The drooping courser, faint and low,

All feebly foaming went.

A sickly infant had had power
To guide him forward in that hour;

But useless all to me.

His new-born tameness naught avail'd, My limbs were bound; my force had fail'd, Perchance, had they been free.

With feeble effort still I tried

To rend the bonds so starkly tied—
But still it was in vain;

My limbs were only wrung the more,
And soon the idle strife gave o'er,

Which but prolong'd their pain:
The dizzy race seem'd almost done,
Although no goal was nearly won:

Some streaks announced the coming sun-
How slow, alas! he came !
Methought that mist of dawning gray
Would never dapple into day;
How heavily it roll'd away

Before the eastern flame

Rose crimson, and deposed the stars,
And call'd the radiance from their cars,
And fill'd the earth, from his deep throne,
With lonely lustre, all his own.

XVII.

"Up rose the sun; the mists were cur"d
Back from the solitary world
Which lay around-behind-before;
What bootea it to traverse o'er
Plain, forest, river? Man nor bruto,
Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot,
Lay in the wild luxuriant soil;
No sign of travel-none of toil;
The very air was mute;

And not an insect's shrill small horn,
Nor matin bird's new voice was borne
From herb nor thicket. Many a werst,
Panting as if his heart would burst,
The weary brute still stagger'd on;
And still we were-or seem'd-alone :
At length, while reeling on our way,
Methought I heard a courser neigh,
From out yon tuft of blackening firs.
Is it the wind those branches stirs ?
No, no! from out the forest prance
A trampling troop; I see them come!
In one vast squadron they advance!

I strove to cry-my lips were dumb.
The steeds rush on in plunging pride;
But where are they the reins to guide?
A thousand horse-and none to ride!
With flowing tail, and flying mane,
Wide nostrils-never stretch'd by pain,
Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,
And feet that iron never shod,
And flanks unscarr'd by spur or rod,
A thousand horse, the wild, the free,
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
Came thickly thundering on,
As if our faint approach to meet;
The sight re-nerved my courser's feet,
A moment staggering, feebly fleet,
A moment, with a faint low neigh,
He answer'd, and then fell ;
With gasps and glazing eyes he lay,
And reeking limbs immoveable,

His first and last career is done!

On came the troop-they saw him stoop, They saw me strangely bound along His back with many a bloody thong

They stop-thuy start-they snuff the air,
Gallop a moment here and there,
Approach, retire, wheel round and round,
Then plunging back with sudden bound,
Headed by one black mighty steed,

Who seem'd the patriarch of his breed,

Without a single speck or hair

Of white upon his shaggy hide;

They snort-they foam-neigh-swerve aside, And backward to the forest fly,

By instinct, from a human eye.

They left me there, to my despair,
Link'd to the dead and stiffening wretch,
Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch,
Relieved from that unwonted weight,
From whence I could not extricate
Nor him nor me-and there we lay
The dying on the dead!

I little deem'd another day

Would see my houseless, helpless head.

"And there from morn till twilight bound,

I felt the heavy hours toil round,
With just enough of life to see
My last of suns go down on me,
In hopeless certainty of mind,
That makes us feel at length resign'd
To that which our foreboding years
Presents the worst and last of fears
Inevitable-even a boon,

Nor more unkind for coming soon;
Yer shunn'd and dreaded with such care,
As if it only were a snare

That prudence might escape:

At times both wish'd for and implored,
At times sought with self-pointed sword,
Yet still a dark and hideous close
To even intolerable woes,

And welcome in no shape.

And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure,
They who have revell'd beyond measure
In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure,
Die calm, or calmer, oft than he
Whose heritage was misery:

For he who hath in turn run through

All that was beautiful and new,

Hath naught to hope, and naught to leave; And, save the futue, (which is view'd Not quite as men are base or good,

But as their nerves may be endued,)

With naught perhaps to grieve :— The wretch still hopes his woes must end, And Death, whom he should deem his friend, Appears, to his distemper'd eyes, Arrived to rob him of his prize, The tree of his new paradise. To-morrow would have given him all, Repaid his pangs, repair'd his fall; To-morrow would have been the first Of days no more deplored or curst, But bright, and long, and beckoning years, Seen dazzling through the mist of tears, Guerdon of many a painful hour; To-morrow would have given him power To rule, to shine, to smite, to saveAnd must it dawn upon his grave?

I cast my last looks up the sky,

And there between me and the sun

I saw the expecting raven fly,

Who scarce could wait till both should die,
Ere his repast begun;

He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more,
And each time nearer than before;
I saw his wing through twilight flit,
And once so near me he alit

I could have smote, but lack'd the strength; But the slight motion of my hand,

And feeble scratching of the sand,
The exerted throat's faint struggling noise
Which scarcely could be called a voice,

Together scared him off at length.

