PARACELSUS



[Preface]

I am anxious that the reader should not, at the very
outset��mistaking my performance for one of a class with which
it has nothing in common��judge it by principles on which it
was never moulded, and subject it to a standard to which it
was never meant to conform. I therefore anticipate his
discovery, that it is an attempt, probably more novel than
happy, to reverse the method usually adopted by writers whose
aim it is to set forth any phenomenon of the mind or passions,
by the operation of persons and events; and that, instead of
having recourse to an external machinery of incidents to
create and evolve the crisis I desire to produce, I have
ventured to display somewhat minutely the mood itself in its
rise and progress, and have suffered the agency by which it is
influenced and determined, to be generally discernible in its
effects alone, and subordinate throughout, if not altogether
excluded: and this for a reason. I have endeavoured to write a
poem, not a drama; the canons of the drama are well known, and
I cannot but think that, inasmuch as they have immediate
regard to stage representation, the peculiar advantages they
hold out are really such only so long as the purpose for which
they were at first instituted is kept in view. I do not very
well understand what is called a Dramatic Poem, wherein all
those restrictions only submitted to on account of
compensating good in the original scheme are scrupulously
retained, as though for some special fitness in
themselves��and all new facilities placed at an author's
disposal by the vehicle he selects, as pertinaciously
rejected. It is certain, however, that a work like mine
depends more immediately on the intelligence and sympathy of
the reader for its success��indeed were my scenes stars it
must be his co�operating fancy which, supplying all chasms,
shall connect the scattered lights into one constellation��a
Lyre or a Crown. I trust for his indulgence towards a poem
which had not been imagined six months ago; and that even
should he think slightingly of the present (an experiment I am
in no case likely to repeat) he will not be prejudiced against
other productions which may follow in a more popular, and
perhaps less difficult form.
   15th March, 1835.



Persons.

Aureolus Paracelsus.
Festus & Michal, his friends.
Aprile.

N.B.��For the localities and dates, see the note at the end.

                     I.��Paracelsus Aspires.

Scene, W�rzburg��a  garden in the environs. 1507.

Festus, Paracelsus, Michal.

