His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy. Abbot. And I reply Never-till I have battled with this fiend What doth he here? Man. Why-ay-what doth he here?-Was purchased by no compact with thy crew, I did not send for him,-he is unbidden. Abbot. Alas! lost mortal! what with guests like And length of watching-strength of mind-and skill In knowledge of our fathers-when the earth Spirit. Have made thee Man. But thy many crimes What are they to such as thee? Must crimes be punish'd but by other crimes, Man. I knew, and know my hour is come, but not Born from the knowledge of his own desert. Spirit. Then I must summon up my brethren.-I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy prey- Old man! We know ourselves, our mission, and thine order; Man. I do defy ye,-though I feel my soul Spirit. [The Demons disappear. Abbot. Alas! how pale thou art-thy lips are white And thy breast heaves-and in thy gasping throat Man. 'Tis over-my dull eyes can fix thee not, Abbot. [MANFRED expires. Abbot. He's gone-his soul hath ta'en its earth less flight Whither? I dread to think-but he is gone. Spirits, Soldiers, Citizens of Rome, Priests, Peasants, &c. PART I. SCENE I. A Forest. Enter ARNOLD and his mother BERTHA. Bert. OUT, hunchback! Arn. Bert. I was born so, mother! Out, Thou incubus! Thou nightmare! Of seven sons The sole abortion ! Arn. Would that I had been so, And never seen the light! Bert. I would so too! But as thou hast-hence, hence-and do thy best! Arn. It bears its burden ;-but, my heart! Will it Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew not Arn. As the free chase they follow, do not spurn me: Bert. Arn. (solus.) Oh mother!-She's gone, and I must do Her bidding;-wearily but willingly I would fulfil it, could I only hope A kind word in return. What shall I do? On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like The fountain moves without a wind: but shall [A cloud comes from the fountain. He stands Arn. Spirit or man? Stran. [ARNOLD begins to cut wood: in doing this he Say both in one? wounds one of his hands. My labor for the day is over now. Accursed be this blood that flows so fast; For double curses will be my meed now Arn. What would you? Speak! As man is both, why not You may be devil. Stran. Your form is man's, and yet So many men are that Which is so called or thought, that you may add me At home. What home? I have no home, no kin, To which you please, without much wrong to either. No kind-not made like other creatures, or To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed too Like them? Oh that each drop which falls to earth Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung me! Or that the devil, to whom they liken me, [ARNOLD goes to a spring, and stoops to wash [He pauses. And shall I live on, A burden to the earth, myself, and shame Unto what brought me into life? Thou blood, Which flowest so freely from a scratch, let me Try if thou wilt not in a fuller stream Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself On earth, to which I will restore at once This hateful compound of her atoms, and Resolve back to her elements, and take The shape of any reptile save myself, And make a world for myriads of new worms! This knife! now let me prove if this will sever This wither'd slip of nature's nightshade-my Vile form-from the creation, as it hath The green bough from the forest. But come: you wish to kill yourself;-pursue Your purpose. Arn. You have interrupted me. Stran. What is that resolution which can e'er Be interrupted? If I be the devil You deem, a single moment would have made you Stran. Unless you keep company Arn. Do you dare you To taunt me with my born deformity? Stran. Were I to taunt a buffalo with this Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary With thy sublime of humps, the animals Would revel in the compliment. And yet Both beings are more swift, more strong, more mighty In action and endurance than thyself, The gifts which are of others upon man. Arn. Give me the strength then of the buffalo's foot, When he spurns high the dust, beholding his And patient swiftness of the desert-ship, [ARNOLD places the knife in the ground, with The helmless dromedary;—and I'll bear the point upwards. Now 'tis set, And I can fall upon it. Yet one glance Thy fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience. Stran. I will. Arn. (with surprise.) Thou canst ? Stran. Perhaps. Would you aught else? To petty burghers, who leave once a year I must not compromise my soul. Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcass ? Arn. Whose blood then? Not in your own. [Various Phantoms arise from the water, and Arn. What do I see? The land he made not Rome's, while Rome became Inherit but his fame with his defects! Stran. His brow was girt with laurds more than hairs. You see his aspect-choose it, or reject. I will fight too, I can but promise you his form; his fame We will talk of that hereafter. Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus' mother, But I'll be moderate with you, for I see Arn. I take thee at thy word. Stran. Now then! Or Cleopatra at sixteen-an age When love is not less in the eye than heart. [The phantom of Julius Cæsar disappears. Arn. And can it Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone, [The Stranger approaches the fountain, and And left no footstep? turns to ARNOLD. Stran. There you err. His substance Left graves enough, and woes enough, and fame More than enough to track his memory; But for his shadow, 'tis no more than yours Except a little longer and less crooked I the sun. Behold another! A little of your blood. Arn. Arn. (holding out his wounded arm.) Take it all. Shadows of power! This is the hour! Walk lovely and pliant From the depth of this fountain, Bestrides the Hartz mountain.* • This is a well-known German superstition—a gigantic shadow produced wy reflection on the Brocken. [A second phantom passes. Who is he? Arn. Arn. What! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round-| With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect, Stran. And yet he was The earth's perfection of all mental beauty, And personification of all virtue. But you reject him? Arn. If his form could bring me I have no power To promise that; but you may try and find it Arn. No. I was not born for philosophy, Arn. Content! I will fix here. I must commend With sanction'd and with soften'd love, before With some remorse within for Hector slain And Priam weeping, mingled with deep passion Though I have that about me which has need on't. Trembled in his who slew her brother. So Stran. Be air, thou hemlock-drinker! [The shadow of Socrates disappears: another rises. He stood i' the temple! Look upon him as I gaze upon him Arn. What's here? whose broad brow and whose As if I were his soul, whose form shall soon curly beard Envelop mine. Hence, triumvir! I love thee most in dwarfs! A mortal of Who is this? [The shade of Antony disappears: another rises. His own Goliath down to a slight David: Blooming and bright, with golden hair, and stature, Stran. Let the earth speak, The shame But thou, my manikin, wouldst soar a show Arn. Then let it be as thou deem'st best. Stran. (addressing the shadow.) Get thee to La- It is its essence to o'ertake mankind By heart and soul, and make itself the equal [The shade of Demetrius Poliocetes vanishes: Ay, the superior of the rest. There is another rises. I'll fit you still, Fear not, my hunchback. If the shadows of Your soul be reconciled to her new garment. A spur in its halt movements, to become They woo with fearless deeds the smiles of fortune, |