Puslapio vaizdai
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To talk to thee in human language (for

Thou canst not yet speak mine), the forester
Hunts not the wretched coney, but the boar,
Or wolf, or lion-leaving paltry game

To petty burghers, who leave once a year
Their walls, to fill their household cauldrons with
Such scullion prey. The meanest gibe at thee,—
Now I can mock the mightiest.

Arn.

Thy time on me: I seek thee not.

Stran.

Then waste not

Your thoughts

Are not far from me. Do not send me back:

I'm not so easily recalled to do

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Good service.

Arn.

Stran.

What wilt thou do for me?

Change

Shapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks you;
Or form you to your wish in any shape.

Arn. Oh! then you are indeed the Demon, for
Nought else would wittingly wear mine.

Stran.

I'll show thee The brightest which the world e'er bore, and give thee Thy choice.

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There's a question!

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An hour ago you would have given your soul
To look like other men, and now you pause
To wear the form of heroes.

Arn.

No; I will not.

I must not compromise my soul.

Stran.
What soul,
Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcase?

Arn. 'Tis an aspiring one, whate'er the tenement
In which it is mislodged. But name your compact:
Must it be signed in blood?

Stran.

Arn. Whose blood then?
Stran.

Not in your own.

We will talk of that hereafter.

But I'll be moderate with you, for I see
Great things within you. You shall have no bond

i. Now I can gibe the mightiest.—[MS.]

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But your own will, no contract save your deeds.
Are you content ?
Arn.

I take thee at thy word.

Stran. Now then !—

[The Stranger approaches the fountain, and turns to

Arn.

ARNOLD.

A little of your blood.1

For what?

Stran. To mingle with the magic of the waters, And make the charm effective.

Arn. (holding out his wounded arm). Take it all. Stran. Not now. A few drops will suffice for this. [The Stranger takes some of ARNOLD'S blood in his hand, and casts it into the fountain. Shadows of Beauty!

Shadows of Power!

Rise to your duty

This is the hour!

Walk lovely and pliant1

From the depth of this fountain,

As the cloud-shapen giant

Bestrides the Hartz Mountain.2

Come as ye were,

That our eyes may behold

The model in air

Of the form I will mould,

Bright as the Iris

When ether is spanned ;

Such his desire is,

Such my command !ii.

Demons heroic

Demons who wore

The form of the Stoic

Or sophist of yore—

i. Walk lively and pliant.

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170

[Pointing to ARNOLD.

You shall rise up as pliant.—[MS. erased.] ii. And such my command.-[MS.]

I. [So, too, in The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus (Marlowe's Works, 1858, p. 112), Faustus stabs his arm,

blood Assures his soul to be great Lucifer's."]

"and with his proper

2. This is a well-known German superstition-a gigantic shadow produced by reflection on the Brocken. [See Brewster's Letters on Natural Magic, 1831, p. 128.]

Or the shape of each victor-
From Macedon's boy,
To each high Roman's picture,
Who breathed to destroy-
Shadows of Beauty!

Shadows of Power!
Up to your duty—

This is the hour!

180

[Various phantoms arise from the waters, and pass in succession before the Stranger and ARNOLD. Arn. What do I see?

Stran.

The black-eyed Roman,1 with

The eagle's beak between those eyes which ne'er
Beheld a conqueror, or looked along

The land he made not Rome's, while Rome became
His, and all theirs who heired his very name.

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Arn. The phantom 's bald; my quest is beauty. Could I

Inherit but his fame with his defects!

Stran. His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs.3 You see his aspect-choose it, or reject.

I can but promise you his form; his fame
Must be long sought and fought for.

I will fight, too,

Arn.
But not as a mock Cæsar. Let him pass:
His aspect may be fair, but suits me not.

Stran. Then you are far more difficult to please
Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus's mother,

Or Cleopatra at sixteen 3-an age

When love is not less in the eye than heart.

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200

[The phantom of Julius Cæsar disappears.

And can it

Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone,1

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It be? the man who shook the earth is gone.—[MS.]

1. ["Nigris vegetisque oculis."-Suetonius, Vitæ C. Julius Cæsar, cap. xlv., Opera Ömnia, 1826, i. 105.]

2. [Vide post, p. 501, note 1.]

3. Sed ante alias [Julius Cæsar] dilexit M. Bruti matrem Serviliam dilexit et reginas. . . sed maxime Cleopatram" (ibid., i. 113, 115). Cleopatra, born B. C. 69, was twenty-one years old when she met Cæsar, B. C. 48.]

And left no footstep?

Stran.

There you err.

His substance

Left graves enough, and woes enough, and fame

More than enough to track his memory;
But for his shadow-'tis no more than yours,
Except a little longer and less crooked

I' the sun. Behold another! [A second phantom passes.

Arn.

Who is he?

Stran. He was the fairest and the bravest of

Athenians.1

Arn.

Look upon him well.

He is

More lovely than the last. How beautiful!

210

Stran. Such was the curled son of Clinias;-wouldst

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With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect,
The splay feet and low stature!

Remain that which I am.

Stran.

I had better

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And yet he was

The earth's perfection of all mental beauty,

And personification of all virtue.

But you reject him?

Arn.

If his form could bring me

I have no power

That which redeemed it—no.
Stran.

To promise that; but you may try, and find it
Easier in such a form-or in your own.

1. Upon the whole, it may be doubted whether there be a name of Antiquity which comes down with such a general charm as that of Alcibiades. Why I cannot answer: who can?"-Detached Thoughts (1821), No. 108, Letters, 1901, v. 461. For Sir Walter Scott's note on this passage, see Letters, 1900, iv. 77, 78, note 2.]

2. [The outside of Socrates was that of a satyr and buffoon, but his soul was all virtue, and from within him came such divine and pathetic things, as pierced the heart, and drew tears from the hearers.- Plato, Symp., p. 216, D.]

Arn. No. I was not born for philosophy, Though I have that about me which has need on't. Let him fleet on.

Stran.

Be air, thou Hemlock-drinker ! 230 [The shadow of Socrates disappears: another rises. Arn. What's here ? whose broad brow and whose curly beard

And manly aspect look like Hercules,1

Save that his jocund eye hath more of Bacchus
Than the sad purger of the infernal world,
Leaning dejected on his club of conquest,2
As if he knew the worthlessness of those
For whom he had fought.

Stran.

The ancient world for love.

Arn.

It was the man who lost

I cannot blame him,

Since I have risked my soul because I find not
That which he exchanged the earth for.

Stran.

Since so far

You seem congenial, will you wear his features?
Arn. No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult.

If but to see the heroes I should ne'er

Have seen else, on this side of the dim shore,

Whence they float back before us.

Stran.

Thy Cleopatra's waiting.

Arn.

Hence, Triumvir,

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[The shade of Antony disappears: another rises. Who is this?

Who truly looketh like a demigod,

Blooming and bright, with golden hair, and stature,
If not more high than mortal, yet immortal

In all that nameless bearing of his limbs,

Which he wears as the Sun his rays-a something
Which shines from him, and yet is but the flashing
Emanation of a thing more glorious still.

Was he e'er human only ? 3

250

1. ["Anthony had a noble dignity of countenance, a graceful length of beard, a large forehead, an aquiline nose: and, upon the whole, the same manly aspect that we see in the pictures and statues of Hercules." -Plutarch's Lives, Langhorne's Translation, 1838, p. 634.]

2. As in the " Farnese" Hercules.]

3. [The beauty and mien [of Demetrius Poliorcetes] were so inimitable

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