Manfred: A Dramatic Poem

“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!”

i

“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.”

Reklam

i

“…—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

“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!”

i

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.”

i

“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.”