           Paracelsus. Come close to me, dear friends; still
                         closer��thus;
         Close to the heart which, though long time roll by
         Ere it again beat quicker, press'd to yours,
         As now it beats��perchance a long, long time��
5        At least henceforth your memories shall make
         Quiet and fragrant as befits their home.
         Nor shall my memory want a home in yours.��
         Alas! that it requires too well such free
         Forgiving love as shall embalm it there!
10       For if you would remember me aright��
         As I was born to be��you must forget
         All fitful, strange, and moody waywardness,
         Which e'er confused my better spirit, to dwell
         Only on moments such as these, dear friends;
15       My heart no truer, but my word and ways
         More true to it: as Michal, some months hence,
         Will say, this autumn was a pleasant time
         For some few sunny days; and overlook
         Its bleak wind, hankering after pining leaves.
20       Autumn would fain be sunny��I would look
         Liker my nature's truth; and both are frail,
         And both beloved for all their frailty!
           Michal.                               Aureole! ...
           Paracelsus. Drop by drop!��she is weeping like a child!
         Not so ... I am content��more than content��
25       Nay Autumn wins you best by this its mute
         Appeal to sympathy for its decay ...
         Look up, sweet Michal, nor esteem the less
         The stain'd and drooping vines their grapes bow down��
         Those creaking trees bent with their fruit��and see
30       That apple�tree with a rare after�birth
         Of peeping blooms sprinkled its wealth among;
         And for the winds��what wind that ever raved
         Shall vex that ash that overlooks the rest,
         So proud it wears its berries. Ah! at length,
35       The old smile meet for her, the lady of this
         Sequester'd nest! This kingdom, limited
         Alone by one old populous green wall,
         Tenanted by the ever�busy flies,
         Grey crickets, and shy lizards, and quick spiders,
40       All families of the silver�threaded moss��
         Which look through, near, this way, and it appears
         A stubble�field, or a cane�brake��a marsh 
         Of bulrush whitening in the sun: laugh now!
         Fancy the crickets, each one in his house,
45       Looking out and wondering at the world��or best,
         The painted snail, with his gay shell of dew,
         Travelling to see the glossy balls high up
         Hung by the caterpillar, like gold lamps.
           Michal. In truth we have lived carelessly and well! 
50         Paracelsus. And shall, my perfect pair��each, trust me, born
         For the other��nay your very hair, when mixed,
         Is of one hue. For where beside this nook
         Shall you two walk, when I am far away,
         And wish me prosperous fortune? ... Stay! that plant
55       Shall never wave its tangles lightly and softly,
         As a queen's languid and imperial arm
         Which scatters crowns among her lovers, but you
         Shall be reminded to predict some great
         Success to me. Ah, see! the sun sinks broad
60       Behind St. Saviour's ... wholly gone, at last!
           Festus. Now, Aureole, stay those wandering eyes awhile:
         You are ours to�night at least; and while you spoke
         Of Michal and her tears, I thought that none
         Could willing leave what he so seem'd to love ...
65       But that last look destroys my dream��that look!
         As if where'er you gazed there stood a star!
         How far was W�rzburg,  with its church and spire,
         And garden�walls, and all that they contain,
         From that look's far alighting?
           Paracelsus.                   I but spoke
70       And look'd alike from simple joy, to see
         The beings I best love so well shut in
         From all rude chances like to be my lot;
         That, far from them, my weary spirit, disposed
         To lose awhile its cares in soothing thoughts
75       Of them, their pleasant features, looks, and words,
         Needs never hesitate, nor apprehend
         Encroaching trouble may have reach'd them too;
         Nor have recourse to Fancy's busy aid
         Even to frame a wish in their behalf
80       Beyond what they possess already here;
         But, unobstructed, may at once forget
         Itself in them��assured how well they are.
         This Festus knows; beside, he holds me one
         Whom quiet and its charms arrest in vain;
85       One scarce aware of all the joys he quits;
         Too fill'd with airy hopes to make account
         Of soft delights his own heart garners up:
         Whereas, behold how much our sense of all
         That's beautiful is one! And when he learns
90       That every common sight he can enjoy
         Affects me as himself; that I have just
         As varied appetite for joys derived
         From common things; a stake in life, in short,
         Like his; and which a rash pursuit of aims
95       That it affords not would as soon destroy;��
         He may convince himself, that, knowing this,
         I shall act well advised: and last, because,
         Though heaven and earth, and all things, were at stake,
         Sweet Michal must not weep our parting eve.
100        Festus. True: and the eve is deepening, and we sit
         As little anxious to begin our talk
         As though to�morrow I could hint of it
         As we paced arm in arm the cheerful town 
         At sun�dawn; or could whisper it by fits
105      (Trithemius busied with his class the while)
         In that dim chamber where the noon�streaks peer
         Half frighten'd by the awful tomes around;
         Or in some grassy lane unbosom all
         From even�blush to midnight ... but to�morrow! ...
110      I have full leave to tell my inmost mind?
         We have been brothers, and henceforth the world
         Will be between us ... all my freest mind? ...
         'Tis the last night, dear Aureole!
           Paracelsus.                      Oh, say on;
         Devise some test of love��some arduous feat
115      To be perform'd for you��say on; if night
         Be spent the while, the better; recall how oft
         My wondrous plans, and dreams, and hopes, and fears,
         Have��never wearied you ... oh, no! ... as I
         Recall, and never vividly as now,
120      Your true affection, born when Einsiedeln
         And its green hills were all the world to us,
         And still increasing to this night, which ends
         My further stay at W�rzburg  ... Oh you shall
         Be very proud one day! ... say on, dear friend;
125      Talk volumes, I shall still be in arrear.
           Festus. In truth? 'Tis for my proper peace, indeed,
         Rather than yours��for vain it looks to seek
         To stay your course��the last hopes I conceived
         Are fading even now. Old stories tell
130      Of some far embassy despatch'd to win
         The favour of an eastern king, and how
         The gifts it proffer'd were but dazzling dust
         Shed from the ore�beds native to the clime;
         Just so, the value of repose and love,
135      I meant should tempt you, better far than I
         You seem to comprehend��and still desist
         No whit from projects where they have no part.
           Paracelsus. Alas! as I forebode, this weighty talk
         Has for its end no other than to revive ...
140        Festus. A solitary briar the bank puts forth
         To save our swan's nest floating out to sea.
           Paracelsus. Dear Festus, hear me. What is it you wish?
         That I should lay aside my heart's pursuit,
         Abandon the sole ends for which I live,
145      Reject God's great commission��and so die!
         And still I listen for your true love's sake.
         Yet how has grown that love? Even in a long
         And patient cherishing of the selfsame spirit
         It now would quell��as though a mother should hope
150      To stay the lusty manhood of the child
         Once weak upon her knees. I was not born
         Inform'd and fearless from the first, but shrank
         From aught which mark'd me out apart from men.
         I would have lived their life, and striven their strife��
155      Eluding Destiny, if that might be��
         But you first guided me through doubt and fear,
         And taught me to know them and know myself; 
         And now that I am strong and full of hope;
         That I can from my soul reject all aims,
160      Save those your earnest words made plain to me;
         Now, that I touch the brink of my design,
         When I would have a triumph in their eyes,
         A glad cheer in their voices��Michal weeps,
         And Festus ponders gravely!
           Festus.                   When you shall
         Have learn'd my purpose ...
165        Paracelsus.               Learn'd it? I can say
         Beforehand all this conference will produce.
         'Tis this way, Michal, that he uses: first,
         Or he declares, or I, the leading points
         Of our belief in what is man's true end
170      And God's apparent will��no two faiths ever
         Agreed as ours agree: next, each allows
         These points are no mere visionary truths:
         But, once determin'd, it remains alone
         To act upon them straight as best we may:
175      Accordingly, I venture to submit
         My plan, in lack of better, for pursuing
         The path which God's will seems to authorize��
         A broad plan, vague and ill defined enough,
         But courting censure and imploring aid:
180      Well��he discerns much good in it, avows
         This motive worthy, that hope plausible,
         A danger here, to be avoided��there,
         An oversight to be repair'd: in fine
         Our minds go every way together��all good
185      Approved by him, I gladly recognize;
         All he counts bad, I thankfully discard;
         And nought forbids me to look up at last
         For some stray comfort in his cautious brow��
         When, lo! I learn that, spite of all, there lurks
190      Some innate and inexplicable germ
         Of failure in my schemes; so that at last
         It all amounts to this��the sovereign proof
         That we devote ourselves wholly to God
         Is in a life as though no God there were:
195      A life which, prompted by the sad and blind
         Folly of man, Festus abhors the most��
         But which these tenets sanctify at once��
         Though to less subtle wits it seems the same,
         Consider it how they may.
           Michal.                 Is it so, Festus?
200      He speaks so calmly and kindly��is it so?
           Paracelsus. Reject those glorious visions of God's love
         And man's design; laugh loud that he should send
         Vast longings to direct us; or find out
         How else they may be satiated: but this
         Ambiguous warfare wearies ...
205        Festus.                     Not so much
         That you will grant no last leave to your friend,
         And for his own sake, not for yours? I wish
         To send my soul in good hopes after you�� 
         Never to sorrow that uncertain words,
210      Erringly apprehended��a new creed,
         Ill understood��begot rash trust in you��
         Had share in your undoing.
           Paracelsus.              Choose your party:
         Hold or renounce: but meanwhile blame me not
         Because I dare to act on your own views��
215      Nor shrink when they point onward��nor spy out
         A peril where they most ensure success ...
           Festus. Prove that to me��but that: that you abide
         Within their warrant��nor presumptuous boast
         God's labour laid on you; that all you covet
220      A mortal may expect; and, most of all,
         That the strange course you now affect, will lead
         To its attainment��and I bid you speed!
         And count the minutes till you venture forth.
         You will smile; but I had gather'd from slow thought��
225      Much musing on the fortunes of my friend��
         Matter I deem'd could not be urged in vain;
         But it all leaves me at my need: in shreds
         And fragments I must venture what remains.
           Michal. Ask at once, Festus, wherefore he should scorn ...
230        Festus. Stay, Michal: Aureole, I speak guardedly
         And gravely, knowing well, whate'er your error,
         This is no ill�consider'd choice of yours��
         No sudden fancy of an ardent boy.
         Not from your own confiding words alone
235      Am I aware your passionate heart has long
         Nourish'd, and has at length matured, a plan
         To give yourself up wholly to one end.
         I will not speak of Einsiedeln; 'twas as
         I had been born your elder by some years
240      Only to watch you fully from the first:
         In all beside, our mutual tasks were fix'd
         Even then��'twas mine to have you in my view
         As you had your own soul: accordingly
         I could go further back, and trace each bough
245      Of this wide�branching tree even to its birth;
         Each full�grown passion to its outspring faint;
         But I shall only dwell upon the intents
         Which fill'd you when, to crown your dearest wish,
         With a tumultuous heart, you left with me
250      Our childhoods' home to join the favour'd few
         Whom famed Trithemius condescends to teach
         A portion of his lore��and not the dullest
         Of those so favour'd, whom you now despise,
         Was earnest as you were; resolved, like you,
255      To grasp all, and retain all, and deserve
         By patient toil a wide renown like his.
         Now, just as well have I descried the growth
         Of this new ardour which supplants the old:
         I watch'd it��'twas significant and strange,
260      In one match'd to his soul's content at length
         With rivals in the search for Wisdom's prize,
         To see the sudden pause, the total change,
         From contest, that transition to repose��
         From pressing onward as his fellows press'd,
265      To a blank idleness; yet most unlike
         The dull stagnation of a soul content��
         Once foil'd��to leave betimes a thriveless quest:
         That careless bearing, free from all pretence
         Even of contempt for what it ceased to seek��
270      Smiling humility, praising much, yet waiving
         What it profess'd to praise ... yet not so well
         Secured but that rare outbreaks, fierce and brief,
         Reveal'd the hidden scorn��as quickly curb'd ...
         That ostentatious show of past defeat��
275      That ready acquiescence in contempt��
         I deem'd no other than the letting go
         His shiver'd sword, of one about to spring
         Upon his foe's throat ... but it was not thus:
         Not that way look'd your brooding purpose then;
280      But after�signs disclosed, and you confirm'd,
         That you prepared to task to the uttermost
         Your strength, in furtherance of a certain aim,
         Which��while it bore the name your rivals gave
         To their most puny efforts��was so vast
285      In scope that it included their best flights,
         Combined them, and desired to gain one prize
         In place of many��the secret of the world��
         Of man, and man's true purpose, path, and fate:
         That you, not nursing as a lovely dream
290      This purpose, with the sages of old Time,
         Have struck upon a way to this, if all
         You trust be true, which following, heart and soul,
         You, if a man may, dare aspire to KNOW:
         And that this aim shall differ from a host
295      Of aims alike in character and kind��
         Mostly in this; that in itself alone
         Shall its reward be��not an alien end
         Blending therewith��no hope, nor fear, nor joy,
         Nor woe, shall elsewhere move you; but this pure
300      Devotion shall sustain or shall undo you:
         This you intend.
           Paracelsus.    You shall not state it thus:
         I should not differ from the dreamy crew
         You speak of. I profess no other share
         In the selection of my lot, than in
305      My ready answer to the will of God,
         Who summons me to be his organ: he
         Whose innate strength supports him shall succeed
         No better than the sages.
           Festus.                 Such the aim, then,
         God sets before you; and 'tis doubtless need
310      That he appoint no less the way of praise
         Than the desire to praise; for, though I hold
         With you, the setting forth such praise to be
         The natural end and service of a man��
         And that such praise seems best attain'd when he
315      Attains the general welfare of his kind�� 
         Yet, that, the instrument, is not the end.
         There is a curse upon the earth; let man
         Presume not to serve God apart from such
         Appointed channel as he wills shall gather
320      Imperfect tributes��for that sole obedience
         Valued perchance. He seeks not that his altars
         Blaze��careless how, so that they do but blaze.��
         Though I doubt much if he consent that we
         Discover this great secret I know well 
325      You will allege no other comprehends
         The work in question save its labourer:
         I shall assume the aim approved; and you 
         That I am implicated in the issue
         Not simply as your friend, but as yourself��
330      As though it were my task that you perform,
         And some plague dogg'd my heels till it were done.
         Suppose this own'd then; you are born to KNOW.
         (You will heed well your answers, for my faith
         Shall meet implicitly what they affirm)��
335      I cannot think you have annex'd to such
         Selection aught beyond a steadfast will,
         An intense purpose��gifts that would induce
         Scorn or neglect of ordinary means
         And instruments of success: no destiny
340      Dispenses with endeavour. Now, dare you search
         Your inmost heart, and candidly avow
         Whether you have not rather wild desire
         For this distinction, than a full assurance
         That it exists; or whether you discern
345      The path to the fulfilment of your purpose
         Clear as that purpose��and again, that purpose
         Clear as your yearning to be singled out
         For its possessor. Dare you answer this?
           Paracelsus. [After a pause] No; I have nought to fear! who
               will may know
350      The secret'st workings of my soul. What though
         It be so?��if indeed the strong desire
         Eclipse the aim in me?��if splendour break
         Upon the outset of my path alone,
         And duskest shade succeed? What fairer seal
355      Shall I require to my authentic mission
         Than this fierce energy?��this instinct striving
         Because its nature is to strive?��enticed
         By the security of no broad course��
         Where error is not, but success is sure.
360      How know I else such glorious fate my own,
         But in the restless irresistible force
         That works within me? Is it for human will
         To institute such impulses?��still less
         To disregard their promptings? What should I
365      Do, kept among you all; your loves, your cares,
         Your life��all to be mine? Be sure that God
         Ne'er dooms to waste the strength he deigns impart.
         Ask the gier�eagle why she stoops at once
         Into the vast and unexplored abyss! 
370      What fullgrown power informs her from the first!
         Why she not marvels, strenuously beating
         The silent boundless regions of the sky!
         Be sure they sleep not whom God needs; nor fear
         Their holding light his charge, when every hour
375      That finds that charge delay'd is a new death. 
         Thus for the faith in which I trust; and hence
         I can abjure so well the secret arts
         These pedants strive to learn��the magic they
         So reverence. I shall scarcely seek to know
380      If it exist: too intimate a tie
         Connects me with our God. A sullen fiend 
         To do my bidding��fallen and hateful sprites
         To help me��what are these, at best, beside
         God every where, sustaining and directing,
385      So that the earth shall yield her secrets up
         And every object shall be charged to strike,
         To teach, to gratify, and to suggest?
         And I am young, Festus, happy and free!
         I can devote myself; I have a life
390      To give; I, who am singled out for this.
         Think, think; the wide east, where old Wisdom sprung;
         The bright south, where she dwelt; the populous
north,
         All are pass'd o'er��it lights on me. 'Tis time
         New hopes should animate the world��new light
395      Should dawn from new revealings to a race
         Weigh'd down so long, forgotten so long; so shall
         The heaven reserved for us at last receive
         No creatures whom unwonted splendours blind,
         But ardent to confront the unclouded blaze
400      Whose beams not seldom lit their pilgrimage,
         Not seldom glorified their life below.
           Festus. My words have their old fate and make faint stand
         Against your glowing periods; I renounce
         All hope of learning further on this head;
405      And what I next advance holds good as well
         With one assured that all these things are true;
         For might not such seek out a fast retreat��
         After approved example��there to have
         Calm converse with the great dead��soul to soul��
410      Who laid up treasure with the like intent?
         To lift himself into their airy place,
         To fill out full their unfulfill'd careers,
         Unravelling the knots their baffled skill
         Pronounced inextricable, but surely left
415      Far less confused? A fresh eye, a fresh hand,
         Might do much at their vigour's waning�point��
         Succeeding with new�breathed and untired force��
         As at old games a runner snatch'd the torch
         From runner still? Such one might well do this.
420      But you have link'd to this, your enterprize,
         An arbitrary and most perplexing scheme
         Of seeking it in strange and untried paths;
         Rejecting past example, practice, precept��
         That so you may stand aidless and alone: 
425      If in this wild rejection you regard
         Mankind and their award of fame��'tis clear,
         Whate'er you may protest, knowledge is not
         Paramount in your love; or for her sake
         You would collect all help from every source��
430      Friend, foe, assistant, rival, all would merge
         In the broad class of those who show'd her haunts
         And those who show'd them not.
           Paracelsus.                  What shall I say?
         Festus, from childhood I have been possess'd
         By a fire��by a true fire, or faint or fierce,
435      As from without some master, so it seem'd,
         Repress'd or urged its current: this but ill
         Expresses what I would convey��but rather
         I will believe an angel ruled me thus,
         Than that my soul's own workings, own high nature,
440      So became manifest. I knew not then
         What whisper'd in the evening, and spoke out
         At midnight. If some mortal, born too soon,
         Were laid away in some great trance��the ages
         Coming and going all the while��until
445      His true time's advent, and could then record
         The words they spoke who kept watch by his bed,
         Then I might tell more of the breath so light
         Upon my eyelids, and the fingers light
         Among my hair. Youth is confused; yet never
450      So dull was I but when that spirit pass'd
         I turn'd to him, scarce consciously, as turns
         A water�snake when fairies cross his sleep:
         And having this within me and about me
         When Einsiedeln, its hills, and lakes, and plains
455      Confined me��what oppressive joy was mine
         When life grew plain, and I first view'd the
throng'd,
         The ever�moving, concourse of mankind!
         Believe that ere I join'd them��ere I knew
         The purpose of the pageant, or the place
460      Consign'd to me within its ranks��while yet
         Wonder was freshest and delight most pure��
         'Twas then that least supportable appear'd
         A station with the brightest of the crowd;
         A portion with the proudest of them all!
465      And from the tumult in my breast, this only
         Could I collect��that I must thenceforth die,
         Or elevate myself far, far above
         The gorgeous spectacle; what seem'd a longing
         To trample on yet save mankind at once��
470      To make some unexampled sacrifice
         In their behalf��to wring some wondrous good
         From heaven or earth for them��to perish, winning
         Eternal weal in the act: as who should dare
         Pluck out the angry thunder from its cloud,
475      That, all its gather'd flame discharged on him,
         No storm might threaten summer's azure weather��
         Yet never to be mix'd with them so much
         As to have part even in my own work��share 
         In my own largess. Once the feat achieved,
480      I would withdraw from their officious praise,
         Would gently put aside their profuse thanks,
         Like some knight traversing a wilderness,
         Who, on his way, may chance to free a tribe
         Of desert�people from their dragon�foe;
485      When all the swarthy race press round to kiss
         His feet, and choose him for their king, and yield
         Their poor tents, pitch'd among the sand�hills, for
         His realm; and he points, smiling, to his scarf,
         Heavy with rivel'd gold��his burgonet,
490      Gay set with twinkling stones��and to the east,
         Where these must be display'd ...
           Festus.                         Good: let us hear
         No more about your nature, "which first shrank
         "From all that mark'd you out apart from men."
           Paracelsus. I touch on it: I would but analyse
495      That first mad impulse��'twas as brief as fond;
         For as I gazed again upon the show,
         I soon distinguish'd here and there a shape
         Palm�wreathed and radiant, forehead and full eye.
         Well pleased was I their state should thus at once
500      Interpret my own thoughts:��"Behold the clue
         "To all," I rashly said, "and all I pine
         "To do, these have accomplish'd: we are peers!
         "They know, and therefore rule ... I too will know!" 
         You were beside me, Festus, as you say;
 505     You saw me plunge in their pursuits whom Fame
         Is lavish to attest the lords of mind,
         Not pausing to make sure the prize in view
         Would satiate my cravings when obtain'd��
         But as they strove I strove: then came a slow
510      And strangling failure. We aspired alike,
         Yet not the meanest plodder Tritheim deems
         A marvel, but was all�sufficient, well content,
         And stagger'd only at his own strong wits;
         While I was restless, nothing satisfied,
515      Distrustful, most perplex'd. I would slur over
         That struggle; suffice it, that I loathed myself
         As weak compared with them, yet felt somehow
         A mighty power was brooding, taking shape
         Within me; and this lasted till one night
520      When, as I sate revolving it and more,
         A still voice from without said��"See'st thou not,
         "Desponding child, whence springs defeat and loss?
         "Even from thy strength. Know better: hast thou gazed
         "Presumptuous on Wisdom's countenance,
525      "No veil between; and can thy faltering hands
         "Pursue as well the toil their earnest blinking,
         "Whom radiance ne'er distracts, so clear descries?
         "If thou wouldst share their fortune, choose their
eyes,
         "Unfed by splendour. Let each task present
530      "Its petty good to thee. Waste not thy gifts
         "In profitless waiting for the gods' descent,
         "But have some idol of thine own to dress 
         "With their array. Know, not for knowing's sake,
         "But to become a star to men for ever.
535      "Know, for the gain it gets, the praise it brings,
         "The wonder it inspires, the love it breeds.
         "Look one step onward, and secure that step."
         And I smiled as one never smiles but once;
         Then first discovering my aim's extent,
540      Which sought to comprehend the works of God,
         And God himself, and all God's intercourse
         With our own mind; and how such show'd beside
         My fellows' studies, whose true worth I saw,
         But smiled not, well aware who stood by me.
545      And softer came the voice��"There is a way��
         "'Tis hard for flesh to tread therein, imbued
         "With weakness��hopeless, if indulgence first
         "Have ripen'd inborn sins to strength: wilt thou
         "Adventure for my sake and for thy kind's,
550      "Apart from all reward?" And last it breathed��  
         "Be happy, my good soldier; I am by thee,
         "Be sure, even to the end!" ... I answer'd not,
         Knowing him. As he spoke, I was endued
         With comprehension and a steadfast will;
555      And when he ceased, my fate was seal'd for ever.
         If there took place no special change in me,
         How comes it all things wore a different hue
         Thenceforward?��pregnant with vast consequence��
         Teeming with grand results��loaded with fate;
560      So that when quailing at the mighty range
         Of secret truths yearning for birth, I haste
         To contemplate undazzled some one truth,
         Its bearings and effects alone, at once
         What was a speck expands into a star,
