My way of life leads me but rarely down To bask by the huge hearths of those old halls, Which step from out our mountains to their doors, MAN. No matter. C. HUN. Well, sir, pardon me the question, And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine; "Tis of an ancient vintage; many a day "T has thaw'd my veins among our glaciers, now Let it do thus for thine-Come, pledge me fairly. MAN. Away, away! there's blood upon the brim ! Will it then never-never sink in the earth? C. HUN. What dost thou mean? thy senses wander from thee. MAN. I say 'tis blood-my blood! the pure warm stream Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in ours And loved each other as we should not love, And this was shed: but still it rises up, Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven, Where thou art not-and I shall never be. C. HUN. Man of strange words, and some half-mad dening sin, Which makes thee people vacancy, whate'er Thy dread and sufferance be, there's comfort yet- MAN. Patience and patience! Hence-that word was made For brutes of burthen, not for birds of prey; 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, 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 Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break, 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, This do I see-and then I look within It matters not-my soul was scorch'd already! C. HUN. And wouldst thou then exchange thy lot for mine? MAN. No, friend! I would not wrong thee, nor ex change My lot with living being: I can bear However wretchedly, 'tis 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 My injuries came down on those who loved me- An enemy, save in my just defence But my embrace was fatal. C. HUN. Heaven give thee rest! And penitence restore thee to thyself; MAN. I need them not, But can endure thy pity. I depart— "Tis time-farewell!-Here's gold, and thanks for theeNo words-it is thy due.-Follow me not I know my path-the mountain peril's past:- [Exit MANFRED. SCENE II. A lower Valley in the Alps. A Cataract. Enter MANfred. It is not noon-the sunbow's rays (1) still arch |