Through bower and over lawn, till eve shall bring
The stately lady's presence whom he loves-

The broken sleep of the fisher whose rough coat
Enwraps the queenly pearl-these are faint types!
See, see, they look on me: I triumph now!
But one thing, Festus, Michal! I have told
All I shall e'er disclose to mortal: say-
Do you believe I shall accomplish this?
Festus. I do believe!

Michal.

I ever did believe!

Paracelsus. Those words shall never fade from out my

brain!

This earnest of the end shall never fade!

Are there not, Festus, are there not, dear Michal,

Two points in the adventure of the diver,
One-when, a beggar, he prepares to plunge,

One-when, a prince, he rises with his pearl?

Festus, I plunge!

Festus.

We wait you

when you

rise!

39

PART II.

PARACELSUS ATTAINS.

SCENE.-Constantinople; the house of a Greek Conjurer.

1521.

PARACELSUS.

Over the waters in the vaporous West
The sun goes down as in a sphere of gold
Behind the arm of the city, which between,
With all that length of domes and minarets,
Athwart the splendour, black and crooked runs
Like a Turk verse along a scimitar.

There lie, sullen memorial, and no more
Possess my aching sight! 'T is done at last.
Strange-and the juggles of a sallow cheat
Have won me to this act! 'T is as yon cloud
Should voyage unwrecked o'er many a mountain-top
And break upon a molehill. I have dared
Come to a pause with knowledge; scan for once
The heights already reached, without regard

To the extent above; fairly compute

All I have clearly gained; for once excluding
A brilliant future to supply and perfect

All half-gains and conjectures and crude hopes:
And all because a fortune-teller wills

His credulous seekers should inscribe thus much

Their previous life's attainment, in his roll,
Before his promised secret, as he vaunts,

Make up the sum: and here amid the scrawled
Uncouth recordings of the dupes of this
Old arch-genethliac, lie my life's results!

A few blurred characters suffice to note
A stranger wandered long through many lands
And reaped the fruit he coveted in a few
Discoveries, as appended here and there,
The fragmentary produce of much toil,
In a dim heap, fact and surmise together
Confusedly massed as when acquired; he was
Intent on gain to come too much to stay
And scrutinize the little gained: the whole
Slipt in the blank space 'twixt an idiot's gibber
And a mad lover's ditty-there it lies.

And yet those blottings chronicle a life-
A whole life, and my life! Nothing to do,
No problem for the fancy, but a life

Spent and decided, wasted past retrieve

Or worthy beyond peer. Stay, what does this Remembrancer set down concerning "life"? "Time fleets, youth fades, life is an empty dream,' "It is the echo of time; and he whose heart "Beat first beneath a human heart, whose speech "Was copied from a human tongue, can never "Recall when he was living yet knew not this. "Nevertheless long seasons pass o'er him

"Till some one hour's experience shows what nothing, "It seemed, could clearer show; and ever after, "An altered brow and eye and gait and speech "Attest that now he knows the adage true

"Time fleets, youth fades, life is an empty dream."

Ay, my brave chronicler, and this same hour
As well as any: now, let my time be!

Now! I can go no farther; well or ill,

'T is done. I must desist and take my

chance.

I cannot keep on the stretch: 't is no back-shrinking

For let but some assurance beam, some close

To my toil grow visible, and I proceed

At any price, though closing it, I die.

Else, here I pause. The old Greek's prophecy

Is like to turn out true: "I shall not quit

"His chamber till I know what I desire!" Was it the light wind sang it o'er the sea?

An end, a rest! strange how the notion, once
Encountered, gathers strength by moments! Rest!
Where has it kept so long? this throbbing brow
To cease, this beating heart to cease, all cruel
And gnawing thoughts to cease! To dare let down
My strung, so high-strung brain, to dare unnerve
My harassed o'ertasked frame, to know my place,
My portion, my reward, even my failure,
Assigned, made sure for ever! To lose myself
Among the common creatures of the world,
To draw some gain from having been a man,
Neither to hope nor fear, to live at length!
Even in failure, rest! But rest in truth

And power and recompense . . I hoped that once!

What, sunk insensibly so deep? Has all
Been undergone for this? This the request
My labour qualified me to present

With no fear of refusal? Had I gone

Slightingly through my task, and so judged fit.

To moderate my hopes; nay, were it now

My sole concern to exculpate myself,

End things or mend them,-why, I could not choose