He is most private, and must not be thus

Intruded on.

Аввот.

Upon myself I take

The forfeit of my fault, if fault there be

Knock, and apprize the Count of my approach.

SCENE IV.

Interior of the Tower.

MANFRED alone.

MAN. The stars are forth, the moon above the tops

Of the snow-shining mountains.-Beautiful!

I linger yet with Nature, for the night

Hath been to me a more familiar face

Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness,

I learn'd the language of another world.

I do remember me, that in my youth,
When I was wandering,-upon such a night
I stood within the Coloseum's wall,

Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome;

The trees which grew along the broken arches
Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars
Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar
The watchdog bayed beyond the Tiber; and
More near from out the Cæsars' palace came
The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly,

Of distant sentinels the fitful song
Begun and died upon the gentle wind.
Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach
Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood
Within a bowshot-where the Cæsars dwelt,
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst
A grove which springs through levell❜d battlements,
And twines its roots with the imperial hearths,

Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth ;

But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands,

A noble wreck in ruinous perfection!

While Cæsar's chambers, and the Augustan halls,

Grovel on earth in indistinct decay.—

And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Which soften'd down the hoar austerity

Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up,

As 'twere, anew, the gaps of centuries;

Leaving that beautiful which still was so,

And making that which was not, till the place
Became religion, and the heart ran o'er

With silent worship of the great of old!

The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule

Our spirits from their urns.

'Twas such a night!.

'Tis strange that I recall it at this time;

But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight

Even at the moment when they should array

Themselves in pensive order.

Аввот.

Enter the ABBOT.

My good Lord!

I crave a second grace for this approach;
But yet let not my humble zeal offend
By its abruptness-all it hath of ill

Recoils on me; its good in the effect

May light upon your head-could I say heartCould I touch that, with words or prayers, I should Recall a noble spirit which hath wandered;

But is not yet all lost.

MAN.

Thou know'st me not;

My days are numbered, and my deeds recorded:

Retire, or 'twill be dangerous-Away!

ABBOT. Thou dost not mean to menace me?
ΜΑΝ.

I simply tell thee peril is at hand,

And would preserve thee.

Not I;

Аввот.

What dost mean?