Selected Poems

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Selected Poems Page 52

by Byron


  ABBOT: And why not live and act with other men?

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  MANFRED: Because my nature was averse from life;

  And yet not cruel; for I would not make,

  But find a desolation: – like the wind,

  The red-hot breath of the most lone Simoom,

  Which dwells but in the desert, and sweeps o’er

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  The barren sands which bear no shrubs to blast,

  And revels o’er their wild and arid waves,

  And seeketh not, so that it is not sought,

  But being met is deadly; such hath been

  The course of my existence; but there came

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  Things in my path which are no more.

  ABBOT:Alas!

  I ’gin to fear that thou art past all aid

  From me and from my calling; yet so young,

  I still would —

  MANFRED:Look on me! there is an order

  Of mortals on the earth, who do become

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  Old in their youth, and die ere middle age,

  Without the violence of warlike death:

  Some perishing of pleasure — some of study —

  Some worn with toil – some of mere weariness –

  Some of disease – and some insanity –

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  And some of wither’d, or of broken hearts;

  For this last is a malady which slays

  More than are number’d in the lists of Fate,

  Taking all shapes, and bearing many names.

  Look upon me! for even of all these things

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  Have I partaken; and of all these things,

  One were enough; then wonder not that I

  Am what I am, but that I ever was,

  Or having been, that I am still on earth.

  ABBOT: Yet, hear me still —

  MANFRED:Old man! I do respect

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  Thine order, and revere thine years; I deem

  Thy purpose pious, but it is in vain:

  Think me not churlish; I would spare thyself,

  Far more than me, in shunning at this time

  All further colloquy – and so – farewell.

  [Exit MANFRED.]

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  ABBOT: This should have been a noble creature: he

  Hath all the energy which would have made

  A goodly frame of glorious elements,

  Had they been wisely mingled; as it is,

  It is an awful chaos — light and darkness —

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  And mind and dust – and passions and pure thoughts

  Mix’d, and contending without end or order,

  All dormant or destructive: he will perish,

  And yet he must not; I will try once more,

  For such are worth redemption; and my duty

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  Is to dare all things for a righteous end.

  I’ll follow him – but cautiously, though surely.

  [Exit ABBOT.]

  SCENE II

  Another Chamber.

  [MANFRED and HERMAN.]

  HERMAN: My lord, you bade me wait on you at sunset:

  He sinks behind the mountain.

  MANFRED:Doth he so?

  I will look on him.

  [MANFRED advances to the Window of the Hall.]

  Glorious Orb! the idol

  Of early nature, and the vigorous race

  5

  Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons1

  Of the embrace of angels, with a sex

  More beautiful than they, which did draw down

  The erring spirits who can ne’er return. –

  Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere

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  The mystery of thy making was reveal’d!

  Thou earliest minister of the Almighty,

  Which gladden’d, on their mountain tops, the hearts

  Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour’d

  Themselves in orisons! Thou material God!

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  And representative of the Unknown –

  Who chose thee for his shadow! Thou chief star!

  Centre of many stars! which mak’st our earth

  Endurable, and temperest the hues

  And hearts of all who walk within thy rays!

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  Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes,

  And those who dwell in them! for near or far,

  Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee

  Even as our outward aspects; — thou dost rise,

  And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well!

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  I ne’er shall see thee more. As my first glance

  Of love and wonder was for thee, then take

  My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one

  To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been

  Of a more fatal nature. He is gone:

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  I follow.

  [Exit MANFRED.]

  SCENE III

  The Mountains — The Castle of Manfred at some distance — A Terrace before a Tower. — Time, Twilight.

  [HERMAN, MANUEL, and other Dependants of MANFRED.]

  HERMAN: ’Tis strange enough; night after night, for years,

  He hath pursued long vigils in this tower,

  Without a witness. I have been within it, –

  So have we all been ofttimes; but from it,

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  Or its contents, it were impossible

  To draw conclusions absolute, of aught

  His studies tend to. To be sure, there is

  One chamber where none enter: I would give

  The fee of what I have to come these three years,

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  To pore upon its mysteries.

  MANUEL:’Twere dangerous;

  Content thyself with what thou know’st already.

  HERMAN: Ah! Manuel! thou art elderly and wise,

  And couldst say much; thou hast dwelt within the castle –

  How many years is’t?

  MANUEL: Ere Count Manfred’s birth,

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  I served his father, whom he nought resembles.

