XLVI.

And then Orlando to embrace him flew,
And made much of his convert, as he cried,
"To the abbey I will gladly marshal you."

To whom Morgante, "Let us go," replied; "I to the friars have for peace to sue."

Which thing Orlando heard with inward pride, Saying, "My brother, so devout and good, Ask the abbot pardon, as I wish you would: XLVII.

"Since God has granted your illumination,
Accepting you in mercy for his own,
Humility should be your first oblation."
Morgante said, "For goodness' sake, make
known,-

Since that your God is to be mine-your station,
And let your name in verity be shown;
Then will I everything at your command do."
On which the other said, he was Orlando.
XLVIII.

"Then," quoth the giant," blessed be Jesu
A thousand times with gratitude and praise!
Oft, perfect baron! have I heard of you
Through all the different periods of my days:
And, as I said, to be your vassal too

I wish, for your great gallantry always."
Thus reasoning, they continued much to say,
And onwards to the abbey went their way.
XLIX.

And by the way about the giants dead

Orlando with Morgante reason'd: "Be,
For their decease, I pray you, comforted;

And, since it is God's pleasure, pardon me;
A thousand wrongs unto the monks they bred,
And our true Scripture soundeth openly,
Good is rewarded, and chastised the ill,
Which the Lord never faileth to fulfil :
L.

"Because his love of justice unto all

Is such, he wills his judgment should devour
All who have sin, however great or small;
But good he well remembers to restore.
Nor without justice holy could we call

Him, whom I now require you to adore.
All men must make his will their wishes sway,
And quickly and spontaneously obey.

LIII.

"A word unto the wise," Morgante said,
"Is wont to be enough, and you shall see
How much I grieve about my brethren dead;
And if the will of God seem good to me,
Just, as you tell me, 't is in heaven obey'd―
Ashes to ashes,- merry let us be!

I will cut off the hands from both their trunks,
And carry them unto the holy monks.
LIV.

"So that all persons may be sure and certain
That they are dead, and have no further fear
To wander solitary this desert in,

And that they may perceive my spirit clear By the Lord's grace, who hath withdrawn the curtain

Of darkness, making his bright realm appear." He cut his brethren's hands off at these words, And left them to the savage beasts and birds. LV.

Then to the abbey they went on together,

Where waited them the abbot in great doubt. The monks, who knew not yet the fact, ran thither, To their superior, all in breathless rout, Saying with tremor, " Please to tell us whether You wish to have this person in or out?" The abbot, looking through upon the giant, Too greatly fear'd, at first, to be compliant.

LVI.

Orlando, seeing him thus agitated,

Said quickly, "Abbot, be thou of good cheer; He Christ believes, as Christian must be rated, And hath renounced his Macon false;" which [here Morgante with the hands corroborated,

A proof of both the giants' fate quite clear: Thence, with due thanks, the abbot God adored, Saying, "Thou hast contented me, oh Lord!".

LVII.

He gazed; Morgante's height he calculated,
And more than once contemplated his size;
And then he said, "Oh giant celebrated!

Know, that no more my wonder will arise,
How you could tear and fling the trees you late did,
When I behold your form with my own eyes.
You now a true and perfect friend will show
Yourself to Christ, as once you were a foe.

LVIII.

"And one of our apostles, Saul once named,
Long persecuted sore the faith of Christ,
Till, one day, by the Spirit being inflamed,
'Why dost thou persecute me thus?' said Christ;
And then from his offence he was reclaim'd,
And went for ever after preaching Christ,
And of the faith became a trump, whose sounding
O'er the whole earth is echoing and rebounding.
LIX.

"So, my Morgante, you may do likewise:

He who repents-thus writes the EvangelistOccasions more rejoicing in the skies

Than ninety-nine of the celestial list. You may be sure, should each desire arise With just zeal for the Lord, that you'll exist Among the happy saints for evermore; But you were lost and damn'd to hell before!"

LX.

And thus great honour to Morgante paid
The abbot many days they did repose.
One day, as with Orlando they both stray'd,
And saunter'd here and there, where'er they chose,
The abbot show'd a chamber, where array'd

Much armour was, and hung up certain bows;
And one of these Morgante for a whim
Girt on, though useless, he believed, to him.

LXI.

There being a want of water in the place,
Orlando, like a worthy brother, said,
"Morgante, I could wish you in this case
To go for water." "You shall be obey'd
In all commands," was the reply, "straightways."
Upon his shoulder a great tub he laid,

And went out on his way unto a fountain,

Where he was wont to drink below the mountain.

LXII.

Arrived there, a prodigious noise he hears,
Which suddenly along the forest spread;
Whereat from out his quiver he prepares
An arrow for his bow, and lifts his head;
And lo! a monstrous herd of swine appears,
And onward rushes with tempestuous tread,
And to the fountain's brink precisely pours;
So that the giant's join'd by all the boars.
LXIII.

