35 | Yet pierces 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, | |
40 | 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, | |
45 | Till our mortality predominates, |
And men are – what they name not to themselves, | |
And trust not to each other. Hark! the note, | |
[ | |
The natural music of the mountain reed — | |
For here the patriarchal days are not | |
50 | A pastoral fable – pipes in the liberal air, |
Mix’d 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, | |
55 | A bodiless enjoyment – born and dying |
With the blest tone which made me! | |
[ | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
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? | |
60 | 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 – | |
65 | I will approach him nearer. |
MANFRED | |
Grey-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 – | |
70 | 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! | |
75 | 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 that still would live; | |
80 | On the young flourishing forest, or the hut |
And hamlet of the harmless villager. | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
I’ll warn him to descend, or he may chance | |
To lose at once his way and life together. | |
85 | MANFRED |
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. | |
90 | CHAMOIS HUNTER |
A sudden step will startle him, and he | |
Seems tottering already. | |
MANFRED | |
Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock | |
Rocking their Alpine brethren; filling up | |
95 | 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 – | |
100 | Why stood I not beneath it? |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
Your next step may be fatal! — for the love | |
Of him who made you, stand not on that brink! | |
MANFRED | |
My bones had then been quiet in their depth; | |
105 | 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 | |
110 | CHAMOIS HUNTER |
Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood – | |
Away with me — I will not quit my hold. | |
MANFRED | |
I am all feebleness – the mountains whirl | |
115 | Spinning around me — I grow blind — What art thou? |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
The clouds grow thicker — there – now lean on me – | |
Place your foot here – here, take this staff, and cling | |
A moment to that shrub – now give me your hand, | |
120 | And hold fast by my girdle – softly – well – |
The Chalet will be gain’d 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, ’tis bravely done – | |
125 | You should have been a hunter. – Follow me. |
[ |
Act II | |
SCENE I | |
A | |
[ | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER: | |
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 – | |
5 | But whither? |
MANFRED | |
My route full well, and need no further guidance. | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
One of the many chiefs, whose castled crags | |
Look o’er the lower valleys — which of these | |
10 | 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, | |
15 | I know from childhood – which of these is thine? |
MANFRED | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; | |
Tis of an ancient vintage; many a day | |
’T has thawed my veins among our glaciers, now | |
20 | Let it do thus for thine – Come, pledge me fairly. |
MANFRED | |
Will it then never — never sink in the earth? | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
MANFRED | |
25 | 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, | |
30 | Where thou art not – and I shall never be. |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
Which makes thee people vacancy, whate’er | |
Thy dread and sufferance be, there’s comfort yet — | |
The aid of holy men, and heavenly patience — | |
35 | MANFRED |
For brutes of burthen, not for birds of prey; | |
Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine, — | |
I am not of thine order. | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
I would not be of thine for the free fame | |
40 | Of William Tell; but whatsoe’er thine ill, |
It must be borne, and these wild starts are useless. | |
MANFRED | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
MANFRED | |
45 | Many long years, but they are nothing now |
To those which I must number: ages – ages – | |
Space and eternity – and consciousness, | |
With the fierce thirst of death – and still unslaked! | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
50 | Hath scarce been set; I am thine elder far. |
MANFRED | |
It doth; but actions are our epochs: mine | |
Have made my days and nights imperishable, | |
Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore, | |
55 | 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. | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
60 | MANFRED |
Would be but a distemper’d dream. | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
That thou dost see, or think thou look’st upon? | |
MANFRED | |
Thy humble virtues, hospitable home, | |
65 | 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, | |
70 | 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! | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
75 | MANFRED |
My lot with living being: I can bear – | |
However wretchedly, ’tis still to bear — | |
In life what others could not brook to dream, | |
But perish in their slumber. | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
80 | 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? | |
MANFRED | |
My injuries came down on those who loved me – | |
85 | On those whom I best loved: I never quell’d |
An enemy, save in my just defence – | |
My wrongs were all on those I should have cherished | |
But my embrace was fatal. | |
CHAMOIS HUNTER | |
And penitence restore thee to thyself; | |
90 | My prayers shall be for thee. |
MANFRED | |
But can endure thy pity. I depart – | |
’Tis time – farewell! – 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: | |
95 | And once again, I charge thee, follow not! |
[ | |
SCENE II | |
A lower Valley in the Alps. – A Cataract. | |
[ | |
It is not noon – the sunbow’s rays | |
The torrent with the many hues of heaven, | |
And roll the sheeted silver’s waving column | |
O’er the crag’s headlong perpendicular, | |
5 | 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; | |
10 | 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. | |
[ | |
Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light, | |
And dazzling eyes of glory in whose form | |
15 | 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, | |
20 | 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. | |
25Beautiful 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 | |
30 | 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 | |
I know thee, and the powers which give thee power; | |
I know thee for a man of many thoughts, | |
35 | 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? | |
MANFRED |