  HERMAN: There be more sons in like predicament.

  But wherein do they differ?

  MANUEL:I speak not

  Of features or of form, but mind and habits;

  Count Sigismund was proud, – but gay and free, -

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  A warrior and a reveller; he dwelt not

  With books and solitude, nor made the night

  A gloomy vigil, but a festal time,

  Merrier than day; he did not walk the rocks

  And forests like a wolf, nor turn aside

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  From men and their delights.

  HERMAN:Beshrew the hour,

  But those were jocund times! I would that such

  Would visit the old walls again; they look

  As if they had forgotten them.

  MANUEL: These walls

  Must change their chieftain first. Oh! I have seen

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  Some strange things in them, Herman.

  HERMAN:Come, be friendly;

  Relate me some to while away our watch:

  I’ve heard thee darkly speak of an event

  Which happen’d hereabouts, by this same tower.

  MANUEL: That was a night indeed! I do remember

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  ’Twas twilight, as it may be now, and such

  Another evening; – yon red cloud, which rests

  On Eigher’s pinnacle, so rested then, –

  So like that it might be the same; the wind

  Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows

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  Began to glitter with the climbing moon;

  Count Manfred was, as now, within his tower, –

  How occupied, we knew not, but with him

  The sole companion of his wanderings

  And watchings –
her, whom of all earthly things

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  That lived, the only thing he seem’d to love, —

  As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do,

  The lady Astarte, his —

  Hush! who comes here?

  [Enter the ABBOT.]

  ABBOT: Where is your master?

  HERMAN:Yonder in the tower.

  ABBOT: I must speak with him.

  MANUEL:’Tis impossible;

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  He is most private, and must not be thus

  Intruded on.

  ABBOT:Upon myself I take

  The forfeit of my fault, if fault there be –

  But I must see him.

  HERMAN:Thou hast seen him once

  This eve already.

  ABBOT:Herman! I command thee,

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  Knock, and apprize the Count of my approach.

  HERMAN: We dare not.

  ABBOT:Then it seems I must be herald

  Of my own purpose.

  MANUEL:Reverend father, stop –

  I pray you pause.

  ABBOT:Why so?

  MANUEL:But step this way,

  And I will tell you further.

  [Exeunt.]

  SCENE IV

  Interior of the Tower.

  [MANFRED alone.]

  The stars are forth, the moon above the tops

  Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful!

  I linger yet with Nature, for the night

  Hath been to me a more familiar face

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  Than that of man; and in her starry shade

  Of dim and solitary loveliness,

  I learn’d the language of another world.

  I do remember me, that in my youth,

  When I was wandering, – upon such a night

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  I stood within the Coliseum’s wall,

  Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome;

  The trees which grew along the broken arches

  Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars

  Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar

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  The watchdog bay’d beyond the Tiber; and

  More near from out the Caesars’ palace came

  The owl’s long cry, and, interruptedly,

  Of distant sentinels the fitful song

  Begun and died upon the gentle wind.

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  Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach

  Appear’d to skirt the horizon, yet they stood

  Within a bowshot – Where the Cæsars dwelt

  And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst

  A grove which springs through levell’d battlements,

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  And twines its roots with the imperial hearths

  Ivy usurps the laurel’s place of growth; –

  But the gladiators’ bloody Circus stands,

  A noble wreck in ruinous perfection!

  While Cæsar’s chambers, and the Augustan halls,

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  Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. –

  And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon

  All this, and cast a wide and tender light,

  Which soften’d down the hoar austerity

  Of rugged desolation, and fill’d up,

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  As ’twere anew, the gaps of centuries;

  Leaving that beautiful which still was so,

  And making that which was not, till the place

  Became religion, and the heart ran o’er

  With silent worship of the great of old!

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  The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule

  Our spirits from their urns. –

  ’Twas such a night!

  ’Tis strange that I recall it at this time;

  But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight

  Even at the moment when they should array

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  Themselves in pensive order.

  [Enter the ABBOT.]

  ABBOT:My good lord!

  I crave a second grace for this approach;

  But yet let not my humble zeal offend

  By its abruptness – all it hath of ill

  Recoils on me; its good in the effect

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  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.

  MANFRED:Thou know’st me not;

  My days are number’d, and my deeds recorded:

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  Retire, or ’twill be dangerous – Away!

  ABBOT: Thou dost not mean to menace me?

