By its abruptness-all it hath of ill May light upon your head-could I say heart— But is not yet all lost. MAN. Thou know'st me not; My days are number'd, and my deeds recorded: ABBOT. Thou dost not mean to menace me? I simply tell thee peril is at hand, And would preserve thee. Аввот. MAN. What dost thou see? Not I; What dost thou mean? Look there! Аввот. MAN. Nothing. Look there, I say, 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 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! Never-till I have battled with this fiend:- MAN. Why-ay-what doth he here? I did not send for him, he is unbidden. 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 ABBOT. What art thou, unknown being? answer!— speak! SPIRIT. The genius of this mortal.-Come! 't is 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! ΜΑΝ. I have commanded Things of an essence greater far than thine, 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— SPIRIT. Old man! We know ourselves, our mission, and thine order; It were in vain: this man is forfeited. SPIRIT. Reluctant mortal! Is this the Magian who would so pervade MAN. Thou false fiend, thou liest! My life is in its last hour,—that I know, And length of watching, strength of mind, and skill And gave ye no supremacy: I stand Upon my strength-I do defy-deny- SPIRIT. Have made thee But thy many crimes MAN. What are they to such as thee? Is its own origin of ill and end, And its own place and time; its innate sense, Born from the knowledge of its own desert. Thou didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt me; But was my own destroyer, and will be [The Demons disappear. ABBOT. Alas! how pale thou art-thy lips are whiteAnd thy breast heaves-and in thy gasping throat The accents rattle. Give thy prayers to Heaven— 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 Аввот. Cold-cold-even to the heart— But yet one prayer-Alas! how fares it with thee? MAN. Old man! 't is 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. |