And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail, [MANFRED takes some of the water into the palm of his hand, and flings it in the air, mut tering the adjuration. After a pause the Witch of the ALPS rises beneath the arch of the sunbow of the torrent. Beautiful spirit! with thy hair of light, And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form The charms of earth's least mortal daughters grow Of purer elements; while the hues of youth,- The blush of earth embracing with her heaven,— The beauties of the sunbow which bends o'er thee.(2) I read that thou wilt pardon to a son Of earth, whom the abstruser powers permit part of the Alpine torrents: it is exactly like a rainbow come down to pay a visit, and so close that you may walk into it: this effect lasts till noon.—[“ Before ascending the mountain, went to the torrent; the sun upon it, forming a rainbow of the lower part of all colours, but principally of purple and gold; the bow moving as you move: I never saw any thing like this; it is only in the sunshine. Swiss Journal.-E. (1) "Arrived at the foot of the Jungfrau; glaciers; torrents: one of these torrents nine hundred feet in height of visible descent; heard an avalanche fall, like thunder; glaciers enormous; storm; came on-thunder, lightning, hail; all in perfection, and beautiful. The torrent is in shape, curving over the rock, like the tail of a white horse streaming in the wind, such as it might be conceived would be that of the 'pale horse' on which Death is mounted in the Apocalypse. It is neither mist nor water, but a something between both; its immense height gives it a wave or curve, a spreading here or condensation there, wonderful and indescribable." Swiss Journal.-E. (2) In all Lord Byron's heroes we recognise, though with infinite modifications, the same great characteristics-a high and audacious conception of the power of the mind-an intense sensibility of passion,-an almost boundless capacity of tumultuous emotion, a haunting admiration of the grandeur of disordered power,—and, above all, a soul-felt, blood-felt, delight in beauty. Parisina is full of it to overflowing; it breathes from every page of the Prisoner of Chillon; but it is in Manfred that it riots and My pang shall find a voice. From my youth upwards I held but slight communion; but instead, revels among the streams, and waterfalls, and groves, and mountains, and heavens. There is in the character of Manfred more of the self-might of Byron than in all his previous productions. He has therein brought, with wonderful power, metaphysical conceptions into forms,-and we know of no poem in which the aspect of external nature is throughout lighted up with an expression at once so beautiful, solemn, and majestic. It is the poem, next to Childe Harold, which we should give to a foreigner to read, that he might know something of Byron. Shakspeare has given to those abstractions of human life and being, which are truth in the intellect, forms as full, clear, glowing, as the idealised forms of visible nature. The very words of Ariel picture to us his beautiful being. In Manfred we see glorious but immature manifestations of similar power. The poet there creates, with delight, thoughts and feelings and fancies into visible forms, that he may cling and cleave to them, and clasp them in his passion. The beautiful Witch of the Alps seems exhaled from the luminous spray of the cataract,-as if the poct's eyes, unsated with the beauty of inanimate nature, gave spectral apparitions of loveliness to feed the pure passion of the poet's soul." Wilson. (5) "There is something exquisitely beautiful in all this passage; and both the apparition and the dialogue are so managed, that the sense of their improbability is swallowed up in that of their beauty; and, without actually believing that such spirits exist or communicate themselves, we feel for the moment as if we stood in their presence." Jeffrey. On the swift whirl of the new-breaking wave From wither'd bones, and skulls, and heap'd-up dust, Conclusions most forbidden. Then I pass'd He who from out their fountain-dwellings raised As I do thee;-and with my knowledge grew Man. Witch. Her faults were mine-her virtues were her own- With thy hand? Oh! I but thus prolong'd my words, My teeth in darkness till returning morn, Boasting these idle attributes, because As I approach the core of my heart's grief- Then cursed myself till sunset;-I have pray'd I have affronted death—but in the war public mind. The whole poem has been misunderstood, and the odious supposition, that ascribes the fearful mystery and remorse of the hero to a foul passion for his sister, is probably one of those coarse imaginations which have grown out of the calumnies and accusations heaped upon the author. How can it have happened, that none of the critics have noticed that the story is derived from the human sacrifices supposed to have been in use among the students of the black art? Human sacrifices were supposed to be among the initiate propitiations of the demons that have their purposes in magic-as well as compacts signed with the blood of the self-sold. There was also a dark Egyptian art, of which the (1) The philosopher Jamblicus. The story of the raising of Eros and Anteros may be found in his life by Eunapius. It is well told.—[“It is reported of him,” says Eunapius, "that while he and his scholars were bathing in the hot baths of Gadara in Syria, a dispute arising concerning the baths, he, smiling, ordered his disciples to ask the inhabitants by what names the two lesser springs, that were nearer and handsomer than the rest, were called. To which the inhabitants replied, that the one was called Eros, and the other Anteros, but for what reason they knew not.' Upon which Jamblicus, sitting by one of the springs, put his hand in the water, and, muttering some few words to himself, called up a fair-complexioned boy, with gold-coloured locks dang-knowledge and the efficacy could only be obtained by the noviling from his back and breast, so that he looked like one that was washing and then, going to the other spring, and doing as he had done before, called up another Cupid, with darker and more dishevelled hair: upon which both the Cupids clung about Jamblicus; but he presently sent them back to their proper places. After this, his friends submitted their belief to him in every thing." -E. (2) "There has always been, from the first publication of Maned, a strange misapprehension with respect to it in the ciate's procuring a voluntary victim—the dearest object to himself, and to whom he also was the dearest; and the primary spring of Byron's tragedy lies, I conceive, in a sacrifice of that kind having been performed, without obtaining that happiness which the votary expected would be found in the knowledge and power purchased at such a price. His sister was sacrificed in vainThe manner of the sacrifice is not divulged, but it is darkly insi. nuated to have been done amidst the perturbations of something horrible." Life by Galt.