And couldst say much; thou hast dwelt within the castleHow many years is't? Manuel. Ere Count Manfred's birth, I served his father, whom he nought resembles. Her. There be more sons in like predicament. But wherein do they differ? Manuel. I speak not Of features or of form, but mind and habits; A gloomy vigil, but a festal time, Merrier than day; he did not walk the rocks Her. Beshrew the hour, But those were jocund times! I would that such As if they had forgotten them. Manuel. These walls Must change their chieftain first. Oh! I have seen Her. Come, be friendly; Relate me some to while away our watch: I've heard thee darkly speak of an event Which happen'd hereabouts, by this same tower. "Twas twilight, as it may be now, and such On Eigher's pinnacle, so rested then, So like that might be the same; the wind Abbot. Where is your master? Abbot. I must speak with him. Hush! who comes here? Enter the ABBOT. Yonder, in the tower 'Tis impossible; Upon myself I tako Thou hast seen him once He is most private, and must not be thus Abbot. The forfeit of my fault, if fault there be― Her. is eve already. Abbot. Herman! I command thee, Knock, and apprise the Count of my approach. Her. We dare not. Of my own purpose. I pray you pause. Albot. Manuel. Then it seems I must be herald And I will tell you further. Interior of the Tower. MANFRED alone. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops I learn'd the language of another world. Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome; While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old ! The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule 'Twas such a night! 'Tis strange that I recall it at this time; Abbot. Enter the ABBOT. My good lord, I crave a second grace for this approach; 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. Abbot. • Man. What dost thou see? Abbot. Man. Not I; What dost mean? Look there! 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. And I reply 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 thesa 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 Man. Pronounce-what is thy mission? Spirit. Come! Abbot. What art thou, unknown being? answer!-speak! The power which summons me. Who sent thee here? I have commanded Things of an essence greater far than thine, Get thee hence! Spirit. Mortal! thine hour is come-Away! I say. 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 thee in the name Spirit. Old man! We know ourselves, our mission, and thine order; It were in vain: this man is forfeited. Once more I summon him-Away! away! Nor will I hence, while I have earthly breath Reluctant mortal! Spirit. Man. Thou false fiend, thou liest! My life is in its last hour;-that I know, Spirit. Have made thee Man. But thy many crimes What are they to such as thee? Must crimes be punish'd but by other crimes, And greater criminals --Back to the hell! Thou hast no power upon me, that I feel; A torture which could nothing gain from thine: 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 white; Man. 'Tis over-my dull eyes can fix thee not; Abbot. [MANFRED expires. Abbot. He's gone-his soul hath ta'en his earthless flight→→ Whither? I dread to think-but he is gone, BRIGHT BE THE PLACE OF THY SOUL. BRIGHT be the place of thy soul ! On earth thou wert all but divine, As thy soul shall immortally be; And our sorrow may cease to repine, When we know that thy God is with thee. Light be the turf of thy tomb! There should not be the shadow of gloom |