565      Demanding life to be explored alone��
         Till I near craze. I go to prove my soul!
         I see my way as birds their trackless way��
         I shall arrive! what time, what circuit first,
         I ask not: but unless God send his hail
570      Or blinding fire�balls, sleet, or stifling snow,
         In some time��his good time��I shall arrive:
         He guides me and the bird. In his good time!
           Michal. Vex him no further, Festus; it is so!
           Festus. Just thus you answer ever. This would hold
575      Were it the trackless air and not a path
         Inviting you, distinct with footprints yet
         Of many a mighty spirit gone that way.
         You may have purer views, for aught I know;
         But they were famous in their day��the proofs
580      Remain. At least accept the light they lend.
           Paracelsus. Their light! the sum of all is briefly this:
         They labour'd after their own fashion; the fruits
         Are best seen in a dark and groaning earth,
         Given over to a blind and endless strife
585      With evils their best lore cannot abate.
         No; I reject and spurn them utterly,
         And all they teach. Shall I still sit beside 
         Their dry wells, with white lips and filmed eye,
         While in the distance heaven is blue above
         Mountains where sleep the unsunn'd tarns?
590        Festus.                                 And yet
         As strong delusions have prevail'd ere now:
         Men have set out as gallantly to seek
         Their ruin; I have heard of such��yourself
         Avow all hitherto have fail'd and fallen.
595        Michal. Nay, Festus, when but as the pilgrims faint
         For the drear way, do you expect to see
         Their city dawn amid the clouds afar!
           Paracelsus. Ay, sounds it not like some old well�known tale?
         For me, I estimate their works and them
600      So rightly, that at times I well nigh dream
         I too have spent a life the selfsame way��
         Tread once again an old life's course. Perchance
         I perish'd in an arrogant self�reliance
         An age ago; and in that act, a prayer
605      For one more chance went up so earnest��so
         Imbued with better light let in by Death��
         So free from all past sin��that it was heard ...
         That life was blotted out��not so completely
         But scatter'd wrecks enough remain to wake
610      Dim memories; as now, when once more seems
         The goal in sight again: all which is foolish
         Indeed, and only means��the form I bear,
         The earth I tread, are not more clear to me.
            Festus. And who am I to challenge and dispute
615      That clear belief? ... I will devest all fear.
           Michal. Then Aureole is God's commissary! he shall
         Be great and grand��and all for us!
           Paracelsus.                       No, sweet!
         Not great or grand. If I can serve mankind
         'Tis well��but there our intercourse must end:
620      I never will be served by those I serve.
           Festus. Look well to this; here is a plague�spot, veil it,
         Disguise it how you will: 'tis true, you utter
         This scorn while by our side and loving us��
         'Tis but a spot as yet; but it will break
625      Into a hideous blotch if overlook'd.
         How can that course be safe which from the first
         Produces carelessness to human love?
         I know you have abjured the helps which men
         Who overpass their kind, as you would do,
630      Have humbly sought. I dare not thoroughly probe
         This matter, lest I learn too much: let be
         That popular praise would little instigate 
         Your efforts��or particular approval
         Reward you; put reward aside; you shall
635      Go forth upon your arduous task alone,
         None shall assist you��none partake your toil��
         None share your triumph��still you must retain
         Some one to trust your glory to; to share
         Your rapture with. Had I been chosen like you
640      I should encircle me with love��should raise 
         A rampart of kind wishes; it should seem
         Impossible for me to fail, so watch'd
         By gentle friends who made my cause their own;
         They should ward off Fate's envy��the great boon,
645      Extravagant when claim'd by me alone,
         Being a gift to them as well as me.
         If ease seduced or danger daunted me,
         How calmly their sad eyes should gaze reproach!
           Michal. O Aureole, can I sing though all alone,
650      Without first calling, in my fancy, both
         To listen by my side��even I! And you?
         Do you not feel this?��say that you feel this!
           Paracelsus. I feel 'tis pleasant that my aims, at length
         Allow'd their weight, should be supposed to need
655      A further strengthening in these goodly helps!
         Once more (since I am forced to speak as one
         Who has full liberty at his discretion)
         My course allures for its own sake��its sole
         Intrinsic worth; and ne'er shall boat of mine
660      Adventure forth for gold and apes at once:
         Your sages say "if human, therefore weak:"
         If weak, more need to give myself entire
         To my pursuit; and by its side, all else ...
         No matter: I deny myself but little
665      In waiving all assistance save its own��
         And I regret it; there's no sacrifice
         To make; the sages threw so much away,
         While I must be content with gaining all.
           Festus. But do not cut yourself from human weal!
670      You cannot thrive��a man that dares affect
         To spend his life in service to his kind,
         For no reward of theirs, nor bound to them
         By any tie; nor do so, Aureole!
         There are strange punishments for such; although
675      No visible good flow thence, give up some part
         Of your renown to another: so you shall
         Hide from yourself that all is for yourself.
         Say, say almost to God "I have done all
         "For her��not for myself!"
           Paracelsus.              And who but late
680      Was to rejoice in my success like you?
         Whom should I love but you?
           Festus.                   Nay, I know not:
         But know this, you, that 'tis no will of mine
         You should abjure the lofty claims you make;
         And this the cause��I will no longer seek
685      To overlook the truth; that there would be  
         A monstrous spectacle upon the earth,
         Beneath the pleasant sun, among the trees,
         A being knowing not what love is. Hear me;
         You are endow'd with faculties which have
690      Annex'd to them as 'twere a dispensation
         To summon meaner spirits to do their will,
         To gather round them at their need; inspiring
         Such with a love which they can never feel�� 
         Passionless midst their passionate votaries.
695      I know not if you joy in this or no,
         Or ever dream that common men live wholly 
         On objects you so lightly prize, which make
         Their heart's sole wealth: the soft affections seem
         Beauteous at most to you, which they must taste
700      Or die: and this strange quality accords,
         I know not how, with you; sits well upon
         That luminous brow: though in another it were
         An eating brand��a shame. I dare not blame you:
         The rules of right and wrong thus set aside,
705      There's no alternative. I judge you one
         Of higher order��under other laws
         Than bind us; therefore curb not one bold glance!
         'Tis best aspire. Once mingled with us all ....
           Michal. Stay with us Aureole! cast those hopes away,
710      And stay with us: an angel warns me, too,
         Man should be humble; you are very proud!
         And God dethroned has doleful plagues for such!
         Warns me to have in dread no quick repulse,
         No slow defeat, but a complete success!
715      You will find all you seek, and perish so!
           Paracelsus. [After a pause] Are these the barren first fruits
               I should fear?
         Is love like this the natural lot of all?
         How many years of hate might one such hour
         O'erbalance? Dearest Michal, dearest Festus,
720      What shall I say, if not that I desire
         Well to deserve that love, and will, dear friends,
         In swerving nothing from my high resolves.
         See, the great moon! and ere the mottled owls
         Were wide awake, I should have made all sure
725      For my departure that remains to do;
         So answer not, while I run lightly o'er
         The topics you have urged to�night. It seems
         We acquiesce at last in all, save only
         If I am like to compass what I seek
730      In the untried career I chuse; and then,
         If that career, making but small account
         Of much of life's delights, will offer joys
         Sufficient to sustain my soul��for thus
         I understand these fond fears just express'd.
735      And first; the lore you praise and I neglect,
         The labours and the precepts of old sages,
         I have not slightly disesteem'd. But then
         Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise
         From outward things, whate'er you may believe:
740      There is an inmost centre in us all,
         Where truth abides in fulness; and around,
         Wall within wall, the gross flesh hems it in,
         Perfect and true perception��which is truth;
         A baffling and perverting carnal mesh
745      Which blinds it, and makes error: and, "to know"
         Rather consists in opening out a way
         Whence the imprison'd splendour may dart forth, 
         Than in effecting entry for the light
         Supposed to be without. Watch narrowly
750      The demonstration of a truth, its birth,
         And you shall trace the effluence to its spring
         And source within us, where broods radiance vast,
         To be elicited ray by ray, as chance
         Shall favour: chance��for hitherto,
755      Even as we know not how those beams are born,
         As little know we what unlocks their lair;
         For men have oft grown old among their books
         And died, case�harden'd in their ignorance,
         Whose careless youth had promised what long years
760      Of unremitted labour ne'er perform'd:
         While, contrary, it has chanced some idle day,
         To autumn loiterers just as fancy�free
         As the midges in the sun, has oft brought forth
         A truth��produced mysteriously as cape
765      Of cloud grown out of the invisible mist.
         Hence, may not truth be lodged alike in all,
         The lowest as the highest? some slight film
         The interposing bar which binds a soul?
         Some film removed the happy outlet whence
770      It issues proudly? seeing that the soul
         Is deathless (we know well) but oftener coop'd
         A prisoner and a thrall, than a throned power;
         That it strives weakly in the child, is loosed
         In manhood, clogg'd by sickness, back compell'd
775      By age and waste, set free at last by death:
         That not alone when life flows still do truth
         And power emerge, but also when strange chance
         Affects its current; in unused conjuncture,
         Where sickness breaks the body��hunger, watching,
780      Excess, or languor��oftenest death's approach��
         Peril, deep joy, or woe. One man shall crawl
         Through life, surrounded with all stirring things,
         Unmoved��and he goes mad; and from the wreck
         Of what he was, by his wild talk alone,
785      You first collect how great a spirit he hid.
         Seeing all this, why should I pine in vain
         Attempts to win some day the august form
         Of Truth to stand before me, and compel
         My dark unvalued frame to change its nature,
790      And straight become suffused with light��at best
         For my sole good��leaving the world to seek
         Salvation out as it best may, or follow
         The same long thorny course? No, I will learn
         How to set free the soul alike in all,
795      By searching out the laws by which the flesh
         Accloys the spirit. We may not be doom'd
         To cope with seraphs, but at least the rest
         Shall cope with us. Make no more giants, God!
         But elevate the race at once! We ask
800      But to put forth our strength, our human strength,
         All starting fairly, all equipp'd alike,
         Gifted alike, and eagle�eyed, true�hearted. 
         See if we cannot beat thy angels yet!
         Such is my task. I go to gather this
805      Mysterious knowledge, here and there dispersed
         About the world, long lost or ever�hidden;
         And why should I be sad, or lorn of hope?
         Why ever make man's good distinct from God's?
         Or, finding they are one, why have mistrust?
810      Who shall succeed if not one pledged like me?
         Mine is no mad attempt to build a world
         Apart from his, like those who set themselves
         To find the nature of the spirit they bore,
         And, taught betimes that all their gorgeous dreams
815      And beauteous fancies, hopes, and aspirations,
         Were only born to wither in this life,
         Refused to curb or moderate their longings,
         Or fit them to this narrow sphere, but chose
         To figure and conceive another world
820      And other frames meet for their vast desires,
         And all a dream! Thus was life scorn'd; but life
         Shall yet be crown'd: twine amaranth! I am priest!
         And all for yielding with a lively spirit
         A poor existence��parting with a youth
825      Like theirs who squander every energy
         Convertible to good on painted toys,
         Breath�bubbles, gilded dust! And though I spurn
         All adventitious aims, from empty praise
         To love's award, yet whoso deems such helps
830      Important and concerns himself for me
         May know even these will follow with the rest��
         As in the steady rolling Mayne, asleep
         Yonder, is mingled and involved a mass
         Of schistous particles of ore. And even
835      My own affections, laid to rest awhile, 
         Will waken purified, subdued alone
         By all I have achieved; till then��till then ...
         Ah! the time�wiling loitering of a page
         Through bower and over lawn, till eve shall bring
840      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!
         Tell me, Festus, Michal, but one thing��I have told
845      All I shall e'er disclose to mortal ... now,
         Do you believe I shall accomplish this?
           Festus. I do believe!
           Michal.               And I, dear Aureole!
           Paracelsus. Those words shall never fade from out my brain.
         'Tis earnest of the end��shall never fade!
850      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!



