Par.

Another world!

And why this world, this common world, to be
A make-shift, a mere foil, how fair soever,
To some fine life to come? Man must be fed
With angels' food, forsooth; and some few traces
Of a diviner nature which look out

Through his corporeal baseness, warrant him
In a supreme contempt for all provision
For his inferior tastes-some straggling marks
Which constitute his essence, just as truly
As here and there a gem would constitute
The rock, their barren bed, a diamond.
But were it so—were man all mind—he gains
A station little enviable. From God
Down to the lowest spirit ministrant,
Intelligence exists which casts our mind
Into immeasurable shade. No, no:

Love, hope, fear, faith-these make humanity,
These are its sign, and note, and character;

And these I have lost!-gone, shut from me for ever
Like a dead friend, safe from unkindness more!
See morn at length. The heavy darkness seems
Diluted; grey and clear without the stars;
The shrubs bestir and rouse themselves, as if
Some snake, that weighed them down all night, let go
His hold; and from the East, fuller and fuller
Day, like a mighty river, is flowing in ;

But clouded, wintry, desolate and cold:

Yet see how that broad, prickly, star-shaped plant,
Half down in the crevice, spreads its woolly leaves,
All thick and glistering with diamond dew.
And you depart for Einsiedeln to-day:

And we have spent all night in talk like this!

If

you

I would have me better for your love, Revert no more to these sad themes.

Fest. One favour, And I have done. I leave you, deeply moved; Unwilling to have fared so well, the while My friend has changed so sorely. If this mood Shall pass away—if light once more arise Where all is darkness now-if you see fit To hope, and trust again, and strive again; You will remember-not our love alone→→→ But that my faith in God's desire for man To trust on his support (as I must think You trusted) is obscured and dim through you; For you are thus, and this is no reward. Will you not call me to your side, dear friend?

And you have left your first love, and retain
Its empty shade to veil your crooked ways,
Yet I still hold that you have honoured God;
And who shall call your course without reward?
For, wherefore this repining at defeat,
Had triumph ne'er inured you to high hopes?
I urge you to forsake the life you curse,
And what success attends me ?-simply talk
Of passion, weakness, and remorse; in short,
Anything but the naked truth: you choose

This so-despised career, and rather praise
Than take my happiness, or other men's.
Once more, return!

Par.

And soon. Oporinus

Has pilfered half my secrets by this time:

And we depart by day-break. I am weary,

I know not how; not even the wine-cup soothes
My brain to-night...

Do you not thoroughly despise me, Festus ?
No flattery! One like you, needs not be told
We live and breathe deceiving and deceived.
Do you not scorn me from your heart of hearts?
Me and my cant-my petty subterfuges→
My rhymes, and all this frothy shower of words-
My glozing self-deceit-my outward crust
Of lies, which wrap, as tetter, morphew, furfair
Wrap the sound flesh ?-so, see you flatter not!
Why, even God flatters! but my friend, at least,
Is true. I would depart, secure henceforth

Against all further insult, hate and wrong

From puny foes: my one friend's scorn shall brand me— No fear of sinking deeper!

Fest.

No, dear Aureole !

No, no! I came to counsel faithfully :

There are old rules, made long ere we were born,
By which I judge you. I, so fallible,

So infinitely low beside your spirit

Mighty, majestic !-even I can see

You own some higher laws than ours which call
Sin, what is no sin,-weakness, what is strength;
But I have only these, such as they are,

To guide me; and I blame you where they blame,
Only so long as blaming promises

To win peace for your soul; the more, that sorrow Has fallen on me of late, and they have helped me So that I faint not under my distress.

But wherefore should I scruple to avow

In spite of all, as brother judging brother,
Your fate to me is most inexplicable:
And should you perish without recompense
And satisfaction yet-too hastily

I have relied on love: you may have sinned,
But you have loved. As a mere human matter—
As I would have God deal with fragile men
In the end-I say that you will triumph yet!

Par. Have you felt sorrow, Festus ?-'tis because
You love me. Sorrow, and sweet Michal yours!
Well thought on; never let her know this last
Dull winding-up of all: these miscreants dared
Insult me-me she loved; so grieve her not.

Fest. Your ill success can little grieve her now.
Par. Michal is dead! pray Christ we do not

craze !

Fest. Aureole, dear Aureole, look not on me thus! Fool, fool! this is the heart grown sorrow-proofI cannot bear those eyes.

Par. Stone dead!—then you have laid her
Among the flowers ere this. Now, do you know,
I can reveal a secret which shall comfort
Even you. I have no julep, as men think,
To cheat the grave; but a far better secret.
Know then, you did not ill to trust your love
To the cold earth: I have thought much of it;
For I believe we do not wholly die.

Fest. Aureole !

Par.

Nay, do not laugh; there is a reason

For what I say: I think the soul can never

Taste death. I am, just now, as you may see,
Very unfit to put so strange a thought

In an intelligible dress of words;

But take it as my trust, she is not dead.

Fest. But not on this account alone? you surely, -Aureole, you have believed this all along?

Par. And Michal sleeps among the roots and dews,
While I am moved at Basil, and full of schemes
For Nuremburg, and hoping and despairing,
As though it mattered how the farce plays out,
So it be quickly played. Away, away!

Have your will, rabble! while we fight the prize,
Troop you in safety to the snug back-seats,

And leave a clear arena for the brave
About to perish for your sport !-Behold!

IN THE HOSPITAL OF SALZBURG, 1541.

FESTUS AT THE DEATHBED OF PARACELSUS.

Par. Festus, my own friend, you are come at last? As you say, 'tis an awful enterprise—

But you believe I shall go through with it ;

'Tis like you, and I thank you; thank him for me, Dear Michal! See how bright Saint Saviour's spire Flames in the sunset; all its figures quaint

Gay in the glancing light: you might conceive them
A troop of yellow-vested, white-haired Jews,
Bound for their own land where redemption dawns !

I