must speak with him. MANUEL. "Tis impossible; He is most private, and must not be thus Intruded on. Аввот. Upon myself I take The forfeit of my fault, if fault there be— Knock, and apprize the Count of my approach. SCENE IV. Interior of the Tower. MANFRED alone. MAN. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains.-Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world. I do remember me, that in my youth, The trees which grew along the broken arches Begun and died upon the gentle wind. A noble wreck in ruinous perfection! While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up, Leaving that beautiful which still was so, With silent worship of the great of old !— The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.— "Twas such a night! Gink |