My injuries came down on those who loved meOn those whom I best loved: I never quell'd

An enemy, save in my just defence

But my embrace was fatal.

C. HUN.

Heaven give thee rest!

And penitence restore thee to thyself;

My prayers shall be for thee.

MAN.

I need them not,

But can endure thy pity. I depart

'Tis time-farewell!-Here's gold, and thanks for

thee

No words—it is thy due.-Follow me not

I know my path-the mountain peril's past:And once again, I charge thee, follow not! [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
The torrent with the many hues of heaven,
And roll the sheeted silver's waving column
O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular,
And fling its lines of foaming light along,
And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail,
The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death,
As told in the Apocalypse.
No eyes

But mine now drink this sight of loveliness;

I should be sole in this sweet solitude,

And with the Spirit of the place divide The homage of these waters.-I will call her. (MANFRED takes some of the water into the palm

of his hand, and flings it in the air, muttering the adjuration. After a pause, the WITCH OF THE

ALPS rises beneath the arch of the sunbeam of the torrent.)

MAN. Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light, And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form

The charms of Earth's least-mortal daughters grow

To an unearthly stature, in an essence

Of purer elements; while the hues of youth,-
Carnation'd like a sleeping infant's cheek,

Rock'd by the beating of her mother's heart,

Or the rose tints, which summer's twilight leaves
Upon the lofty glacier's virgin snow,

The blush of earth embracing with her heaven,

Tinge thy celestial aspect, and make tame

The beauties of the sunbow which bends o'er thee.

Beautiful Spirit! in thy calm clear brow,

Wherein is glass'd serenity of soul,
Which of itself shows immortality,

I read that thou wilt pardon to a Son
Of Earth, whom the abstruser powers permit
At times to commune with them-if that he

Avail him of his spells-to call thee thus,
And gaze on thee a moment.

WITCH.

Son of Earth!

I know thee, and the powers which give thee power;

I know thee for a man of many thoughts,

And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both,

Fatal and fated in thy sufferings.

I have expected this-what wouldst thou with me?

MAN. To look upon thy beauty-nothing further. The face of the earth hath madden'd me, and I

Take refuge in her mysteries, and pierce
To the abodes of those who govern her-
I have sought

But they can nothing aid me.

From them what they could not bestow, and now I search no further.

WITCH. What could be the quest

Which is not in the power of the most powerful, The rulers of the invisible?

MAN.

A boon;

But why should I repeat it? 'twere in vain. WITCH. I know not that; let thy lips utter it.

MAN. Well, though it torture me, 'tis but the same; My pang shall find a voice. From my youth upwards My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men, Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes; The thirst of their ambition was not mine,

The aim of their existence was not mine;

My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers,