I love thee most in dwarfs ! A mortal of A new-found mammoth; and their cursed engines, Form'd as thou art. I may dismiss the mould Arn. Had no power presented me Have done the best which spirit may to make The eyes of happier man. I would have look'd !["Whosoever," says Lord Bacon," hath any thing fixed in his person that doth induce contempt, hath also a perpetual spur in himself to rescue and deliver himself from scorn; therefore, all deformed persons are extreme bold; first, as in their own defence, as being exposed to scorn, but in process of time by a general habit: also it stirreth in them industry, and especially of this kind, to watch and observe the weakness of others, that they may have somewhat to repay. Again, in their superiors, it quencheth jealousy towards them, as persons that they think they may at pleasure despise: and it layeth their competitors and emulators asleep, as never believing they should be in possibility of advancement till they In turn, because of this vile crooked clog, Of shape; my dam beheld my shape was hopeless. 2 ["Lord Byron's chief incentive, when a boy, to distinct was that mark of deformity, by an acute sense of which b was first stung into the ambition of being great. In his letters to Mr. Hunt, he declares it to be his own that an addiction to poetry is very generally the result ca uneasy mind in an uneasy body; disease or deformity, adds, have been the attendants of many of our best for lins mad-Chatterton, I think, mad- Cowper mad-Poe crooked-Milton blind,' &c. &c." - MOORE] From the red earth, like Adam, 1 Till the rose in his cheek Now turn into eyes! And thou, sunshiny water, Of blood take the guise! Let these hyacinth boughs Be his long flowing hair, And wave o'er his brows, As thou wavest in air! Let his heart be this marble I tear from the rock! But his voice as the warble Of birds on yon oak! Let his flesh be the purest Of mould, in which grew The lily-root surest, And drank the best dew! Let his limbs be the lightest. Which clay can compound, And his aspect the brightest On earth to be found! Elements, near me, Be mingled and stirr'd, Know me, and hear me, And leap to my word! Sunbeams, awaken This earth's animation! "T is done! He hath taken His stand in creation! [ARNOLD falls senseless; his soul passes into the shape of Achilles, which rises from the ground; while the phantom has disappeared, part by part, as the figure was formed from the earth. Arn. (in his new form). I love, and I shall be beloved! Oh life! At last I feel thee! Glorious spirit! Stop! Stran. What shall become of your abandon'd garment, Yon hump, and lump, and clod of ugliness, Which late you wore, or were? Arn. the earth). Clay! not dead, but soul-less! Though no man would choose thee, An immortal no less Deigns not to refuse thee. Clay thou art; and unto spirit All clay is of equal merit. Fire! without which nought can live; Save the fabled salamander, Or immortal souls, which wander, Praying what doth not forgive, Howling for a drop of water, Burning in a quenchless lot: Fire the only element Where nor fish, beast, bird, nor worm, But must with thyself be blent: And Destruction's threaten'd son, When heaven with the world hath done: Fire! assist me to renew Life in what lies in my view Stiff and cold! One little, marshy spark of flame Who cares? Let wolves His resurrection rests with me and you! And if And vultures take it, if they will. Stran. They do, and are not scared by it, you'll say It must be peace-time, and no better fare Abroad i' the fields. Arn. Let us but leave it there; No matter what becomes on 't. Stran. That's ungracious, If not ungrateful. Whatsoe'er it be, It hath sustain'd your soul full many a day. Arn. Ay, as the dunghill may conceal a gem Stran. But if I give another form, it must be Who make men without women's aid have long 1 Adam means "red carth," from which the first man was formed. And he again shall seem the same; But I his spirit's place shall hold ! [An ignis-fatuus flits through the wood and rests on the brow of the body. The Stranger disappears: the body rises. Arn. (in his new form). Oh! horrible! [thou? I merely shudder. Where is fled the shape Stran. Not so To the world of shadows. But let us thread the present. Whither wilt thou? Arn. Must thou be my companion? Stran. Your betters keep worse company. Arn. Wherefore not? My betters! Stran. Oh! you wax proud, I see, of your new form: X Who bears the golden horn, and wears such bright Stran. I have ten thousand names, and twice As many attributes; but as I wear A human shape, will take a human name. Arn. More human than the shape (though it was mine once) I trust. Cæsar thou shalt be. For myself, my name Cas. [steed Arn. Or in an order for a battle-field. More knows whom he must bear ; In the wave he will not sink, Nor pause at the brook's side to drink; In the combat he'll not faint! On the stones he will not stumble, Time nor toil shall make him humble; But be winged as a griffin, And will not such a voyage be sweet? Shall our bonny black horses skim over the ground! Cas. And where is that which is so? From the star Of life. The planet wheels till it becomes The stars, goes out. The poor worm winds its way, But still, like them, must live and die, the subject Of fix'd necessity: against her edict Arn. And when it prospers. I saw him. Cas. Arn. You! Cæs. Yes, sir. You forget I am or was Spirit, till I took up with your cast shape And a worse name. I'm Cæsar and a hunchback Now. Well the first of Cæsars was a bald-head, And loved his laurels better as a wig (So history says) than as a glory. 1 Thus The world runs on, but we'll be merry still. I saw your Romulus (simple as I am) Slay his own twin, quickborn of the same womb, Because he leapt a ditch ('twas then no wall, Whate'er it now be); and Rome's earliest cement Was brother's blood; and if its native blood Be spilt till the choked Tiber be as red As e'er 't was yellow, it will never wear The deep hue of the ocean and the earth, Which the great robber sons of fratricide Have made their never-ceasing scene of slaughter For ages. Arn. But what have these done, their far Remote descendants, who have lived in peace, The peace of heaven, and in her sunshine of Piety? Cas. And what had they done, whom the old Romans o'erswept ? — Hark! Arn. They are soldiers singing A reckless roundelay, upon the eve swans ? They are black ones, to be sure. The crucifix Arn. I see, too? Above, and many altar shrines below. Arn. Caes. The city, or the amphitheatre ? So, you are learn'd, I Cæs. In my grammar, certes. Was educated for a monk of all times, And once I was well versed in the forgotten Etruscan letters, and-were I so minded. Could make their hieroglyphics plainer than Your alphabet. Arn. And wherefore do you not? Cæs. It answers better to resolve the alphabet Back into hieroglyphics. Like your statesman, And prophet, pontiff, doctor, alchymist, Philosopher, and what not, they have built More Babels, without new dispersion, than The stammering young ones of the flood's dull ooze, Who fail'd and fled each other. Why? why, marry, Because no man could understand his neighbour. They are wiser now, and will not separate For nonsense. Nay, it is their brotherhood, Their Shibboleth, their Koran, Talmud, their Cabala; their best brick-work, wherewithal They build more―― Arn. (interrupting him). Oh, thou everlasting Cæs. Song of the Soldiers within. The black bands came over The Alps and their snow; With Bourbon, the rover, They pass'd the broad Po. We have beaten all foemen, We have captured a king, We have turn'd back on no men, And so let us sing! Here's the Bourbon for ever! Though pennyless all, We'll have one more endeavour At yonder old wall. With the Bourbon we'll gather At day-dawn before The gates, and together Or break or climb o'er The wall on the ladder As mounts each firm foot, Our shout shall grow gladder, And death only be mute. With the Bourbon we'll mount o'er The walls of old Rome, And who then shall count o'er The spoils of each dome? Up! up with the lily! And down with the keys! Her streets shall be gory, And her temples so hoary Shall clang with our tread. Oh, the Bourbon! the Bourbon ! Of our song bear the burden! And fire, fire away! Beat Germany's drums; And Italy's lances Are couch'd at their mother; But our leader from France is, Who warr'd with his brother. Oh, the Bourbon ! the Bourbon ! Sans country or home, We'll follow the Bourbon, An indifferent song For those within the walls, methinks, to hear. Arn. Yes, if they keep to their chorus. comes Phil. Doubt not our soldiers. Were the walls of They'd crack them. Hunger is a sharp artillery. And sent forth mighty spirits. The past earth But here |