But, like an ebbing wave, it dash'd me back
Into the gulf of my unfathom'd thought,
I plunged amidst mankind-Forgetfulness
I sought in all, save where 'tis to be found,
And that I have to learn-my sciences,
My long pursued and super-human art,
Is mortal here—I dwell in my despair—
And live-and live for ever.

WITCH.

That I can aid thee.

ΜΑΝ.

It may be

To do this thy power

Must wake the dead, or lay me low with them.
Do so-in any shape-in any hour-

With any torture-so it be the last.

WITCH. That is not in my province; but if thou Wilt swear obedience to my will, and do

My bidding, it may help thee to thy wishes.

[rits

MAN. I will not swear-Obey! and whom? the spiWhose presence I command, and be the slave

Of those who served me-Never!

WITCH.

Is this all?

Hast thou no gentler answer?--Yet bethink thee,
And pause ere thou rejectest.

MAN.

I have said it.

WITCH. Enough!-I may retire then--say!

MAN.

Retire!

[The WITCH disappears.

MAN. (alone.) We are the fools of time and terror:

Days

Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
In all the days of this detested yoke-

This vital weight upon the struggling heart,

Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pain, Or joy that ends in agony or faintness

In all the days of past and future, for

In life there is no present, we can number
How few-how less than few--wherein the soul
Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws back
As from a stream in winter, though the chill
Be but a moment's. I have one resource.
Still in my science--I can call the dead,
And ask them what it is we dread to be;
The sternest answer can but be the Grave,
And that is nothing--if they answer not--
The buried Prophet answer'd to the Hag
Of Endor; and the Spartan Monarch drew
From the Byzantine maid's unsleeping spirit
An answer and his destiny-he slew
That which he loved, unknowing what he slew,
And died unpardon'd-though he call'd in aid
The Phyxian Jove, and in Phigalia roused
The Arcadian Evocators to compel
The indignant shadow to depose her wrath,
Or fix her term of vengeance--she replied
In words of dubious import, but fulfill'd. (3)

If I had never lived, that which I love

Had still been living; had I never loved,
That which I love would still be beautiful-
Happy and giving happiness. What is she?
What is she now ?-a sufferer for my sins-
A thing I dare not think upon--or nothing.
Within few hours I shall not call in vain---
Yet in this hour I dread the thing I dare:
Until this hour I never shrunk to gaze

On spirit, good or evil---now I tremble,
And feel a strange cold thaw upon my heart,

But I can act even what I most abhor,

And champion human fears.---The night approaches.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

The Summit of the Jungfrau Mountain.

Enter FIRST DESTINY.

The moon is rising broad, and round and bright;
And here on snows, where never human foot
Of common mortal trod, we nightly tread,
And leave no traces; o'er the savage sea,
The glassy ocean of the mountain ice,
We skim its rugged breakers, which put on
The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam,
Frozen in a moment---a dead whirlpool's image;
And this most steep fantastic pinnacle,

The fretwork of some earthquake---where the clouds Pause to repose themselves in passing by

Is sacred to our revels, or our vigils;

Here do I wait my sisters, on our way

To the Hall of Arimanes, for to-night

Is our great festival-'tis strange they come not.

A Voice without, singing.

The Captive Usurper,

Hurl'd down from the throne,

Lay buried in torpor,

Forgotten and lone;

I broke through his slumbers,

I shiver'd his chain,

I leagued him with numbers

He's Tyrant again!

With the blood of a million he'll answer my care, With a nation's destruction-his flight and despair.

Second Voice, without.

The ship sail'd on, the ship sail'd fast,
But I left not a sail, and I left not a mast;
There is not a plank of the hull or the deck,

And there is not a wretch to lament o'er his wreck;
Save one, whom I held, as he swam, by the hair,
And he was a subject well worthy my care;
A traitor on land and a pirate at sea,—

But I saved him to wreak further havoc for me.

FIRST DESTINY, answering.
The city lies sleeping;

The morn, to deplore it,
May dawn on it weeping:
Sullenly, slowly,

The black plague flew o'er it

Thousands lie lowly;

Tens of thousands shall perish-
The living shall fly from
The sick they should cherish:
But nothing can vanquish
The touch that they die from.
Sorrow and anguish,

And evil and dread,

Envelope a nation—

The blest are the dead,

Who see not the sight

Of their own desolation.

This work of a night

This wreck of a realm—this deed of my doing— For ages I've done, and shall still be renewing!

Enter the SECOND and THIRD DESTINIES.

The Three.

Our hands contain the hearts of men,

Our footsteps are their graves;

We only give to take again

The spirits of our slaves!