let me

Try if thou wilt not in a fuller stream
Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself
On earth, to which I will restore at once
This hateful compound of her atoms, and
Resolve back to her elements, and take
The shape of any reptile save myself,
And make a world for myriads of new
worms!

made you

Mine, and for ever, by your suicide;
And yet my coming saves you.
Arnold. I said not

You were the demon, but that your approach
Was like one.

Stranger. Unless you keep company With him (and you seem scarce used to such high

my

Vile form-from the creation, as it hath The green bough from the forest. [Arnold places the knife in the ground, with the point upwards.

Now 'tis set, And I can fall upon it. Yet one glance On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like Myself, and the sweet sun, which warmed me, but

In vain. The birds-how joyously they sing! So let them, for I would not be lamented: But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell ;

The falling leaves my monument; the

The fountain moves without a wind: but shall

The ripple of a spring change my resolve? No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir, Not as with air, but by some subterrane And rocking power of the internal world. What's here? A mist! No more?

[A cloud comes from the fountain. He stands gazing upon it: it is dispelled, and a tall black man comes towards him.

Arnold. What would you? Speak! Spirit or man?

Stranger. As man is both, why not Say both in one?

Arnold. Your form is man's, and yet You may be devil.

Stranger. So many men are that Which is so called or thought, that you may add me

To which you please, without much wrong to either.

But come: you wish to kill yourself;

twain Looks likest what the boors believe to be Their cloven-footed terror.

Arnold. Do you – dare you To taunt me with my born deformity? Stranger. Were I to taunt a buffalo with this

Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary
With thy sublime of humps, the animals
Would revel in the compliment. And yet
Both beings are more swift, more strong,
more mighty

In action and endurance than thyself,
And all the fierce and fair of the same kind
With thee. Thy form is natural: 'twas only
Nature's mistaken largess to bestow
The gifts which are of others upon man.
Arnold. Give me the strength then of
the buffalo's foot,

When he spurns high the dust,beholding his
Near enemy; or let me have the long
And patient swiftness of the desert-ship,
The helm-less dromedary ;-and I'll bear
Thy fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience.
Stranger. I will.

Arnold (with surprise). Thou canst?
Stranger. Perhaps. Would you aught else?
Arnold. Thout mockest me.

Stranger. Not I. Why should I mock What all are mocking? That's poor sport methinks.

To talk to thee in human language (for
Thou canst not yet speak mine), the forester
Hunts not the wretched coney, but the boar,
Or wolf, or lion, leaving paltry game
To petty burghers, who leave once a year
Their walls, to fill their household-cal-
drons with

Such scullion-prey. The meanest gibe at thee,

Now I can mock the mightiest.
Arnold. Then waste not

Thy time on me: I seek thee not.

Stranger. Your thoughts

Are not far from me. Do not send me back:
I am not so easily recalled to do
Good service.

Arnold. What wilt thou do for me?
Stranger. Change

Shapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks you;

Or form you to your wish in any shape.

Arnold. Oh! then you are indeed the demon, for

Nought else would wittingly wear mine. Stranger. I'll show thee

The brightest which the world e'er bore, and give thee

Thy choice.

Arnold. On what condition?

Stranger. There's a question!

An hour ago you would have given your soul To look like other men, and now you pause To wear the form of heroes.

Arnold. No; I will not.

I must not compromise my soul.
Stranger. What soul,

Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcass?

Arnold. 'Tis an aspiring one, whate'er the tenement

In which it is mislodged. But name your compact:

Must it be signed in blood?

Stranger. Not in your own.
Arnold. Whose blood then?

Stranger. We will talk of that hereafter. But I'll be moderate with you, for I see Great things within you. You shall have no bond

But your own will, no contract save your

deeds.

Are you content?

Arnold. I take thee at thy word.
Stranger. Now then!-

[The Stranger approaches the fountain,
and turns to Arnold.

A little of your blood,
Arnold. For what?
Stranger. To mingle with the magic
of the waters,

And make the charm effective.

Arnold (holding out his wounded arm).
Take it all.

