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[MANFRED advances to the window of the hall.
Glorious orb!* the idol

Of early nature, and the vigorous race
of undiseased mankind, the giant sons
Of the embrace of angels, with a sex
More beautiful than they, which did draw down
The erring spirits who can ne'er return.—
Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere
The mystery of thy making was reveal'd!
Thou earliest minister of the Almighty,
Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts
Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd
Themselves in orisons! thon material God!
And representative of the Unknown-

Who chose thee for his shadow! thou chief star!
Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth
Endurable, and temperest the hues

And hearts of all who walk within thy rays!
Sire of the seasons! Monarch of the climes,
And those who dwell in them! for, near or far,
Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee,
Even as our outward aspects;-thou dost rise,
And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well!
I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance
Of love and wonder was for thee, then take
My latest look: thou wilt not beam on one
To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been
Of a more fatal nature. He is gone:
I follow.

[Exit MANFRED. SCENE II.-The Mountains-The Castle of Manfred at some distance-A Terrace before a Tower.-Time, Trilight.

HERMAN, MANUEL, and other Dependants of MANFRED. Her. 'Tis strange enough; night after night, for years,

He hath pursued long vigils in this tower,
Without a witness. I have been within it,-
So have we all been oft-times; but from it,
Or its contents, it were impossible

To draw conclusions absolute of aught

His studies tend to. To be sure, there is

One chamber where none enter; I would give
The fee of what I have to come these three years,
To pore upon its mysteries.

Manuel.

"T were dangerous:

Content thyself with what thou know'st already. Her. Ah! Manuel! thou art elderly and wise,

Manuel. These walis Must change their chieftain first. Oh! I have seen Some strange things in these few years.t Her. Come, be friendly Relate me some, to while away our watch: I've heard thee darkly speak of an event Which happen'd hereabouts, by this same tower. Manuel. That was a night indeed! I do remember "T was twilight, as it may be now, and such Another evening;-yon red cloud, which rests On Eigher's pinnacle, so rested then,So like it that it might be the same; the wind Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows Began to glitter with the climbing moon; 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

Her.

Look-look-the towerThe tower's on fire. Oh, heavens and earth! what sound,

What dreadful sound is that? [A crash like thunder Manuel. Help, help, there!-to the rescue of the Count

The Count's in danger,-what ho! there! approach!
[The Servants, Vassals, and Peasantry approach
stupified with terror.

If there be any of you who have heart
And love of human kind, and will to aid
Those in distress-pause not-but follow me-
The portal's open, follow.
[MANUEL goes in
Her.
Come-who follows?
What, none of ye?-ye recreants! shiver then
Without. I will not see old Manuel risk
His few remaining years unaided. [HERMAN gees in
Vassal.

Hark!

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And couldst say much; thou hast dwelt within the He's dead. castle

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'Tis all in vain-

Her. (within.) Not so-even now mcthought he moved: But it is dark--so bear him gently outSoftly-how cold he is! take care of his temples In winding down the staircase.

Re-enter MANUEL and HERMAN, bearing MANFRED in their arms.

Manuel. Hie to the castle, some of ye, and bring What aid you can. Saddle the barb, and speed For the leech to the city-quick! some water there! Her. His cheek is black-but there is a faint beat Still lingering about the heart. Some water.

[They sprinkle MANFRED with water; after a pause he gives some signs of life. Manuel. He seems to strive to speak-come-cheerly, Count!

He moves his lips-canst hear him? I am old
And cannot catch faint sounds.

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Manuel. Oh! what a death is this! that I should live To shake my gray hairs over the last chief Of the house of Sigismund-And such a death! Alone-we know not how-unshrived-untendedWith strange accompaniments and fearful signsI shudder at the sight-but must not leave him. Manfred. (speaking faintly and slowly.) Old man! "Tis not so difficult to die.

[MANFRED, having said this, expires. Her. His eyes are fix'd and lifeless.-He is gone. Manuel. Close them.-My old hand quivers.-He departs

Whither? I dread to think-But he is gone!

TO MY DEAR MARY ANNE.

