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Spirit. It is not in our essence, in our skill;
But -- thou may'st die.
Μαη. .

Will death bestow it on me ?
Spirit. We are immortal, and do not forget;
We are eternal; and to us the past
Is, as the future, present. Art thou answer'd ?
Man. Ye mock me — but the power which brought

ye here Hath made you mine. Slaves, scoff not at my

will!
The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark,
The lightning of my being, is as bright,
Pervading, and far-darting as your own,
And shall not yield to yours, though coop'd in clay !
Answer, or I will teach you what I am.

Spirit. We answer as we answer'd ; our reply
Is even in thine own words.
Man.

Why say ye so?
Spirit. If, as thou say'st, thine essence be as ours,
Vhave replied in telling thee, the thing
Mortals call death hath nought to do with us.
Man. I then have call’d ye from your realms in

vain; Ye cannot, or ye will not, aid me. Spirit.

Say; What we possess we offer; it is thine : Bethink ere thou dismiss us, ask again – Kingdom, and sway, and strength, and length of

days — Man. Accursed! what have I to do with days ? They are too long already. — Hence — begone! Spirit. Yet pause: being here, our will would do

thee service;
Bethink thee, is there then no other gift
Which we can make not worthless in thine eyes ?
Man. No, none : yet stay – one moment, ere we

part-
I would behold ye face to face. I hear
Your voices, sweet and melancholy sounds,
As music on the waters; and I see
The steady aspect of a clear large star;
But nothing more. Approach me as ye are,
Or one, or all, in your accustom'd forms.

Spirit. We have no forms beyond the elements
Of which we are the mind and principle :
But choose a form – in that we will appear.
Man. I have no choice; there is no form on

earth Hideous or beautiful to me. Let him, Who is most powerful of ye, take such aspect As unto him may seem most fitting — Come ! Seventh Spirit. (Appearing in the shape of a beau

tiful female figure.) Behold! Man. Oh God! if it be thus, and thou Art not a madness and a mockery, I yet might be most happy. I will clasp thee, And we again will be – [ The figure vanishes.

My heart is crush'd !

(Manfred falls senseless. [These verses were written in Switzerland, in 1816, and transmitted to England for publication, with the third canto of Childe Harold." As they were written,” says Mr. Moore, "immediately after the last fruitless attempt at reconciliation, it is needless to say who was in the poet's thoughts while he penned some of the opening stanzas.”]

? (" And the wisp on the morass." —Hearing, in February, 1818, of a menaced version of Manfred by some Italian, Lord Byron wrote to his friend Mr. Hoppner — " If you have any means of communicating with the man, would you permit me

(A Voice is heard in the Incantation which follows.)'

When the moon is on the wave,

And the glow-worm in the grass,
And the meteor on the grave,

And the wisp on the morass ;
When the falling stars are shooting,
And the answer'd owls are hooting,
And the silent leaves are still
In the shadow of the hill,
Shall my soul be upon thine,
With a power and with a sign.
Though thy slumber may be deep,
Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;
There are shades which will not vanish,
There are thoughts thou canst not banish;
By a power to thee unknown,
Thou canst never be alone;
Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,
Thou art gather'd in a cloud;
And for ever shalt thou dwell
In the spirit of this spell.
Though thou seest me not pass by,
Thou shalt feel me with thine eye.
As a thing that, though unseen,
Must be near thee, and hath been;
Ard when in that secret dread
Thou hast turn'd around thy head,
Thou shalt marvel I am not
As thy shadow on the spot,
And the power which thou dost feel
Shall be what thou must conceal.
And a magic voice and verse
Hath baptized thee with a curse;
And a spirit of the air
Hath begirt thee with a snare;
In the wind there is a voice
Shall forbid thee to rejoice;
And to thee shall Night deny
All the quiet of her sky;
And the day shall have a sun,
Which shall make thee wish it done.
From thy false tears I did distil
An essence which hath strength to kill;
From thy own heart I then did wring
The black blood in its blackest spring;
From thy own smile I snatch'd the snake,
For there it coil'd as in a brake;
From thy own lip I drew the charm
Which gave all these their chiefest harm;
In proving every poison known,
I found the strongest was thine own.
By thy cold breast and serpent smile,
By thy unfathom'd gulfs of guile,
By that most seeming virtuous eye,

