Did not belong to what I knew of life. 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 But it is well to have known it, though but once: Re-enter HERMAN. My lord, the abbot of St. Maurice craves To greet your presence. Enter the ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE. ABBOT. Peace be with Count Manfred! MAN. Thanks, holy father! welcome to these walls; Thy presence honours them, and blesseth those Who dwell within them. Аввот. Would it were so, Count!— But I would fain confer with thee alone. MAN. Herman, retire. What would my reverend guest? ABBOT. Thus, without prelude:--Age and zeal, my office, And good intent, must plead my privilege; Our near, though not acquainted neighbourhood, And busy with thy name; a noble name For centuries; may he who bears it now Transmit it unimpair'd! ΜΑΝ. Proceed, I listen. ABBOT. 'Tis said thou holdest converse with the things Which are forbidden to the search of man; That with the dwellers of the dark abodes, Which walk the valley of the shade of death, MAN. And what are they who do avouch these things? Even thy own vassals—who do look on thee ABBOT. I come to save, and not destroy— But if these things be sooth, there still is time With the true church, and through the church to heaven. I may have been, or am, doth rest between Against your ordinances? prove and punish! ABBOT. My son! I did not speak of punishment, But penitence and pardon;-with thyself The choice of such remains-and for the last, Have given me power to smooth the path from sin To higher hope and better thoughts; the first MAN. Old man! there is no power in holy men, Nor charm in prayer-nor purifying form Of penitence-nor outward look-nor fastagony-nor, greater than all these, Nor The innate tortures of that deep despair, Would make a hell of heaven-can exorcise From out the unbounded spirit, the quick sense Can deal that justice on the self-condemn'd He deals on his own soul. Аввот. All this is well; For this will pass away, and be succeeded up With calm assurance to that blessed place, And all our church can teach thee shall be taught; 1 MAN. When Rome's sixth Emperor was near his last, The victim of a self-inflicted wound, To shun the torments of a public deatli "It is too late-is this fidelity ?" ABBOT. And what of this? MAN. "It is too late!" Аввот. I answer with the Roman It never can be So, To reconcile thyself with thy own soul, And thy own soul with heaven. Hast thou no hope? To make my own the mind of other men, I knew not whither-it might be to fall; |