And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth:-there let him.
lay.
The armaments which thunder-strike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs makė
The clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
CLXXXII.
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save
thee-
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts:-not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' playTime writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou roll'st now. CLXXXIII.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's
form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving;-boundless, endless, and su-
blime-
The image of eternity-the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless,
alone.
And I have loved thee, ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy
I wanton'd with thy breakers-they to me
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear,
For I was as it were a child of thee,
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do be.
A Gothic Gallery.-Time, Midnight.
MANFRED (alone.)
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.
My task is done-my song hath sd- Ay But grief should be the instructor of the wise: theme
Has died into an echo; it is fit
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,
The spell should break of this protracted 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-
The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit
My midnight lamp-and what is writ, is writ,
Would it were worthier! but I am not now
That which I have been-and my visions flit
Less palpably before me-and the glow
Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and 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 undying,--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 birth-place 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
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.]
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.
Mont-Blanc is the monarch of mountains, 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, the 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'dTo the Spirit of Ocean Thy wishes unfold!
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 birth-place,
Thy bidding to bide-
Thy spell hath subdued me,
Thy will be my guide!
FIFTH SPIRIT.
I'm 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.
My dwelling is the shadow of the night, Why doth thy magic torture me with light?
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 partly with a thing like thee-
What wouldst thou, child of clay, with me?
What we possess we offer; it is thine:
Bethink ere thou dismiss us, ask again-
Kingdom, and sway, and strength, and length of
days-
Accursed! what have I to do with days? They are too long already.-Hence-begone!
Yet pause: being here, our will would do thee service;
Bethink thee, is there then no other gift
Which we can make not worthless in thine eyes?
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.
We have no forms beyond the elements Of which we are the mind and principle: But choose a form-in that we will appear.
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!
(Appearing in the shape of a beautiful female figure.)
Art not a madness and a mockery, Oh God! if it be thus, and thou
And we again will be-
I yet might be most happy.-I will clasp thee,
[The figure vanishes.
My heart is crush'd!
[MANFRED falls senseless.
(A voice is heard in the Incantation which follows.)
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;
Thou shalt marvel I am not,
As thy shadow on the spot,
And the power which thou dost feel
Shall be what thou must conceal.
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 charm
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 that shut soul's hypocrisy;
By the perfection of thine art,
Which pass'd for human thine own heart;
By thy delight in others' 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!
The Mountain of the Jungfrau.-Time, Morning. -MANFRED alone upon the cliffs.
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 he gulf'd in darkness,
It is not of my search.-My mother earth!
And thou, fresh breaking day, and you, fe
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 shinest 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
This barrenness of spirit, and to be
My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased
To justify my deeds unto myself-
The last infirmity of evil. Ay,
Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister,
[An eagle passes.
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 natural music of the mountain reedFor 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
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.
This way the chamois leapt : her nimble feet
Have baffled me; my gains to-day will scarce
Repay my break-neck 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 free-born peasant's, at this distance.—
I will approach him nearer.
Look not upon me thus reproachfully
Ye were not meant for me-) -Earth! take these atoms!
[As MANFRED is in act to spring from the
CHAMOIS HUNTER.
Well, sir, pardon me the question,
And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; 'Tis of an ancient vintage; many a day
cliff, the CHAMOIS HUNTER seizes and re-'T has thaw'd my veins among our glaciers, now
tains him with a sudden grasp.]
Let it do this for thine-Come, pledge me fairly.
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