-E. In fantasy, imagination, all The affluence of my soul-which one day was Witch. That I can aid thee. Man. It may be To do this, thy power Must wake the dead, or lay me low with them. With any torture-so it be the last. Witch. That is not in my province; but if thou As from a stream in winter, though the chill Man. I will not swear-Obey! and whom? the Happy and giving happiness. What is she? [The WITCH disappears. Man. (alone.) We are the fools of time and terror: days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, (1) The story of Pausanias, king of Sparta (who commanded the Greeks at the battle of Platea, and afterwards perished for an attempt to betray the Lacedæmonians), and Cleonice, is told in Plutarch's life of Cimon, and in the Laconics of Pausanias the sophist, in his description of Greece.-[The following is the passage from Plutarch:-"It is related, that when Pausanias was al Byzantium, he cast his eyes upon a young virgin named Cleonice, of a noble family there, and insisted on having her for a mistress. The parents, intimidated by his power, were under the hard necessity of giving up their daughter. The young woman bezged that the light might be taken out of his apartments, that |she might go to his bed in secrecy and silence. When she entered he was asleep, and she unfortunately stumbled upon the candlestick, and threw it down. The noise waked him suddenly, and he, in his confusion, thinking it was an enemy coming to as sassinate him, unsheathed a dagger that lay by him, and plunged it into the virgin's heart. After this, he could never rest. Her What is she now ?-a sufferer for my sins- On spirit, good or evil-now I tremble, And champion human fears.-The night approaches. [Exit. image appeared to him every night, and with a menacing tone repeated this heroic verse: Go to the fate which pride and lust prepare.' The allies, highly incensed at this infamous action, joined Cimon to besiege him in Byzantium. But he found means to escape thence; and, as he was still haunted by the spectre, he is said to have applied to a temple at Heraclea, where the manes of the dead were consulted. There he invoked the spirit of Cleonice, and entreated her pardon. She appeared, and told him he would soon be delivered from all his troubles, after his return to Sparta:' in which, it seems, his death was enigmatically foretold. These particulars we have from many historians." — Langhorne's Plutarch, vol. iii. p. 279. "Thus we find," adds the translator, "that it was a custom in the Pagan as well as in the Hebrew theology, to conjure up the spirits of the dead; and that the witch of Endor was not the only witch in the world."-E. The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam, Is our great festival-'t is strange they come not. The captive usurper, Hurl'd down from the throne, Lay buried in torpor, I broke through his slumbers, I leagued him with numbers He's tyrant again! With the blood of a million he 'll answer my care, With a nation's destruction-his flight and despair. The ship sail'd on, the ship sail'd fast, FIRST DESTINY, answering. The city lies sleeping; The morn, to deplore it, The black plague flew o'er it Thousands lie lowly; Tens of thousands shall perish The living shall fly from Of their own desolation- This wreck of a realm-this deed of my doing- (1) "Came to a morass; Hobhouse dismounted to get over well; I tried to pass my horse over; the horse sunk up to the chin, and of course he and I were in the mud together; bemired, but not hurt; laughed and rode on. Arrived at the Grindenwald; mounted again, and rode to the higher glacier-like a frozen hurricane," Swiss Journal.-E.] Enter the SECOND and THIRD DESTINIES. Our hands contain the hearts of men, The spirits of our slaves! First Des. Welcome!-Where's Nemesis ? But what I know not, for my hands were full. First Des. Enter NEMESIS. Say, where hast thou been? My sisters and thyself are slow to-night. Nem. I was detain'd repairing shatter'd thrones, Marrying fools, restoring dynasties, Avenging men upon their enemies, And making them repent their own revenge; SCENE IV. The Hall of Arimanes—Arimanes on his Throne, a Globe of Fire, surrounded by the Spirits. Hymn of the SPIRITS. Hail to our master!-Prince of earth and air! Who walks the clouds and waters-in his hand The sceptre of the elements, which tear Themselves to chaos at his high command! He breatheth-and a tempest shakes the sea; He speaketh-and the clouds reply in thunder; He gazeth-from his glance the sunbeams flee; He moveth-earthquakes rend the world asunder. Beneath his footsteps the volcanos rise; His shadow is the pestilence; his path The comets herald through the crackling skies; To him Death pays his tribute; Life is his, And his the spirit of whatever is! Enter the DESTINIES and NEMESIS. First Des. Glory to Arimanes! on the earth His power increaseth-both my sisters did (2) "This we think is out of place at least, if not out of character; and though the author may tell us that human calamities are naturally subjects of derision to the ministers of vengeance, yet we cannot be persuaded that satirical and political allusions are at all compatible with the feelings and impressions which it was here his business to maintain." Jeffrey.—E. First Des. Crush the worm! Hence! avaunt-he's mine. Prince of the powers invisible ! this man Is of no common order, as his port Our own; his knowledge, and his powers and will, Which clogs the ethereal essence, have been such Man. Astarte. Yea. Whom wouldst thou One without a tomb-call up NEMESIS. Shadow! or spirit! Whatever thou art, The whole or a part The heart and the form, Redeem from the worm. Who sent thee there requires thee here! Man. Can this be death? there's bloom upon her But now I see it is no living hue, [cheek; But a strange hectic-like the unnatural red I cannot speak to her-but bid her speak- NEMESIS. By the power which hath broken |