               
                    II.��Paracelsus Attains.

Scene, Constantinople��"The House of the Greek". 1521.
Paracelsus.

           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,
         Athwart the splendour, black and crooked runs
5        Like a Turk verse along a scimetar.
         There lie, sullen memorial, and no more
         Possess my aching sight. 'Tis done at last!
         Strange��and the juggles of a sallow cheat
         Have won me to this act: 'tis as yon cloud
10       Should voyage unwreck'd o'er many a mountain-top
         And break upon a molehill. I have dared
         Come to a pause at last, and scan for once
         The heights already reach'd, without regard
         To the extent above; fairly compute
15       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
20       Within this roll: and here, amid the scrawl'd
         Uncouth recordings of the dupes of this
         Old arch-genethliac, lie my life's results!

         A few blurred characters suffice to note 
         A stranger wander'd long in many lands,
25       And reap'd the fruit he coveted in a few
         Discoveries, as appended here and there,
         The fragmentary produce of those toils,
         In a dim heap, fact and surmise together
         Confusedly mass'd, as when acquired; he was
30       Intent on gain to come too much to stay
         And scrutinize whate'er was gain'd: the whole
         Slipt in the blank space 'twixt an ideot's gibber
         And a mad lover's ditty��there it lies.

         And yet those blottings chronicle a life��
35       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 a peer. Stay, what does this
         Remembrancer set down concerning "life?"
40       "`Time fleets, youth fades, life is an empty dream,'
         "It is the echo of time: he whose heart beat
         "First underneath a human heart, whose speech
         "Was copied from a human tongue, can never
         "Recall when he was living yet knew it not:
45       "Nevertheless long seasons pass o'er him,
         "Until one hour's experience shows what nothing
         "It seem'd could clearer show, and ever after
         "An alter'd brow, and eye, and gait, and speech
         "Attest that now he knows this adage true
50       "`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��
         'Tis done. I must desist and take my chance;
55       I cannot keep at this; 'tis no back shrinking��
         For let but some assurance beam, some close
         To this my toil appear, and I proceed
         At any price, though closing it, I die ...
         But here I pause: the old Greek's prophecy
60       Is like to turn out true��I shall not quit
         His chamber till I know what I desire. 

         An end, a rest! strange how the notion, once
         Encounter'd, gathers strength by moments. Rest!
         Where has it kept so long? this throbbing brow
65       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 harass'd o'ertask'd frame��to know my place,
         My portion, my reward, even my failure,
70       Assign'd, 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, 
75       And power, and recompense ...
         
         'Tis little wonder truly; things go on
         And at their worst they end or mend��'tis time
         To look about, with matters at this pass:
         Have I insensibly sunk as deep��has all
80       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 therefore judged
         It fit to moderate my hopes; nay, were it
85       My sole concern to exculpate myself��
         To flounder through the scrape��I could not chuse
         An humbler mood to wait for the event!
         No, no, there needs not this; no, after all,
         At worst I have perform'd my share of the task.
90       The rest is God's concern��mine, merely this,
         To know that I have obstinately held
         By my own work: the mortal whose brave foot 
         Has trod so far the temple-courts unscathed,
         That he descries at length the shrine of shrines,
95       Must let no sneering of the demons' eyes,
         Which he could pass unquailing, fasten now
         Upon him, fairly past their power; no, no,
         He must not stagger and fall down at last,
         Having a charm to baffle them; behold,
100      He bares his front: a mortal ventures thus
         Serene amid the echoes, beams, and glooms!
         If he be priest henceforth, if he wake up 
         The god of the place to ban and blast him there,��  
         Both well! What's failure or success to me?
105      I have subdued my life to the one purpose
         Whereto I ordain'd it; there alone I spy
         No doubt; that way I may be satisfied.
         Yes, well have I subdued my life! beyond
         The obligation of my strictest vows,
110      The contemplation of my wildest bond,
         Which gave my nature freely up, in truth,
         But in its actual state��consenting fully
         All passionate impulses its soil was form'd
         To rear, should wither; but foreseeing not
115      The tract doom'd to perpetual barrenness
         Would seem one day, remember'd as it was
         Beside the parch'd sand-tract which now it is,
         Already strewn with faint blooms, viewless then.
         I ne'er engaged to root up loves so frail
120      I felt them not, yet now, 'tis very plain
         Some soft spots had their birth in me at first��
         If not love, say, like love: there was a time
         When yet this wolfish hunger after knowledge
         Set not remorselessly its claims aside;
125      This heart was human once, or why recall
         Einsiedeln, even now, and W�rzburg,  whom the Mayne
         Forsakes her course to fold as with an arm? ...

