Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Byron

  Of Wonder, and the wisdom of the World,

  I have essayed, and in my mind there is

  A power to make these subject to itself —

  But they avail not: I have done men good,

  And I have met with good even among men —

  But this availed not: I have had my foes,

  And none have baffled, many fallen before me — 20

  But this availed not: — Good — or evil — life —

  Powers, passions — all I see in other beings,

  Have been to me as rain unto the sands,

  Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread,

  And feel the curse to have no natural fear,

  Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes,

  Or lurking love of something on the earth.

  Now to my task. —

  Mysterious Agency!

  Ye Spirits of the unbounded Universe!

  Whom I have sought in darkness and in light — 30

  Ye, who do compass earth about, and dwell

  In subtler essence — ye, to whom the tops

  Of mountains inaccessible are haunts,

  And Earth’s and Ocean’s caves familiar things —

  I call upon ye by the written charm

  Which gives me power upon you — Rise! Appear!

  [A pause.

  They come not yet. — Now by the voice of him

  Who is the first among you — by this sign,

  Which makes you tremble — by the claims of him

  Who is undying, — Rise! Appear! — — Appear! 40

  [A pause.

  If it be so. — Spirits of Earth and Air,

  Ye shall not so elude me! By a power,

  Deeper than all yet urged, a tyrant-spell,

  Which had its birthplace in a star condemned,

  The burning wreck of a demolished world,

  A wandering hell in the eternal Space;

  By the strong curse which is upon my Soul,

  The thought which is within me and around me,

  I do compel ye to my will. — Appear!

  [A star is seen at the darker end of the gallery:

  it is stationary; and a voice is heard singing.]

  First Spirit.

  Mortal! to thy bidding bowed, 50

  From my mansion in the cloud,

  Which the breath of Twilight builds,

  And the Summer’s sunset gilds

  With the azure and vermilion,

  Which is mixed for my pavilion;

  Though thy quest may be forbidden,

  On a star-beam I have ridden,

  To thine adjuration bowed:

  Mortal — be thy wish avowed!

  Voice of the Second Spirit.

  Mont Blanc is the Monarch of mountains; 60

  They crowned him long ago

  On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,

  With a Diadem of snow.

  Around his waist are forests braced,

  The Avalanche in his hand;

  But ere it fall, that thundering ball

  Must pause for my command.

  The Glacier’s cold and restless mass

  Moves onward day by day;

  But I am he who bids it pass, 70

  Or with its ice delay.

  I am the Spirit of the place,

  Could make the mountain bow

  And quiver to his caverned base —

  And what with me would’st Thou?

  Voice of the Third Spirit.

  In the blue depth of the waters,

  Where the wave hath no strife,

  Where the Wind is a stranger,

  And the Sea-snake hath life,

  Where the Mermaid is decking 80

  Her green hair with shells,

  Like the storm on the surface

  Came the sound of thy spells;

  O’er my calm Hall of Coral

  The deep Echo rolled —

  To the Spirit of Ocean

  Thy wishes unfold!

  Fourth Spirit.

  Where the slumbering Earthquake

  Lies pillowed on fire,

  And the lakes of bitumen 90

  Rise boilingly higher;

  Where the roots of the Andes

  Strike deep in the earth,

  As their summits to heaven

  Shoot soaringly forth;

  I have quitted my birthplace,

  Thy bidding to bide —

  Thy spell hath subdued me,

  Thy will be my guide!

  Fifth Spirit.

  I am the Rider of the wind, 100

  The Stirrer of the storm;

  The hurricane I left behind

  Is yet with lightning warm;

  To speed to thee, o’er shore and sea

  I swept upon the blast:

  The fleet I met sailed well — and yet

  ‘Twill sink ere night be past.

  Sixth Spirit.

  My dwelling is the shadow of the Night,

  Why doth thy magic torture me with light?

  Seventh Spirit.

  The Star which rules thy destiny no 110

  Was ruled, ere earth began, by me:

  It was a World as fresh and fair

  As e’er revolved round Sun in air;

  Its course was free and regular,

  Space bosomed not a lovelier star.

  The Hour arrived — and it became

  A wandering mass of shapeless flame,

  A pathless Comet, and a curse,

  The menace of the Universe;

  Still rolling on with innate force, 120

  Without a sphere, without a course,

  A bright deformity on high,

  The monster of the upper sky!

  And Thou! beneath its influence born —

  Thou worm! whom I obey and scorn —

  Forced by a Power (which is not thine,

  And lent thee but to make thee mine)

  For this brief moment to descend,

  Where these weak Spirits round thee bend

  And parley with a thing like thee — 130

  What would’st thou, Child of Clay! with me?

  The Seven Spirits.

  Earth — ocean — air — night — mountains — winds — thy Star,

  Are at thy beck and bidding, Child of Clay!

  Before thee at thy quest their Spirits are —

  What would’st thou with us, Son of mortals — say?

  Man. Forgetfulness — —

  First Spirit. Of what — of whom — and why?

  Man. Of that which is within me; read it there —

  Ye know it — and I cannot utter it.

  Spirit. We can but give thee that which we possess:

  Ask of us subjects, sovereignty, the power 140

  O’er earth — the whole, or portion — or a sign

  Which shall control the elements, whereof

  We are the dominators, — each and all,

  These shall be thine.

  Man. Oblivion — self-oblivion!

  Can ye not wring from out the hidden realms

  Ye offer so profusely — what I ask?

  Spirit. It is not in our essence, in our skill;

  But — thou may’st die.

  Man. Will Death bestow it on me?

  Spirit. We are immortal, and do not forget;

  We are eternal; and to us the past 150

  Is, as the future, present. Art thou answered?

