Are we not halves of one dissevered world,

Whom this strange chance unites once more? Part?

never!

Till thou the lover, know; and I, the knower,
Love-until both are saved. Aprile, hear!
We will accept our gains, and use them-now!
God, he will die upon my breast! Aprile!

Aprile. To speak but once, and die! yet by his side. Hush! hush!

Ha! go you ever girt about

With phantoms, powers? I have created such,

But these seem real as I.

Paracelsus.

Whom can you see

Stay; I know,

Through the accursed darkness?

Aprile.

I know them: who should know them well as I?

White brows, lit up with glory; poets all!

Paracelsus. Let him but live, and I have my reward!

Aprile. Yes; I see now.

God is the perfect poet,

Who in his person acts his own creations.

Had you but told me this at first! Hush! hush!

Paracelsus. Live! for my sake, because of my great

sin,

To help my brain, oppressed by these wild words

And their deep import. Live! 't is not too late.

I have a quiet home for us, and friends.

F

Michal shall smile on you. Hear you? Lean thus,
And breathe my breath. I shall not lose one word
Of all your speech, one little word, Aprile!

Aprile. No, no. Crown me? I am not one of you! 'T is he, the king, you seek. I am not one.

Paracelsus. Thy spirit, at least, Aprile! Let me love!

I have attained, and now I may depart.

07

PART III.

PARACELSUS.

SCENE.-Basil; a chamber in the house of PARACELSUS.

1526.

PARACELSUS, FESTUS.

Paracelsus. Heap logs and let the blaze laugh out ! Festus.

'T is very fit all, time and chance and change

True, true!

Have wrought since last we sat thus, face to face
And soul to soul-all cares, far-looking fears,
Vague apprehensions, all vain fancies bred
By your long absence, should be cast away,
Forgotten in this glad unhoped renewal
Of our affections.

Paracelsus.

Oh, omit not aught

Which witnesses your own and Michal's own
Affection: spare not that! Only forget
The honours and the glories and what not,

It pleases you to tell profusely out.

Festus. Nay, even your honours, in a sense, I waive: The wondrous Paracelsus, life's dispenser,

Fate's commissary, idol of the schools

And courts, shall be no more than Aureole still,
Still Aureole and my friend as when we parted
Some twenty years ago, and I restrained
As best I could the promptings of my spirit
Which secretly advanced you, from the first,
To the pre-eminent rank which, since, your own
Adventurous ardour, nobly triumphing,

Has won for you.

Paracelsus.

Yes, yes. And Michal's face

Still wears that quiet and peculiar light

Like the dim circlet floating round a pearl?

Festus. Just so.

Paracelsus.

And yet her calm sweet countenance,
Though saintly, was not sad; for she would sing
Alone. Does she still sing alone, bird-like,

Not dreaming you are near? Her carols dropt
In flakes through that old leafy bower built under
The sunny wall at Würzburg, from her lattice

Among the trees above, while I, unseen,

Sat conning some rare scroll from Tritheim's shelves
Much wondering notes so simple could divert
My mind from study. Those were happy days.
Respect all such as sing when all alone!

Festus. Scarcely alone: her children, you may guess,

Are wild beside her.

Paracelsus.

Ah, those children quite

Unsettle the pure picture in my mind:

A girl, she was so perfect, so distinct:

No change, no change! Not but this added grace
May blend and harmonize with its compeers,
And Michal may become her motherhood;
But 't is a change, and I detest all change,
And most a change in aught I loved long since.
So, Michal-you have said she thinks of me?

Festus. O very proud will Michal be of you!
Imagine how we sat, long winter-nights,
Scheming and wondering, shaping your presumed
Adventure, or devising its reward;

Shutting out fear with all the strength of hope.
For it was strange how, even when most secure
In our domestic peace, a certain dim

And flitting shade could sadden all; it seemed
A restlessness of heart, a silent yearning,
A sense of something wanting, incomplete-
Not to be put in words, perhaps avoided
By mute consent-but, said or unsaid, felt
To point to one so loved and so long lost.
And then the hopes rose and shut out the fears-
How you would laugh should I recount them now