But, like an ebbing wave, it dash'd me back WITCH. That I can aid thee. ΜΑΝ. It may be To do this thy power Must wake the dead, or lay me low with them. With any torture-so it be the last. WITCH. That is not in my province; but if thou Wilt swear obedience to my will, and do My bidding, it may help thee to thy wishes. [rits MAN. I will not swear-Obey! and whom? the spiWhose presence I command, and be the slave Of those who served me-Never! WITCH. Is this all? Hast thou no gentler answer?--Yet bethink thee, MAN. I have said it. WITCH. Enough!-I may retire then--say! MAN. Retire! [The WITCH disappears. MAN. (alone.) We are the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, This vital weight upon the struggling heart, Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pain, Or joy that ends in agony or faintness In all the days of past and future, for In life there is no present, we can number If I had never lived, that which I love Had still been living; had I never loved, On spirit, good or evil---now I tremble, But I can act even what I most abhor, And champion human fears.---The night approaches. [Exit. SCENE III. The Summit of the Jungfrau Mountain. Enter FIRST DESTINY. The moon is rising broad, and round and bright; The fretwork of some earthquake---where the clouds Pause to repose themselves in passing by Is sacred to our revels, or our vigils; Here do I wait my sisters, on our way To the Hall of Arimanes, for to-night Is our great festival-'tis strange they come not. A Voice without, singing. The Captive Usurper, Hurl'd down from the throne, Lay buried in torpor, Forgotten and lone; I broke through his slumbers, I shiver'd his chain, I leagued him with numbers He's Tyrant again! With the blood of a million he'll answer my care, With a nation's destruction-his flight and despair. Second Voice, without. The ship sail'd on, the ship sail'd fast, And there is not a wretch to lament o'er his wreck; But I saved him to wreak further havoc for me. FIRST DESTINY, answering. The morn, to deplore it, The black plague flew o'er it Thousands lie lowly; Tens of thousands shall perish- And evil and dread, Envelope a nation— The blest are the dead, Who see not the sight Of their own desolation. This work of a night This wreck of a realm—this deed of my doing— For ages I've done, and shall still be renewing! Enter the SECOND and THIRD DESTINIES. The Three. Our hands contain the hearts of men, Our footsteps are their graves; We only give to take again The spirits of our slaves! |