  MANFRED:Not I;

  I simply tell thee peril is at hand,

  And would preserve thee.

  ABBOT:What dost thou mean?

  MANFRED:Look there!

  What dost thou see?

  ABBOT:Nothing.

  MANFRED:Look there, I say,

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  And steadfastly; – now tell me what thou seest?

  ABBOT: That which should shake me, – but I fear it not –

  I see a dusk and awful figure rise,

  Like an infernal god, from out the earth;

  His face wrapt in a mantle, and his form

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  Robed as with angry clouds: he stands between

  Thyself and me - but I do fear him not.

  MANFRED: Thou hast no cause – he shall not harm thee – but

  His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy.

  I say to thee – Retire!

  ABBOT:And I reply –

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  Never - till I have battled with this fiend: -

  What doth he here?

  MANFRED: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:

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  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

  Glares forth the immortality of hell –

  Avaunt! —

  MANFRED: Pronounce – what is thy mission?

  SPIRIT:Come!

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  ABBOT: What art thou, unknown being? answer! – speak!

  SPIRIT: The genius of this mortal. – Come! ’tis time.

  MANFRED: I am prepared for all things, but deny

  The power which summons me. Who sent thee here?

  SPIRIT: Thou’lt know anon – Come! come!

  MANFRED:I have commanded

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  Things of an essence greater far than thine,

  And striven with thy masters. Get thee hence!

  SPIRIT: Mortal! thine hour is come – Away! I say.

  MANFRED: I knew, and know my hour is come, but not

  To render up my soul to such as thee:

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  Away! I’ll die as I have lived – alone.

  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,

  And I do charge ye in the name —

  SPIRIT:Old man!

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  We know ourselves, our mission, and thine order;

  Waste not thy holy words on idle uses,

  It were in vain: this man is forfeited.

  Once more I summon him – Away! away!

  MANFRED: I do defy ye, – though I feel my soul

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  Is ebbing from me, yet I do defy ye;

  Nor will I hence, while I have earthly breath

  To breathe my scorn upon ye – earthly strength

  To wrestle, though with spirits; what ye take

  Shall be ta’en lim
b by limb.

  SPIRIT:Reluctant mortal!

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  Is this the Magian who would so pervade

  The world invisible, and make himself

  Almost our equal? – Can it be that thou

  Art thus in love with life? the very life

  Which made thee wretched!

  MANFRED:Thou false fiend, thou liest!

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  My life is in its last hour, – that I know,

  Nor would redeem a moment of that hour;

  I do not combat against death, but thee

  And thy surrounding angels; my past power

  Was purchased by no compact with thy crew,

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  But by superior science – penance – daring –

  And length of watching – strength of mind – and skill

  In knowledge of our fathers – when the earth

  Saw men and spirits walking side by side,

  And gave ye no supremacy: I stand

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  Upon my strength – I do defy – deny –

  Spurn back, and scorn ye! -

  SPIRIT:But thy many crimes

  Have made thee —

  MANFRED:What are they to such as thee?

  Must crimes be punish’d but by other crimes,

  And greater criminals? – Back to thy hell!

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  Thou hast no power upon me, that I feel;

  Thou never shalt possess me, that I know:

  What I have done is done; I bear within

  A torture which could nothing gain from thine:

  The mind which is immortal makes itself

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  Requital for its good or evil thoughts –

  Is its own origin of ill and end –

  And its own place and time — its innate sense,

  When stripp’d of this mortality, derives

  No colour from the fleeting things without;

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  But is absorb’d in sufferance or in joy,

  Born from the knowledge of its own desert.

  Thou didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt me;

  I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy prey —

  But was my own destroyer, and will be

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  My own hereafter. — Back, ye baffled fiends!

  The hand of death is on me – but not yours!

  [The Demons disappear.]

  ABBOT: Alas! how pale thou art – thy lips are white –

  And thy breast heaves – and in thy gasping throat

  The accents rattle — Give thy prayers to Heaven —

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  Pray – albeit but in thought, – but die not thus.

  MANFRED: ’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 well –

  Give me thy hand.

  ABBOT:Cold — cold — even to the heart —

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  But yet one prayer – Alas! how fares it with thee?

  MANFRED: Old man! ’tis not so difficult to die.

  [MANFRED expires.]

  ABBOT: He’s gone — his soul hath ta’en its earthless flight —

 

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