If you were sage, and rightly valued bliss!
But there's no taming nor repressing hearts:

God knows I need such !—So you heard me speak?
Fest. Speak? when?

Par.

When but this morning at my class?

There was noise and crowd enough. I saw you not.
Surely you know I am engaged to fill

The chair here?-that 'tis part of my proud fate
To lecture to as many thick-sculled youths
As please, each day, to throng the theatre,
To my great reputation, and no small
Danger of Basil's benches, long unused
To crack beneath such honour?

Fest.

I was there;

I mingled with the throng: shall I avow

I had small care to listen ?-too intent

On gathering from the murmurs of the crowd
A full corroboration of my hopes!

What can I learn about your powers? but they
Know, care for nought beyond your actual state--
Your actual value; and yet worship you!

Those various natures whom you sway as one!

But ere I go, be sure I shall attend . . .

Par. Stop, o' God's name: the thing's by no means yet Past remedy! Shall I read this morning's work

-At least in substance? Nought so worth the gaining As an apt scholar! Thus then, with all due Precision and emphasis-(you, besides, are clearly Guiltless of understanding a whit more

The subject than your stool-allowed to be

A notable advantage) .

Fest.

You laugh at me!

Par.

Surely, Aureole,

I laugh? Ha, ha! thank heaven,

I charge you, if't be so! for I forget

Much-and what laughter should be like! No less,
However, I forego that luxury,

Since it alarms the friend who brings it back.
True, laughter like my own must echo strange
To thinking men; a smile were better far-
So make me smile! If the exulting look
You wore but now be smiling, 'tis so long
Since I have smiled! Alas, such smiles are born
Alone of hearts like yours, or shepherds old
Of ancient time, whose eyes, calm as their flocks,
Saw in the stars mere garnishry of heaven,
In earth a stage for altars, nothing more.
Never change, Festus: I say, never change!
Fest. My God, if he be wretched after all!
Par. When last we parted, Festus, you declared
-Or did your Michal's soft lips whisper words
I have preserved? She told me she believed
I should succeed (meaning, that in the search
I then engaged in, I should meet success),

And yet be wretched: now, she augured false.

Fest. Thank heaven! but you spoke strangely! could

I venture

To think bare apprehension lest your friend,

Dazzled by your resplendent course, might find
Henceforth less sweetness in his own, awakes

Such earnest mood in you? Fear not, dear friend,
That I shall leave you, inwardly repining
Your lot was not my own!

Par.

And this, forever!

Forever! gull who may, they will be blind!
They will not look nor think—'tis nothing new
In them; but surely he is not of them!
My Festus, do you know, I reckoned, you-
Though all beside were sand-blind-you, my friend,
Would look at me, once close, with piercing eye,
Untroubled by the false glare that confounds
A weaker vision; would remain serene,
Though singular, amid a gaping throng.

I feared you, or had come, sure, long ere this,
To Einsiedeln. Well, error has no end,
And Rhasis is a sage, and Basil boasts
A tribe of wits, and I am wise and blest
Past all dispute! 'Tis vain to fret at it.

I have vowed long since that my worshippers
Shall owe to their own deep sagacity
All further information, good or bad:
And little risk my reputation runs,

Unless perchance the glance now searching me
Be fixed much longer-for it seems to spell,
Dimly, the characters a simpler man

Might read distinct enough. Old eastern books

Say, the fallen prince of morning some short space

Saten

Remained unchanged in feature-nay, his brow
Seemed hued with triumph: every spirit then
Praising; his heart on flame the while :—a tale !
Well, Festus, what discover you, I pray?

Fest. Some foul deed sullies then a life which else

Were raised supreme?

Par.

Good: I do well-most well!

Why strive to make men hear, feel, fret themselves
With what 'tis past their power to comprehend?

I would not strive now: only, having nursed
The faint surmise that one yet walked the earth,
One, at least, not the utter fool of show,
Not absolutely formed to be the dupe
Of shallow plausibilities alone;

One who, in youth found wise enough to choose
The happiness his riper years approve,

Was yet so anxious for another's sake,
That, ere his friend could rush upon a course
Mad, ruinous, the converse of his own,

His gentler spirit essayed, prejudged for him
The perilous path, foresaw its destiny,
And warned the weak one in such tender words,
Such accents-his whole heart in every tone-
That oft their memory comforted that friend
When rather it should have increased despair:
-Having believed, I say, that this one man
Could never lose the wisdom from the first
His portion-how should I refuse to grieve
At even my gain if it attest his loss,

At triumph which so signally disturbs
Our old relation, proving me more wise?
Therefore, once more reminding him how well
He prophesied, I note the single flaw

That spoils his prophet's title: in plain words
You were deceived, and thus were you deceived-
I have not been successful, and yet am
Most wretched; there 'tis said at last; but give
No credit, lest you force me to concede

That common sense yet lives upon the earth.

Fest. You surely do not mean to banter me?
Par. You know, or (if you have been wise enough,
To cleanse your memory of such matters) knew,
As far as words of mine could make it clear,

That 'twas my purpose to find joy or grief
Solely in the fulfilment of my plan,

Or plot, or whatsoe'er it was; rejoicing
Alone as it proceeded prosperously,
Sorrowing alone when any chance retarded

Its progress. That was in those Würzburg days!
Not to prolong a theme I thoroughly hate,
I have pursued this plan with all my strength;
And having failed therein most signally,

Cannot object to ruin, utter and drear

As all-excelling would have been the prize
Had fortune favoured me. I scarce do right
To vex your frank good spirit, late rejoiced
By my supposed prosperity, I know,
And, were I lucky in a glut of friends.