By thy shut soul's hypocrisy ; to convey to him the offer of any price he may obtain, or think to obtain, for his project, provided he will throw his translation into the fire, and promise not to undertake any other of that, or any other of my things? I will send him his money immediately, on this condition." A negotiation was accordingly set on foot, and the translator, on receiving two hundred francs, delivered up his manuscript, and engaged never to translate any other of the poet's works. Of his qualifications for the task some notion may be formed from the fact, that he had turned the word "wisp,” in this line, into " a bundle of straw.")

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By the perfection of thine art

The last infirmity of evil. Ay,
Which pass'd for human thine own heart; Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister,
By thy delight in others' pain,

[An eagle passes. And by thy brotherhood of Cain,

Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, I call upon thee! and compel!

Well may'st thou swoop so near me - I should be Thyself to be thy proper Hell !

Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone

Where the eye cannot follow thee; but thine And on thy head I pour the vial

Yet pierces downward, onward, or above, Which doth devote thee to this trial;

With a pervading vision. - Beautiful ! * Nor to slumber, nor to die,

How beautiful is all this visible world ! Shall be in thy destiny;

How glorious in its action and itself ! Though thy death shall still seem near

But we, who name ourselves its sovercigns, we, To thy wish, but as a fear;

Half dust, half deity, alike unfit
Lo! the speil now works around thee,

To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make
And the clankless chain hath bound thee; A conflict of its elements, and breathe
O'er thy heart and brain together

The breath of degradation and of pride,
Hath the word been pass'd — now wither! Contending with low wants and lofty will,

Till our mortality predominates,

And men are — what they name not to themselves, SCENE II.

And trust not to each other. Hark! the note,

[ The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard. The Mountain of the Jungfrull.— Time, Morning. The natural music of the mountain reed MANFRED alone upon the Cliffs.

For here the patriarchal days are not Man. The spirits I have raised abandon me —

A pastoral fable — pipes in the liberal air, The spells which I have studied baffle me —

Mix'd with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd; ? The remedy I reck'd of tortured me;

My soul would drink those echoes. -Ob, that I were I lean no more on superhuman aid,

The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, It bath no power upon the past, and for

A living voice, a breathing harmony, The future, till the past be gulf'd in darkness,

A bodiless enjoyment — born and dying
It is not of my search. --- My mother Earth !

With the blest tone which made me !
And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains,
Why are ye beautiful ? I cannot love ye.

Enter from below a Chasois HUNTER.
And thou, the bright eye of the universe,

Chamois Hunter.

Even so That openest over all, and unto all

This way the chamois leapt : her nimble feet Art a delight - thou shin'st not on my heart. Have battled me; my gains to-day will scarce And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge

Repay my break-neck travail. --- What is here ? I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath

Who seems not of my trade, and yet hath reach'd Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs

A height which none even of our mountaineers, In dizziness of distance ; wheu a leap,

Save our best hunters, may attain; his garb
A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air
My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed

Proud as a freeborn peasant's, at this distance
To rest for ever — wherefore do I pause ?

I will approach him nearer. I feel the impulse - yet I do not plunge;

Man. (not perceiving the other). To be thus I see the peril — yet do not recede;

Grey-haird with anguish 3, like these blasted pines, And my brain reels - and yet my foot is firm : Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless, 4 There is a power upon me which withholds,

A blighted trunk upon a cursed root, And makes it my fatality to live ;

Which but supplies a feeling to decay — If it be life to wear within myself

And to be thus, eternally but thus, This barrenness of spirit, and to be

Having been otherwise! Now furrow'd o'er My own goul's sepulchre, for I have ceased

With wrinkles, plough'd by moments, not by years To justify my deeds unto myself —

And hours — all tortured into ages — hours 1 {" I do adjure thee to this spell.” – MS.]