Stranger. Not now. A few drops will
suffice for this.

[The Stranger takes some of Arnold's blood in his hand, and casts it into the fountain.

Shadows of Beauty!

Shadows of Power!

Rise to your duty

This is the hour!

Walk lovely and pliant

From the depth of this fountain,
As the cloud-shapen giant

Bestrides the Hartz-mountain.
Come as ye were,

That our eyes may behold

The model in air

Of the form I will mould,

Bright as the Iris

When ether is spann'd ;

Such his desire is, [Pointing to Arnold.

Such my command!

Demons heroic

Demons who wore

The form of the Stoic
Or Sophist of yore-
Or the shape of each Victor,
From Macedon's boy

To each high Roman's picture,
Who breathed to destroy-
Shadows of Beauty!

Shadows of Power! Up to your dutyThis is the hour!

[Various Phantoms arise from the waters and pass in succession before the Stranger and Arnold.

Arnold. What do I see?

Stranger. The black-eyed Roman, with The eagle's beak between those eyes which

ne'er

Beheld a conqueror, or look'd along The land he made not Rome's, while Rome became

His, and all theirs who heir'd his very name. Arnold. The Phantom's bald; my quest is beauty. Could I

Inherit but his fame with his defects! Stranger. His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs.

You see his aspect-choose it or reject.
I can but promise you his form; his fame
Must be long sought and fought for.
Arnold. I will fight too,

But not as a mock- Cæsar. Let him pass;
His aspect may be fair, but suits me not.
Stranger. Then you are far more diffi-
cult to please

Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus' mother,
Or Cleopatra at sixteen-an age
When love is not less in the eye than heart.
But be it so! Shadow, pass on!

[The Phantom of Julius Cæsar disappears. Arnold. And can it

Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone And left no footstep?

Stranger. There you err. His substance Left graves enough, and woes enough, and fame

More than enough to track his memory;
But for his shadow, 'tis no more than yours,
Except a little longer and less crooked
I' the sun. Behold another!

[A second Phantom passes. Arnold. Who is he?

Stranger. He was the fairest and the
bravest of

Athenians. Look upon him well.
Arnold. He is

More lovely than the last. How beautiful!
Stranger. Such was the curled son of
Clinias ;-wouldst thou

Invest thee with his form?

Arnold. Would that I had

Been born with it! But since I may choose further,

I will look further.

[The Shade of Alcibiades disappears.

Let him fleet on

Stranger. Be air, thou hemlock-drinker! [The Shadow of Socrates disappears: another rises.

Arnold. What's here? whose broad brow
and whose curly beard

And manly aspect look like Hercules,
Save that his jocund eye hath more of
Bacchus

Than the sad Purger of the infernal world,
Leaning dejected on his club of conquest,
As if he knew the worthlessness of those
For whom he had fought.

Stranger. It was the man who lost The ancient world for love.

Arnold. I cannot blame him, Since I have risked my soul because I find not

That which he exchanged the earth for.
Stranger. Since so far

You seem congenial, will you wear his features?

Arnold. No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult,

If but to see the heroes I should ne'er Have seen else on this side of the dim shore

Whence they float back before us.
Stranger. Hence, Triumvir!
Thy Cleopatra 's waiting.

[The Shade of Anthony disappears

another rises.

Arnold. Who is this? Who truly looketh like a demigod, Blooming and bright, with golden hair, and stature,

If not more high than mortal, yet immortal In all that nameless bearing of his limbs, Which he wears as the Sun his rays-a something

Which shines from him, and yet is but the flashing

Emanation of a thing more glorious still. Was he e'er human only?

Stranger. Let the earth speak,

If there be atoms of him left, or even
Of the more solid gold that formed his urn.
Arnold. Who was this Glory of mankind?
Stranger. The shame

Of Greece in peace, her thunderbolt in war—
Demetrius the Macedonian and
Taker of cities.

Arnold. Yet one shadow more. Stranger (addressing the Shadow). Get thee to Lamia's lap!

[The Shade of Demetrius Poliorcetes vanishes: another riscs.