         And Festus��my poor Festus, with his praise, 
         And counsel, and grave fears��where is he now?
130      With the sweet maiden, long ago his bride?
         I surely loved them��that last night, at least,
         When we ... gone! gone! the better: I am saved
         The sad review of an ambitious youth,
         Choked by vile lusts, unnoticed in their birth,
135      Which have grown up and wound around a will
         Till action was destroy'd. No, I have gone
         Purging my path successively of aught
         Wearing the distant likeness of such loves.
         I have made life consist of one idea:
140      Ere that was master��up till that was born 
         I bear a memory of a pleasant life
         Whose small events I can recall, even to
         The morn I ran over the grassy fields
         Startling the flocks of nameless birds, to tell
145      Poor Festus, leaping all the while for joy,
         To leave all trouble for my future plans,
         For I had just determin'd to become
         The greatest and most glorious being on earth.
         But since that hour all life has been forgotten.
150      'Tis as one day��one only step between
         The outset and the end: one tyrant all-
         Absorbing aim fills up the interval��
         One vast unbroken chain of thought, kept up
         Throughout a course apparently adverse
155      To its existence: life, death, light, and shadow,
         The shows of the world, were bare receptacles
         Or indices of truth to be wrung thence,
         Not ministers of sorrow or delight��
         A wondrous natural robe in which I went:
160      For some one truth would dimly beacon me
         From mountains rough with pines, and flit and wink
         O'er dazzling wastes of frozen snow, and tremble
         Into assured light in some branching mine,
         Where ripens, swathed in fire, the liquid gold��
165      Yet all was then o'erlook'd, though noted now.
         So much is good, then, in this working sea
         Which parts me from that happy strip of land.
         But o'er that happy strip a sun shone too!
         And fainter gleams it as the waves grow rough,
170      And still more faint as the sea widens. Last,
         I sicken on a dead gulf, streak'd with light
         From its own putrifying depths alone!
         Then��God was pledged to take me by the hand;
         Now��any miserable juggle can bid
175      My pride depart. All is alike at length:
         God may take pleasure in confounding us,
         By hiding secrets in the scorn'd and base ...
         I am here, in short: so little have I paused
         Throughout. I never glanced behind to know
180      If I had kept my primal light from wane,
         And thus insensibly am��what I am!

         Oh, bitter; very bitter! 
                                  And more bitter
         To fear a deeper curse, an inner ruin��
         Plague beneath plague��the last turning the first
185      To light beside its darkness. Let me weep
         My youth and its brave hopes, all dead and gone,
         In tears which burn. Would I were sure to win
         Some startling secret in their stead! a tincture
         Of force to flush old age with youth, or breed
190      Gold, or imprison moonbeams till they change
         To opal shafts! only that, hurling it
         Indignant back, I might convince myself
         My aims remain'd supreme and pure as ever!
         Even now, why not desire, for mankind's sake,
195      That if I fail, it may be for some fault;
         That, though I sink, another may succeed?
         I cannot! O God, I am despicable!
         Shut out this hideous mockery from my heart! ...

         'Twas politic in you, Aureole, to reject
200      Single rewards, to ask them in the lump;
         At all events, once launch'd, to hold straight on:
         For now 'tis all or nothing. Mighty profit
         Your gains will bring if they stop short of such
         Full consummation! As a man, you had
205      A certain share of strength, and that is gone
         Already in the getting these you boast.
         Do not they seem to laugh, as who should say��
         "Great master, we are here indeed; dragg'd forth
         "To light: this hast thou done; be glad! now, seek
210      "The strength to use which thou hast spent in getting!"

         And yet 'tis much, surely 'tis very much,
         Thus to have emptied youth of all its gifts,
         To feed a fire meant to hold out till morn
         Arrived with inexhaustible light; and lo,
215      I have heap'd up my last, and day dawns not!
         And I am left with grey hair, faded hands,
         And furrow'd brow. Ha, have I, after all,
         Mistaken the wild nursling of my breast?
         Was she who glided through my room of nights;
220      Who laid my head on her soft knees, and smooth'd
         The damp locks; whose sly soothings just began
         When my sick spirit craved repose awhile ...
         God! was I fighting Sleep off for Death's sake?

         God! Thou art Mind! Unto the Master-Mind
225      Mind should be precious. Spare my mind alone!
         All else I will endure: if, as I stand
         Here, with my gains, thy thunder smite me down,
         I bow me; 'tis thy will, thy righteous will;
         I o'erpass life's restrictions, and I die:
230      And if no trace of my career remain,
         Save a thin corpse at pleasure of the wind
         In these bright chambers, level with the air,
         See thou to it: but if my spirit fail, 
         My once proud spirit forsake me at the last,
235      Hast thou done well by me? So do not thou!
         Crush not my mind, dear God, though I be crush'd:
         Hold me before the frequence of thy seraphs,
         And say��"I crush'd him, lest he should disturb
         "My law. Men must not know their strength: behold,
240      "Weak and alone, how he had raised himself!"

         But if delusions trouble me��and Thou,
         Not seldom felt with rapture in thy help
         And stay, throughout my wanderings, dost intend
         To work man's welfare through my weak endeavour��
245      To crown my mortal forehead with a beam
         From thine own blinding crown��to smile, and guide
         This puny hand, and let the work so framed
         Be styled my work��hear me! I covet not
         An influx of new power, an angel's soul:
250      It were no marvel then��but I have gone
         Thus far a man; let me conclude a man!
         Give but one hour of my first energy,
         Of that invincible faith��but only one!
         I should go over with an eagle-glance
255      The truths I have, and spy some certain way
         To mould them, and complete them, and pursue them!
                        [After a pause] 
         Yet God is good: I started sure of that,
         And why dispute it now? I'll not believe
         But some undoubted warning long ere this
260      Had reach'd me: a labarum was not deem'd
         Too much for the old founder of these walls.
         Then, if my life has not been natural,
         It has been monstrous: yet, till late, my course
         So ardently engross'd me, that delight,
265      A pausing and reflecting joy, 'tis plain,
         Could find no place in it. 'Tis true, I am worn;
         But who clothes summer, who is Life itself?
         And then, though after-life to please me now
         Must have no likeness to the past, what hinders
270      Reward from springing out of toil, as changed
         As bursts the flower from earth, and root, and stalk?
         What use were punishment, unless some sin
         Were first detected? let me know that first:
         No man could ever offend as I have done ...

                     [A voice from within]
275             Lost, lost! yet come,
                With our wan troop make thy home:
                Come, come! for we
                Will not breathe, so much as breathe
                Reproach to thee!
280             Lost one, come! the last
                Who, living, hast life o'erpast,
                And all together we
                Will ask for us and ask for thee, 
                Whose trial is past, whose lot is cast
285             With those who watch but work no more��
                Who gaze on life, but live no more:
                Yet we chose thee a birth-place
                Where the richness ran to flowers ...
                Could'st not sing one song for us?
290             Not make one blossom ours��
                Not one of the sweet race?
                Anguish! ever and for ever;
                Still beginning, ending never!
                Yet, lost and last one, come!
295             How could'st understand, alas,
                What our pale ghosts strove to say,
                As their shades did glance and pass
                Before thee, night and day ...
                O come, come!
300             How shall we clothe, how arm the spirit
                Who next shall thy post inherit��
                How guard him from thy speedy ruin?
                Tell us of thy sad undoing
                Here, where we sit, ever pursuing
305             Our weary task, ever renewing
                Sharp sorrow, far from ...

                        [Aprile enters.]

