Manfred (With Byron's Biography). Lord Byron

Oh! I but thus prolonged my words, Boasting these idle attributes, because As I approach the core of my heart's grief— But—to my task. I have not named to thee100 Father or mother, mistress, friend, or being, With whom I wore the chain of human ties; If I had such, they seemed not such to me— Yet there was One——

      Witch. Spare not thyself—proceed.

      Man. She was like me in lineaments—her eyes— Her hair—her features—all, to the very tone Even of her voice, they said were like to mine; But softened all, and tempered into beauty: She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind110 To comprehend the Universe: nor these Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears—which I had not; And tenderness—but that I had for her; Humility—and that I never had. Her faults were mine—her virtues were her own— I loved her, and destroyed her!

      Witch. With thy hand?

      Man. Not with my hand, but heart, which broke her heart; It gazed on mine, and withered. I have shed Blood, but not hers—and yet her blood was shed;120 I saw—and could not stanch it.

      Witch. And for this— A being of the race thou dost despise— The order, which thine own would rise above, Mingling with us and ours,—thou dost forego The gifts of our great knowledge, and shrink'st back To recreant mortality——Away!

Man. Daughter of Air! I tell thee, since that hour— But words are breath—look on me in my sleep, Or watch my watchings—Come and sit by me! My solitude is solitude no more,130 But peopled with the Furies;—I have gnashed My teeth in darkness till returning morn, Then cursed myself till sunset;—I have prayed For madness as a blessing—'tis denied me. I have affronted Death—but in the war Of elements the waters shrunk from me,136 And fatal things passed harmless; the cold hand Of an all-pitiless Demon held me back, Back by a single hair, which would not break. In Fantasy, Imagination, all140 The affluence of my soul—which one day was A Croesus in creation—I plunged deep, But, like an ebbing wave, it dashed me back Into the gulf of my unfathomed thought. I plunged amidst Mankind—Forgetfulness137 I sought in all, save where 'tis to be found— And that I have to learn—my Sciences, My long pursued and superhuman art, Is mortal here: I dwell in my despair— And live—and live for ever.az

      Witch. It may be150 That I can aid thee.

      Man. To do this thy power Must wake the dead, or lay me low with them. Do so—in any shape—in any hour— With any torture—so it be the last.

      Witch. That is not in my province; but if thou Wilt swear obedience to my will, and do My bidding, it may help thee to thy wishes.

      Man. I will not swear—Obey! and whom? the Spirits Whose presence I command, and be the slave Of those who served me—Never!

      Witch. Is this all?160 Hast thou no gentler answer?—Yet bethink thee, And pause ere thou rejectest.

      Man. I have said it.

      Witch. Enough! I may retire then—say!

      Man. Retire! The Witch disappears.

Man. (alone). We are the fools of Time and Terror: Days Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die. In all the days of this detested yoke— This vital weight upon the struggling heart, Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pain, Or joy that ends in agony or faintness—170 In all the days of past and future—for In life there is no present—we can number How few—how less than few—wherein the soul Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws back As from a stream in winter, though the chillba Be but a moment's. I have one resource Still in my science—I can call the dead, And ask them what it is we dread to be: The sternest answer can but be the Grave, And that is nothing: if they answer not—180 The buried Prophet answered to the Hag Of Endor; and the Spartan Monarch drew From the Byzantine maid's unsleeping spirit An answer and his destiny—he slew That which he loved, unknowing what he slew, And died unpardoned—though he called in aid The Phyxian Jove, and in Phigalia roused The Arcadian Evocators to compel The indignant shadow to depose her wrath, Or fix her term of vengeance—she replied190 In words of dubious import, but fulfilled.138 If I had never lived, that which I love Had still been living; had I never loved, That which I love would still be beautiful, Happy and giving happiness. What is she? What is she now?—a sufferer for my sins— A thing I dare not think upon—or nothing. Within few hours I shall not call in vain— Yet in this hour I dread the thing I dare: Until this hour I never shrunk to gaze200 On spirit, good or evil—now I tremble, And feel a strange cold thaw upon my heart. But I can act even what I most abhor, And champion human fears.—The night approaches. Exit.

Scene III.—The summit of the Jungfrau Mountain.

      Enter First Destiny.

      The Moon is rising broad, and round, and bright;

And here on snows, where never human foot139 Of common mortal trod, we nightly tread, And leave no traces: o'er the savage sea, The glassy ocean of the mountain ice, We skim its rugged breakers, which put on The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam, Frozen in a moment140—a dead Whirlpool's image: And this most steep fantastic pinnacle, The fretwork of some earthquake—where the clouds10 Pause to repose themselves in passing by— Is sacred to our revels, or our vigils; Here do I wait my sisters, on our way To the Hall of Arimanes—for to-night Is our great festival141—'tis strange they come not.

      A Voice without, singing.

      The Captive Usurper,

       Hurled down from the throne,

       Lay buried in torpor,

       Forgotten and lone;

       I broke through his slumbers,20

       I shivered his chain,

       I leagued him with numbers—

       He's Tyrant again!

       With the blood of a million he'll answer my care,

With a Nation's destruction—his flight and despair!142

      Second Voice, without.

      The Ship sailed on, the Ship sailed fast,

       But I left not a sail, and I left not a mast;

       There is not a plank of the hull or the deck,

       And there is not a wretch to lament o'er his wreck;

       Save one, whom I held, as he swam, by the hair,30

       And he was a subject well worthy my care;

A traitor on land, and a pirate at sea—143 But I saved him to wreak further havoc for me!

      First Destiny, answering.

      The City lies sleeping;

       The morn, to deplore it,

       May dawn on it weeping:

       Sullenly, slowly,

       The black plague flew o'er it—