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 thaw'd my veins among our glaciers, now Let it do thus for thine-Come, pledge me fairly. 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 Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven, C. HUN. Man of strange words, and some half-maddening sin, 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; C. HUN. Thanks to heaven! I would not be of thine for the free fame Of William Tell; but whatsoe'er thine ill, It must be borne, and these wild starts are useless. With the fierce thirst of death-and still unslaked! MAN. Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break, C. HUN. Alas! he's mad-but yet I must not leave him. MAN. I would I were- -for then the things I see Would be but a distemper'd dream. C. HUN. What is it That thou dost see, or think thou look'st upon? MAN. Myself, and thee-a peasant of the AlpsThy humble virtues, hospitable home, And spirit patient, pious, proud and free; Of cheerful old age and a quiet grave, With cross and garland over its green turf, And thy grandchildren's love for epitaph; It matters not-my soul was scorch'd 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, C. HUN. And with this This cautious feeling for another's pain, Canst thou be black with evil?—say not so. Can one of gentle thoughts have wreak'd revenge MAN. Oh! no, no, no! My injuries came down on those who loved me— But my embrace was fatal. C. HUN. Heaven give thee rest! And penitence restore thee to thyself; MAN. I need them not, But can endure thy pity. I depart 'Tis time-farewell!—Here's gold, and thanks for thee No words-it is thy due.-Follow me not- [Exit MANFRED. SCENE II. A lower Valley in the Alps. A Cataract. Enter MANFred. It is not noon-the sunbow's rays (1) still arch The torrent with the many hues of heaven, And roll the sheeted silver's waving column (MANFRED takes some of the water into the palm of his hand, and flings it in the air, muttering the adjuration. After a pause, the WITCH OF THE ALPS rises beneath the arch of the sunbeam of the torrent.) Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light, And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form Of purer elements; while the hues of youth,— Rock'd by the beating of her mother's heart, Or the rose tints, which summer's twilight leaves The blush of earth embracing with her heaven,— |