           Aprile. Ha, ha! our king that wouldst be, here at last?
         Thy hand to mine. Stay, fix thine eyes on mine.
         Thou wouldst be king? Still fix thine eyes on mine.
310        Paracelsus. Ha, ha! why crouchest not? am I not king?
         So torture is not wholly unavailing!
         Have my fierce spasms compell'd thee from thy lair?
         Ay, look on me! shall I be king or no?
         I scarcely trusted God with the surmise
315      That thou wouldst come, and thou didst hear the while!
           Aprile. Thine eyes are lustreless to mine; my hair
         Is soft, nay silken soft: to talk with thee
         Flushes my cheek, and thou art ashy-pale.
         Truly thou hast labour'd, hast withstood their lips,
320      Their kisses. Yes, 'tis like thou hast attain'd.
         Tell me, dear master, wherefore now thou comest?
         I thought thy solemn songs would have their meed
         In after-time; that I should hear the earth
         Exult in thee, and echo with thy praise,
325      While I was laid forgotten in my grave.
           Paracelsus. Ah, fiend, I know thee, I am not thy dupe!
         Thou art ordain'd to follow in my track,
         To reap my sowing��as I disdain'd to reap
         The harvest left by sages long since gone.
330      I am to be degraded, after all,
         To an aspirant after fame, not truth��
         To all but envy of thy fate, be sure!
           Aprile. Nay, sing them to me; I shall envy not:
         Thou shalt be king. Sing thou, and I will sit
335      Beside, and call deep silence for thy songs,
         And worship thee, as I had ne'er been meant 
         To fill thy throne. But none shall ever know!
         Sing to me: for already thy wild eyes
         Unlock my heart-springs, as some crystal-shaft
340      Reveals by some chance blaze its parent fount
         After long time��so thou reveal'st my soul!
         All will flash forth at last, with thee to hear!
           Paracelsus. (His secret! I shall get his secret��fool!) I am
         The mortal who aspired to KNOW��and thou?
345        Aprile. I would LOVE infinitely, and be loved!
           Paracelsus. Poor slave! I am thy king indeed.
           Aprile.                                       Thou deem'st
         That, born a spirit, dower'd even as thou,
         Born for thy fate��because I could not curb
         My yearnings to possess at once the full
350      Enjoyment; but neglected all the means
         Of realizing even the frailest joy;
         Gathering no fragments to appease my want,
         Yet nursing up that want till thus I die��
         That I cannot conceive thy safe, sure march,
355      Triumphing o'er the perils that o'erwhelm me,
         Neglecting nought below for aught above,
         Despising nothing and ensuring all��
         That I could not, my time to come again,
         Lead this my spirit securely as thine own;
360      Listen, and thou shalt see I know thee well:
         I would love infinitely ... Ah, lost! lost!
                How shall I look on all of ye
                With your gifts even yet on me ...
           Paracelsus. (Ah, 'tis some moonstruck creature after all!
365      Such fond fools as are like to haunt this den):
         I charge thee, by thy fealty, be calm;
         Tell me what thou wouldst be, and what I am.
           Aprile. I would love infinitely, and be loved.
         First: I would carve in stone, or cast in brass,
370      The forms of earth. No ancient hunter lifted
         Up to the gods by his renown; no nymph
         Supposed the sweet soul of a woodland tree,
         Or sapphirine spirit of a twilight star,
         Should be too hard for me; no shepherd-king,
375      Regal for his white locks; no youth who stands
         Silent and very calm amid the throng,
         His right hand ever hid beneath his robe
         Until the tyrant pass; no law-giver;
         No swan-soft woman, rubb'd with lucid oils,
380      Given by a god for love of her��too hard.
         Every passion sprung from man, conceived by man,
         Would I express and clothe in its fit form,
         Or show repress'd by an ungainly form,
         Or blend with others struggling in one form.
385      Oh, if you marvell'd at some mighty spirit
         With a fit frame to execute his will��
         Even unconsciously to work his will��
         You should be moved no less beside some strong,
         Rare spirit, fetter'd to a stubborn body,
390      Endeavouring to subdue it, and inform it 
         With its own splendour! All this I would do,
         And I would say, this done, "His sprites created,
         "God grants to each a sphere to be his world,
         "Appointed with the various objects needed
395      "To satisfy his own peculiar wants;
         "So, I create a world for these my shapes
         "Fit to sustain their beauty and their strength!"
         And, at the word, I would contrive and paint
         Woods, valleys, rocks, and plains, dells, sands, and wastes,
400      Lakes which when morn breaks on their quivering bed
         Blaze like a wyvern flying round the sun;
         And ocean-isles so small, the dog-fish tracking
         A dead whale, who should find them, would swim thrice
         Around them, and fare onward��all to hold
405      The offspring of my brain. Nor these alone��
         Bronze labyrinths, palace, pyramid, and crypt,
         Baths, galleries, courts, temples, and terraces,
         Marts, theatres, and wharfs��all fill'd with men!
         Men everywhere! And this perform'd, in turn,
410      When those who look'd on pined to hear the hopes,
         And fears, and hates, and loves which moved the crowd,
         I would throw down the pencil as the chisel,
         And I would speak: no thought which ever stirr'd
         A human breast should be untold; all passions,
415      All soft emotions, from the turbulent stir
         Within a heart fed with desires like mine��
         To the last comfort, shutting the tired lids
         Of him who sleeps the sultry noon away
         Beneath the tent-tree by the way-side well:
420      And this in language as the need should be,
         Now pour'd at once forth in a burning flow,
         Now piled up in a grand array of words.
         This done, to perfect and consummate all,
         Even as a luminous haze links star to star,
425      I would supply all chasms with music, breathing
         Mysterious motions of the soul, no way
         To be defined save in strange melodies.
         Last, having thus reveal'd all I could love,
         Having received all love bestow'd on it,
430      I would die: having preserved throughout my course
         God full on me, as I was full on men.
         He would approve my prayer��"I have gone through
         "The loveliness of life, create for me
         "If not for men��or take me to thyself,
         "Eternal, infinite Love!"
435                                If thou hast ne'er
         Conceived this mighty aim, this full desire,
         Thou hast not pass'd my trial, and thou art
         No king of mine.
           Paracelsus.    Ah me!
           Aprile.               But thou art here!
         Thou didst not gaze like me upon that end
440      Till thine own powers for compassing the bliss
         Were blind with glory; nor grow mad to grasp
         At once the prize long patient toil should claim; 
         Nor spurn all granted short of that. And I
         Would do as thou, if that might be; nay, listen��
445      Knowing ourselves, our world, our task so great,
         Our time so brief; 'tis clear if we refuse
         The means so limited, the tools so rude
         To execute our purpose, life will fleet,
         And we shall fade, and nothing will be done.
450      We will be wise in time: what though our work
         Be fashion'd in despite of their ill-service,
         Be crippled every way? 'Twere little praise
         Did full resources wait on our good will
         At every turn. Let all be as it is.
455      Some say the earth is even so contrived
         That tree, and flower, a vesture gay, conceal
         A bare and skeleton framework: had we means
         Answering to our mind! But now I seem
         Wreck'd on a savage isle. How rear thereon
460      My palace? Branching palms the props shall be,
         Fruit glossy mingling; gems are for the east;
         Who heeds them? I can pass them. Serpents' scales, 
         And painted birds' down, furs, and fishes' skins
         Must help me; and a little here and there
465      Is all I can aspire to: still my art
         Shall show its birth was in a gentler clime.
         "Had I green jars of malachite, this way
         "I'd range them: where those sea-shells glisten above,
         "Cressets should hang, by right: this way we set
470      "The purple carpets, as these mats are laid,
         "Woven of fern and rush and blossoming flag."
         Or if, by fortune, some completer grace
         Be spared to me, some fragment, some slight sample
         Of the prouder workmanship my own home boasts,
475      Some trifle little heeded there, but here
         The one perfection of the place, how gladly
         Would I enshrine the relic��cheerfully
         Foregoing all the marvels out of reach��
         Could I retain one strain of all the psalm
480      Of the angels��one word of the fiat of God��
         To let my followers know what such things are!
         I would adventure nobly for their sakes:
         When nights were still, and still the moaning sea,
         And far away I could descry the land
485      Whence I departed, whither I return,
         I would dispart the waves, and stand once more
         At home, and load my bark, and hasten back,
         And fling my gains to them, worthless or true.
         "Friends," I would say, "I went far, far for them,
490      "Past the high rocks the haunt of doves, the mounds
         "Of red earth from whose sides strange trees grow out,
         "Past tracts of milk-white minute blinding sand,
         "Till, by a mighty moon, I tremblingly
         "Gather'd these magic herbs, berry and bud,
495      "In haste��not pausing to reject the weeds,
         "But happy plucking them at any price.
         "To me, who have seen them bloom in their own soil, 
         "They are scarce lovely: plait them and wear them you!
         "And guess from what they are the springs that fed them,
500      "The stars that sparkled o'er them, night by night,
         "The snakes that travell'd far to sip their dew!"
         Thus for my higher loves; and thus even weakness
         Would win me honour. But not these alone
         Should claim my care; for common life, its wants
505      And ways, would I set forth in beauteous hues:
         The lowest hind should not possess a hope,
         A fear, but I'd be by him, saying better
         Than he his own heart's language. I would live
         For ever in the thoughts I thus explored,
510      As a discoverer's memory is attach'd
         To all he finds: they should be mine henceforth,
         Imbued with me, though free to all before;
         For clay, once cast into my soul's rich mine
         Should come up crusted o'er with gems: nor this
515      Would need a meaner spirit, than the first:
         Nay, 'twould be but the selfsame spirit, clothed
         In humbler guise, but still the selfsame spirit��
         As one spring wind unbinds the mountain snow,
         And comforts violets in their hermitage.

520      But master, poet, who hast done all this,
         How didst thou 'scape the ruin I have met?
         Didst thou, when nerving thee to this attempt,
         Ne'er range thy mind's extent, as some wide hall,
         Dazzled by shapes that fill'd its length with light,
525      Shapes cluster'd there to rule thee, not obey��
         That will not wait thy summons, will not rise
         Singly, nor when thy practised eye and hand
         Can well transfer their loveliness, but are
         By thee for ever, bright to thy despair?
530      Didst thou ne'er gaze on each by turns, and ne'er
         Resolve to single out one, though the rest
         Should vanish, and to give that one, entire
         In beauty, to the world; and to forget
         Its peers, whose number baffles mortal power?
535      And, this determined, wert thou ne'er seduced
         By memories, and regrets, and passionate love,
         To glance once more farewell? and did their eyes
         Fasten thee, brighter and more bright, until
         Thou couldst but stagger back unto their feet,
540      And laugh that man's applause or welfare ever
         Could tempt thee to forsake them? Or when years
         Had pass'd, and still their love possess'd thee wholly;
         When from without some murmur startled thee
         Of darkling mortals, famish'd for one ray
545      Of thy so-hoarded luxury of light,
         Didst thou ne'er strive even yet to break their spells,
         To prove that even yet thou couldst fulfil
         Thy early mission, long ago renounced,
         And, to that end, select some shape once more?
550      And did not mist-like influences, thick films,
         Faint memories of the rest, so long before 
         Thine eyes, fast float, confuse thee, bear thee off,
         As whirling snow-drifts blind a man who treads
         A mountain ridge, with guiding spear, through storm?
555      Didst not perceive, spoil'd by the subtle ways
         Of intricate but instantaneous thought,
         That common speech was useless to its ends��
         That language, wedded from the first to thought,
         Will strengthen as it strengthens; but, divorced,
560      Will dwindle, while thought widens more and more? ...
         Say, though I fell, I had excuse to fall;
         Say I was tempted sorely. Say but this,
         Dear lord, Aprile's lord!
           Paracelsus.             Clasp me not thus,
         Aprile! ... That the truth should reach me thus!
565      We are weak dust. Nay, clasp not, or I faint!
           Aprile. My king! and envious thoughts could outrage thee!
         Lo, I forget my ruin, and rejoice
         In thy success, as thou! Let our God's praise
         Go bravely through the world at last! What care
570      Through me or thee? I feel thy breath ... why tears?
         Tears in the darkness��and from thee to me?
           Paracelsus. Love me henceforth, Aprile, while I learn
         To love; and, merciful God, forgive us both!
         We wake at length from weary dreams; but both
575      Have slept in fairy-land. Though dark and drear
         Appears the world before us, we no less
         Wake with our wrists and ancles jewell'd still.
         I, too, have sought to KNOW as thou to LOVE��
         Excluding love as thou refused'st knowledge.
580      Still thou hast beauty and I power. We wake:
         What penance canst devise for both of us?
           Aprile. I hear thee faintly ... the thick darkness! Even
         Thine eyes are hid. 'Tis as I knew: I speak,
         And now I die. But I have seen thy face!
585      O dear soul, think of me, and sing of me ...
         But to have seen thee, and to die so soon!
           Paracelsus. Die not, Aprile: we must never part.
         Are we not halves of one dissever'd world,
         Whom this strange chance unites once more? Part? never!
590      Till thou, the lover, know; and I, the knower,
         Love��until both are saved. Aprile, hear!
         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
595      With phantoms, powers? I have created such,
         But these seem real as I ...
           Paracelsus.                Whom can you see
         Through the accursed darkness?
           Aprile.                      Stay; I know,
         I know them: who should know them well as I?��
         White brows, lit up with glory; poets all!
600        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,
605      To help my brain, oppress'd by these wild words
         And their deep import. Live! 'tis not too late:
         I have a quiet home for us, and friends.
         Michal shall smile on you ... Hear you? Lean thus,
         And breathe my breath: I shall not lose one word
610      Of all your speech��one little word, Aprile.
           Aprile. No, no ... Crown me? I am not one of you!
         'Tis he, the king, you seek. I am not one ...
           Paracelsus. Thy spirit, at least, Aprile! let me love! ...

         I have attain'd, and now I may depart.



                        III.��Paracelsus.

Scene, a chamber in the house of Paracelsus at Basil. 1526. 
Paracelsus, Festus.

