Count Manfred, was, as now, within his tower,--
How occupied, we knew not, but with him
The sole companion of his wanderings

And watchings-her, whom of all earthly things
That lived, the only thing he seem'd to love,-
As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do,

The lady Astarte, his

Hush! who comes here?

Enter the ABBOT.

ABBOT. Where is your master?
HER. Yonder, in the tower.

ABBOT. I must speak with him.

MANUEL.

"Tis impossible;

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 apprise the Count of my approach.

HER. We dare not.

ABBOT. Then it seems I must be herald

Of my own purpose.

MANUEL.

I pray you pause.

Аввот.

Reverend father, stop-

Why so?

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 bay'd 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
Appear'd 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 'were, 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 wander'd;

But is not yet all lost.

ΜΑΝ.

Thou know'st me not;

My days are number'd, 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;

And steadfastly ;-now tell me what thou seest? ABBOT. That which should shake me,-but I fear

it not

I see a dusk and awful figure rise

Like an infernal god from out the earth;

His face wrapt in a mantle, and his form

Robed as with angry clouds; he stands between
Thyself and me-but I do fear him not.

MAN. Thou hast no cause-he shall not harm theebut

His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy.

I say to thee-Retire!

Аввот.

And I reply--

Never---till I have battled with this fiend--What doth he here?

ΜΑΝ.

Why---ay---what doth he here?--

I did not send for him,---he is unbidden.

[these

ABBOT. Alas! lost mortal! what, with guests like

Hast thou to do? I tremble for thy sake;

Why doth he gaze on thee, and thou on him?
Ah! he unveils his aspect; on his brow
The thunder-scars are graven; from his eye
Glares forth the Immortality of hell---

Avaunt!--

ΜΑΝ.

SPIRIT.

Pronounce---what is thy mission?
Come!

ABBOT. What art thou, unknown being? answer!

---speak!

[time.

SPIRIT. The genius of this mortal.-Come! 'tis
MAN. I am prepared for all things, but deny
The power which summons me. Who sent thee here?
SPIRIT. Thou'lt know anon-Come! come!
MAN.

I have commanded
Things of an essence greater far than thine,
And striven with thy masters. Get thee hence!