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Interior of the Tower. | |
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MANFRED, alone. | |
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| Man. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops | |
| Of the snow-shining mountains. Beautiful! | |
| I linger yet with Nature, for the night | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| 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 | |
| Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars | 15 |
| Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar | |
| The watch-dog bay’d 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 | 20 |
| Begun and died upon the gentle wind. | |
| Some cypresses beyond the time—worn breach | |
| Appear’d to skirt the horizon, yet they stood | |
| Within a bowshot. Where the Cæsars dwelt, | |
| And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst | 25 |
| A grove which springs through levell’d 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! | 30 |
| While Caesar’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 soften’d down the hoar austerity | 35 |
| Of rugged desolation, and fill’d up, | |
| As ’twere anew, the gaps of centuries; | |
| Leaving that beautiful which still was so, | |
| And making that which was not, till the place | |
| Became religion, and the heart ran o’er | 40 |
| 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; | 45 |
| But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight | |
| Even at the moment when they should array | |
| Themselves in pensive order. | |
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Enter the ABBOT | |
| Abbot. My good lord! | 50 |
| I crave a second grace for this approach; | |
| But yet let not my humble zeal offend | |
| By its abruptness—all it hath of ill | |
| Recoils on me; its good in the effect | |
| May light upon your head—could I say heart— | 55 |
| Could I touch that, with words or prayers, I should | |
| Recall a noble spirit which hath wander’d | |
| But is not yet all lost. | |
| Man. Thou know’st me not; | |
| My days are number’d, and my deeds recorded: | 60 |
| Retire, or ’twill be dangerous—Away! | |
| Abbot. Thou dost not mean to menace me? | |
| Man. Not I; | |
| I simply tell thee peril is at hand, | |
| And would preserve thee. | 65 |
| Abbot. What dost thou mean? | |
| Man. Look there! | |
| What dost thou see? | |
| Abbot. Nothing. | |
| Man. Look there, I say, | 70 |
| And steadfastly;—now tell me what thou seest. | |
| Abbot. That which should shake me—but I fear it not: | |
| I see a dusk and awful figure rise, | |
| Like an infernal god, from out the earth; | |
| His face wrapt in a mantle, and his form | 75 |
| Robed as with angry clouds: he stands between | |
| Thyself and me—but I do fear him not. | |
| Man. Thou hast no cause; he shall not harm thee, but | |
| His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy. | |
| I say to thee—Retire! | 80 |
| Abbot. And I reply, | |
| Never—till I have battled with this fiend:— | |
| What doth he here? | |
| Man. Why—ay—what doth he here? | |
| I did not send for him,—he is unbidden. | 85 |
| 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 | 90 |
| Glares forth the immortality of hell— | |
| Avaunt!— | |
| Man. Pronounce—what is thy mission? | |
| Spirit. Come! | |
| Abbot. What art thou, unknown being? answer!—speak! | 95 |
| 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 | 100 |
| Things of an essence greater far than thine. | |
| And striven with thy masters. Get thee hence! | |
| Spirit. Mortal! thine hour is come—Away! I say. | |
| Man. I knew, and know my hour is come, but not | |
| To render up my soul to such as thee: | 105 |
| 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! I say,— | |
| Ye have no power where piety hath power, | |
| And I do charge ye in the name— | 110 |
| 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! | 115 |
| 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 strength | |
| To breathe my scorn upon ye—earthly breath | |
| To wrestle, though with spirits; what ye take | 120 |
| Shall be ta’en limb by limb. | |
| Spirit. Reluctant mortal! | |
| Is this the Magian who would so pervade | |
| The world invisible, and make himself | |
| Almost our equal?—Can it be that thou | 125 |
| Art thus in love with life? the very life | |
| Which made thee wretched! | |
| Man. Thou false fiend, thou liest! | |
| My life is in its last hour,—that I know, | |
| Nor would redeem a moment of that hour. | 130 |
| I do not combat against death, but thee | |
| And thy surrounding angels; my past power | |
| Was purchased by no compact with thy crew, | |
| But by superior science, penance, daring, | |
| And length of watching, strength of mind, and skill | 135 |
| In knowledge of our fathers when the earth | |
| Saw men and spirits walking side by side | |
| And gave ye no supremacy: I stand | |
| Upon my strength—I do defy—deny— | |
| Spurn back, and scorn ye!— | 140 |
| Spirit. But thy many crimes | |
| Have made thee— | |
| Man. What are they to such as thee? | |
| Must crimes be punish’d but by other crimes, | |
| And greater criminals?—Back to thy hell! | 145 |
| 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 | 150 |
| 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 stripp’d of this mortality, derives | |
| No colour from the fleeting things without, | 155 |
| But is absorb’d 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 | 160 |
| 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 throat | |
| The accents rattle. Give thy prayers to Heaven— | 165 |
| Pray—albeit but in thought,—but die not thus. | |
| Man. ’Tis over—my dull eyes can fix thee not; | |
| But all things swim around me, and the earth | |
| Heaves as it were beneath me. Fare thee well— | |
| Give me thy hand. | 170 |
| Abbot. Cold—cold—even to the heart— | |
| But yet one prayer—Alas! how fares it with thee? | |
| Man. Old man! ’tis not so difficult to die. [MANFRED expires. | |
| Abbot. He’s gone, his soul hath ta’en its earthless flight; | |
| Whither? I dread to think; but he is gone. | 175 |
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