Stranger. I'll fit you still,

Fear not, my Hunchback. If the shadows of That which existed please not your nice

taste,

I'll animate the ideal marble, till
Your soul be reconciled to her new garment.
Arnold. Content! I will fix here.
Stranger. I must commend
Your choice. The god-like son of the Sea-
Goddess,

The unshorn boy of Peleus, with his locks
As beautiful and clear as the amber-waves
Of rich Pactolus rolled o'er sands of gold,
Softened by intervening crystal, and
Rippled like flowing waters by the wind,
All vowed to Sperchius as they were-be-
hold them!

| And him-as he stood by Polixena, With sanctioned and with softened love,

before

The altar, gazing on his Trojan bride, With some remorse within for Hector slain And Priam weeping, mingled with deep passion

For the sweet downcast virgin, whose young hand

Trembled in his who slew ber brother. So He stood i' the temple! Look upon him as Greece look'd her last upon her best, the instant

Ere Paris' arrow flew.

Arnold. I gaze upon him

As if I were his soul, whose form shall soon Envelop mine.

Stranger. You have done well. The greatest

Deformity should only barter with
The extremest beauty, if the proverb's true
Of mortals, that extremes meet.
Arnold. Come! Be quick!

I am impatient.

Stranger. As a youthful beauty Before her glass. You both see what is not, But dream it is what must be.

Arnold. Must I wait?

Stranger. No; that were pity. But a word or two:

His stature is twelve cubits: would you so far
Outstep these times, and be a Titan? Or
(To talk canonically) wax a Son
Of Anak?

Arnold. Why not?
Stranger. Glorious ambition!

I love thee most in dwarfs. A mortal of
Philistine stature would have gladly pared
His own Goliath down to a slight David;
But thou, my manikin, wouldst soar a show
Rather than hero. Thou shalt be indulged,
If such be thy desire; and yet by being
A little less removed from present men
In figure, thou canst sway them more; for all
Would rise against thee now, as if to hunt
A new found mammoth; and their cursed
engines,

Their culverins and so forth, would find way Through our friend's armour there, with greater ease

Than the adulterer's arrow through his heel
Which Thetis had forgotten to baptise
In Styx.

Arnold. Then let it be as thou deem'st best. Stranger. Thou shalt be beauteous as the thing thou seest,

And strong as what it was, and—

Arnold. I ask not

encase

This daring soul, which could achieve no less Without it?

Arnold. Had no Power presented me
The possibility of change, I would
Have done the best which Spirit may, to make
Its way, with all deformity's dull, deadly,
Discouraging weight upon me, like a moun-
tain,

In feeling,on my heart as on my shoulders-
A hateful and unsightly molehill to
The eyes of happier man. I would have
looked

On beauty in that sex which is the type
Of all we know or dream of beautiful
Beyond the world they brighten with a sigh
Not of love but despair; nor sought to win,
Though to a heart all love, what could

not love me

Master of my own life, and quick to quit it; And he who is so, is the master of Whatever dreads to die.

Stranger. Decide between What you have been, or will be. Arnold. I have done so.

You have open'd brighter prospects to my eyes,

And sweeter to my heart. As I am now,
I might be feared, admired, respected, loved
Of all save those next to me, of whom I
Would be beloved. As thou showest me
A choice of forms, I take the one I view.
| Haste! haste!

Stranger. And what shall I wear?
Arnold. Surely he

Who can command all forms, will choose the highest,

Something superior even to that which was
Pelides now before us. Perhaps his
Who slew him, that of Paris: or-still
higher-

The poet's God, clothed in such limbs as are
Themselves a Poetry.

Stranger. Less will content me; For I too love a change.

Arnold. Your aspect is Dusky, but not uncomely. Stranger. If I chose,

I might be whiter; but I have a penchant
For black-it is so honest, and besides
Can neither blush with shame nor pale
with fear:

But I have worn it long enough of late,
And now I'll take your figure.
Arnold. Mine!

Stranger. Yes. You

Shall change with Thetis' son, and I with Bertha

Your mother's offspring. People have their tastes;

You have yours—I mine.

