O'er earth, the whole, or portion, or a sign
Which shall control the elements, whereof
We are the dominators, each and all,

These shall be thine.

Man.

Oblivion, self-oblivion

Can ye not wring from out the hidden realms
Ye offer so profusely what I ask?

Spirit. It is not in our essence, in our skill;
But-thou mayst die.

Man.

Will death bestow it on me?

Spirit. We are immortal, and do not forget;

We are eternal; and to us the past

Is, as the future, present. Art thou answer'd?

Man. Ye mock me- but the power which brought ye

here

Hath made you mine. Slaves, scoff not at my will!
The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark,
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 ye what I am.

Spirit. We answer as we answer'd; our reply

Is even in thine own words.

Man.

Why say ye so?,

Spirit. If, as thou say'st, thine essence be as ours We have replied in telling thee, the thing

Mortals call death hath nought to do with us.

Man. I then have call'd ye from your realms in vain

Ye cannot, or ye will not, aid me.

Spirit.

What we possess we offer; it is thine:

Bethink ere thou dismiss us, ask again

Say;

Kingdom, and sway, and strength, and length of days
Man. Accursed! what have I to do with days?

They are too long already. Hence - begone!

;

Spirit. Yet pause: being here, our will would do thee service;

Bethink thee, is there then no other gift

Which we can make not worthless in thine eyes?

Man. No, none: yet stay one moment, ere we part —

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,
Or one, or all, in your accustom'd forms.

Spirit. We have no forms, beyond the elements

Of which we are the mind and principle:

But choose a form in that we will appear.

Man. I have no choice; there is no form on earth
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. (Appearing in the shape of a beautiful female figure.) Behold!

Man. Oh God! if it be thus, and thou Art not a madness and a mockery,

I yet might be most happy. I will clasp thee,

And we again will be

My heart is crush'd!

[The figure vanishes.

[MANFRED falls senseless.

(A voice is heard in the Incantation which follows.)

When the moon is on the wave,

And the glow-worm in the grass,
And the meteor on the grave,

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,
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,
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;
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,
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,

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

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;
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
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;
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,
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,
I call upon thee! and compel
Thyself to be thy proper Hell!

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;
O'er thy heart and brain together

Hath the word been pass'd

now wither!

SCENE II.

The Mountain of the Jungfrau. - Time, Morning. -MAN-
FRED alone upon the Cliffs.

Man. The spirits I have raised abandon me
The spells which I have studied baffle me
The remedy I reck'd of tortured me ;

I lean no more on super-human aid,

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.

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
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
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;

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,

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
Yet pierces downward, onward, or above,

Beautiful!

With a pervading vision.

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 mix'd 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,

[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,

Oh, that I were

Mix'd with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd;
My soul would drink those echoes.
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 reach'd
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.

Man. (not perceiving the other.) To be thus -
Gray-hair'd with anguish, like these blasted pines,
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 furrow'd o'er
With wrinkles, plough'd 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