But why should I repeat it? 't were in vain.
Witch. I know not that; let thy lips utter it.
Man. Well, though it torture me, 't is but the same;
My pang shall find a voice. From my youth upwards
My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men,
Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes;
The thirst of their ambition was not mine,
The aim of their existence was not mine;
My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers,
Made me a stranger; though I wore the form,
I had no sympathy with breathing flesh,
Nor 'midst the creatures of clay that girded me
Was there but one who--but of her anon.
I said with men, and with the thoughts of men,
I held but slight communion; but instead,
My joy was in the wilderness, to breathe,
The difficult air of the iced mountain's top,
Where the birds dare not build, for insect's wing
Flit o'er the herbless granite; or to plunge
Into the torrent, and to roll along

On the swift whirl of the new-breaking wave
Of river-stream, or ocean, in their flow;
In these my early strength exulted; or

To follow through the night the moving moon,
The stars and their developement; or catch
The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim;
Or to look, list'ning, on the scatter'd leaves,
While autumn winds were at their evening song:
These were my pastimes, and to be alone;
For if the beings, of whom I was one,—
Hating to be so,-cross'd me in my path,
I felt myself degraded back to them,
And was all clay again. And then I dived,
In my lone wanderings, to the caves of death,
Searching its cause in its effect; and drew
From wither'd bones, and skulls, and heap'd-up dust,

passage; and both the apparition and the dialogue are so managed, that the sense of their improbability is swal lowed up in that of their beauty; and, without actually be lieving that such spirits exist or communicate themselves, we feel for the moment as if we stood in their presence." Jeffrey.-L. E.

(1) The philosopher Jamblicus. The story of the raising of Eros and Anteros may be found in his life by Eunapius. It is well told.-["It is reported of him," says Eunapius, "that while he and his scholars were bathing in the hot baths of Gadara in Syria, a dispute arising concerning the baths, he, smiling, ordered his disciples to ask the inhabitants by what names the two lesser springs, that were nearer and handsomer than the rest, were called. To which the inhabitants replied, that the one was called Eros, and the other Anteros, but for what reason they knew not.' Upon which Jamblicus, sitting by one of the springs, put his hand in the water, and, muttering some few words to himself, called up a fair-complexioned-boy, with gold-coloured locks dangling from his back and breast, so that he looked like one that was washing: and then, going to the other spring, and doing as he had done before, called up another Cupid, with darker and more dishevelled hair: upon which both the Cupids clung about Jamblicus; but he presently sent them back to their proper places. After this, his friends submitted their belief to him in every thing." L. E.

Conclusions most forbidden. Then I pass'd
The nights of years in sciences untaught,
Save in the old time; and with time and toil,
And terrible ordeal, and such penance
As in itself hath power upon the air,
And spirits that do compass air and earth,
Space, and the peopled infinite, 1 made
Mine eyes familiar with eternity,

Such as, before me, did the Magi, and

He who from out their fountain-dwellings raised
Eros and Anteros, (1) at Gadara,

As I do thee;-and with my knowledge grew
The thirst of knowledge, and the power and joy
Of this most bright intelligence, until-
Witch. Proceed.

Man.

Oh! I but thus prolong'd my words, Boasting these idle attributes, because As I approach the core of my heart's grief— But to my task. I have not named to thee Father or mother, mistress, friend, or being, With whom I wore the chain of human ties; If I had such, they seem'd not such to me-Yet there. was one

Witch.

Spare not thyself-proceed.
Man. She was like me in lineaments-her eyes.
Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone
Even of her voice, they said were like to mine;
But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty;

She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings,
The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind
To comprehend the universe: nor these
Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine,
Pity, and smiles, and tears-which I had not;
And tenderness-but that I had for her;
Humility and that I never had.

Her faults were mine--her virtues were her own-
I loved her, and destroy'd her!

Witch.

With thy hand?

