In phantasy, imagination, all

The affluence of my soul-which one day was
A Croesus in creation-I plunged deep,
But, like an ebbing wave, it dash'd me back
Into the gulf of my unfathom'd thought.
I plunged amidst mankind-Forgetfulness
I sought in all, save where 'tis to be found,
And that I have to learn-my sciences,
My long pursued and super-human art,
Is mortal here--I dwell in my despair-

And live-and live for ever.

Must wake the dead, or lay me low with them.

Do so-in any shape-in any hour

With any torture-so it be the last.

WITCH. That is not in my province; but if thou

Wilt swear obedience to my will, and do

My bidding, it may help thee to thy wishes.

MAN. I will not swear-Obey! and whom? the spirits Whose presence I command, and be the slave

Of those who served me-Never!

WITCH.

Is this all?

Hast thou no gentler answer?-Yet bethink thee,

And pause ere thou rejectest.

ΜΑΝ.

I have said it.

WITCH. Enough!-I may retire then-say!

ΜΑΝ.

Retire!

[The WITCH disappears.

MAN. (alone.) 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.

In all the days of this detested yoke

This vital weight upon the struggling heart,

Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pain, Or joy that ends in agony or faintness—

In all the days of past and future, for

In life there is no present, we can number
How few-how less than few-wherein the soul
Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws back
As from a stream in winter, though the chill
Be but a moment's. I have one resource
Still in my science—I can call the dead,
And ask them what it is we dread to be:
The sternest answer can but be the Grave,
And that is nothing—if they answer not—
The buried Prophet answered to the Hag
Of Endor; and the Spartan Monarch drew
From the Byzantine maid's unsleeping spirit
An answer and his destiny-he slew

That which he loved, unknowing what he slew,
And died unpardon'd-though he call'd in aid

The Phyxian Jove, and in Phigalia roused
The Arcadian Evocators to compel

The indignant shadow to depose her wrath,
Or fix her term of vengeance-she replied
In words of dubious import, but fulfill'd3.

If I had never lived, that which I love
Had still been living; had I never loved,
That which I love would still be beautiful-
Happy and giving happiness. What is she?
What is she now ?-a sufferer for my sins-
A thing I dare not think upon-or nothing.
Within few hours I shall not call in vain-
Yet in this hour I dread the thing I dare:
Until this hour I never shrunk to gaze
On spirit, good or evil-now I tremble,

And feel a strange cold thaw upon my heart,

But I can act even what I most abhor,

And champion human fears.-The night approaches.

SCENE III.

[Exit.

The Summit of the Jungfrau Mountain.

Enter FIRST DESTINY.

The moon is rising broad, and round, and bright;

And here on snows, where never human foot
Of common mortal trod, we nightly tread,

And leave no traces; o'er the savage sea,
The glassy ocean of the mountain ice,
We skim its rugged breakers, which put on
The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam,