Another night, and yet no change! 'Tis much
That I should sit by him, and bathe his brow,
And chafe his hands-'tis much; but he will sure
Know me, and look on me, and speak to me
Once more-but only once! His hollow cheek
Looked all night long as though a creeping laugh
At his own state were just about to break
From the dying man: my brain swam, my throat swelled,
I could not turn away. In truth,
They told me how, when first brought here, he seemed
Resolved to live-to lose no faculty;
Thus striving to keep up his shattered strength,
Until they bore him to this stifling cell:
When straight his features fell-an hour made white
The flushed face and relaxed the quivering limb.
Only the eye remained intense awhile,
As though it recognized the tomb-like place;
And then he lay as here he lies.
Here is earth's noblest, nobly garlanded
Her bravest champion, with his well-won meed—
Her best achievement, her sublime amends
For countless generations, fleeting fast
And followed by no trace ;-the creature-god
She instances when angels would dispute
The title of her brood to rank with them-
Angels, this is our angel!-those bright forms
We clothe with purple, crown and call to thrones,
Are human, but not his: those are but men
Whom other men press round and kneel before-
Those palaces are dwelt in by mankind;
Higher provision is for him you seek
Amid our pomps and glories: see it here!
Behold earth's paragon! Now, raise thee, clay!
God! Thou art Love! I build my faith on that
Even as I watch beside thy tortured child,
Unconscious whose hot tears fall fast by him,
So doth thy right hand guide us through the world
Wherein we stumble. God! what shall we say?
How else should he have done?
Surely he sought thy praise-thy praise, for all
He might be busied by the task so much
As to forget awhile its proper end.
Dost thou well, Lord? Thou canst not but prefer
That I should range myself upon his side-
How could he stop at every step to set
Thy glory forth? Hadst Thou but granted him
Success, thy honour would have crowned success,
Or, say he erred,—
A halo round a star.
Save him, dear God;
it will be like thee: bathe him In light and life! Thou art not made like us; We should be wroth in such a case; but Thou Forgivest-so, forgive these passionate thoughts, Which come unsought, and will not pass away! I know thee, who hast kept my path, and made Light for me in the darkness-tempering sorrow, So that it reached me like a solemn joy;
It were too strange that I should doubt thy love.
But what am I? Thou madest him, and knowest
How he was fashioned. I could never err
That way the quiet place beside thy feet,
Reserved for me, was ever in my thoughts;
But he Thou shouldst have favoured him as well!
Ah! he wakes! Aureole, I am here-'tis Festus !
I cast away all wishes save one wish-
Let him but know me-only speak to me!
He mutters-louder and louder; any other
Than I, with brain less laden, could collect
What he pours forth. Dear Aureole, do but look!
Is it talking or singing this he utters fast?
Misery, that he should fix me with his eye-
Quick talking to some other all the while!
If he would husband this wild vehemence,
Which frustrates its intent!-I heard, I know
I heard my name amid those rapid words :
O he will know me yet! Could I divert
This current-lead it somehow gently back
Into the channels of the past!-His eye,
Brighter than ever! It must recognize!
Let me speak to him in another's name.
I am Erasmus: I am here to pray
That Paracelsus use his skill for me.
The schools of Paris and of Padua send
These questions for your learning to resolve.
We are your students, noble master: leave
This wretched cell; what business have you here?
Our class awaits you; come to us once more
(O agony! the utmost I can do
Touches him not; how else arrest his ear?)
I am commissioned . . . I shall craze like him—
Better be mute, and see what God shall send.
Par. Stay, stay with me!
To stay with you-Festus, you loved of old;
Festus, you know, you must know!
Aprile, then? Has he not chanted softly
The melodies I heard all night? I could not
Get to him for a cold hand on my breast,
But I made out his music well enough,
O, well enough! If they have filled him full
With magical music, as they freight a star
With light, and have remitted all his sin,
They will forgive me too, I too shall know!
Fest. Festus, your Festus !
Knows as he loves-if I shall Love and Know?
I try; but that cold hand, like lead-so cold!
Ah, the curse, Aprile, Aprile
We get so near-so very, very near!
"Tis an old tale: Jove strikes the Titans down Not when they set about their mountain-piling,
But when another rock would crown their work!
And Phaeton-doubtless his first radiant plunge
Astonished mortals; though the gods were calm,
And Jove prepared his thunder: all old tales!
Fest. And what are these to you?
So cruelly, so well; most like I never
Could tread a single pleasure under foot,
But they were grinning by my side, were chuckling
To see me toil, and drop away by flakes!
Hell-spawn! I am glad, most glad, that thus I fail!
You that hate men and all who wish their good-
Your cunning has o'ershot its aim. One year,
One month, perhaps, and I had served your turn!
You should have curbed your spite awhile. But now,
Who will believe 'twas you that held me back?
Listen: there's shame, and hissing, and contempt,
And none but laughs who names me-none but spits
Measureless scorn upon me-me alone,
The quack, the cheat, the liar,—all on me!
And thus your famous plan to sink mankind
In silence and despair, by teaching them
One of their race had probed the immost truth,
Had done all man could do, yet failed no less—
Your wise plan proves abortive. Men despair
Ha, ha! why they are hooting the empiric,
The ignorant and incapable fool who rushed
Madly upon a work beyond his wits;
Nor doubt they but the simplest of themselves
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