I shall o'ertake the company, and ride

Glittering as they!

Fest.

I think I apprehend

What you would say: if you, in truth, design
To enter once more on the life thus left,
Seek not to hide that all this consciousness
Of failure is assumed.

Par.

My friend, my friend,

I speak, you listen; I explain, perhaps

You understand: there our communion ends.

Have you learnt nothing from to-day's discourse?

When we would thoroughly know the sick man's state
We feel awhile the fluttering pulse, press soft
The hot brow, look upon the languid eye,
And thence divine the rest. Must I lay bare

My heart, hideous and beating, or tear up

My vitals for your gaze, ere you will deem

Enough made known? You! who are you, forsooth?
That is the crowning operation claimed

By the arch-demonstrator-heaven the hall,
And earth the audience. Let Aprile and

you

Secure good places-'twill be worth your while.
Fest. Are you mad, Aureole? What can I have said
To call for this? I judged from your own words.
Par. Oh, true! A fevered wretch describes the ape
That mocks him from the bed-foot, and you turn
All gravely thither at once: or he recounts
The perilous journey he has late performed,
And you are puzzled much how that could be!

You find me here, half stupid and half mad:
It makes no part of my delight to search
Into these things, much less to undergo
Another's scrutiny; but so it chances
That I am led to trust my state to you:
And the event is, you combine, contrast,
And ponder on my foolish words, as though
They thoroughly conveyed all hidden here-
Here, loathsome with despair, and hate, and rage!
Is there no fear, no shrinking, or no shame?

Will you guess nothing? will you spare me nothing?
Must I go deeper? Ay or no?

Fest.

Dear friend...

Par. True: I am brutal-'tis a part of it;

The plague's sign-you are not a lazar-haunter,

How should you know? Well then, you think it strange

I should profess to have failed utterly,

And yet propose an ultimate return

To courses void of hope; and this, because
You know not what temptation is, nor how
'Tis like to ply men in the sickliest part.
You are to understand, that we who make
Sport for the gods, are hunted to the end:
There is not one sharp volley shot at us,
Which if we manage to escape with life,
Though touched and hurt, we straight may slacken pace
And gather by the way-side herbs and roots

To stanch our wounds, secure from further harm—

No; we are chased to life's extremest verge.

It will be well indeed if I return,
A harmless busy fool to my old ways!
I would forget hints of another fate,
Significant enough, which silent hours
Have lately scared me with.

Fest.

Another

and what?

Par. After all, Festus, you say well: I stand
A man yet-I need never humble me.

I would have been-something, I know not what ;
But though I cannot soar, I do not crawl:

There are worse portions than this one of mine ;
You say well!

Fest.

Ah!...

Par.

And deeper degradation!

If the mean stimulants of vulgar praise,

And vanity, should become the chosen food

Of a sunk mind; should stifle even the wish

To find its early aspirations true;

Should teach it to breathe falsehood like life-breath

An atmosphere of craft, and trick, and lies;
Should make it proud to emulate or surpass
Base natures in the practices which woke
Its most indignant loathing once... No, no!
Utter damnation is reserved for Hell!

I had immortal feelings-such shall never
Be wholly quenched-no, no!

My friend, you wear

A melancholy face, and truth to speak,

There's little cheer in all this dismal work;

But 'twas not my desire to set abroach

Such memories and forebodings. I foresaw

Where they would drive; 'twere better you detailed
News of Lucerne or Zurich; or I described

Great Egypt's flaring sky, or Spain's cork-groves.
Fest. I have thought now: yes, this mood will pass

away.

I know you, and the lofty spirit you bear,

And easily ravel out a clue to all.

These are the trials meet for such as you,
Nor must you hope exemption to be mortal
Is to be plied with trials manifold.

Look round! The obstacles which kept the rest

Of men from your ambition, you have spurned :

Their fears, their doubts, the chains that bind them best,
Were flax before your resolute soul, which nought
Avails to awe, save these delusions, bred

From its own strength, its selfsame strength, disguised-
Mocking itself. Be brave, dear Aureole! Since
The rabbit has his shade to frighten him,

The fawn his rustling bough, mortals their cares,
And higher natures yet their power to laugh
At these entangling fantasies, as you

At trammels of a weaker intellect.

Measure your

I know you.

Par.

mind's height by the shade it casts!

And I know you, dearest Festus !

And how you love unworthily; and how
All admiration renders blind.

Fest.

That admiration blinds?

Par.

You hold

Ay, and alas!

Fest. Nought blinds you less than admiration will.
Whether it be that all love renders wise

In its degree; from love which blends with love—
Heart answering heart to love which spends itself
In silent mad idolatry of some

Preeminent mortal, some great soul of souls,

Which ne'er will know how well it is adored :

I say, such love is never blind; but rather

Alive to every the minutest spot

Which mars its object, and which hate (supposed
So vigilant and searching) dreams not of:

Love broods on such: what then? When first perceived

Is there no sweet strife to forget, to change,

To overflush those blemishes with all

The glow of general goodness they disturb?
-To make those very defects an endless source
Of new affection grown from hopes and fears?

And, when all fails, is there no gallant stand
Made even for much proved weak? no shrinking-back
Lest, rising even as its idol sinks,

It nearly reach the sacred place, and stand
Almost a rival of that idol? Trust me,

If there be fiends who seek to work our hurt,
To ruin and drag down earth's mightiest spirits,
Even at God's foot, 'twill be from such as love,
Their zeal will gather most to serve their cause;