sure to see a gun in the other: but this was pure and un? (The germs of this, and of several other passages in Man

mixed - solitary, savage, and patriarchal. As we went, they fred. may be found in the Journal of his Swiss tour, which

played the Ranz des Vaches and other airs, by way of fare. Lord Byron transmitted to his sister : e. g. “ Sept. 19.

well. I have lately repeopled my mind with nature."] Arrived at a lake in the very bosom of the mountains ; left

3 [Sec the opening lines to the “ Prisoner of Chillon," antè, our quadrupeds, and ascended further ; came to some snow

p. 138. Speaking of Marie Antoinette, “ I was struck," says in patches. upon which my forehead's perspiration fell like

Madame Campan," with the astonishing change misfortune rain, making the same dents as in a sieve ; the chill of the had wrought upon her features : her whole head of hair had wind and the snow turned me giddy, but I scrambled on and

turned almost white, during her transit from Varennes to upwards. Hobhouse went to the highest pinnacle. The

Paris." The same thing occurred to the unfortunate Queen whole of the mountains superb. A shepherd on a steep and

Mary" With calm but undaunted fortitude," says her hicvery high cliff playing upon his pipe; very different from

torian," she laid her neck upon the block; and while one Arcadia. The music of the cows' bells (for their wealth, like

executioner held her hands, the other, at the second stroke, the patriarchs', is cattle) in the pastures, which reach to a

cut off her head, which, falling out of its attire, discovered height far above any mountains in Britain, and the shepherds her hair, already grown quite grey with cares and sorrows." shouting to us from crag to crag, and playing on their reeds

The hair of Mary's grandson. Charles 1, turned quite grey, in where the steeps appeared almost inaccessible, with the sur

like manner, during his stay at Carisbrooke.] rounding scenery, realised all that I have ever heard or imi * [“ Passed whole woods of withered pines, all withered, gined of a pastoral existence - much more so than Greece or - trunks stripped and barkless, branches lifeless, done by a Asia Minor; for there we are a little too much of the sabre single winter : their appearance reminded me of me and my and musket order, and if there is a crook in one hand, you are family." - Swiss Journal.]

Which I outlive! - Ye toppling crags of ice !

Come on, we 'll quickly find a surer footing, Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down

And something like a pathway, which the torrent In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me! Hath wash'd since winter.-Come, 't is bravely doneI hear ye momently above, beneath,

You should have been a hunter. – Follow me. Crash with a frequent conflict'; but ye pass,

(As they descend the rocks with difficulty, And only fall on things that still would live;

the scene closes. On the young flourishing forest, or the hut And hamlet of the harmless villager.

C. Hun. The mists begin to rise from up the valley; I'll warn him to descend, or he may chance

ACT II.
To lose at once his way and life together.

SCENE I.
Man. The mists boil up around the glaciers ; clouds
Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury,

A Cottage amongst the Bernese Alps.
Like foam from the roused ocean of deep Hell,

MANFRED and the CHAMOIS HUNTER. Whose every wave breaks on a living shore, Heap'd with the damn'd like pebbles. - I am giddy, s C. Hun. No, no - yet pause - thou must not yet C. Hun. I must approach him cautiously; if near,

go forth : A sudden stop will startle him, and he

Thy mind and body are alike unfit Seems tottering already.

To trust cach other, for some hours, at least;
Man.

Mountains have fallen, When thou art better, I will be thy guide –
Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock But whither ?
Rocking their Alpine brethren ; filling up

Man.

It imports not: I do know The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinters ; My route full well, and need no further guidance. Damming the rivers with a sudden dash,

C. Hun. Thy garb and gait bespeak thee of high Which crush'd the waters into mist, and made

lineage Their fountains find another channel - thus,

One of the many chiefs, whose castled crags Thus, in its old age, did Mount Rosenberg –

Look o'er the lower valleys — which of these Why stood I not beneath it?

May call thee lord ? I only know their portals ; C. Hun.