Morgante at a venture shot an arrow,

Which pierced a pig precisely in the ear, And pass'd unto the other side quite thorough; So that the boar, defunct, lay tripp'd up near. Another, to revenge his fellow farrow,

Against the giant rush'd in fierce career,
And reach'd the passage with so swift a foot,
Morgante was not now in time to shoot.
LXIV.

Perceiving that the pig was on him close,
He gave him such a punch upon the head,
As floor'd him so that he no more arose,
Smashing the very bone; and he fell dead
Next to the other. Having seen such blows,
The other pigs along the valley fled;
Morgante on his neck the bucket took,
Full from the spring, which neither swerved nor

LXV.

[shook.

The tub was on one shoulder, and there were
The hogs on t'other, and he brush'd apace
On to the abbey, though by no means near,
Nor spilt one drop of water in his race.
Orlando, seeing him so soon appear

With the dead boars, and with that brimful vase,
Marvell'd to see his strength so very great;
So did the abbot, and set wide the gate.

LXVI.

The monks, who saw the water fresh and good, Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the pork; All animals are glad at sight of food:

They lay their breviaries to sleep, and work With greedy pleasure, and in such a mood,

That the flesh needs no salt beneath their fork. Of rankness and of rot there is no fear, For all the fasts are now left in arrear.

LXVII.

As though they wish'd to burst at once, they ate; And gorged so that, as if the bones had been

In water, sorely grieved the dog and cat, Perceiving that they all were pick'd too clean. The abbot, who to all did honour great,

A few days after this convivial scene, Gave to Morgante a fine horse, well train'd, Which he long time had for himself maintain'd.

LXVIII.

The horse Morgante to a meadow led,
To gallop, and to put him to the proof,
Thinking that he a back of iron had,

Or to skim eggs unbroke was light enough;
But the horse, sinking with the pain, fell dead,
And burst, while cold on earth lay head and hoof.
Morgante said, "Get up, thou sulky cur!"
And still continued pricking with the spur.

LXIX.

But finally he thought fit to dismount,

And said, "I am as light as any feather, And he has burst;-to this what say you, count?" Orlando answer'd, "Like a ship's mast rather You seem to me, and with the truck for front:

Let him go! Fortune wills that we together Should march, but you on foot Morgante still." To which the giant answer'd, "So I will.

LXX.

"When there shall be occasion, you will see How I approve my courage in the fight." Orlando said, "I really think you'll be,

If it should prove God's will, a goodly knight; Nor will you napping there discover me.

But never mind your horse, though out of sight 'T were best to carry him into some wood, If but the means or way I understood."

LXXI.

The giant said, "Then carry him I will,
Since that to carry me he was so slack-
To render, as the gods do, good for ill;
But lend a hand to place him on my back."
Orlando answer'd, "If my counsel still
May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake
To lift or carry this dead courser, who,
As you have done to him, will do to you.

LXXII.

"Take care he don't revenge himself, though dead, As Nessus did of old beyond all cure.

I don't know if the fact you 've heard or read; But he will make you burst, you may be sure."

But help him on my back," Morgante said,
"And you shall see what weight I can endure.
In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey,
With all the bells, I'd carry yonder belfry."
LXXIII.

The abbot said, "The steeple may do well,
But, for the bells, you 've broken them, I wot."
Morgante answer'd, "Let them pay in hell
The penalty who lie dead in yon grot ;"
And hoisting up the horse from where he fell,
He said, "Now look if I the gout have got,
Orlando, in the legs-or if I have force; "-
And then he made two gambols with the horse.

LXXIV.

Morgante was like any mountain framed ;
So if he did this 't is no prodigy;
But secretly himself Orlando blamed,
Because he was one of his family;
And fearing that he might be hurt or maim'd,
Once more he bade him lay his burden by:
"Put down, nor bear him further the desert in."
Morgante said, "I'll carry him for certain."

LXXV.

He did; and stow'd him in some nook away, And to the abbey then return'd with speed. Orlando said, "Why longer do we stay?

Morgante, here is nought to do indeed." The abbot by the hand he took one day, And said, with great respect, he had agreed To leave his reverence; but for this decision He wish'd to have his pardon and permission.

LXXVI.

The honours they continued to receive

Perhaps exceeded what his merits claim'd: He said, "I mean, and quickly, to retrieve

The lost days of time past, which may be blamed; Some days ago I should have ask'd your leave, Kind father, but I really was ashamed, And know not how to show my sentiment, So much I see you with our stay content.

LXXVII.

"But in my heart I bear through every clime The abbot, abbey, and this solitude

So much I love you in so short a time;

For me, from heaven reward you with all good The God so true, the eternal Lord sublime!

Whose kingdom at the last hath open stood. Meantime we stand expectant of your blessing, And recommend us to your prayers with pressing." LXXVIII.

Now when the abbot Count Orlando heard,
His heart grew soft with inner tenderness,
Such fervour in his bosom bred each word;
And, "Cavalier," he said, "if I have less
Courteous and kind to your great worth appear'd,
Than fits me for such gentle blood to express,
I know I have done too little in this case;
But blame our ignorance, and this poor place.

