Manfred: A Dramatic Poem
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“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 me!”
“My injuries came down on those who loved me—
On those whom I best loved: I never quell’d
An enemy, save in my just defence—
But my embrace was fatal.”
“…—many things answer’d me—
Spirits and men--but thou wert silent all.
Yet speak to me! I have outwatch'd the stars,
And gazed o'er heaven in vain in search of thee,
Speak to me! I have wander'd o'er the earth,
And never found thy likeness—Speak to me!”
“I linger yet with Nature, for the night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness,
learn'd the language of another world.”
“We are all the fools of time and terror: Days
Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.”
"To rest for ever - - wherefore do I pause?
I feel the impulse - -yet I do not plunge;"
“Reluctant mortal!
Is this the Magian who would so pervade
The world invisible, and make himself
Almost our equal?—Can it be that thou
Art thus in love with life? the very life
Which made thee wretched!”
Hear me, hear me—
Astarte! my belovèd! speak to me:
I have so much endured, so much endure—
Look 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.”
“Can this be death? there's bloom upon her cheek;
But now I see it is no living hue,
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—
Forgive me or condemn me.”
“Her faults were mine—her virtues were her own—
I loved her, and destroy’d her!”