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-

But they can nothing aid me. I have sought

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?

ΜΑΝ.

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,

Made me a stranger; though I wore the form,
I had no sympathy with breathing flesh,
Nor midst the creatures of clay that girded me
Was there but one who-but of her anon.
I said, with men, and with the thoughts of men,
I held but slight communion; but instead,
My joy was in the Wilderness, to breathe

The difficult air of the iced mountain's top,
Where the birds dare not build, nor insect's wing

Flit o'er the herbless granite; or to plunge

Into the torrent, and to roll along

On the swift whirl of the new breaking wave

Of river-stream, or ocean, in their flow.

In these my early strength exulted; or

To follow through the night the moving moon, The stars and their developement; or catch The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim; Or to look, list'ning, on the scattered leaves,

While Autumn winds were at their evening song.
These were my pastimes, and to be alone;
For if the beings, of whom I was one,—
Hating to be so,-cross'd me in my path,
I felt myself degraded back to them,

And was all clay again. And then I dived,
In my lone wanderings, to the caves of death,
Searching its cause in its effect; and drew
From wither'd bones, and skulls, and heap'd up dust,
Conclusions most forbidden. Then I pass'd

The nights of years in sciences untaught,

Save in the old-time; and with time and toil,
And terrible ordeal, and such penance

As in itself hath power upon the air,
And spirits that do compass air and earth,
Space, and the peopled infinite, I made
Mine eyes familiar with Eternity,

Such as, before me, did the Magi, and