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And making that which was not, till the place
'Twas such a night!
'Tis strange that I recall it at this time;
But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight
Enter the ABBOT.
My good lord!
I crave a second grace for this approach;
Recoils on me; its good in the effect
May light upon your head-could I say heart— Could I touch that, with words or prayers, I should Recall a noble spirit which hath wander'd;
But is not yet all lost.
Thou know'st me not;
My days are number'd, and my deeds recorded:
Retire, or 'twill be dangerous-Away!
Abbot. Thou dost not mean to menace me?
I simply tell thee peril is at hand,
And would preserve thee.
What dost thou see?
What dost thou mean?
Look there, I say,
And steadfastly;-now tell me what thou seest?
I see a dusk and awful figure rise
His face wrapt in a mantle, and his form
Man. Thou hast no cause-
His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy.
And I reply
Never-till I have battled with this fiend-
Why-ay-what doth he here?—
I did not send for him, he is unbidden.
Abbot. Alas! lost mortal! what with guests like these Hast thou to do? I tremble for thy sake;
Why doth he gaze on thee, and thou on him?
Ah! he unveils his aspect; on his brow
The thunder-scars are graven; from his eye
Man. Pronounce—what is thy mission?
Abbot. What art thou, unknown being? answer!
Spirit. The genius of this mortal.-Come! 'tis time. Man. I am prepared for all things, but deny
The power which summons me. Who sent thee here?
Spirit. Thou 'lt know anon-Come! come!
I have commanded
Things of an essence greater far than thine,
Spirit. Then I must summon up my brethren.-Rise! [Other Spirits rise up. Abbot. Avaunt! ye evil ones!-Avaunt! I say,
Ye have no power where piety hath power,
We know ourselves, our mission, and thine order;
It were in vain; this man is forfeited.
Is this the Magian who would so pervade
Thou false fiend, thou liest!
My life is in its last hour,-that I know,
Nor would redeem a moment of that hour;
And length of watching-strength of mind—and skill
Have made thee
But thy many crimes
What are they to such as thee?
Must crimes be punish'd but by other crimes,
And its own place and time-its innate sense,
Born from the knowledge of its own desert.
Thou didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt
I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy prey—
But was my own destroyer, and will be
My own hereafter.-Back, ye baffled fiends!
[The Demons disappear. Abbot. Alas! how pale thou art-thy lips are whiteAnd thy breast heaves-and in thy gasping throat The accents rattle-Give thy prayers to HeavenPray-albeit but in thought, but die not thus.
Man. 'Tis over—my dull eyes can fix thee not; But all things swim around me, and the earth Heaves as it were beneath me. Fare thee wellGive me thy hand.
Cold-cold-even to the heartBut yet one prayer-alas! how fares it with thee?Man. Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die.
[MANFRED expires. Abbot. He's gone-his soul hath ta'en its earthless
Whither? I dread to think-but he is gone.