(2) "There has always been, from the first publication of Manfred, a strange misapprehension with respect to it in the public mind. The whole poem has been misunderstood. and the odious supposition, that ascribes the fearful mystery and remorse of the hero to a foul passion for his sister, is probably one of those coarse imaginations which have grown out of the calumnies and accusations heaped upon the author. How can it have happened, that none of the critics have noticed that the story is derived from the human sacrifices supposed to have been in use among the students of the black art? Human sacrifices were supposed to be among the initiate propitiations of the demons that have their purposes in magic-as well as compacts signed with the blood of the self-sold. There was also a dark Egyptian art, of which the knowledge and the efficacy could only be obtained by the noviciate's procuring a voluntary victim-the dearest object to himself, and to whom he also was the dearest; and the primary spring of Byron's tragedy lies, 1 conceive, in a sacrifice of that kind having been performed, without obtaining that happiness which the votary expected would be found in the knowledge and power purchased at such a price. His sister was sacrificed in vain. The manner of the sacrifice is not divulged. but it is darkly insinuated to have been done amidst the perturbations of something horrible." Galt.-P. E.

Mingling with us and ours,-thou dost forego
The gifts of our great knowledge, and shrink'st back
To recreant mortality-Away!

Man. Daughter of Air! I tell thee, since that hour-
But words are breath-look on me in my sleep,
Or watch my watchings-Come and sit by me!
My solitude is solitude no more,

But peopled with the Furies. I have gnash'd
My teeth in darkness till returning morn,
Then cursed myself till sunset ;-I have pray'd
For madness as a blessing-'t is denied me.
I have affronted death-but in the war
Of elements the waters shrunk from me,
And fatal things pass'd harmless-the cold hand
Of an all-pitiless demon held me back,
Back by a single hair, which would not break.
In fantasy, imagination, all

The affluence of my soul-which one day was
A Croesus in creation-I plunged deep,
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 superhuman art,
Is mortal here--I dwell in my despair-
And live and live for ever.
Witch.
It may be

That I can aid thee. Man.

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.

Man. I will not swear-Obey! and whom? the spirits Whose presence I command, and be the slave Of those who served me-Never!

(1) See antè, p. 257. n. —L. E.

(2) The story of Pausanias, king of Sparta (who com. manded the Greeks at the battle of Platea, and afterwards perished for an attempt to betray the Lacedæmonians), and Cleonice, is told in Plutarch's life of Cimon, and in the Laconics of Pausanias the sophist, in his description of Greece. -The following is the passage from Plutarch-"It is related, that when Pausanias was at Byzantium, he cast his eyes upon a young virgin named Cleonice, of a noble family there, and insisted on having her for a mistress. The parents, intimidated by his power. were under the hard necessity of giving up their daughter. The young woman begged that the light might be taken out of his apartments, that she might go to his bed in secrecy and silence. When she entered he was asleep, and she unfortunately stumbled upon the candlestick, and threw it down. The noise waked him suddenly, and he, in his confusion, thinking it was an enemy coming to assassinate him, unsheathed a dagger that lay by him, and plunged it into the virgin's heart. After

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; (1) 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 fulfilld. (2)
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.

SCENE III.

The Summit of the Jungfrau Mountain.

Enter FIRST DESTINY.

[Exit.

this, he could never rest. Her image appeared to him every night, and with a menacing tone repeated this heroic verse: Go to the fate which pride and lust prepare.' The allies, highly incensed at this infamous action, joined Cimon to besiege him in Byzantium. But he found means to escape thence; and, as he was still haunted by the spectre, he is said to have applied to a temple at Heraclea, where the manes of the dead were consulted. There he invoked the spirit of Cleonice, and entreated her pardon. She appeared, and told him he would soon be delivered from all his troubles, after his return to Sparta:' in which, it seems, his death was enigmatically foretold. These particulars we have from many historians."-Langhorne's Plutarch, vol. iii. p. 279." Thus we find," adds the translator, "that it was a custom in the Pagan as well as in the Hebrew theology, to conjure up the spirits of the dead; and that the witch of Endor was not the only witch in the world."L. E.

(3) "Came to a morass; Hobhouse dismounted to get

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-'t is 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,
Envelop 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!

First Des. Welcome!-Where's Nemesis?

First Des.

Enter NEMESIS.

Say, where hast thou been?
My sisters and thyself are slow to-night.
Nem. I was detain'd repairing shatter'd thrones,
Marrying fools, restoring dynasties,
Avenging men upon their enemies,

And making them repent their own revenge;
Goading the wise to madness; from the dull
Shaping out oracles to rule the world
Afresh, for they were waxing out of date,'
And mortals dared to ponder for themselves,
To weigh kings in the balance, and to speak
Of freedom, the forbidden fruit.-Away!

We have outstay'd the hour-mount we our clouds! (1) [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The Hall of Arimanes-Arimanes on his Throne, a Globe of Fire, surrounded by the Spirits.

