A Dramatic Poem
Act I
SCENE I. A Gothic Gallery.
MANFRED alone.
The lamp must be replenish'd, but even then
It will not burn so long as I must watch:
My slumbers—if I slumber—are not sleep,
But a continuance of enduring thought,
Which then I can resist not: in my heart
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close
To look within; and yet I live, and bear
The aspect and the form of breathing men.
But grief should be the instructor of the wise;
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.
Philosophy and science, and the springs
Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world,
I have essay'd, 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 done men harm—rejoicing in the good,
And grieving for the harm; but this is not
Virtue—'tis but the conscience of the act,
Which spares the future shame, but not the past.
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.
SCENE II. A Mountain.—The Hut of a Mountain Shepherd.
MANFRED alone upon the cliffs.
The spirits I have raised abandon me—
The spells which I have studied baffle me—
The remedy I reck'd 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 gulf'd 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,
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;
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. Ay,
Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister,
[An Eagle passes.]
Who art thou? Whence comest thou? and whither goest?
How is it that I see thee not? and yet
I feel thee—shall I mount thee? How? and where?
There is no godhead in such oracles—
Away!
Act II
SCENE I. A Mountain Valley.
MANFRED and the WITCH OF THE ALPS.
MANFRED.
...I loved her, and destroy'd her!
Not with my hand, but heart—which broke her heart;
It gazed on mine, and withered. I have shed
Blood, but not hers—and yet her blood was shed—
I saw—and could not staunch it.
WITCH OF THE ALPS.
And for this—
A being of the race thou dost despise,
The order which thine own would rise above,
Stoop'd to the child of dust she was, and died—
Thus—and thus!—Answer me!
MANFRED.
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.
...We are the fools of time and terror: Days
Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
Act III
SCENE I. A Hall in the Castle of Manfred.
MANFRED.
'Tis over—my dim eyes have lost their power,
The past returns—the present still escapes me—
The mind which is immortal makes itself
Requital for its good or evil thoughts,—
Is its own origin of ill and end—
And its own place and time—its inward sense
Is its own marvellous universe: it sees
No outward form, and yet it sees the more—
For all that's visible is but a dream
Of that which is invisible; and all
That we behold is but a shadow cast
From that which is eternal and divine.
SCENE IV. The Tower of Manfred.
MANFRED alone.
Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die.
[MANFRED expires.]
Abbot.
He's gone—his soul hath ta'en its earthless flight;
Whither? I dread to think—but he is gone.
[Exeunt.]