The Works of Lord Byron Volume IV Part 17

_C. Hun_. I'll answer that anon.--Away with me---- The clouds grow thicker----there--now lean on me-- Place your foot here--here, take this staff, and cling A moment to that shrub--now give me your hand, And hold fast by my girdle--softly--well-- 120 The Chalet will be gained within an hour: Come on, we'll quickly find a surer footing, And something like a pathway, which the torrent Hath washed since winter.--Come,'tis bravely done-- You should have been a hunter.--Follow me.

[_As they descend the rocks with difficulty, the scene closes._

ACT II.

SCENE I.--_A Cottage among the Bernese Alps_.-- MANFRED _and the_ CHAMOIS HUNTER.

_C. Hun_. No--no--yet pause--thou must not yet go forth; Thy mind and body are alike unfit To trust each other, for some hours, at least; When thou art better, I will be thy guide-- But whither?

_Man_. It imports not: I do know My route full well, and need no further guidance.

_C. Hun_. Thy garb and gait bespeak thee of high lineage-- One of the many chiefs, whose castled crags Look o'er the lower valleys--which of these May call thee lord? I only know their portals; 10 My way of life leads me but rarely down To bask by the huge hearths of those old halls, Carousing with the va.s.sals; but the paths, Which step from out our mountains to their doors, I know from childhood--which of these is thine?

_Man_. No matter.

_C. Hun_. Well, Sir, pardon me the question, And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; 'Tis of an ancient vintage; many a day 'T has thawed my veins among our glaciers, now Let it do thus for thine--Come, pledge me fairly! 20

_Man_. Away, away! there's blood upon the brim!

Will it then never--never sink in the earth?

_C. Hun_. What dost thou mean? thy senses wander from thee.

_Man_. I say 'tis blood--my blood! the pure warm stream Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours When we were in our youth, and had one heart, And loved each other as we should not love,[127]

And this was shed: but still it rises up, Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from Heaven, Where thou art not--and I shall never be. 30

_C. Hun_. Man of strange words, and some half-maddening sin,[ax]

Which makes thee people vacancy, whate'er Thy dread and sufferance be, there's comfort yet-- The aid of holy men, and heavenly patience----

_Man_. Patience--and patience! Hence--that word was made For brutes of burthen, not for birds of prey!

Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine,-- I am not of thine order.

_C. Hun_. Thanks to Heaven!

I would not be of thine for the free fame Of William Tell; but whatsoe'er thine ill, 40 It must be borne, and these wild starts are useless.

_Man_. Do I not bear it?--Look on me--I live.

_C. Hun._ This is convulsion, and no healthful life.

_Man_. I tell thee, man! I have lived many years, Many long years, but they are nothing now To those which I must number: ages--ages-- s.p.a.ce and eternity--and consciousness, With the fierce thirst of death--and still unslaked!

_C. Hun_. Why on thy brow the seal of middle age Hath scarce been set; I am thine elder far. 50

_Man_. Think'st thou existence doth depend on time?[128]

It doth; but actions are our epochs: mine Have made my days and nights imperishable, Endless, and all alike, as sands on the sh.o.r.e, Innumerable atoms; and one desert, Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break, But nothing rests, save carca.s.ses and wrecks, Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness.

_C. Hun_. Alas! he's mad--but yet I must not leave him.

_Man_. I would I were--for then the things I see 60 Would be but a distempered dream.

_C. Hun_. What is it That thou dost see, or think thou look'st upon?

_Man_. Myself, and thee--a peasant of the Alps-- Thy humble virtues, hospitable home, And spirit patient, pious, proud, and free; Thy self-respect, grafted on innocent thoughts; Thy days of health, and nights of sleep; thy toils, By danger dignified, yet guiltless; hopes Of cheerful old age and a quiet grave, With cross and garland over its green turf, 70 And thy grandchildren's love for epitaph!

This do I see--and then I look within-- It matters not--my Soul was scorched already!

_C. Hun_. And would'st thou then exchange thy lot for mine?

_Man_. No, friend! I would not wrong thee, nor exchange My lot with living being: I can bear-- However wretchedly, 'tis still to bear-- In life what others could not brook to dream, But perish in their slumber.

_C. Hun_. And with this-- This cautious feeling for another's pain, 80 Canst thou be black with evil?--say not so.

Can one of gentle thoughts have wreaked revenge Upon his enemies?

_Man_. Oh! no, no, no!

My injuries came down on those who loved me-- On those whom I best loved: I never quelled An enemy, save in my just defence-- But my embrace was fatal.

_C. Hun_. Heaven give thee rest!

And Penitence restore thee to thyself; My prayers shall be for thee.

_Man_. I need them not, But can endure thy pity. I depart-- 90 'Tis time--farewell!--Here's gold, and thanks for thee-- No words--it is thy due.--Follow me not-- I know my path--the mountain peril's past: And once again I charge thee, follow not!

[_Exit_ MANFRED.

SCENE II.--_A lower Valley in the Alps.--A Cataract_.

_Enter_ MANFRED.

It is not noon--the Sunbow's rays[129] still arch The torrent with the many hues of heaven, And roll the sheeted silver's waving column O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular, And fling its lines of foaming light along, And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail, The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death, As told in the Apocalypse.[130] No eyes But mine now drink this sight of loveliness; I should be sole in this sweet solitude, 10 And with the Spirit of the place divide The homage of these waters.--I will call her.

[MANFRED _takes some of the water into the palm of his hand and flings it into the air, muttering the ajuration.

After a pause, the_ WITCH OF THE ALPS _rises beneath the arch of the sunbow of the torrent._

Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light, And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form The charms of Earth's least mortal daughters grow To an unearthly stature, in an essence Of purer elements; while the hues of youth,-- Carnationed like a sleeping Infant's cheek, Rocked by the beating of her mother's heart, Or the rose tints, which Summer's twilight leaves 20 Upon the lofty Glacier's virgin snow, The blush of earth embracing with her Heaven,-- Tinge thy celestial aspect, and make tame The beauties of the Sunbow which bends o'er thee.

Beautiful Spirit! in thy calm clear brow, Wherein is gla.s.sed serenity of Soul,[ay]

Which of itself shows immortality, I read that thou wilt pardon to a Son Of Earth, whom the abstruser powers permit At times to commune with them--if that he 30 Avail him of his spells--to call thee thus, And gaze on thee a moment.

_Witch_. Son of Earth!

I know thee, and the Powers which give thee power!

I know thee for a man of many thoughts, And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both, Fatal and fated in thy sufferings.

I have expected this--what would'st thou with me?

_Man_. To look upon thy beauty--nothing further.

The face of the earth hath maddened me, and I Take refuge in her mysteries, and pierce 40 To the abodes of those who govern her-- But they can nothing aid me. I have sought From them what they could not bestow, and now I search no further.

_Witch_. What could be the quest Which is not in the power of the most powerful, The rulers of the invisible?

_Man_. A boon;-- But why should I repeat it? 'twere in vain.