THE FOLLOWING LINES ARE THE EARLIEST WRITTEN BY LORD BYRON. THEY WERE ADDRESSED TO MISS CHAWORTH, AFTERWARDS MRS. MUSTERS, IN 1804, ABOUT A YEAR BEFORE HER MARRIAGE.]

ADIEU to sweet Mary for ever!

From her I must quickly depart:
Though the fates us from each other sever,
Still her image will dwell in my heart.

The flame that within my heart burns
If unlike what in lovers' hearts glows;

The love which for Mary I feel

Is far purer than Cupid bestows.

I wish not your peace to disturb,
I wish not your joys to molest;
Mistake not my passion for love,
"Tis your friendship alone I request.
Not ten thousand lovers could feel

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FRAGMENT.

1.

HILLS of Annesley, bleak and barren,
Where my thoughtless childhood stray'd,
How the northern tempests warring,
Howl above thy tufted shade!

2.

Now no more, the hours beguiling, Former favourite haunts I see; Now no more my Mary smiling Makes ye seem a heaven to me.

THE PRAYER OF NATURE. FATHER of Light! great God of Heaven! Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer? Father of Light, on thee I call!

1805.

Thou see'st my soul is dark within;
Thou who can'st mark the sparrow's fall,
Avert from me the death of sin.
No shrine I seek to sects unknown;
Oh point to me the path of truth!
Thy dread omnipotence I own;

Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth.
Let bigots rear a gloomy fane,

Let superstition hail the pile,
Let priests, to spread their sable reign,
With tales of mystic rites beguile.

Shall man confine his Maker's sway

To Gothic domes of mouldering stone? Thy, temple is the face of day;

Earth, ocean, heaven thy boundless throne Shall man condemn his race to hell

Unless they bend in pompous form Tell us that all, for one who fell,

Must perish in the mingling storm?
Shall each pretend to reach the skies,
Yet doom his brother to expire,
Whose soul a different hope supplies,

Or doctrines less severe inspire?
Shall these, by creeds they can't expound,
Prepare a fancied bliss or woe?
Shall reptiles, grovelling on the ground,
Their great Creator's purpose know?
Shall those, who live for self alone,
Whose years float on in daily crime-
Shall they by Faith for guilt atone,

And live beyond the bounds of Time?
Father! no prophet's laws I seek,-

Thy laws in Nature's works appear;I own myself corrupt and weak, Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear! Thou, who canst guide the wandering star Through trackless realms of ether's space Who calm'st the elemental war,

Whose hand from pole to pole I trace:
Thou, who in wisdom placed me here,
Who, when thou wilt, can take me hence
Ah! whilst I tread this earthly sphere,
Extend to me thy wide defence.
To Thee, my God, to Thee I call!
Whatever weal or woe betide,

By thy command I rise or fall,
In thy protection 1 confide.

If, when this dust to dust restored
My soul shall float on airy wing,

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Round this unconcious schoolboys stray
Till the dull knell of childish play

From yonder studious mansion rings; But here whene'er my footsteps move, My silent tears too plainly prove "Friendship is Love without his wings!" 4.

Oh Love! before thy glowing shrine

My early vows were paid;

My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine,
But these are now decay'd;

For thine are pinions like the wind,
No trace of thee remains behind,
Except, alas! thy jealous stings.
Away, away! delusive power,
Thou shalt not haunt my coming hour;
"Unless, indeed, without thy wings!"

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Ye few! my soul, my life is yours,
My memory and my hope;
Your worth a lasting love insures,
Unfetter'd in its scope;

From smooth deceit and terror sprung,
With aspect fair and honey'd tongue,
Let Adulation wait on kings.
With joy elate, by snares beset,
We, we, my friends, can ne'er forget
"Friendship is Love without his wings."
9.

Fictions and dreams inspire the bard
Who rolls the epic song:
Friendship and Truth be my reward,

To me no bays belong;

If laurell'd Fame but dwells with lies,
Me the enchantress ever flies,

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There must thou soon direct thy flight,

If errors are forgiven.