Hymn of the SPIRITS.

Hail to our master!-Prince of earth and air! Who walks the clouds and waters-in his hand

The sceptre of the elements, which tear

Themselves to chaos at his high command! He breatheth-and a tempest shakes the sea;

He speaketh-and the clouds reply in thunder; He gazeth-from his glance the sunbeams flee; He moveth-earthquakes rend the world asunder. Beneath his footsteps the volcanos rise;

His shadow is the pestilence; his path

The comets herald through the crackling skies; (2) And planets turn to ashes at his wrath.

To him War offers daily sacrifice;

To him Death pays his tribute; Life is his,

With all its infinite of agonies

And his the spirit of whatever is!

Enter the DESTINIES and NEMESIS.
First Des. Glory to Arimanes! on the earth
His power increaseth—both my sisters did
His bidding, nor did I neglect my duty!

Second Des. Glory to Arimanes! we who bow
The necks of men, bow down before his throne.
Third Des. Glory to Arimanes! we await
His nod!

Nem. Sovereign of sovereigns! we are thine,
And all that liveth, more or less, is ours;
And most things wholly so; still to increase
Our power, increasing thine, demands our care,
And we are vigilant-Thy late commands
Have been fulfill'd to the utmost.

The Spirits.

Tear him in pieces!

First Des.

Crush the worm!

Hence! avaunt!-he's mine.

Prince of the powers invisible! this man

Is of no common order, as his port
And presence here denote; his sufferings
Have been of an immortal nature, like

Our own; his knowledge, and his powers and will,
As far as is compatible with clay,
Which clogs the ethereal essence, have been such
As clay hath seldom borne; his aspirations
Have been beyond the dwellers of the earth,
And they have only taught him what we know-
That knowledge is not happiness, and science
But an exchange of ignorance for that
Which is another kind of ignorance.
This is not all—the passions, attributes

Of earth and heaven, from which no power, nor being,
Nor breath, from the worm upwards, is exempt,
Have pierced his heart; and in their consequence
Made him a thing, which I, who pity not,
Yet pardon those who pity. He is mine,
And thine, it may be-be it so, or not,
No other spirit in this region hath

A soul like his-or power upon his soul.
Nem. What doth he here, then?
First Des.
Let him answer that.
Man. Ye know what I have known; and without
I could not be amongst ye: but there are [power
Powers deeper still beyond-I come in quest
Of such, to answer unto what I seek.
Nem. What wouldst thou?
Man.

Thou canst not reply to me.
Call up the dead-my question is for them.
Nem. Great Arimanes, doth thy will avouch
The wishes of this mortal?

Of the form of thy birth,
Of the mould of thy clay,
Which return'd to the earth,
Re-appear to the day!"
Bear what thou borest,

The heart and the form,
And the aspect thou worest

Redeem from the worm.
Appear!-Appear!-Appear!

Who sent thee there requires thee here!

[The Phantom of ASTARTE rises, and stands in the midst.

Man. Can this be death? there's bloom upon her But now I see it is no living hue, [cheek;

But a strange hectic-like the unnatural red
Which Autumn plants upon the perish'd leaf.
It is the same! Oh, God! that I should dread
I cannot speak to her-but bid her speak—
To look upon the same-Astarte!-No,
Forgive me or condemn me.

Astarte! my beloved! speak to me:

I have so much endured-so much endure-
Look on me! the grave hath not changed thee more
Than I am changed for thee. Thou lovedst me
Too much, as I loved thee: we were not made
To torture thus each other, though it were
The deadliest sin to love as we have loved.
Say that thou loathest me not-that I do bear
This punishment for both-that thou wilt be
One of the blessed-and that I shall die;
For hitherto all hateful things conspire
To bind me in existence-in a life
Which makes me shrink from immortality--
A future like the past. I cannot rest.
I know not what I ask, nor what I seek:

I feel but what thou art-and what I am;
And I would hear, yet once before I perish,
The voice which was my music-Speak to me!
For I have call'd on thee in the still night,
Startled the slumbering birds from the hush'd boughs,
And woke the mountain wolves, and made the caves
Acquainted with thy vainly-echoed name,
Which answer'd me--many things answer'd me-
Spirits and men-but thou wert silent all.
Yet speak to me! I have outwatch'd the stars,
And gazed o'er heaven in vain in search of thee.
Speak to me! I have wander'd o'er the earth,
And never found thy likeness-Speak to me!
Look on the fiends around-they feel for me:
I fear them not, and feel for thee alone-
Speak to me! though it be in wrath;-but say-

Man.

