LORD BYRON

Have been of an immortal nature, like 55 Our own; his knowledge, and his powers and will,

As far as is compatible with clay,

Which clogs the ethereal essence, have been such

As clay hath seldom borne; his aspirations Have been beyond the dwellers of the earth,

60 And they have only taught him what we know

That knowledge is not happiness, and
science

But an exchange of ignorance for that
Which is another kind of ignorance.
This is not all-the passions, attributes

95

But now I see it is no living hue,
100 But a strange hectic-like the unnatural
red

Which Autumn plants upon the perish'd

leaf.

It is the same! Oh, God! that I should
dread

To look upon the same-Astarte !—No,
I cannot speak to her-but bid her speak-

65 Of earth and heaven, from which no 105 Forgive me or condemn me.

power, nor being,

Nor breath from the worm upwards is

exempt,

Have pierced his heart, and in their conse

quence

Made him a thing which I, who pity not,
Yet pardon those who pity. He is mine,
70 And thine, it may be; be it so, or not,
No other Spirit in this region hath

A soul like his-or power upon his soul.
Nem. What doth he here then?
Let him answer that.
First Des.
Man. Ye know what I have known;

and without power

75 I could not be amongst ye: but there are Powers deeper still beyond-I come in

quest

Of such, to answer unto what I seek.

Nem. What wouldst thou?
Man.

Thou canst not reply to me.
Call up the dead-my question is for them.
New. Great Arimanes, doth thy will
avouch

The wishes of this mortal?

Ari.
Nem.
Uncharnel?

Man.
Astarte.

Yea.

Whom wouldst thou

One without a tomb-call up

Nemesis

Shadow! or Spirit!

Whatever thou art,
Which still doth inherit

The whole or a part
Of the form of thy birth,
Of the mould of thy clay,
Which return'd to the earth,—
Reappear to the day!
Bear what thou borest,

The heart and the form,
And the aspect thou worest

Nemesis

By the power which hath broken
The grave which enthrall'd thee,
Speak to him who hath spoken,
Or those who have call'd thee!
She is silent,

Man.
110 And in that silence I am more than an-

swer'd.

Nem. My power extends no further.
Prince of Air!

It rests with thee alone-command her

voice.

Ari. Spirit-obey this sceptre!

Nem.

Silent still!

She is not of our order, but belongs

115 To the other powers. Mortal! thy quest is

120

vain,

And we are baffled also.

Man.

Hear me, hear me-Astarte! my beloved! speak to me:

I have so much endured-so much endureLook on me! the grave hath not changed thee more

Than I am changed for thee. Thou lovedst

me

Too much, as I loved thee: we were not
made

To torture thus each other, though it were
The deadliest sin to love as we have loved.
Say that thou loath'st me not-that I do
bear

125 This punishment for both-that thou wilt
be

One of the blessed-and that I shall die;
For hitherto all hateful things conspire
To bind me in existence-in a life
Which makes me shrink from immortal-

ity

130 A future like the past. I cannot rest.
I know not what I ask, nor what I seek:
I feel but what thou art, and what I am;

And I would hear yet once before I perish
The voice which was my music-Speak to 165
me!

135 For I have call'd on thee in the still night,
Startled the slumbering birds from the
hush'd boughs,

And woke the mountain wolves, and made

25

LORD BYRON

Man. Herman, retire.-What would my reverend guest?

Abbot. Thus, without prelude: - Age

and zeal, my office,

And good intent, must plead my privilege; Our near, though not acquainted neighborhood,

May also be my herald. Rumors strange, 80 And of unholy nature, are abroad,

And busy with thy name; a noble name
For centuries: may he who bears it now
Transmit it unimpair'd!

Proceed, I listen.
Man.
Abbot. 'Tis said thou holdest converse
with the things

35 Which are forbidden to the search of man;
That with the dwellers of the dark abodes,
The many evil and unheavenly spirits
Which walk the valley of the shade of
death,

Thou communest. I know that with mankind,

40 Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy soli

tude

Is as an anchorite's, were it but holy.

Man. And what are they who do avouch
these things?

Abbot. My pious brethren-the scared
peasantry-

45 Even thy own vassals-who do look on
thee

With most unquiet eyes. Thy life's in peril.
Man. Take it.

Abbot. I come to save,

and not destroy:

I would not pry into thy secret soul;
But if these things be sooth, there still is
time

50 For penitence and pity: reconcile thee
With the true church, and through the
church to heaven.

Man. I hear thee. This is my reply:
whate'er

I may have been, or am, doth rest between
Heaven and myself. I shall not choose a

mortal

55 To be my mediator. Have I sinn'd Against your ordinances? prove and punish!

Abbot. My son! I did not speak of

punishment,

I leave to heaven,-"Vengeance is mine
alone!''1

So saith the Lord, and with all humbleness
65 His servant echoes back the awful word.
Man. Old man! there is no power in

holy men,

Nor charm in prayer, nor purifying form
Of penitence, nor outward look, nor fast,
Nor agony-nor, greater than all these,
70 The innate tortures of that deep despair,
Which is remorse without the fear of hell,
But all in all sufficient to itself
Would make a hell of heaven2-can exor-
cise

75

From out the unbounded spirit the quick

Upon itself; there is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self-condemn 'd
He deals on his own soul.

All this is well;
Abbot.
For this will pass away, and be succeeded
80 By an auspicious hope, which shall look

85

up

With calm assurance to that blessed place,
Which all who seek may win, whatever be
Their earthly errors, so they be atoned:
And the commencement of atonement is
The sense of its necessity. Say on-
And all our church can teach thee shall be

taught;

And all we can absolve thee shall be pardon'd.

Man. When Rome's sixth emperor3 was

near his last,

The victim of a self-inflicted wound, 90 To shun the torments of a public death From senates once his slaves, a certain

soldier,

With show of loyal pity, would have
stanch'd

The gushing throat with his officious robe;
The dying Roman thrust him back, and

said

95 Some empire still in his expiring glance"It is too late-is this fidelity?"

But penitence and pardon;-with thyself
The choice of such remains-and for the 100
last,

60 Our institutions and our strong belief
Have given me power to smooth the path
from sin

To higher hope and better thoughts; the
first

Abbot. And what of this?

I answer with the Roman

It never can be so,
To reconcile thyself with thy own soul,
And thy own soul with heaven. Hast thou
no hope?

'Tis strange-even those who do despair
above,

1 Romans, 12:19.

2 See Paradise Lost, 1, 254-55.

3 Nero, Emperor of Rome (54-68).
nius's Lires of the Caesars, 6, 49.

See Sueto

Lies low but mighty still.-But this is past, 155 115 My thoughts mistook themselves. And wherefore so? Man. I could not tame my nature down;