At cost of my dear soul! I have done thy work, St. Pier. Look in my eyes. Fer. Saint Pierre, perhaps I have underpaid thee? Fer. I'll double the amount! St. Pier. Come, sign! Fer. Saint Pierre, Will forty thousand ducats please thee? St. Pier. There's The dial, and the sun is shining on it- Fer. [Writing hurriedly.] It is! Ex. CCXLV.-THIRD SCENE FROM ION. ION, AGENOR, PHOCION. TALFOURD. [ION forgives PHOCION's attempt to assassinate him.] Agen. Wilt thou not in to rest? Ion. My rest is here Beneath the greatness of the heavens, which awes By various passions, to repose. Yet age Requires more genial nourishment-pray seek it— If any symptom of returning health Bless the wan city? Agen. No: the perishing Lift up their painful heads to bless thy name, And their eyes kindle as they utter it; But still they perish. Ion. So!-give instant order, The rites which shall confirm me in my throne, Agen. How! so soon, While the more sacred duties to the dead Ion. Let them abide my time They will not tarry long. I see them gaze The night will chill thee else. Ion. Now all is stillness in my breast-how soon In which no thread of consciousness shall live Gleamed palpable to sight as things of earth. [Exit.] [Enter PHOCION, who strikes at ION with a dagger.] Pho. This to the king of Argos! [ION struggles with him, siezes the dagger, which he throws away.] Ion. I will not fall by thee, poor wavering novice In the assassin's trade!-thy arm is feeble. [He confronts PHOCION.] Phocion!-Was this well aimed? thou didst not mean Pho. I meant to take thy life, urged by remembrance Of yesterday's great vow. Ion. And couldst thou think I had forgotten? Pho. Thou? Ion. Couldst thou believe That one, whose nature had been armed to stop Pho. Thus let me fall Low at thy feet, and, kneeling, here receive Ion. And that word I will not speak;—what have I to forgive? Which taught me all I guessed of brotherhood, Pho. I can not look upon thee: let me go, Ion. Nay, old playmate, We part not thus:-the duties of my state A few short minutes with me. Dost remember How in a night like this we climbed yon walls Two vagrant urchins-and with tremulous joy Skimmed through these statue-bordered walks, that gleamed Ex. CCXLVI.—GUILT AND INNOCENCE. [Scene.-A Cottage amongst the Bernese Alps.] MANFRED and the CHAMOIS HUNTER. BYRON. C. Hun. No, no-yet pause-thou must not yet go forth; Thy mind and body are alike unfit To trust each other, for some hours at least; Man. It imports not. I do know My route full well, and need no further guidance. C. Hun. Thy garb and gait bespeak thee of high lineageOne of the many chiefs, whose castled crags Look o'er the lower valleys-which of these Which step from out our mountains to their doors, C. Hun. Man. Away, away! there's blood upon the brim! C. Hun. Man of strange words, and some half-maddening sin, Which makes thee people vacancy, whate'er Thy dread and sufferance be, there's comfort yet— The aid of holy men, and heavenly patience Man. Patience and patience! Hence-that word was made For brutes of burden, not for birds of prey; Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine,— I am not of thine order. C. Hun. Thanks to heaven! I would not be of thine, for the free fame Of William Tell; but whatsoe'er thine ill, It must be borne, and these wild starts are useless. Many long years, but they are nothing now With the fierce thirst of death-and still unslaked! C. Hun. Why, on thy brow the seal of middle age Man. Think'st thou assistance doth depend on time? Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break, But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks, Rocks, and the salt surf weeds of bitterness. C. Hun. Alas! he's mad-but yet I must not leave him. Man. I would I were-for then the things I see Would be but a distempered dream. C. Hun. And spirit patient, pious, proud, and free; Thy self-respect, grafted on innocent thoughts; It matters not-my soul was scorched already! C. Hun. And wouldst thou, then, exchange thy lot for mine? Man. No, friend! I would not wrong thee, nor exchange My lot with living being: I can bear However wretchedly, 'tis still to bear In life what others could not brook to dream, But perish in their slumber. C. Hun. This cautious feeling for another's pain, Man And with this, Oh! no, no! My injuries came down on those who loved me,— But my embrace was fatal. |