To justify my deeds unto myselfThe last infirmity of evil. Ay, Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, [An Eagle passes. Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, Well may'st thou swoop so near me-I should be

art gone

Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets: thou
[thine
Where the eye cannot follow thee; but
Yet pierceth downward, onward, or above,
With a pervading vision.-Beautiful!
How beautiful is all this visible world!
How glorious in its action and itself!
But we,
who name ourselves its sovereigns,

we,
Half dust, half deity, alike unfit

To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make

A conflict of its elements, and breathe The breath of degradation and of pride, Contending with low wants and lofty will, Till our mortality predominates,

And men are-what they name not to themselves,

And trust not to each other. Hark! the note,

[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, Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd;

My soul would drink those echoes.-Oh that I were

The viewless spirit of a lovely sound,
A living voice, a breathing harmony,
A bodiless enjoyment-born and dying
With the blest tone which made me!

Enter from below a Chamois Hunter. Chamois Hunter. Even so. This way the chamois leapt : her nimble feet

Have baffled me; my gains to-day will

scarce

Repay my break-neck travail.-What is here?

Who seems not of my trade, and yet hath reached

A height which none even of our mountaineers,

Save our best hunters, may attain his garb

Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air Proud as a free-born peasant's, at this distance.

I will approach him nearer.

Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless,

A blighted trunk upon a cursed root, Which but supplies a feeling to decay; And to be thus, eternally but thus, Having been otherwise! Now furrowed o'er

With wrinkles ploughed by moments, not by years

And hours, all tortured into ages-hours Which I outlive!-Ye toppling crags of ice! Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me!

I hear ye momently above, beneath, Crash with a frequent conflict; but ye pass, And only fall on things which still would

A sudden step would startle him, and he Seems tottering already.

Man. Mountains have fallen, Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock

Rocking their Alpine brethren; filling up The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinters;

Damming the rivers with a sudden dash, Which crushed the waters into mist, and "made

Their fountains find another channel.Thus,

Thus, in its old age, did Mount Rosenberg. Why stood I not beneath it?

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!

Man. (not hearing him). Such would have been for me a fitting tomb;

My bones had then been quiet in their depth :

They had not then been strewn upon the rocks

For the wind's pastime-as thus - thus they shall be

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

Look not upon me thus reproachfullyYou were not meant for me-Earth! take these atoms!

[As Manfred is in act to spring from the Cliff, the Chamois Hunter seizes and retains him with a sudden grasp. C. Hun. Hold, madman!

aweary of thy life,

though

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 not

I am all feebleness-the mountains whirl, Spinning around me-I grow blind.

art thou? C. Hun. I'll answer that anon.

on me

What

Away

with me. The clouds grow thicker-there-now lean [and cling Place your foot here-here, take this staff, A moment to that shrub-now give me your hand,

And hold fast by my girdle-softly-wellThe Chalet will be gained within an hour: Come on, we'll quickly find a surer footing, And something like a pathway, which the

Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they poured Themselves in orisons! Thou material God!

And representative of the Unknown, Who chose thee for His shadow! Thou chief star!

Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth

Endurable, and temperest the hues

And hearts of all who walk within thy rays! Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes,

And those who dwell in them! for near or far,

Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, Even as our outward aspects; thou dost rise,

And shine, and set in glory. well!

Fare thee

I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first
glance
[take

Of love and wonder was for thee, then
My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one
To whom the gifts of life and warmth have
been
Of a more fatal nature.
I follow.

He is gone: [Exit Manfred.

DEATH OF MANFRED.

Enter the Abbot.

Abbot. WHERE is your master?
Herman.
Yonder, in the tower.
Abbot. I must speak with him.
Manuel.

'Tis impossible; He is most private, and must not be thus Intruded on.

Abbot.

Upon myself I take

The forfeit of my fault, if fault there beBut I must see him.

Her.

This eve already.

Thou hast seen him once

Abbot. Herman! I command thee. Knock, and apprise the Count of my ap

Abbot. Then it seems I must be herald Of my own purpose.

Manfred. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops [tiful! Of the snow-shining mountains.--BeauI 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 learned the language of another world. I do remember me, that in my youth, When I was wandering-upon such a night I stood within the Coliseum's wall, 'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome; The trees which grew along the broken arches

[stars

Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber; and

More near from out the Cæsars' palace

came

The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly,
Of distant sentinels the fitful song
Began and died upon the gentle wind.
Some cypresses beyond the time-worn
breach

Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood

Within a bowshot. Where the Cæsars dwelt,

And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst

A grove which springs through levelled battlements,

And twines its roots with the imperial

hearths,

Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth; But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, A noble wreck in ruinous perfection! While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls,

Grovel on earth in indistinct decay.
And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon,
upon

All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Which softened down the hoar austerity
Of rugged desolation, and filled up,
As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries;
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,

Became religion, and the heart ran o'er 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! 'Tis strange that I recall it at this time; But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight

Even at the moment when they should array Themselves in pensive order.

