Par. Their light! the sum of all is briefly this:
They laboured, and grew famous; and the fruits
Are best seen in a dark and groaning earth,
Given over to a blind and endless strife

With evils, which of all your Gods abates?
No; I reject and spurn them utterly,

And all they teach. Shall I still sit beside
Their dry wells, with a white lip and filmed eye,
While in the distance heaven is blue above
Mountains where sleep the unsunned tarns?
Fest.

As strong delusions have prevailed ere now:
Men have set out as gallantly to seek
Their ruin; I have heard of such-yourself

Avow all hitherto have failed and fallen.

And yet

Mich. Nay, Festus, when but as the pilgrims faintThrough the drear way, do you expect to see

Their city dawn afar amid the clouds?

Par. Ay, sounds it not like some old well-known tale?

For me, I estimate their works and them

So rightly, that at times I almost dream

I too have spent a life the sages' way,

And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance

I perished in an arrogant self-reliance

An age ago; and in that act, a prayer

For one more chance went up so earnest, so
Instinct with better light let in by Death,
That life was blotted out-not so completely
But scattered wrecks enough of it remain,

Dim memories; as now, when seems once more

The goal in sight again: all which, indeed,

Is foolish, and only means-the flesh I wear,
The earth I tread, are not more clear to me
Than my belief, explained to you or no.

Fest. And who am I to challenge and dispute
That clear belief? I put away all fear.

Mich. Then Aureole is God's commissary! he shall Be great and grand-and all for us!

Par.

No, sweet! Not great and grand. If I can serve mankind 'Tis well-but there our intercourse must end:

I never will be served by those I serve.

Fest. Look well to this; here is a plague-spot, here, Disguise it how you may! 'Tis true, you utter This scorn while by our side and loving us; 'Tis but a spot as yet; but it will break

Into a hideous blotch if overlooked.

How can that course be safe which from the first
Produces carelessness to human love?

It seems you have abjured the helps which men
Who overpass their kind, as you would do,
Have humbly sought-I dare not thoroughly probe
This matter, lest I learn too much let be,
That popular praise would little instigate
Your efforts, nor particular approval
Reward you; put reward aside; alone
You shall go forth upon your arduous task,
None shall assist you, none partake your toil,

None share your triumph-still you must retain
Some one to cast your glory on, to share
Your rapture with. Were I elect like you,

I would encircle me with love, and raise

A rampart of my fellows; it should seem
Impossible for me to fail, so watched

By gentle friends who made my cause their own
They should ward off Fate's envy-the great gift,
Extravagant when claimed by me alone,
Being so a gift to them as well as me.

If danger daunted me or ease seduced,

How calmly their sad eyes should gaze reproach! Mich. O Aureole, can I sing when all alone, Without first calling, in my fancy, both

To listen by my side-even I! And you?

Do

you not feel this?—say that you feel this! Par. I feel 'tis pleasant that my aims, at length Allowed their weight, should be supposed to need A further strengthening in these goodly helps! My course allures for its own sake-its sole Intrinsic worth; and ne'er shall boat of mine Adventure forth for gold and apes at once. Your sages say, "if human, therefore weak :" If weak, more need to give myself entire To my pursuit; and by its side, all else No matter! I deny myself but little

In waiving all assistance save its own—
Would there were some real sacrifice to make!
Your friends the sages threw their joys away,
While I must be content with keeping mine.

Fest. But do not cut yourself from human weal? You cannot thrive-a man that dares affect

To spend his life in service to his kind,

For no reward of theirs, nor bound to them
By any tie; nor do so, Aureole ! No-

There are strange punishments for such. Give up (Although no visible good flow thence) some part Of the glory to another; hiding thus,

Even from yourself, that all is for yourself. Say, say almost to God-" I have done all "For her not for myself!"

Par.

And who, but lately,

Was to rejoice in my success like you?

Whom should I love but both of

Fest.

you ?

I know not:

But know this, you, that 'tis no wish of mine
You should abjure the lofty claims you make;
Although I can no longer seek, indeed,
To overlook the truth, that there will be
A monstrous spectacle upon the earth,
Beneath the pleasant sun, among the trees:
-A being knowing not what love is. Hear me !
You are endowed with faculties which bear
Annexed to them as 'twere a dispensation
To summon meaner spirits to do their will,
And gather round them at their need; inspiring
Such with a love themselves can never feel-
Passionless 'mid their passionate votaries.
I know not if you joy in this or no,

Or ever dream that common men can live
On objects you prize lightly, but which make
Their heart's sole treasure: the affections seem
Beauteous at most to you, which we must taste
Or die and this strange quality accords,

:

I know not how, with you; sits well upon

That luminous brow, though in another it scowls
An eating brand-a shame. I dare not judge you :
The rules of right and wrong thus set aside,
There's no alternative-I own you one
Of higher order, under other laws

Than bind us, therefore, curb not one bold glance !
'Tis best aspire. Once mingled with us all

...

Mich. Stay with us, Aureole! cast those hopes away,

And stay with us! An angel warns me, too,

Man should be humble; you are very proud:

And God, dethroned, has doleful plagues for such!
He warns me not to dread a quick repulse,
Nor slow defeat, but a complete success!

You will find all you seek, and perish so!

Par. (After a pause.) Are these the barren first fruits

of my life?

Is love like this the natural lot of all?

How many years of pain might one such hour
O'erbalance? Dearest Michal, dearest Festus,
What shall I say, if not that I desire

To merit this your love; and will, dear friends,
In swerving nothing from my first resolves.
See, the great moon! and ere the mottled owls