These shall be thine. | |
MANFRED | |
145 | Can ye not wring from out the hidden realms |
Ye offer so profusely what I ask? | |
SPIRIT | |
But — thou mayst die. | |
MANFRED | |
SPIRIT | |
150 | We are eternal; and to us the past |
Is, as the future, present. Art thou answer’d? | |
MANFRED | |
Hath made you mine. Slaves, scoff not at my will! | |
The mind the spirit the Promethean spark | |
155 | The lightning of my being, is as bright, |
Pervading, and far darting as your own, | |
And shall not yield to yours, though coop’d in clay! | |
Answer, or I will teach you what I am. | |
SPIRIT | |
160 | Is even in thine own words. |
MANFRED | |
SPIRIT | |
We have replied in telling thee, the thing | |
Mortals call death hath nought to do with us. | |
MANFRED | |
165 | Ye cannot, or ye will not, aid me. |
SPIRIT | |
What we possess we offer; it is thine: | |
Bethink ere thou dismiss us, ask again — | |
Kingdom, and sway, and strength, and length of days— | |
MANFRED | |
170 | They are too long already. – Hence – begone! |
SPIRIT | |
Bethink thee, is there then no other gift | |
Which we can make not worthless in thine eyes? | |
MANFRED | |
175 | I would behold ye face to face. I hear |
Your voices, sweet and melancholy sounds, | |
As music on the waters; and I see | |
The steady aspect of a clear large star; | |
But nothing more. Approach me as ye are, | |
180 | Or one, or all, in your accustom’d forms. |
SPIRIT | |
Of which we are the mind and principle: | |
But choose a form – in that we will appear. | |
MANFRED | |
185 | Hideous or beautiful to me. Let him, |
Who is most powerful of ye, take such aspect | |
As unto him may seem most fitting — Come! | |
SEVENTH SPIRIT | |
MANFRED | |
Art not a madness and a mockery, | |
190 | I yet might be most happy. I will clasp thee, |
And we again will be — | |
[The figure vanishes.] | |
My heart is crush’d! | |
[ | |
[ | |
When the moon is on the wave, | |
And the glow-worm in the grass, | |
And the meteor on the grave, | |
195 | And the wisp on the morass; |
When the falling stars are shooting, | |
And the answer’d owls are hooting, | |
And the silent leaves are still | |
In the shadow of the hill, | |
200 | Shall my soul be upon thine, |
With a power and with a sign. | |
Though thy slumber may be deep, | |
Yet thy spirit shall not sleep; | |
There are shades which will not vanish, | |
205 | There are thoughts thou canst not banish; |
By a power to thee unknown, | |
Thou canst never be alone; | |
Thou art wrapt as with a shroud, | |
Thou art gather’d in a cloud; | |
210 | And for ever shalt thou dwell |
In the spirit of this spell. | |
Though thou seest me not pass by, | |
Thou shalt feel me with thine eye | |
As a thing that, though unseen, | |
215 | Must be near thee, and hath been; |
And when in that secret dread | |
Thou hast turn’d around thy head, | |
Thou shalt marvel I am not | |
As thy shadow on the spot, | |
220 | And the power which thou dost feel |
Shall be what thou must conceal. | |
And a magic voice and verse | |
Hath baptized thee with a curse; | |
And a spirit of the air | |
225 | Hath begirt thee with a snare; |
In the wind there is a voice | |
Shall forbid thee to rejoice; | |
And to thee shall Night deny | |
All the quiet of her sky; | |
230 | And the day shall have a sun, |
Which shall make thee wish it done. | |
From thy false tears I did distil | |
An essence which hath strength to kill; | |
From thy own heart I then did wring | |
235 | The black blood in its blackest spring; |
From thy own smile I snatch’d the snake, | |
For there it coil’d as in a brake; | |
From thy own lip I drew the charm | |
Which gave all these their chiefest harm; | |
240 | In proving every poison known, |
I found the strongest was thine own. | |
By thy cold breast and serpent smile, | |
By thy unfathom’d gulfs of guile, | |
By that most seeming virtuous eye, | |
245 | By thy shut soul’s hypocrisy; |
By the perfection of thine art | |
Which pass’d for human thine own heart; | |
By thy delight in others’ pain, | |
And by thy brotherhood of Cain, | |
250 | I call upon thee! and compel |
Thyself to be thy proper Hell! | |
And on th head I pour the vial | |
Which doth devote thee to this trial; | |
Nor to slumber, nor to die, | |
255 | Shall be in thy destiny; |
Though thy death shall still seem near | |
To thy wish, but as a fear; | |
Lo! the spell now works around thee, | |
And the clankless chain hath bound thee; | |
260 | O’er thy heart and brain together |
Hath the word been pass’d – now wither! | |
SCENE II | |
The Mountain of the Jungfrau. — Time, Morning. | |
MANFRED | |
The spells which I have studied baffle me — | |
The remedy I reck’d of tortured me; | |
I lean no more on super-human aid, | |
5 | It hath no power upon the past, and for |
The future, till the past be gulf’d in darkness, | |
It is not of my search. – My mother Earth! | |
And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains, | |
Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye. | |
10 | And thou, the bright eye of the universe, |
That openest over all, and unto all | |
Art a delight – thou shin’st not on my heart. | |
And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge | |
I stand, and on the torrent’s brink beneath | |
15 | Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs |
In dizziness of distance; when a leap, | |
A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring | |
My breast upon its rocky bosom’s bed | |
To rest for ever – wherefore do I pause? | |
20 | I feel the impulse – yet I do not plunge; |
I see the peril — yet do not recede; | |
And my brain reels – and yet my foot is firm: | |
There is a power upon me which withholds, | |
And makes it my fatality to live; | |
25 | If it be life to wear within myself |
This barrenness of spirit, and to be | |
My own soul’s sepulchre, for I have ceased | |
To justify my deeds unto myself— | |
The last infirmity of evil. Ay, | |
30 | 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 | |
Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone | |
Where the eye cannot follow thee; but thine |