For the other—nay your very hair, when mixed,

Is of one hue. For where beside this nook

Shall you two walk, when I am far away,

And wish me prosperous fortune? ... Stay! that plant Shall never wave its tangles lightly and softly,

As a queen's languid and imperial arm

Which scatters crowns among her lovers, but
Shall be reminded to predict some great
Success to me. Ah, see! the sun sinks broad
Behind St. Saviour's . . . wholly gone, at last!

you

Fest. Now, Aureole, stay those wandering eyes awhile:
You are ours to-night at least; and while you spoke
Of Michal and her tears, I thought that none
Could willing leave what he so seem'd to love . . .
But that last look destroys my dream—that look!
As if where'er you gazed there stood a star!

How far was Würzburg, with its church and spire,
And garden-walls, and all that they contain,
From that look's far alighting?

Par.

I but spoke

And look'd alike from simple joy, to see

The beings I best love so well shut in

From all rude chances like to be my lot;

That, far from them, my weary spirit, disposed To lose awhile its cares in soothing thoughts

Of them, their pleasant features, looks, and words,
Needs never hesitate, nor apprehend

Encroaching trouble may have reach'd them too;
Nor have recourse to Fancy's busy aid
Even to frame a wish in their behalf
Beyond what they possess already here;
But, unobstructed, may at once forget
Itself in them—assured how well they are.
This Festus knows; beside, he holds me one
Whom quiet and its charms arrest in vain ;
One scarce aware of all the joys he quits;
Too fill'd with airy hopes to make account
Of soft delights his own heart garners up:
Whereas, behold how much our sense of all
That's beautiful is one! And when he learns

That every common sight he can enjoy
Affects me as himself; that I have just

As varied appetite for joys derived

From common things; a stake in life, in short,

Like his; and which a rash pursuit of aims
That it affords not would as soon destroy ;—

He may convince himself, that, knowing this,

I shall act well advised: and last, because,

Though heaven and earth, and all things, were at stake,

Sweet Michal must not weep our parting eve.

Fest. True and the eve is deepening, and we sit

As little anxious to begin our talk

As though to-morrow I could hint of it

As we paced arm in arm the cheerful town

At sun-dawn; or could whisper it by fits
(Trithemius busied with his class the while)

In that dim chamber where the noon-streaks peer

Half frighten'd by the awful tomes around;

Or in some grassy lane unbosom all

From even-blush to midnight... but to-morrow!...

I have full leave to tell my inmost mind?

We have been brothers, and henceforth the world

To be perform'd for you—say on; if night

Be spent the while, the better: recall how oft

My wondrous plans, and dreams, and hopes, and fears,

Have—never wearied you . . . oh, no!... a

...

Recall, and never vividly as now,

as I

Your true affection, born when Einsiedeln
And its green hills were all the world to us,
And still increasing to this night, which ends
My further stay at Würzburg... Oh you shall
Be very proud one day!... say on, dear friend;
Talk volumes, I shall still be in arrear.

Fest. In truth? 'Tis for my proper peace, indeed, Rather than yours—for vain it looks to seek

To stay your course- -the last hopes I conceived
Are fading even now. Old stories tell
Of some far embassy despatch'd to win
The favour of an eastern king, and how
The gifts it proffer'd were but dazzling dust
Shed from the ore-beds native to the clime;
Just so, the value of repose and love,

I meant should tempt you, better far than I

You seem to comprehend—and still desist
No whit from projects where they have no part.
Par. Alas! as I forbode, this weighty talk
Has for its end no other than to revive...

Fest. A solitary briar the bank puts forth
To save our swan's nest floating out to sea.

you

Par. Dear Festus, hear me. What is it
That I should lay aside my heart's pursuit,
Abandon the sole ends for which I live,
Reject God's great commission—and so die!
And still I listen for your true love's sake.
Yet how has grown that love? Even in a long
And patient cherishing of the selfsame spirit

wish?

It now would quell—as though a mother should hope
To stay the lusty manhood of the child

Once weak upon her knees. I was not born
Inform'd and fearless from the first, but shrank

From aught which mark'd me out apart from men.

I would have lived their life, and striven their strife—

Eluding Destiny, if that might be—

But you first guided me through doubt and fear,