Man. Why-ay-what detl. he here? I did not send for him-he is unbidden. Abbot. Alas, lost mortal! what with guests like these

Hast thou to do? I tremble for thy sake: Why doth he gaze on thee, and thou on him?

Ah! he unveils his aspect; on his brow The thunder-scars are graven; from his

eye

Glares forth the immortality of hell.
Avaunt!-

Man. Pronounce-what is thy mission?
Spirit.
Come!
Abbot. What art thou, unknown being?
answer!-speak!

Spirit. The genius of this mortal. Come! 'tis time.

Man. I am prepared for all things, but deny

The power which summons me. Who sent thee here?

Spirit. Thou 'lt know anon. Come!

come!

Man.

I have commanded Things of an essence greater far than thine, And striven with thy masters. Get thee hence !

Spirit. Mortal! thine hour is comeAway! I say.

Man. I knew, and know my hour is come, but not

To render up my soul to such as thee. Away! I'll die as I have lived-alone. Spirit. Then I must summon up my brethren.-Rise!

[Other Spirits rise up. Abbot. Avaunt, ye evil ones! Avaunt!

1 say; Ye have no power where piety hath power, And I do charge ye in the name— Spirit. Old man! We know ourselves, our mission, and thine order:

Waste not thy holy words on idle uses;
It were in vain: this man is forfeited.
Once more I summon him-Away! away!
Man. I do defy ye; though I feel my
soul

Is ebbing from me, yet I do defy ye.
Nor will I hence, while I have earthly
breath

To breathe my scorn upon ye-earthly strength [take To wrestle though with spirits; what ye Shall be ta'en limb by limb.

Spirit.

Reluctant mortal!

Is this the Magian who would so pervade

Man. What are they to such as thee? Must crimes be punished but by other crimes,

And greater criminals?-Back to thy hell!
Thou hast no power upon me, that I feel;
Thou never shalt possess me, that I know.
What I have done is done; I bear within
A torture which could nothing gain from
thine;

The mind which is immortal makes itself
Requital for its good or evil thoughts-
Is its own origin of ill and end,
And its own place and time: its innate

sense,

When stripped of this mortality, derives No colour from the fleeting things without; But is absorbed in sufferance or in joy, Born from the knowledge of its own desert Thou didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt me;

I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy prey

But was my own destroyer, and will be My own hereafter.-Back, ye baffled fiends! The hand of death is on me-but not

yours! [The Demons disappear. Abbot. Alas! how pale thou art-thy lips are white,

And thy breast heaves, and in thy gasping

Cain. Adah. Our little Enoch sleeps upon yon bed

Of leaves, beneath the cypress.

Cain.

Cypress! 'tis A gloomy tree, which looks as if it mourned O'er what it shadows; wherefore didst thou choose it

For our child's canopy?

Adah. Because its branches Shut out the sun like night, and therefore seemed

Fitting to shadow slumber.

Cain. Ay, the lastAnd longest; but no matter-lead me to him. [They go up to the child. How lovely he appears! his little cheeks In their pure incarnation, vieing with The rose-leaves strewn beneath them. Adah. And his lips, too, How beautifully parted! No; you shall

not

Kiss him, at least not now; he will awake

soon

His hour of midday rest is nearly over;
But it were pity to disturb him till
'Tis closed.

Cain. You have said well; I will contain My heart till then. He smiles, and sleeps!— Sleep on

And smile, thou little, young inheritor
Of a world scarce less young; sleep on,

and smile!

Thine are the hours and days when both are cheering

And innocent! thou hast not plucked the fruit[the time Thou know'st not thou are naked! Must Come thou shalt be amerced for sins unknown,

Which were not mine nor thine? But now sleep on!

His cheeks are reddening into deeper smiles,

And shining lids are trembling o'er his long Lashes, dark as the cypress which waves o'er them;

Half open, from beneath them the clear blue

Laughs out, although in slumber. He must dream

Of what? Of Paradise?-Ay! dream of it, My disinherited boy! 'Tis but a dream; For never more thyself, thy sons, nor fathers,

Shall walk in that forbidden place of joy! Adah. Dear Cain! Nay, do not whisper

o'er our son

The want of this so much regretted Eden. Have I not thee, our boy, our sire, and brother,

And Zillah-our sweet sister, and our Eve, To whom we owe so much besides our birth?

Cain. Yes-death, too, is amongst the debts we owe her.

Adah. Cain! that proud spirit, who withdrew thee hence,

Hath saddened thine still deeper. I had hoped [beheld, The promised wonders which thou hast Visions, thou say'st, of past and present worlds,

Would have composed thy mind into the calm

Of a contented knowledge; but I see
Thy guide hath done thee evil: still I thank
him,

And can forgive him all, that
Hath given thee back to us.
Cain.
Adah.

he so soon

So soon? 'Tis scarcely

Two hours since ye departed: two long

hours