I know no more-my latest dream
Is something of a lovely star

Which fix'd my dull eyes from afar,
And went and came with wandering beam,
And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense
Sensation of recurring sense,

And then subsiding back to death,
And then again a little breath,

A little thrill, a short suspense,

An icy sickness curdling o'er

My heart, and sparks that cross'd my brain-
A gasp, a throb, a start of pain,
A sigh, and nothing more.

XIX.

?

"I woke Where was I?-Do I see
A human face look down on me?
And doth a roof above me close?
Do these limbs on a couch repose
Is this a chamber where I lie?
And is it mortal yon bright eye,
That watches me with gentle glance?
I closed my own again once more,
As doubtful that the former trance

Could not as yet be o'er.

A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tall,
Sate watching by the cottage wall;
The sparkle of her eye I caught,
Even with my first return of thought
For ever and anon she threw

A prying, pitying glance on me
With her black eyes so wild and free:
I gazed, and gazed, until I knew
No vision it could be,-

But that I lived, and was released
From adding to the vulture's feast:
And when the Cossack maid beheld
My heavy eyes at length unseal'd,

She smiled-and 1 essay'd to speak,

But fail'd-and she approach'd, and made With lip and finger signs that said, I must not strive as yet to break The silence, till my strength should be Enough to leave my accents free; And then her hand on mine she laid, And smooth'd the pillow for my head, And stole along on tiptoe tread,

And gently oped the door, and spake In whispers ne'er was voice so sweet! Even music follow'd her light feet;

But those she call'd were not awake, And she went forth; but, ere she pass'd, Another look on me she cast,

Another sign she made, to say,
That I had naught to fear, that all
Were near, at my command or call,
And she would not delay

Her due return:-while she was gone,
Methought I felt too much alone.

xx.

"She came with her mother and with sire—
What need of more ?—I will not tire
With long recital of the rest,
Since I became the Cossack's guest:
They found me senseless on the plain

They bore me to the nearest hut-
They brought me into life again-
Me-one day o'er their realm to reign!
Thus the vain fool who strove to glut
Hit rage, refining on my pain,

Sent me forth to the wilderness,
Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone,
To

pass the desert to a throne,-
What mortal his own doom may guess
Let none despond, let none despair!
To-morrow the Borysthenes

May see our coursers graze at ease
Upon his Turkish bank,-and never
Had I such welcome for a river

2.

As I shall yield when safely there. Comrades, good night!"-The Hetman thre His length beneath the oak-tree shade, With leafy couch already made,

A bed nor comfortless nor new
To him, who took his rest whene'er
The hour arrived, no matter where:
His eyes the hastening slumbers steep.
And if ye marvel Charles forgot
To thank his tale, he wonderod not,-
The king had been an hour asleep.

SCENE I.-MANFRED alone-Scene, a Gothic Gallery-Time, Midnight.

Man. THE lamp must be replenish'd, but even then
It will not burn so long as I must watch:
My slumbers-if I slumber—are not sleep,
But a continuance of enduring thought,
Which then I can resist not: in my heart
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close
To look within; and yet I live, and bear
The aspect and the form of breathing men.
But grief should be the instructer of the wise;
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most,
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of life.
Philosophy and science, and the springs
Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world,
I have essay'd, and in my mind there is
A power to make these subject to itself-
But they avail not: I have done men good,
And I have met with good even among men-
But this avail'd not: I have had my foes,
And none have baffled, many fallen before me-
But this avail'd not: Good or evil, life,
Powers, passions, all I see in other beings,
Have been to me as rain unto the sands
Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread,
And feel the curse to have no natural fear,

Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes,
Or lurking love of something on the earth.-
Now to my task.———

Mysterious Agency!
Ye spirits of the unbounded Universe!

Whom I have sought in darkness and in light-
Ye, who do compass earth about, and dwell

In subtler essence-ye, to whom the tops

Of mountains inaccessible are haunts,

And earth's and ocean's caves familiar things

I call upon ye by the written charm

Which gives me power upon you-Rise! appear!

[A pause.

They come not yet.-Now by the voice of him
Who is the first among you by this sign,
Which makes you tremble-by the claims of him
Who is un lying,-Rise! appear!-Appear!

[A pause.

If it be so.--Spirits of earth and air,
Ye shall not thus elude me: by a power,
Deeper than all yet urged, a tyrant-spell,
Which had its birthplace in a star condemn'd,
The burning wreck of a demolish'd world,
A wandering hell in the eternal space;
By the strong curse which is upon my soul,
The thought which is within me and around me,
I do compel ye to my will.-Appear!

[A star is seen at the darker end of the gallery; it is stationary; and a voice is heard singing. FIRST SPIRIT.