Friend ! have a care, My way of life leads me but rarely down Your next step may be fatal ! for the love

To bask by the huge hearths of those old halls, Of him who made you, stand not on that brink ! Carousing with the vassals ; but the paths, Mun. (not hearing him). Such would have been Which step from out our mountains to their doors, for me a fitting tomb;

I know from childhood which of these is thine ? My bones had then been quiet in their depth ;

Man. No matter. They had not then been streikn upon the rocks

C. Hun. Well, sir, pardon me the question, For the wind's pastime - as thus – thus they shall And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; be

'T is of an ancient vintage : nany a day In this one plunge. — Farewell ye opening heavens ! 'T has thaw'd my veins among our glaciers, now Look not upon me thus reproachfully

Let it do thus for thine - Come pledge me fairly. You were not meant for me-Earth! take these atoms! Man. Away, away! there's blood upon the brim !

(As MANFRED is in act to spring from the Will it then never - never sink in the earth ?

cliff, the Chamois HUNTER seizes and C. Hun. What dost thou mean? thy senses wan-
retains him with a sudden
grasp.

der from thee. C. Hun. Hold, madman !- though aweary of thy

Man. I say 't is blood - my blood ! the pure warm life,

stream Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood —

Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours Away with me - I will not quit my hold.

When we were in our youth, and had one heart, Mun. I am most sick at heart nay, grasp me

And loved each other as we should not love,

And this was shed : but still it rises up, I am all feebleness the mountains whirl (tliou ? Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven, Spinning around me- I grow blind -- What art

Where thou art not and I shall never be. C. Hun. I'll answer that anon. - Away with

C. Hun. Man of strange words, and some half

maddening sin, The clouds grow thicker there now lean on Which makes thee people vacancy, whate'er

not

me

Thy dread and sufferance be, there's comfort yet Place your foot here here, take this staff, and cling | The aid of holy men, and heavenly patience A moment to that shrub - now give me your hand, Man. Patience and patience ! Hence that word And hold fast by my girdle — softly well —

was made The Chalet will be gain'd within an hour —

For brutes of burthen, not for birds of prey;

me

(" Ascended the Wenzen mountain ; left the horses, took off my coat, and went to the summit. On one side, our view comprised the Jungfrau, with all her glaciers; then the Dent d'Argent, shining like truth; then the Little Giant, and the Great Giant ; and last, not least, the Wetterhorn. The height of the Jungfrau is thirteen thousand feet above the sea, and eleven thousand above the valley. Heard the avalanches falling every tive minutes nearly." — Swiss Journal.]

? (" Like foam from the roused ocean of old Hell." - MS.)

3 [" The clouds rose from the opposite valley, curling up perpendicular precipiccs, like the foam of the ocean of hell during a spring tide - it was white and sulphury, and im. measurably deep in appearance. The side we ascended was not of so precipitous a nature : but, on arriving at the summit, we looked down upon the other side upon a boiling sea of cloud, dashing against the crags on which we stood these crags on one side quite perpendicular. In passing the masses of snow, I made a snowball and pelted Hobhouse with it." Swiss Journal.)

Man.

Oh! no, no, no ! My injuries came down on those who loved me On those whom I best loved : I never quell'd An enemy, save in my just defence But my embrace was fatal. C. Hun.

Heaven give thee rest ! And penitence restore thec to thyself; My prayers shall be for thee. 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
I know my path - the mountain peril's past :-
And once again, I charge thee, follow not !

[Exit MAXFRED.

SCENE II.

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,
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 -
Space 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.

Man. Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth; but actions are our epochs : mine Have made my days and nights imperishable, Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore, Innumerable atoms; and one desert, Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break, But nothing rests, save carcasses 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 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 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 quict grave, With cross and garland over its green turf, And thy grandchildren's love for epitaph; This do I see — and then I look within It matters not — my soul was scorch'd already! C. Hun. And would'st thou then exchange thy

lot for mine ? Blan. No, friend! I would not wrong thee, nor

exchange
My lot with living being : I can bear
However wretchedly, 't is 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,
Canst thou be black with evil ? - say not so.
Can one of gentle thoughts have wreak'd revenge
Upon his enemies ?