Arnold. Despatch! despatch!
Stranger. Even so.

[The Stranger takes some earth and
moulds it along the turf. And

then addresses the Phantom of
Achilles.

Beautiful Shadow
Of Thetis's boy!

Who sleeps in the meadow
Whose grass grows o'er Troy,
From the red carth, like Adam,
Thy likeness I shape,

As the Being who made him,
Whose actions I ape.
Thou clay, be all glowing,
Till the rose in his cheek
Be as fair as, when blowing,
It wears its first streak!
Ye violets, I scatter,
Now turn into eyes!
And thou sunshiny water,

Of blood take the guise!
Let these hyacinth boughs
Be his long, flowing hair,
And wave o'er his brows,

As thou wavest in air!
Let his heart be this marble
I tear from the rock!
But his voice as the warble
Of birds on yon oak!
Let his flesh be the purest
Of mould, in which grew
The lily-root surest,

And drank the best dew!
Let his limbs be the lightest
Which clay can compound!
And his aspect the brightest

On earth to be found!
Elements, near me,

Be mingled and stirred,
Know me, and hear me,
And leap to my word!
Sunbeams, awaken

This earth's animation!
'Tis done! He hath taken
His stand in Creation!
[Arnold falls senseless; his soul
passes into the shape of Achilles,
which rises from the ground;
while the Phantom has disappear-
ed, part by part, as the figure
was formed from the earth.
Arnold (in his new form). I love, and I
shall be beloved! Oh life!

At last I feel thee! Glorious spirit!

Stranger. Stop! What shall become of your abandoned garment,

Your hump, and lump, and clod of ugliness, Which late you wore, or were?

Arnold. Who cares! Let wolves And vultures take it, if they will. Stranger. And if

They do, and are not scared by it, you'll say It must be peace-time, and no better fare Abroad i' the fields.

Arnold. Let us but leave it there, No matter what becomes on't. Stranger. That's ungracious,

If not ungrateful. Whatsoe'er it be,

It hath sustained your soul full many a day. Arnold. Aye, as the dunghill may con

ceal a gem

Which is now set in gold,as jewels should be. Stranger. But if I give another form, it

must be

By fair exchange, not robbery. For they

Who make men without women's aid, have long

Had patents for the same, and do not love Your interlopers. The devil may take men, Not make them,-though he reap the benefit Of the original workmanship:—and therefore

Some one must be found to assume the shape You have quitted.

Arnold. Who would do so? Stranger. That I know not, And therefore I must.

Arnold. You!

Stranger. I said it ere

You inhabited your present dome of beauty. Arnold. True. I forget all things in the new joy

Of this immortal change.

Stranger. In a few moments

I will be as you were, and you shall see Yourself for ever by you, as your shadow. Arnold. I would be spared this. Stranger. But it cannot be.

What! shrink already, being what you are, From seeing what you were?

Arnold. Do as thou wilt.

Stranger (to the late form of Arnold, estended on the earth).

Clay! not dead, but soul-less!
Though no man would choose thee,
An immortal no less

Designs not to refuse thee.
Clay thou art; and unto spirit
All clay is of equal merit.

Fire! without which nought can live;
Fire! but in which nought can live,
Save the fabled salamander,
Or immortal souls which wander,
Praying what doth not forgive,
Howling for a drop of water,

Burning in a quenchless lots
Fire! the only element

Where nor fish, beast, bird, nor worm, Save the worm which dieth not, Can preserve a moment's form, But must with thyself be blent: Fire! man's safeguard and his slaughter: Fire! Creation's first-born daughter,

And Destruction's threatened son, When Heaven with the world hath done: Fire! assist me to renew

Life in what lies in my view

Stiff and cold!

His resurrection rests with me and you! One little, marshy spark of flame— And he again shall seem the same; But I his spirit's place shall hold! An Ignis-fatuus flits through the wood, and rests on the brow of the body. The Stranger disappears: the body rises. Arnold (in his new form). Oh! horrible! Stranger (in Arnold's late shape). What! tremblest thou?