LXXIX.

"We can indeed but honour you with masses, And sermons, thanksgivings, and pater-nosters, Hot suppers, dinners (fitting other places

In verity much rather than the cloisters);
But such a love for you my heart embraces,
For thousand virtues which your bosom fosters,
That wheresoe'er you go I too shall be,
And, on the other part, you rest with me.
LXXX.

"This may involve a seeming contradiction;
But you I know are sage, and feel, and taste,
And understand my speech, with full conviction.
For your just pious deeds may you be graced

With the Lord's great reward and benediction,
By whom you were directed to this waste:
To his high mercy is our freedom due,
For which we render thanks to him and you.
LXXXI.

"You saved at once our life and soul: such fear The giants caused us, that the way was lost By which we could pursue a fit career

In search of Jesus and the saintly host; And your departure breeds such sorrow here, That comfortless we all are to our cost; But months and years you would not stay in sloth, Nor are you form'd to wear our sober cloth,

LXXXII.

"But to bear arms, and wield the lance; indeed,
With these as much is done as with this cowl;
In proof of which the Scriptures you may read.
This giant up to heaven may bear his soul
By your compassion: now in peace proceed.
Your state and name I seek not to unroll;
But, if I'm ask'd, this answer shall be given,
That here an angel was sent down from heaven.
LXXXIII.

"If you want armour or aught else, go in,
Look o'er the wardrobe, and take what you choose,
And cover with it o'er this giant's skin."
Orlando answer'd, "If there should lie loose
Some armour, ere our journey we begin,
Which might be turn'd to my companion's use,
The gift would be acceptable to me."
The abbot said to him, "Come in and see."

LXXXIV.

And in a certain closet, where the wall
Was cover'd with old armour like a crust,
The abbot said to them, "I give you all."

Morgante rummaged piecemeal from the dust
The whole, which, save one cuirass, was too small,
And that too had the mail inlaid with rust.
They wonder'd how it fitted him exactly,
Which ne'er has suited others so compactly.

LXXXV.

'T was an immeasurable giant's, who By the great Milo of Agrante fell Before the abbey many years ago.

The story on the wall was figured well; In the last moment of the abbey's foe,

Who long had waged a war implacable: Precisely as the war occurr'd they drew him, And there was Milo as he overthrew him.

LXXXVI.

Seeing this history, Count Orlando said
In his heart, "Oh God, who in the sky
Know'st all things! how was Milo hither led?
Who caused the giant in this place to die?"
And certain letters, weeping, then he read,

So that he could not keep his visage dry,-
As I will tell in the ensuing story.
From evil keep you the high King of glory!

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

MANFRED.

CHAMOIS HUNTER.

ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE. MANUEL.

HERMAN.

WITCH OF THE ALPS. ARIMANES.

NEMESIS.

THE DESTINIES.

SPIRITS, &c.

The Scene of the Drama is amongst the Higher Alpspartly in the Castle of Manfred, and partly in the Mountains.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-MANFRED alone.-Scene, a Gothic
Gallery.-Time, Midnight.

Man. THE lamp must be replenish'd, but even then
It will not burn so long as I must watch:
My slumbers-if I slumber-are not sleep,
But a continuance of enduring thought,
Which then I can resist not: in my heart
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close
To look within; and yet I live, and bear
The aspect and the form of breathing men.
But grief should be the instructer of the wise;
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.
Philosophy and science, and the springs
Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world,
I have essay'd, and in my mind there is
A power to make these subject to itself-
But they avail not: I have done inen good,
And I have met with good even among men-
But this avail'd not: I have had my foes,

And none have baffled, many fallen before me-
But this avail'd not:-Good, or evil, life,
Powers, passions, all I see in other beings,
Have been to me as rain unto the sands,
Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread,
And feel the curse to have no natural fear,
Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or
wishes,

Or lurking love of something on the earth.
Now to my task.-

Mysterious agency!

Ye spirits of the unbounded Universe!
Whom I have sought in darkness and in light-
Ye, who do compass earth about, and dwell
In subtler essence-ye, to whom the tops
Of mountains inaccessible are haunts,
And earth's and ocean's caves familiar things-
I call upon ye by the written charm
Which gives me power upon you-Rise! Appear!
[A pause.

They come not yet.-Now by the voice of him
Who is the first among you-by this sign,
Which makes you tremble-by the claims of him
Who is undying,-Rise! Appear!--Appear!

LA pause.

If it be so-Spirits of earth and air,
Ye shall not thus elude me: by a power,
Deeper than all yet urged, a tyrant-spell,
Which had its birthplace in a star condemn'd,
The burning wreck of a demolish'd world,
A wandering hell in the eternal space;
By the strong curse which is upon my soul,
The thought which is within me and around me,
I do compel ye to my will-Appear!

[A star is seen at the darker end of the gallery
it is stationary; and a voice is heard singing.

FIRST SPIRIT.

Mortal to thy bidding bow'd, From my mansion in the cloud,