A lower Valley in the Alps.-A Cataract.'

Enter MANFRED.
It is not noon the sunbow's rays ? still arclı
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.s No eyes
But mine now drink this sight of loveliness ;
I should be sole in this sweet solitude,
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 in the air, muttering the adjuration. After a pause, the Witch OF THE ALPS rises beneath the arch of the sun

bow 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, Carnation'd like a sleeping infant's cheek, Rock'd by the beating of her mother's heart, Or the rose tints, which summer's twilight leaves 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. 4 Beautiful Spirit! in thy calm clear brow,

I [This scene is one of the most poetical and most sweetly written in the poem. There is a still and delicious witchery in the tranquillity and seclusion or the place, and the celestial beauty of the being who reveals herself in the midst of these visible enchantments. – JEFFREY.]

? This iris is formed hy the rays of the sun over the lower part of the Alpine torrents : it is exactly like a rainbow come down to pay a visit, and so close that you may walk into it : this effect lasts till noon. – [. Before ascending the mountain, went to the torrent ; the sun upon it, forming a rainbow of the lower part of all colours, but principally purple and gold : the now moving as you move: I never saw any thing like this; it is only in the sunshine."- Swiss Journal.]

3 (* Arrived at the font of the Jungfrau ; glaciers ; torrents : one of these torrents nine hundred feet in height of visibie descent; heard an avalanche fall, like thunder; glaciers enormous ; storm came on-thunder, lightning, hail; all in perfection, and heautiful. The torrent is in shape curving over the rock, like the tail of a white horse streaming in the

wind, such as it might be conceived would be that of the pale horse' on which Death is mounted in the Apocalypse. It is neither mist nor water, but a something between both ; its immense height gives it a wave or curve, a spreading here or condensation there, wonderful and indescribable." - Suiss Journal.]

* [In all Lord Byron's heroes we recognize, though with infinite modifications, the same great characteristics - a high and audacious conception of the power of the mind, I intense sensibility of passion, an almost foundless capacitj" of tumultuous emotion, – a haunting admiration of the grandeur of disordered power, -- and, above all, a soul telt, blood.selt delight in beauty. Parisina is full of it to overflow ing; it breathes from every page of the “ Prisoner of Chillon;" but it is in " Manfred” that it riots and revels among the streams, and waterfalls, and groves, and mountains, and heavens. There is in the character of Manfred more of the self.might of Byron than in all his previous productions. He has therein brought, with wonderrul power, metaphysical

Wherein is glass'il serenity of soul,

Or to look, list'ning, on the scatter'd leaves, Which of itself shows immortality,

While Autumn winds were at their evening song. I read that thou wilt pardon to a Son

These were my pastines, and to be alone ; Of Earth, whom the abstruser powers permit

For if the beings, of whom I was one, At times to commune with them - if that he Hlating to be so, - cross'd me in my path, Avail him of his spells - to call thee thus,

I felt myself degraded back to them, And gaze on thee a moment.

And was all clay again. And then I dired. Witch.

Son of Earth!

In my lone wanderings, to the caves of death,
I know thee, and the powers which give thec power; Searching its cause in its effect; and drew
I know thee for a man of many thoughts,

From wither'd bones, and skulls, and heap'il up dust,
And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both,

Conclusions most forbidden. Then I pass'd Fatal and fated in thy sufferings.

The nights of years in sciences untaught,
I have expected this — what would'st thou with Save in the old time; and with time and toil,
me ?

And terrible ordeal, and such penance
Man. To look upon thy beauty - nothing further.' As in itself hath power upon the air,
The face of the earth hath madden'd me, and I And spirits that do compass air and earth,
Take refuge in her mysteries, and pierce

Space, and the peopled infinite, I made
To the abodes of those who govern her

Mine eyes familiar with Eternity,
But they can nothing aid me. I have sought Such as, before me, did the Magi, and
From them what they could not bestow, and now He who from out their fountain dwellings raised
I search no further.

Eros and Anteros, at Gadara,
Witch.

