My way of life leads me but rarely down To bask by the huge hearths of those old halls, Which step from out our mountains to their doors, C. HUN. Well, sir, pardon me the question, And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; "Tis of an ancient vintage; many a day "T has thaw'd my veins among our glaciers, now Let it do thus for thine-Come, pledge me fairly. MAN. Away, away! there's blood upon the brim! Will it then never-never sink in the earth? C. HUN. What dost thou mean? thy senses wander from thee. MAN. I say 'tis blood-my blood! the pure warm stream 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, Where thou art not-and I shall never be. C. HUN. Man of strange words, and some half-mad dening sin, Which makes thee people vacancy, whate'er Thy dread and sufferance be, there's comfort yet- MAN. Patience and patience! Hence—that word was made For brutes of burthen, not for birds of prey; Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine,— I am not of thine order. C. HUN. Thanks to heaven! I would not be of thine for the free fame Of William Tell; but whatsoe'er thine ill, Space and eternity-and consciousness, With the fierce thirst of death-and still unslaked! C. HUN. Why, on thy brow the seal of middle Hath scarce been set; I am thine elder far. age MAN. Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break, Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness. C. HUN. Alas! he's mad-but yet I must not leave him. MAN. I would I were for then the things I see Would be but a distemper'd dream. C. HUN. What is it That thou dost see, or think thou look'st upon? MAN. Myself, and thee-a peasant of the Alps Thy humble virtues, hospitable home, And spirit patient, pious, proud and free; Thy self-respect, grafted on innocent thoughts; This do I see-and then I look within It matters not-my soul was scorch'd already! C. HUN. And wouldst thou then exchange thy lot for mine ? MAN. No, friend! I would not wrong thee, nor ex change 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. C. HUN. And with this 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 ΜΑΝ. Oh! no, no, no! My injuries came down on those who loved me— embrace was fatal. But my C. HUN. Heaven give thee rest! And penitence restore thee to thyself; My prayers shall be for thee. MAN. I need them not, But can endure thy pity. I depart "Tis time-farewell!-Here's gold, and thanks for theeNo words-it is thy due.-Follow me not I know my path-the mountain peril's past : And once again, I charge thee, follow not! [Exit MANFRED. SCENE II. A lower Valley in the Alps. A Cataract. Enter MANFred. It is not noon-the sunbow's rays (1) still arch |