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 that still would live ;
On the young flourishing forest, or the hut
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,
Heap'd with the damn'd like pebbles.

I am giddy.
C. Hun. I must approach him cautiously; if near,
A sudden step will 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 crush'd 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?

Friend! have a care,

for the love

Of him who made you, stand not on that brink!
Man. (not hearing him.)

a fitting tomb;

Such would have been for me

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 reproachfully-

Ye 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! though aweary of thy life, Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood

Away with me

Man. I am most I am all feebleness Spinning around me

I will not quit my hold.
sick at heart

- nay, grasp me not the mountains whirl

C. Hun. I'll answer that anon.
The clouds grow thicker there.
Place foot here
your

Away with me
now lean on me—

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 gained 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, 't is bravely done -
You should have been a hunter. - Follow me.

1

[As they descend the rocks with difficulty, the scene closes.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Cottage amongst the Bernese Alps.

MANFRED and the CHAMOIS HUNTER.

C. Hun. No, no-yet pause thou must not yet go

forth:

Thy mind and body are alike unfit

To trust each other, for some hours, at least;
When thou art better, I will be thy guide -

But whither?

Man.

It imports not I do know

My route full well, and need no further guidance.

C. Hun. Thy garb and gait bespeak thee of high lin

eage

One of the many chiefs, whose castled crags
Look o'er the lower valleys which of these
May call thee lord? I only know their portals;
My way of life leads me but rarely down
To bask by the huge hearths of those old halls,
Carousing with the vassals; but the paths,

Which step from out our mountains to their doors,
I know from childhood which of these is thine?
Man. No matter.

C. Hun.

Well, sir, pardon me the question, And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; 'T is of an ancient vintage; many a day

'T has thawed my veins among our glaciers, now Let it do thus for thine Come, pledge me fairly.

Man. Away, away! there 's blood upon the brim ! Will it then never never sink in the earth?

C. Hun. What dost thou mean? thy senses wander from thee.

Man. I say 't is blood-my blood! the pure warn

stream

Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours

When we were in our youth, and had one heart,
And loved each other as we should not love,

And this was shed: but still it rises up,

Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven,
Where thou art not- and I shall never be.

C. Hun. Man of strange words, and some half-maddening sin,

Which makes thee people vacancy, whate'er

Thy dread and sufferance be, there 's comfort yet —
The aid of holy men, and heavenly patience

Man. Patience and patience! Hence - that word was

made

For brutes of burthen, not for birds of prey;
Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine,

'I am not of thine order.

C. Hun.

Thanks to heaven!

I would not be of thine for the free fame
Of William Tell; but whatsoe'er thine ill,

It must be borne, and these wild starts are useless.
Man. Do I not bear it? - Look on me — I live.
C. Hun. This is convulsion, and no healthful life.
Man. I tell thee, man! I have lived many years,
Many long years, but they are nothing now
To those which I must number: ages
Space and eternity and consciousness,

ages

With the fierce thirst of death and still unslaked!
C. Hun. Why, on thy brow the seal of middle age
Hath scarce been set; I am thine elder far.

Man. Think'st thou existence doth depend on time?
It doth; but actions are our epochs: mine
Have made my days and nights imperishable,
Endless, and all alike, as sunds on the shore,
Innumerable atoms; and one desert,

Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break,
But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks,
Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness.

[him.

C. Hun. Alas! he 's mad - but yet I must not leave Man. I would I were for then the things I see

Would be but a distemper'd dream.

C. Hun.

What is it

That thou dost see, or think thou look'st upon?

Man. Myself, and thee a peasant of the Alps Thy humble virtues, hospitable home,

And spirit patient, pious, proud, and free;

Thy self-respect, grafted on innocent thoughts;
Thy days of health, and nights of sleep; thy toils,
By danger dignified, yet guiltless; hopes
Of cheerful old age and a quiet grave,
With cross and garland over its green turf,
And thy grandchildren's love for epitaph;
This do I see · and then I look within

It matters not -my soul was scorch'd already!

Tmine?

C. Hun. And would'st thou then exchange thy lot for
Man. No, friend! I would not wrong thee, nor exchange

My lot with living being: I can bear

However wretchedly, 't is still to bear

In life what others could not brook to dream,

But perish in their slumber.

C. Hun.

And with this

This cautious feeling for another's pain,

Canst thou be black with evil? — say not so.
Can one of gentle thoughts have wreak'd revenge
Upon his enemies?

Man.

Oh! no, no, no!

My injuries came down on those who loved me
On those whom I best loved: I never quell'd
An enemy, save in my just defence —

But my embrace was fatal.

C. Hun.

Heaven give thee rest!

And penitence restore thee to thyself;
My prayers shall be for thee.

Man.

But can endure thy pity. I depart 'T is time farewell!

I need them not,

Here's gold and thanks for thee

No words - it is thy due.-Follow me not-
I know my path - the mountain peril's past :
And once again, I charge thee, follow not!

SCENE II.

A lower Valley in the Alps. A Cataract.
Enter MANFRed.

It is not noon -the sunbow's rays (1) still arch

The torrent with the many hues of heaven,

[Exit MAN

(1) This iris is formed by the rays of the sun over the lower part of the Alpine

VOL. IV.-C

And roll the sheeted silver's waving column
O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular,
And fling its lines of foaming light along,
And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail,
The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death,
As told in the Apocalypse. No eyes
But mine now drink this sight of loveliness;
I should be sole in this sweet solitude,
And with the Spirit of the place divide
The homage of these waters.-

I will call her.

[MANFRED takes some of the water into the palm of· his hand, and flings it into the air, muttering the adjuration. After a pause, the WITCH OF THE ALPS rises beneath the arch of the sunbow of the torrent.. Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light,

And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form
The charms of earth's least mortal daughters grow
To an unearthly stature, in an essence

Of purer elements; while the hues of youth, -
Carnation'd like a sleeping infant's cheek,
Rock'd by the beating of her mother's heart,
Or the rose tints, which summer's twilight leaves
Upon the lofty glacier's virgin snow,

The blush of earth embracing with her heaven, -
Tinge thy celestial aspect, and make tame

-

The beauties of the sunbow which bends o'er thee.
Beautiful Spirit! in thy calm clear brow,
Wherein is glass'd serenity of soul,
Which of itself shows immortality,

I read that thou wilt pardon to a Son

Of Earth, whom the abstruser powers permit
At times to commune with them if that he
Avail him of his spells to call thee thus,

And gaze on thee a moment.

Witch.

Son of Earth!

I know thee, and the powers which give thee power;
I know thee for a man of many thoughts,

And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both,
Fatal and fated in thy sufferings.

I have expected this

what would'st thou with me?

Man. To look upon thy beauty-nothing further.
The face of the earth hath madden'd me, and I

Take refuge in her mysteries, and pierce

To the abodes of those who govern her

torrents: it is exactly like a rainbow come down to pay a visit, and so close that you may walk into it: this effect lasts till noon.