In this one plunge.—Farewell, ye opening heavens! Ye were not meant for me- -Earth! take these atoms! (As Manfred is in act to spring from the cliff, the CHAMOIS HUNTER seizes and retains him with a sudden grasp.) C. HUN. Hold, madman !—though aweary of thy life, Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood.Away with me—I will not quit my hold. MAN. I am most sick at heart-nay, grasp me notI am all feebleness-the mountains whirl Spinning around me-I grow blind-What art thou? C. HUN. I'll answer that anon.-Away with me- And something like a pathway, which the torrent Hath wash'd since winter.-Come, 'tis bravely done— You should have been a hunter.-Follow me. (As they descend the rocks with difficulty, the scene closes.) END OF ACT THE FIRST. 26 ACT II. SCENE I. A Cottage amongst the Bernese Alps. MANFRED and the CHAMOIS HUNTER. C. HUN. No, no-yet pause-thou must not yet go forth: Thy mind and body are alike unfit To trust each other, for some hours, at least; MAN. It imports not: I do know My route full well, and need no further guidance. C. HUN. Thy garb and gait bespeak thee of high lineage One of the many chiefs, whose castled crags Look o'er the lower valleys-which of these May call thee Lord? I only know their portals; 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, 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 thawed 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 When we were in our youth, and had one heart, Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from heaven, C. HUN. Man of strange words, and some half-maddening 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 Have made my days and nights imperishable, Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore, Innumerable atoms; and one desart, Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break, But nothing rests, save carcases 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 distempered dream. C. HUN. What is it That thou dost see, or think thou look'st upon? MAN. Myself, and thee—a peasant of the AlpsThy humble virtues, hospitable home, And spirit patient, pious, proud and free; Thy self-respect, grafted on innocent thoughts; It matters not-my soul was scorch'd already! C. HUN. And would'st thou then exchange thy lot for mine? MAN. No, friend! I would not wrong thee, nor ex change |