Mortal! to thy bidding bow'd,
From my mansion in the cloud,
Which the breath of twilight builds,
And the summer's sunset gilds
With the azure and vermilion,
Which is mix'd for my pavilion;
Though thy quest may be forbidden,
On a star-beam I have ridden;
To thine adjuration bow'd,
Mortal-be thy wish avow'd.

Voice of the SECOND SPIRIT.
Mount Blanc is the monarch of mountain

They crown'd him long ago

On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
With a diadem of snow.

Around his waist are forests braced,

The Avalanche in his hand;

But ere it fall, that thundering ball
Must pause for my command.

The Glacier's cold and restless mass
Moves onward day by day;
But I am he who bids it pass,
Or with its ice delay.

I am the spirit of the place,
Could make the mountain bow
And quiver to his cavern'd base-
And what with me wouldst Thou?

Voice of the THIrd Spirit.
In the blue depth of the waters,
Where the wave hath no strife,
Where the wind is a stranger,

And the sea-snake hath life,
Where the mermaid is decking
Her green hair with shells;
Like the storm on the surface
Came the sound of thy spells;
O'er my calm Hall of Coral
The deep echo roll'd-
To the Spirit of Ocean
Thy wishes unfold!

FOURTH SPIRIT.

Where the slumbering earthquake

Lies pillow'd on fire,

And the lakes of bitumen

Rise boilingly higher.

Where the roots of the Andes

Strike deep in the earth,
As their summits to heaven
Shoot soaringly forth;
I have quitted my birthplace,
Thy bidding to bide-
Thy spell hath subdued me,
Thy will be my guide!

FIFTH SPIRIT.

I am the Rider of the wind,
The Stirrer of the storm;
The hurricane I left behind

Is yet with lightning warm;

To speed to thee, o'er shore and sea

I swept upon the blast:

The fleet I met sail'd well, and yet "Twill sink ere night be past.

SIXTH SPIRIT.

My dwelling is the shadow of the night, Why doth thy magic torture me with light?

SEVENTH SPIRIT.

The star which rules thy destiny Was ruled, ere earth began, by me; It was a world as fresh and fair As e'er revolved round sun in air, Its course was free and regular, Space bosom'd not a lovelier star. The hour arrived-and it became A wandering mass of shapeless flame, A pathless comet, and a curse, The menace of the universe; Still rolling on with innate force, Without a sphere, without a course! A bright deformity on high, The monster of the upper sky!

And thou! beneath its influence born-
Thou worm! whom I obey and scorn-
Forced by a power, (which is not thine
And lent thee but to make thee mine,)
For this brief moment to descend,
Where these weak spirits round thee bend
And parley with a thing like thee-
What wouldst thou, Child of Clay! with me?

Spirit. If, as thou say'st, thine essence be as ours, We have replied in telling thee, the thing Mortals call death hath naught to do with us.

Man. I then have call'd ye from Ye cannot, or ye will not, aid me. Spirit.

your

realms in vain

Say;

What we possess we offer; it is thine:
Bethink ere thou dismiss us, ask again-
Kingdom, and sway, and strength, and length of days-
Man. Accursed! what have I to do with days?
They are too long already.-Hence-begone!

Spirit. Yet pause: being here, our will would de thee service;

Bethink thee, is there then no other gift

Which we can make not worthless in thine eyes?

Man. No, none: yet stay-one moment, ere we part-
I would behold ye face to face. I hear
Your voices, sweet and melancholy sounds,
As music on the waters; and I see
The steady aspect of a clear large star;
But nothing more. Approach me as ye are,
Or one, or all, in your accustom'd forms.

Spirit. We have no forms beyond the elements
Of which we are the mind and principle:
But choose a form-in that we will appear.

Man. I have no choice; there is no form on earth
Hideous or beautiful to me. Let him,
Who is most powerful of ye, take such aspect
As unto him may seem most fitting-Come!
Seventh Spirit. (Appearing in the shape of a
beautiful female figure.) Behold!
Man. Oh God! if it be thus, and thou
Art not a madness and a mockery,

I yet might be most happy. I will clasp thee,
And we again will be-

[The figure vanishes.
My heart is crush'd!
[MANFRED falls senseless.

(A voice is heard in the Incantation which fellows.) When the moon is on the wave,

And the glow-worm in the grass,
And the meteor on the grave,
And the wisp on the morass;
When the falling stars are shooting,
And the answer'd owls are hooting,
And the silent leaves are still
In the shadow of the hill,
Shall my soul be upon thine,
With a power and with a sign.

Though thy slumber may be deep,
Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;

There are shades which will not vanish,
There are thoughts thou canst not banish
By a power to thee unknown,
Thou canst never be alone;

Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,
Thou art gather'd in a cloud;
And for ever shalt thou dwell
In the spirit of this spell.