To bigots and to sects unknown,
Bow down beneath th' Almighty's Throne,-
To him address thy trembling prayer:
He, who is merciful and just,
Will not reject a child of dust,

Although his meanest care.

Father of Light! to thee I call,

My soul is dark within;

Thou, who canst mark the sparrow fall,
Avert the death of sin.

Thou, who canst guide the wandering star,
Who calm'st the elemental war,

Whose mantle is yon boundless sky, My thoughts, my words, my crimes forgive; And, since I soon must cease to live, Instruct me how to die.

TO MRS. ***.

1807

ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING ENGLAND
IN THE SPRING.

WHEN man, expell'd from Eden's bowers,
A moment linger'd near the gate,
Each scene recall'd the vanish'd hours,
And bade him curse his future fate.
But wandering on through distant climes,
He learnt to bear his load of grief;
Just gave a sigh to other times,
And found in busier scenes relief.
Thus, Mary, will it be with me,

And I must view thy charms no more;
For, while I linger near to thee,
I sigh for all I knew before.

In flight I shall be surely wise,
Escaping from temptation's snare;

I cannot view my paradise

Without the wish of dwelling there.

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REMIND me not, remind me not,

Dec. 2, 1808

Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours
When all my soul was given to thee
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till time unnerves our vital powers,
And thou and I shall cease to be.

Can I forget-canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,
How quick thy fluttering heart did move!

Oh, by my soul, I see thee yet,

With eyes so languid, breast so fair,

And lips, though silent, breathing love.
When thus reclining on my breast,
Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet.
As half reproach'd yet raised desire,
And still we near and nearer prest,
And still our glowing lips would meet
As if in kisses to expire.

And then those pensive eyes would close
And bid their lids each other seek,
Veiling the azure orbs below.

^

While their long lashes' darkening gloss
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.

I dreamt last night our love return'd,
And, sooth to say, that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy
Than if for other hearts I burn'd,

For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam
In rapture's wild reality.

Then tell me not, remind me not,

Of hours which, though for ever gone, Can still a pleasing dream restore, Till thou and I shal! be forgot,

And senseless as the mouldering stone Which tells that we shall be no more.

STANZAS

THERE was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.
And from that hour when first thy tongue
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown and thus unfelt by thine,
None, none hath sunk so deep as this-
To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,

But transient in thy breast alone.
And yet my heart some solace knew,
When late I heard thy ips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that were.
Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!

Though thou wilt never love again, To me 't is doubly sweet to find Remembrance of that love remain. Yes! 't is a glorious thought to me, Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be, Thou hast been dearly, solely mine!

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AND wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so-

I would not give that bosom pain.

My neart is sad, my hopes are gone,
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone

Wilt sigh above my place of rest.

And yet methinks, a gleam of peace
Doth through my cloud of anguish shine;
And for awhile my sorrows cease,

To know thy heart hath felt for mine.

Oh lady! blessed be that tear

It falls for one who cannot weep:

Suen precious drops are doubly dear

To those whose eyes no tear can steep.

Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
But beauty's self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repine.

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again;
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so-
I would not give that bosom pain.

SONG.

FILL the goblet again, for I never before
Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its

core;

Let us drink-who would not ?-since, through life. varied round,

In the goblet alone no deception is found.

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;

I have bask'd in the beam of a dark-rolling eye;

I have loved!-who has not?-but what heart can declare

That pleasure existed while passion was there?

In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,

And dreams that affection can never take wing, I had friends!-who has not ?-but what tongue will avow?

That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou? The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange, Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst change:

Thou grow'st old-who does not ?-but on earth what

appears,

Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years?
Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow,
Should a rival how down to our idol below,
We are jealous!-who's not ?-thou hast no such al
loy;

For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.
Then the season of youth and its vanities past,
For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;
There we find-do we not?-in the flow of the soul,
That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl.
When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth,
And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth,
Hope was left, was she not ?-but the goblet we kiss,
And care not for hope, who are certain of bliss.
Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown,
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own:
We must die-who shall not ?-May our sins be for

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