What could be the quest As I do thee; - and with my knowledge grew
Which is not in the power of the most powerful, The thirst of knowledge, and the power and joy
The rulers of the invisible ?

Of this most bright intelligence, until,
Man.
A boon;

Witch. Proceed.
But why should I repeat it? 't were in vain.

Man. Oh! I but thus prolong'd my words, Witch. I know not that; let thy lips utter it. Boasting these idle attributes, because

Man. Well, though it torture me, 't is but the same; As I approach the core of my heart's grief My pang shall find a voice. From my youth upwards But to my task. I have not named to thee My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men,

Father or mother, mistress, friend, or being, Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes ;

With whom I wore the chain of human ties; The thirst of their ambition was not mine,

If I had such, they seem'd not such to me The aim of their existence was not mine;

Yet there was one My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers,

Witch.

Spare not thyself— proceed. Made me a stranger; though I wore the form,

Man. She was like me in lineaments — her eyes,
I had no sympathy with breathing flesh,

Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone
Nor midst the creatures of clay that girded me Even of her voice, they said were like to mine;
Was there but one who but of her anon.

But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty :
I said, with men, and with the thoughts of men, She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings,
I held but slight communion; but instead,

The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind
My joy was in the Wilderness, to breathe

To comprehend the universe: nor these The difficult air of the iced mountain's top,

Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Where the birds dare not build, nor insect's wing Pity, and smiles, and tears — which I had not ; Flit o'er the herbless granite; or to plunge

And tenderness - but that I had for her; Into the torrent, and to roll along

Humility - and that I never had. On the swift whirl of the new breaking wave

Her faults were mine - her virtues were her own Of river-stream, or ocean, in their flow.

I loved her, and destroy'd her! In these my early strength exulted; or

Witch.

With thy hand ? To follow through the night the moving moon,

Man. Not with my hand, but heart - which broke The stars and their development; or catch

her heart — The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim ; It gazed on mine, and wither'd. I have shed

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conceptions into forms, - and we know of no pocm in which the aspect of external nature is throughout lighted up with an expression at once so beautiful, solemn, and majestic. It is the poem, next to " Childe Harold," which we should give to a foreigner to read, that he might know something of Byron. Shakspeare has given to those abstractions of human life and being, which are truth in the intellect, forms as full, clear, glowing, as the idealised forms of visible nature.

The very words of Ariel picture to us his beautiful being. In“ Manfred," we see glorious but immature manifestations of similar power. The poet there creates, with delight, thoughts and feelings and fancies into visible forms, that he may cling and cleave to them, and clasp them in his passion.

The beautiful Witch of the Alps seems exhaled from the luminous spray of the cataraci, – as if the poet's eyes, unsated with the heauty of inanimate nature, gave spectral apparitions of loveliness to feed the pure passion of the poet's soul. – Wilson.]

"[There is something exquisitely beautiful in all this passage ; and both the apparition and the dialogue are so managed, that the sense of their improbability is swallowed up in that or their beauty; and, without actually believing that

such spirits exist or communicate themselves, ire feel for the
moment as if we stood in their presence. — JEFFREY.]

2 The philosopher Jamblicus. The story of the raising of
Eros and Anteros may be found in his life by Eunapius. It is
well told. — (" ll is reported of hin," says' Eunapius. " that
while he and his scholars were bathing in the hot baths of
Gadara in Syria, a dispute arising concerning the baths, he,
smiling, ordered his disciples to ask the inhabitants by what
names the two lesser springs, that were nearer and handsomer
than the rese, were called. To which the inhabitants replied,
that' the one was callod Eros, and the other Anteros, but for
what reason they knew not.' Upon which Jamblicus, sitting
by one of the springs, put his hand in the water, and muttering
some few words to himself, called up a fair-complexioned boy,
with gold-coloured locks dangling from his back and breast,
so that he looked like one that was washing: and then, going
to the other spiring, and doing as he had done before, called
up another Cupid, with darker and more dishevelled huir:
upon which both the Cupids clung about Jamblicus; but he
his friends submitted their beliei to him in every thing."]
presently sent them back to their proper places.. Alter this,

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