  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 cooped in clay!

  Answer, or I will teach y
ou what I am.

  Spirit. We answer — as we answered; our reply

  Is even in thine own words.

  Man. Why say ye so? 160

  Spirit. If, as thou say’st, thine essence be as ours,

  We have replied in telling thee, the thing

  Mortals call death hath nought to do with us.

  Man. I then have called 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. Accurséd! what have I to do with days?

  They are too long already. — Hence — begone! 170

  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 accustomed forms. 180

  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 beautiful 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, 190

  And we again will be — —

  [The figure vanishes.

  My heart is crushed!

  [Manfred falls senseless.

  (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 answered owls are hooting,

  And the silent leaves are still

  In the shadow of the hill,

  Shall my soul be upon thine, 200

  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 gathered in a cloud;

  And for ever shalt thou dwell 210

  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;

  And when in that secret dread

  Thou hast turned around thy head,

  Thou shalt marvel I am not

  As thy shadow on the spot,

  And the power which thou dost feel 220

  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, 230

  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 snatched the snake,

  For there it coiled as in a brake;

  From thy own lip I drew the charm

  Which gave all these their chiefest harm;

  In proving every poison known, 240

  I found the strongest was thine own.

  By the cold breast and serpent smile,

  By thy unfathomed gulfs of guile,

  By that most seeming virtuous eye,

  By thy shut soul’s hypocrisy;

  By the perfection of thine art

  Which passed for human thine own heart;

  By thy delight in others’ pain,

  And by thy brotherhood of Cain,

  I call upon thee! and compel 250

  Thyself to be thy proper Hell!

  And on thy head I pour the vial

  Which doth devote thee to this trial;

  Nor to slumber, nor to die,

  Shall be in thy destiny;

  Though thy death shall still seem near

  To thy wish, but as a fear;

  Lo! the spell now works around thee,

  And the clankless chain hath bound thee;

  O’er thy heart and brain together 260

  Hath the word been passed — now wither!

  Scene II. — The Mountain of the Jungfrau. — Time, Morning. — Manfred alone upon the cliffs.

  Man. The spirits I have raised abandon me,

  The spells which I have studied baffle me,

  The remedy I recked of tortured me

  I lean no more on superhuman aid;

  It hath no power upon the past, and for

  The future, till the past be gulfed in darkness,

  It is not of my search. — My Mother Earth!

  And thou fresh-breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains,

  Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye.

  And thou, the bright Eye of the Universe, 10

  That openest over all, and unto all

  Art a delight — thou shin’st not on my heart.

  And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge

  I stand, and on the torrent’s brink beneath

  Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs

  In dizziness of distance; when a leap,

  A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring

  My breast upon its rocky bosom’s bed

  To rest for ever — wherefore do I pause?

  I feel the impulse — yet I do not plunge; 20

  I see the peril — yet do not recede;

  And my brain reels — and yet my foot is firm:

  There is a power upon me which withholds,

  And makes it my fatality to live, —

  If it be life to wear within myself

  This barrenness of Spirit, and to be

  My own Soul’s sepulchre, for I have ceased

  To justify my deeds unto myself —

  The last infirmity of evil. Aye,

  Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, 30

  [An Eagle passes.

  Whose happy flight is highest into heaven,

  Well may’st thou swoop so near me — I should be

  Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone

  Where the eye cannot follow thee; but thine

  Yet pierces downward, onward, or above,

  With a pervading vision. — Beautiful!

  How beautiful is all this visible world!

  How glorious in its action and itself!

  But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we,

  Half dust, half deity, alike unfit 40

  To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make

  A conflict of it
s elements, and breathe

  The breath of degradation and of pride,

  Contending with low wants and lofty will,

  Till our Mortality predominates,

  And men are — what they name not to themselves,

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

  [The Shepherd’s pipe in the distance is heard.

  The natural music of the mountain reed —

  For here the patriarchal days are not

  A pastoral fable — pipes in the liberal air, 50

  Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd;

  My soul would drink those echoes. Oh, that I were

  The viewless spirit of a lovely sound,

  A living voice, a breathing harmony,

  A bodiless enjoyment — born and dying

  With the blest tone which made me!

  Enter from below a Chamois Hunter.

  Chamois Hunter. Even so

  This way the Chamois leapt: her nimble feet

  Have baffled me; my gains to-day will scarce

  Repay my break-neck travail. — What is here?

  Who seems not of my trade, and yet hath reached 60

  A height which none even of our mountaineers,

  Save our best hunters, may attain: his garb

  Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air

  Proud as a free-born peasant’s, at this distance:

  I will approach him nearer.

  Man. (not perceiving the other). To be thus —

  Grey-haired with anguish, like these blasted pines,

  Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless,

  A blighted trunk upon a curséd root,

  Which but supplies a feeling to Decay —

  And to be thus, eternally but thus, 70

  Having been otherwise! Now furrowed o’er

  With wrinkles, ploughed by moments, not by years

  And hours, all tortured into ages — hours

  Which I outlive! — Ye toppling crags of ice!

  Ye Avalanches, whom a breath draws down

  In mountainous o’erwhelming, come and crush me!

  I hear ye momently above, beneath,

  Crash with a frequent conflict; but ye pass,

  And only fall on things that still would live;

  On the young flourishing forest, or the hut 80

  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

  To lose at once his way and life together.

  Man. The mists boil up around the glaciers; clouds

  Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury,

  Like foam from the roused ocean of deep Hell,

  Whose every wave breaks on a living shore,

  Heaped with the damned like pebbles. — I am giddy.

  C. Hun. I must approach him cautiously; if near, 90

  A sudden step will startle him, and he

  Seems tottering already.