Say, shall we meet again?

Phan. Farewell! Man. One word for mercy! Say, thou lovest me. Phan. Manfred!

[The Spirit of ASTARTE disappears. (1) Nem. She's gone, and will not be recall'd; Her words will be fulfill'd. Return to the earth. A Spirit. He is convulsed-This is to be a mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.

Another Spirit. Yet, see, he mastereth himself, and makes

His torture tributary to his will.

Had he been one of us, he would have made
An awful spirit.

Nem.

Hast thou further question

Of our great sovereign, or his worshippers? Man. None.

Nem.

Then for a time farewell.

(1) "Over this fine drama, a moral feeling hangs like a sombrous thunder-cloud. No other guilt but that so darkly shadowed out could have furnished so dreadful an illustra tion of the hideous aberrations of human nature, however noble and majestic, when left a prey to its desires, its passions, and its imagination. The beauty, at one time so innocently adored, is at last soiled, profaned, and violated. Affection, love, guilt, horror, remorse, and death, come in terrible succession, yet all darkly linked together. We think of Astarte as young, beautiful, innocent-guilty-lostmurdered-buried-judged-pardoned; but still, in her permitted visit to earth, speaking in a voice of sorrow, and with a countenance yet pale with mortal trouble. We had but a glimpse of her in her beauty and innocence; but, at last, she rises up before us in all the mortal silence of a ghost, with fixed, glazed, and passionless eyes, revealing death, judgment, and eternity. The moral breathes and burns in every word,-in sadness, misery, insanity, desolation, and death. The work is instinct with spirit,'-and in the agony and distraction, and all its dimly-imagined causes, we behold, though broken up, confused, and shattered, the elements of a purer existence." Wilson.-L. E.

(2) The third Act, as originally written, being shown to the late Mr. Gifford, he expressed his unfavourable opinion of it very distinctly; and Mr. Murray transmitted this to Lord Byron. The result is told in the following extracts from his letters:

Thou mayst retire.

It is well:

[Exit HERMAN. Man. (alone). There is a calm upon meInexplicable stillness! which till now Did not belong to what I knew of life. If that I did not know philosophy To be of all our vanities the motliest, The merest word that ever fool'd the ear From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem The golden secret, the sought "Kalon," found, And seated in my soul. It will not last, But it is well to have known it, though but once: It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense, And I within my tablets would note down That there is such a feeling. Who is there? Re-enter HERMAN.

Her. My lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice craves To greet your presence.

And good intent, must plead my privilege;
Our near though not acquainted neighbourhood
May also be my herald. Rumours strange,
And of unholy nature, are abroad,

And busy with thy name; a noble name
For centuries: may he who bears it now
Transmit it unimpair'd!

Man.

Proceed, I listen. Abbot. "Tis said thou holdest converse with the

things

Which are forbidden to the search of man;

"Venice, April 14, 1817.—The third Act is certainly d-d bad, and, like the Archbishop of Grenada's homily (which savoured of the palsy), has the dregs of my fever, during which it was written. It must on no account be published in its present state. I will try and reform it, or re-write it altogether; but the impulse is gone, and I have no chance of making any thing out of it. The speech of Manfred to the Sun is the only part of this Act I thought good myself; the rest is certainly as bad as bad can be, and I wonder what the devil possessed me. I am very glad, indeed, that you sent me Mr. Gifford's opinion without deduction. Do you suppose me such a booby as not to be very much obliged to him? or that I was not, and am not, convinced and convicted in my conscience of this same overt act of nonsense? I shall try at it again; in the mean time, lay it upon the shelf the whole Drama I mean.-Recollect not to publish, upon pain of 1 know not what, until I have tried again at the third act. I am not sure that I shall try, and still less that I shall succeed if I do."

"Rome, May 5.-1 have re-written the greater part, and returned what is not altered in the proof you sent me. The Abbot is become a good man, and the Spirits are brought in at the death. You will find, I think, some good poetry in this new Act, here and there; and if so, print it, without sending me farther proofs, under Mr. Gifford's correction, if he will have the goodness to overlook it.”—L. E.