Though thou seest me not pass by,
Thou shalt feel me with thine eye
As a thing that, though unseen,
Must be near thee, and hath been;
And when in that secret dread
Thou hast turn'd around thy head,

And a magic voice and verse
Hath baptized thee with a curse
And a spirit of the air

Hath begirt thee with a snare;
In the wind there is a voice
Shall forbid thee to rejoice;
And to thee shall Night deny
All the quiet of her sky;

And the day shall have a sun,
Which shall make thee wish it done.

From thy false tears I did distil

An essence which hath strength to kill,
From thy own heart I then did wring
The black blood in its blackest spring;
From thy own smile I snatch'd the snake,
For there it coil'd as in a brake;
From thy own lip I drew the charın
Which gave all these their chiefest harm;
In proving every poison known,
I found the strongest was thine own.

By thy cold breast and serpent smile,
By thy unfathom'd gulfs of guile,
By that most seeming virtuous eye,
By thy shut soul's hypocrisy ;
By the perfection of thine art

Which pass'd for human thine own heart;
By thy delight in other's pain,

And by thy brotherhood of Cain,
I call upon thee! and compel
Thyself to be thy proper Hell!

And on thy head I pour the vial
Which doth devote thee to this trial;
Nor to slumber, nor to die,
Shall be in thy destiny;

Though thy death shall still seem near
To thy wish, but as a fear;

Lo! the spell now works around thee,
And the clankless chain hath bound thee;
O'er thy heart and brain together

Hath the word been pass'd--now wither!

SCENE II.-The Mountain of the Jungfrau-Time,
Morning.-MANFRED alone upon the Cliffs.
Man. The spirits I have raised abandon me—
The spells which I have studied baffle me→
The remedy I reck'd of tortured me;

I lean no more on super-human aid,

It hath no power upon the past, and for

The future, till the past be gulf'd in darkness,

It is not of my search.-My mother Earth!

And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains,
Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye.
And thou, the bright eye of the universe,
That openest over all, and unto all
Art a delight-thou shin'st not on my heart.
And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge
I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath
Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs
In dizziness of distance; when a leap,
A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring
My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed
To rest for ever-wherefore do I pause?
I feel the impulse-yet I do not plunge;

I see the peril-yet do not recede;

And my brain reels-and yet my foot is firm:
There is a power upon me which withholds,
And makes it my fatality to live;

If it be life to wear within myself

Whose happy flight is highest into heaven,
Well may'st thou swoop so near me--I should be
Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone
Where the eye cannot follow thee; but thine
Yet pierces downward, onward, or above,
With a pervading vision.-Beautiful!
How beautiful is all this visible world!
How glorious in its action and itself!

But

we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, Half dust, half deity, alike unfit

To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make
A conflict of its elements, and breathe
The breath of degradation and of pride,
Contending with low wants and lofty will,
Till our mortality predominates,

And men are-what they name not to themselves,
And trust not to each other. Hark! the note,

[The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard The mutual music of the mountain reed-For here the patriarchal days are not

A pastoral fable-pipes in the liberal air,
Mix'd with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd
My soul would drink those echoes.—Oh, that I were
The viewless spirit of a lovely sound,

A living voice, a breathing harmony,

A bodiless enjoyment-born and dying
With the blest tone which made me!

Enter from below a CHAMOIS HUNTER.
Chamois Hunter.

Even 90

This way the chamois leapt her nimble feet
Have baffled me; my gains to-day will scarce
Repay my breakneck travail.-What is here?
Who seems not of my trade, and yet hath reach'd
A height which none even of our mountaineers,
Save our best hunters, may attain: his garb
Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air
Proud as a freeborn peasant's, at this distance-
I will approach him nearer.

Man. (not perceiving the other.) To be thus-
Gray-hair'd with anguish, like these blasted pines,
A blighted trunk upon a cursed root,
Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless,
Which but supplies a feeling to decay-
And to be thus, eternally but thus,
Having been otherwise! Now furrow'd o'er
With wrinkles, plough'd by moments, not by years
And hours--all tortured into ages-hours
Which I outlive!-ye topling crags of ice!
Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down

In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me

I hear ye momently above, beneath,

Crash with a frequent conflict; but ye pass,
And only fall on things that still would live;
On the young flourishing forest, or the hut
And hamlet of the harmless villager.

C. Hun. The mists begin to rise from up the valley;
I'll warn him to descend, or he may chance
To lose at once his way and life together.

Man. The mists boil up around the glaciers; cionds
Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury
Like foam from the roused ocean of deep Hell,

Whose every wave breaks on a living shore,
Heap'd with the damn'd like pebbles.—I am giddy.
C. Hun. I must approach him cautiously; if nra,
A sudden step will startle him, and he
Seems tottering already.

Man.

Mountains have fallen,

Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock