MANFRED ON THE CLIFFS. (Manfred, Act i. Scene 2.) The Mountain of the Jungfrau.—Time, Morning.— Man. THE spirits I have raised abandon me— I lean no more on super-human aid; It hath no power upon the past, and for It is not of my search.-My mother Earth! And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains, And makes it my fatality to live; My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased The last infirmity of evil. Ay, Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, [An eagle passes. Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, How glorious in its action and itself! But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make A conflict of its elements, and breathe The breath of degradation and of pride, And men are what they name not to themselves, [The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard. The natural music of the mountain reed For here the patriarchal days are not A pastoral fable-pipes in the liberal air, Mix'd with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd; Enter from below a CHAMOIS Hunter. Chamois Hunter. Even so This way the chamois leapt : her nimble feet Proud as a free-born peasant's, at this distance---- Man. (not perceiving the other.) To be thus- Having been otherwise! Now furrow'd o'er Which I outlive!-Ye toppling crags of ice! In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me! Crash with a frequent conflict; but ye pass, And hamlet of the harmless villager. C. Hun. The mists begin to rise from up the valley; I'll warn him to descend, or he may chance To lose at once his way and life together. Man. The mists boil up around the glaciers; clouds Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury, Like foam from the roused ocean of deep Hell, Whose every wave breaks on a living shore, Seems tottering already. Man. Mountains have fallen, Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinters; C. Hun. Friend! have a care, Your next step may be fatal ! -for the love Of Him who made you, stand not on that brink! My bones had then been quiet in their depth; Ye were not meant for me— the CHAMOIS HUNTER seizes and retains him with a sudden grasp. C. Hun. 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. Man. I am most sick at heart-nay, grasp me notI am all feebleness-the mountains whirl Spinning around me▬▬ thou? --What art C. Hun. I'll answer that anon.-Away with me— The clouds grow thicker-there-now lean on me— Place your foot here--here, take this staff, and cling A moment to that shrub-now give me your hand, And hold fast by my girdle-softly—well— The Chalet will be gain'd within an hour— Come on, we'll quickly find a surer footing, And something like a pathway, which the torrent Hath wash'd since winter.-Come, 'tis bravely done— You should have been a hunter.-Follow me. [They descend the rocks. |