Empedocles. That was my harp-player again!-where is he? Down by the stream? Pausanias. Yes, Master, in the wood. Empedocles. He ever loved the Theban story well! Pausanias. Thou wilt return to-morrow to the city? Empedocles. Either to-morrow or some other day, Till my eyes ache with the long spectacle, Thou know'st me for a wanderer from of old. Meanwhile, stay me not now. Farewell, Pausanias! He departs on his way up the mountain. Pausanias (alone). I dare not urge him further; he must go. I saw him through the chestnuts far below, ACT II. Evening. The Summit of Etna. EMPEDOCLES. Alone ! On this charr'd, blacken'd, melancholy waste, For I must henceforth speak no more with man. No, thou art come too late, Empedocles! And the world hath the day, and must break thee, For something has impair'd thy spirit's strength, Thou canst not live with men nor with thyself— The last spark of man's consciousness with words- Before the soul lose all her solemn joys, And the soul's deep eternal night come on Receive me, hide me, quench me, take me home! He advances to the edge of the crater. Smoke and fire break forth with a loud noise, and CALLICLES is heard below singing : The lyre's voice is lovely everywhere! In the court of Gods, in the city of men, Only to Typho it sounds hatefully! To Typho only, the rebel o'erthrown, " Through whose heart Etna drives her roots of stone, To imbed them in the sea. Wherefore dost thou groan so loud? Wherefore do thy nostrils flash, Through the dark night, suddenly, The ancient rout by the Cilician hills, And that curst treachery on the Mount of Gore? |