           Paracelsus. Heap logs, and let the blaze laugh out.
           Festus.                                     True, true;
         'Tis very fit all time, and chance, and change
         Have wrought since last we sate thus, face to face
         And soul to soul��all cares, far-looking fears,
5        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
10       Affection; spare not that! forget alone
         The honours and the glories, and what not,
         That you are pleased to tell profusely out.
           Festus. Nay, even your honours in a certain sense.
         The wondrous Paracelsus��the dispenser
15       Of life, the commissary of Fate, the idol
         Of princes, is no more than Aureole still��
         Still Aureole and my friend, as when we parted
         Some twenty years ago, when I restrain'd
         As I best could the promptings of my spirit,
20       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,
25       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
30       In flakes through that old leafy bower built under
         The sunny wall at W�rzburg,  from her lattice
         Among the trees above, while I, unseen,
         Sate conning some rare roll from Tritheim's shelves,  
         Much wondering notes so simple could divert
35       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:
40       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 mother-hood;
         But 'tis a change��and I detest all change,
45       And most a change in aught I loved long since:
         But Michal ... you have said she thinks of me? 
           Festus. O very proud will Michal be of you!
         Imagine how we sate, long winter-nights,
         Scheming and wondering��shaping your presumed
50       Adventure, or devising your reward;
         Shutting out fear as long as hope might be��
         For it was strange how, even when most secure
         In our domestic peace, a certain dim
         And flitting shade could sadden all; it seem'd
55       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 felt no less, when traced,
         To point to one so loved and so long lost;
60       Not but, to balance fears, were glowing hopes.
         How you would laugh should I recount them now!
         I still predicted your return at last,
         With gifts beyond the greatest of them all,
         All Tritheim's wondrous troop; did one of which
65       Attain renown by any chance, I smiled��
         As well aware of who would prove his peer.
         Michal was sure that long ere this some being,
         As beautiful as you were brave, had loved ...
           Paracelsus. Far-seeing, truly, to discern as much
70       In the fantastic projects and day-dreams
         Of a raw, restless boy.
           Festus.               Oh no, the sunrise
         Well warranted our faith in this full noon:
         Have I forgotten the anxious voice that said
         "Festus, have thoughts like these e'er shaped themselves
75       "In other brains than mine��have their possessors
         "Existed in like circumstance��were they weak
         "As I��or ever constant from the first,
         "Despising youth's allurements, and rejecting
         "As spider-films the shackles I endure?
80       "Is there hope for me?"��and I answer'd gravely
         As an acknowledged elder, calmer, wiser,
         More gifted mortal. O you must remember,
         For all your glorious ...
           Paracelsus.             Glorious? ay, to wit, this hair,
         These hands��nay, touch them, they are mine��recall
85       With all the said recallings, times when thus
         To lay them by your own ne'er turn'd you pale,
         As now. Most glorious, are they not?
           Festus.                            Why ... why ...
         Something must be subtracted from success
         So wide, no doubt. He would be scrupulous, truly,
90       Who should object such drawbacks. Still, still Aureole,
         You are changed��very changed. 'Twere losing nothing
         To look well to it: you must not be stolen
         From the enjoyment of your well-won meed.
           Paracelsus. My friend! you seek my pleasure, past a doubt:
95       You will best gain your point by talking, not
         Of me, but of yourself.
           Festus.               Have I not said
         All touching Michal and my children? Sure 
         You know, by this, full well how Annchen looks
         Gravely, while one disparts her thick brown hair;
100      And Aureole's glee when some stray gannet builds
         Amid the birch-trees by the lake. Small hope
         Have I that he will honour, the wild imp!
         His namesake. Sigh not! 'tis too much to ask
         That all we love should reach the same proud fate.
105      But you are very kind to humour me
         By showing interest in my quiet life;
         You, who of old could never tame yourself
         To tranquil pleasures, must at heart despise ...
           Paracelsus. Festus, strange secrets are let out by Death,
110      Who blabs so oft the follies of this world:
         I, as you know, am Death's familiar oft.
         I help'd a man to die, some few weeks since,
         Warp'd even from his go-cart to one end��
         To live on princes' smiles, reflected from 
115      A mighty herd of favourites. No mean trick
         He left untried, and truly well nigh worm'd
         All traces of God's finger out of him.
         He died, grown old; and just an hour before��
         Having lain long with blank and soulless eyes��
120      He sate up suddenly, and with natural voice
         Said, that in spite of thick air and closed doors
         God told him it was June; and he knew well,
         Without such telling, hare-bells grew in June;
         And all that kings could ever give or take
125      Would not be precious as those blooms to him.
         Just so, allowing I am passing wise,
         It seems to me much worthier argument
         Why pansies,* eyes that laugh, are lovelier
         Than violets, eyes that dream��(your Michal's choice)��
130      Than all fools find to wonder at in me,
         Or in my fortunes: and be very sure
         I say this from no prurient restlessness��
         No self-complacency��itching to vary,
         And turn, and view its pleasure from all points,
135      And, in this instance, willing other men
         Should be at pains to demonstrate to it
         The realness of the very joy it lives on.
         What should delight me like the news of friends
         Whose memories were a solace to me oft,
140      As mountain-baths to wild fowls in their flight?
         Oftener than you had wasted thought on me
         Had you been sage, and rightly valued bliss;
         But there's no taming nor repressing hearts:
         God knows I need such! ... So you heard me speak?
           Festus. Speak? when?
145        Paracelsus.          When but this morning at my class?
         There was noise and crowd enough. I saw you not:
         Surely you know I am engaged to fill
         The chair here? that 'tis part of my proud fate
         To lecture to as many thick-scull'd youths
150      As please to throng the theatre each day,
         To my great reputation, and no small
         Peril of benches, long unused to crack
         Beneath such honour?
           Festus.            I was there, indeed.
         I mingled with the throng: shall I avow
155      Small care was mine to listen? I was intent
         On gathering from the murmurs of the crowd
         A full corroboration of my hopes.
         What can I learn about your powers? but they
         Know, care for nought beyond your actual state��
160      Your actual value. Yet they worship you!
         Those various natures whom you sway as one.
         But ere I go, be sure I shall attend ...
           Paracelsus. Stop, o' God's name: the thing's by no means yet
         Past remedy. Shall I read this morning's labour?
165      At least in substance? Nought so worth the gaining
         As an apt scholar: thus then, with all due
         Precision and emphasis��(you, besides, are clearly
         Guiltless of understanding more a whit
         The subject than your stool��allow'd to be
         A notable advantage) ...
170        Festus.                Surely, Aureole,
         You laugh at me!
           Paracelsus.    I laugh? Ha, ha! thank heaven,
         I charge you, if 't be so! for I forget
         Much��and what laughter should be like: no less,
         However, I forego that luxury, 
175      Since it offends the friend who brings it back.
         True, laughter like my own must echo strangely
         To thinking men; a smile were better far��
         So make me smile, if the exulting look
         You wore but now be smiling. 'Tis so long
180      Since I have smiled! alas, such smiles are born
         Alone of hearts like yours, and those old herds'
         Of ancient time, whose eyes, calm as their flocks,
         Saw in the stars mere garnishry of heaven,
         And in the earth a stage for altars only.
185      Never change, Festus: I say, never change!
           Festus. My God, if he be wretched after all!
           Paracelsus. When last we parted, Festus, you declared,
         Or Michal��yes, her soft lips whisper'd what
         I have preserved: she told me she believed
190      I should succeed (meaning, that in the search
         I then engaged in I should meet success),
         And yet be wretched: now, she augur'd false.
           Festus. Thank heaven! but you spoke strangely! could I
               venture
         To think bare apprehension lest your friend,
195      Dazzled by your resplendent course, should find
         Henceforth less sweetness in his own, could move
         Such earnest mood in you? Fear not, dear friend,
         That I shall leave you, inwardly repining
         Such lot was not my own ....
           Paracelsus.                And this for ever!
 200     For ever! gull who may, they will be blind!
         They will not look nor think��'tis nothing new
         In them: but surely he is not of them!
         My Festus, do you know I reckon'd you��
         Though all beside were sand-blind��you, my friend,
205      Would look at me, once close, with piercing eye,
         Untroubled by false glare that well confounds
         A weaker vision; would remain serene,
         Though singular, amid a gaping throng.
         I fear'd you, or I had come, sure, long ere this,
210      To Einsiedeln. Well, error has no end,
         And Rhasis is a sage, and Basil boasts
         A tribe of wits, and I am wise and blest
         Past all dispute! 'Tis vain to fret at it:
         I have vow'd long ago my worshippers
215      Shall owe to their own deep sagacity
         All further information, good or bad.
         Small risk indeed my reputation runs,
         Unless perchance the glance now searching me
         Be fix'd much longer��for it seems to spell
220      Dimly the characters a simpler man
         Might read distinct enough. Old eastern books
         Say the fallen prince of morning some short space
         Remain'd unchanged in seeming��nay, his brow
         Was hued with triumph: every spirit then
225      Praising; his heart on flame the while ... a tale!
         Well, Festus, what discover you, I pray?
           Festus. Some foul deed sullies then a life which else 
         Were raised above ...
           Paracelsus.         Good: I do well��most well!
         Why strive to make them know, and feel, and fret
230      Themselves with what 'tis past their power to know,
         Or feel, or comprehend? Still, having nursed
         The faint surmise that one yet walk'd the earth,
         One, at least, not the utter fool of show,
         Not absolutely form'd to be the dupe
235      Of shallow plausibilities alone;
         One who, in youth found wise enough to choose
         That happiness his riper years approve,
         Was yet so anxious for another's sake
         That ere his friend could rush upon a mad
240      And ruinous course, the converse of his own,
         His gentle spirit had already tried
         The perilous path, foreseen its destiny,
         And warn'd the weak one in such tender words��
         Such accents��his whole heart in every one��
245      That they oft served to comfort him, in hours
         When they, by right, should have increased despair:
         Having believed, I say, such happy one
         Could never lose the light thus from the first
         His portion��I cannot refuse to grieve
250      Even at my gain if it disturb our old
         Relation; if it make me out the wiser.
         Therefore, once more reminding him how well
         He prophesied, I note the single flaw
         That seems to cross his title: in plain words
255      You were deceived, and thus you were deceived:
         I have not been successful, and yet am
         Most miserable; 'tis said at last; nor you
         Give credit, lest you force me to believe
         That common sense yet lives upon the world.
260        Festus. You surely do not mean to banter me?
           Paracelsus. You know, or (if you have been wise enough
         To cleanse your memory of such matters) knew,
         As far as words of mine could make it clear,
         That 'twas my purpose to find joy or grief
265      Alone in the fulfilment of my plan,
         Or plot, or whatsoe'er it was: rejoicing
         Alone as it proceeded prosperously;
         Sorrowing then only, when mischance retarded
         Its progress. Nor was this the scheme of one
270      Enamour'd of a lot unlike the world's,
         And thus far sure from common casualty��
         (Folly of follies!) in that, thus, the mind
         Became the only arbiter of fate.
         No; what I term'd and might conceive my choice,
275      Already had been rooted in my soul��
         Had long been part and portion of myself.
         Not to prolong a theme I thoroughly hate,
         I have since follow'd it with all my strength;
         And having fail'd therein most signally,
280      Cannot object to ruin, utter and drear
         As all-excelling would have been the prize 
         Had fortune favour'd me. I scarce have right
         To vex your frank good spirit, late so glad
         In my supposed prosperity, I know;
285      And were I lucky in a glut of friends
         Would well agree to let your error live,
         And strengthen it with fables of success.
         But I'm in no condition to refuse
         The transient solace of so rare a Godsend,
290      My solitary luxury��my one friend;
         Accordingly I venture to put off
         The wearisome vest of falsehood galling me,
         Secure when he is by. I lay me bare
         And at his mercy��but he is my friend!
295      Not that he needs retain his grave respect��
         That answers not my purpose; for 'tis like,
         Some sunny morning��Basil being drain'd
         Of its wise population, every corner
         Of the amphitheatre cramm'd with learned clerks,
300      Here Oecolampadius, looking worlds of wit;
         Here Castellanus, as profound as he;
         Munsterus here, Frobenius there; all squeezed
         And staring��that the zany of the show,
         Even Paracelsus, shall put off before them
305      His trappings with a grace but seldom judged
         Expedient in such cases. The grim smile
         That will go round! Is it not therefore best
         To venture a rehearsal like the present
         In a small way? Where are the signs I seek,
310      The first-fruits and fair sample of the scorn
         Due to all quacks? Why, this will never do!
           Festus. These are foul vapours, Aureole; nought beside!
         The effect of watching, study, weariness.
         Were there a spark of truth in the confusion
315      Of these wild words, you would not outrage thus
         Your youth's companion. I shall ne'er regard
         These wanderings, bred of faintness and much study.
         'Tis not thus you would trust a trouble to me,
         To Michal's friend.
           Paracelsus.       I have said it, dearest Festus:
320      For the manner��'tis ungracious, probably;
         You may have it told in broken sobs, one day,
         And scalding tears, ere long. I thought it best
         To keep that off as long as possible.
         Do you wonder still?
           Festus.            No; it must oft fall out
325      That he whose labour perfects any work
         Shall rise from it with eye so worn, that he
         Least of all men can measure the extent
         Of that he has accomplish'd. He alone,
         Who, nothing task'd, is nothing weary, he
330      Can clearly scan the little he has done:
         But we, the bystanders, untouch'd by toil,
         We estimate aright.
           Paracelsus.       This worthy Festus 
         Is one of them, at last! 'Tis so with all: 
         First they set down all progress as a dream,
335      And next, when he, whose quick discomfiture
         Was counted on, accomplishes some few
         And doubtful steps in his career, behold
         They look for every inch of ground to vanish
         Beneath his tread��so sure they spy success!
340        Festus. Few doubtful steps? when death retires before
         Your presence��when the noblest of mankind,
         Broken in body, yet untired in spirit,
         May through your skill renew their vigour, raise
         The shatter'd frame to pristine stateliness:
345      When men in racking pain may purchase dreams
         Of what delights them most��swooning at once
         Into a sea of bliss, or rapt along
         As in a flying sphere of turbulent light:
         When we may look to you as one ordain'd
350      To free the flesh from fell disease, as frees
         Our Luther's burning tongue the fetter'd soul:
         When ...
           Paracelsus. And when and where the devil did you get
         This notable news?
           Festus.          Even from the common voice;
         From those whose envy, daring not dispute
355      The wonders it decries, attributes them
         To magic and such folly.
           Paracelsus.            Folly? Why not
         To magic, pray? You find a comfort doubtless
         In holding God ne'er troubles him about
         Us or our doings: once we were judged worth
360      The devil's tempting ... I offend: forgive me,
         And rest content. Your prophecy on the whole
         Was fair enough as prophesyings go;
         At fault a little in detail, but quite
         Precise enough in the main; and hereupon
365      I pay due homage: you guess'd long ago
         (The prophet) I should fail��and I have fail'd.
           Festus. You mean to tell me, then, the hopes which fed
         Your youth have not been realized as yet?
         Some obstacle has barr'd them hitherto,
         Or that their innate ...
370        Paracelsus.            As I said but now,
         You have a very decent prophet's fame
         So you but shun these details. Little matters
         Whether those hopes were mad, and what they sought
         Safe and secure from all ambitious fools,
375      Or whether my weak wits are overcome
         By what a better spirit would scorn��I fail.
         And now methinks 'twere best to change the theme.
         I am a sad fool to have stumbled on it.
         I say confusedly what comes uppermost;
380      But there are times when patience proves at fault,
         As now: this morning's strange encounter��you
         Beside me once again! you, whom I guess'd
         Alive��since hitherto (with Luther's leave)
         No friend have I among the saints above�� 
385      (The poor mad poet is howling by this time)��
         I could not quite repress the varied feelings
         This meeting wakens; they have had their way,
         And now forget them. Do the rear-mice still
         Hang like a fret-work on the gate (or what
390      In my time was a gate) fronting the road
         From Einsiedeln to Lachen?
           Festus.                  Trifle not:
         Answer me��for my sake alone. You smiled
         Just now, when I supposed some deed unworthy
         Yourself might blot the else so bright result;
395      But if your motives have continued pure,
         Your earnest will unfaltering: if you still
         Remain unchanged, and if, in spite of all,
         You have experienced the defeat you tell��
         I say not, you would cheerfully resign
400      The contest��mortal hearts are not so fashion'd��  
         But surely you would ne'ertheless resign.
         You sought not fame, nor gain, nor even love;
         No end distinct from knowledge. I repeat
         Your very words: once satisfied that knowledge
405      Is a mere dream, you would announce as much
         Yourself the first. But how is the event?
         You are defeated��and I find you here!
           Paracelsus. As though "here" did not signify defeat!
         I spoke not of my labours here��past doubt
410      I am quite competent to answer all
         Demands, in any such capacity��
         But of the break-down of my general aims:
         For you, aware of their extent and scope,
         To look on these sage lecturings, commended
415      By silly beardless boys, and bearded dotards,
         As a fit consummation of those aims,
         Is worthy notice��a professorship
         At Basil! Since you see so much in it;
         Since 'tis but just my life should have been drain'd
420      Of its delights to render me a match
         For duties arduous as such post demands;
         Far be it from me to deny my power
         To fill the petty circle lotted out
         Of infinite space, or to deserve the host
425      Of honours thence accruing: so take notice.
         This jewel dangling from my neck preserves
         The features of a prince my skill restored
         To plague his people some few years to come:
         And all through a pure whim. He had eased the earth
430      For me, but that the droll despair which seized
         The vermin of his household, tickled me.
         I came to see: here, drivell'd the physician,
         Whose most infallible nostrum was at fault;
         There shook the astrologer in his shoes, whose grand
435      Horoscope promised further score of years;
         Here a monk fumbled at the sick man's nose
         With some undoubted relic��a sudary
         Of the Virgin; while some half-dozen knaves 
         Of the same brotherhood (he loved them ever)
440      Were making active preparations for
         Such a suffumigation as, once fired,
         Had stunk the patient dead ere he could groan.
         I cursed the doctor, and upset the wiper;
         Brush'd past the conjurer; vow'd that the first gust
445      Of stench from the ingredients just alight
         Would raise a cross-grain'd devil in my sword,
         Not easily laid; and ere an hour the prince
         Slept as he never slept since prince he was.
         A day��and I was posting for my life,
450      Placarded through the town as one whose spite
         Had near avail'd to stop the bless'd effects
         Of the doctor's nostrum, which, well seconded
         By the sudary, and most by the costly smoke��
         Not leaving out the strenuous prayers sent up
455      Hard by, in the abbey��raised the prince to life;
         To the great reputation of the sage,
         Who, confident, expected all along
         The glad event��the doctor's recompense��
         Much largess from his highness to the monks��
460      And the vast solace of his loving people,
         Whose general satisfaction to increase,
         The prince was pleased no longer to defer
         The burning of some dozen heretics,
         Remanded till God's mercy should be shown
465      Touching his sickness: last of all, were join'd
         Ample directions to all loyal folk
         To seize myself, to swell the complement,
         Who��doubtless some rank sorcerer��had endeavour'd
         To thwart these pious offices, obstruct
470      The prince's cure, and frustrate all, by help
         Of certain devils dwelling in his sword:
         By luck, the prince in his first fit of thanks
         Had forced this bauble on me as an earnest
         Of further favours. This one case may serve
475      To give sufficient taste of many such,
         So let them pass: those shelves support a pile
         Of patents, licenses, diplomas, got
         In France, and Spain, and Italy, as well
         As Germany; they authorize my claims
480      To honour from the world. Nevertheless
         I set more store by this Erasmus sends;
         He trusts me: our Frobenius is his friend,
         And him I raised (nay, read it) from the dead ...
         I weary you, I see; I merely sought
485      To show there's no great wonder after all
         That while I fill the class-room, and attract
         A crowd to Basil, I have leave to stay;
         And that I need not scruple to accept
         The utmost they can offer��if I love it:
490      For 'tis but right the world should be prepared
         To treat especially the several wants
         Of one like me, used up in serving her;
         Just as the mortal, whom the Gods in part 
         Devour'd, received in place of his lost limb
495      Some virtue or other��cured disease, I think;
         You mind the fables we have read together.
           Festus. You do not think I comprehend a word:
         The time was, Aureole, when you were not slow
         To clothe the airiest thoughts in specious words;
500      But surely you must feel how vague and strange
         These speeches sound.
           Paracelsus.         Well, then: you know my hopes;
         I am assured, at length, they may not be;
         That truth is just as far from me as ever;
         That I have thrown my life away; that sorrow
505      On that account is vain, and further effort
         To mend and patch what's marr'd beyond repairing
         As useless: and all this was taught to me
         By the convincing, good old-fashion'd method
         Of force��by sheer compulsion. Is that plain?
510        Festus. Dear Aureole! can it be my fears were just!
         God wills not ...
           Paracelsus.     Now, 'tis this I most admire��
         The constant talk men of your stamp keep up
         Of God's will, as they style it; one would swear
         Man had but merely to uplift his eye,
515      To see the will in question character'd
         On the heaven's vault. 'Tis hardly wise to moot
         Such topics: doubts are many and faith is weak.
         I know as much of any will of His
         As knows some dumb and tortur'd brute of what
520      His stern lord wills from the bewildering blows
         That plague him every way, and there, of course,
         Where least he suffers, longest he will stay:
         My case; and for such reasons I plod on��
         Subdued, but not convinced. I know as little
525      Why I deserve to fail, as why I hoped
         Better things in my youth. I simply know
         I am no master here, but train'd and beaten
         Into the path I tread; and here I stay,
         Until some further intimation reach me,
530      Like an obedient drudge: and though I like
         The best to view the whole thing as a task
         Imposed��which, dull or pleasant, must be done��
         Yet, I deny not, there is made provision
         Of joys which tastes less jaded might affect;
535      Nay, some which please me too, for all my pride��
         Pleasures that once were pains: the iron ring
         Festering about a slave's neck grows at length
         Into the flesh it eats. I hate no longer
         A host of petty, vile delights, undream'd of
540      Or spurn'd, before; such now supply the place
         Of my dead aims: as in the autumn woods
         Where tall trees flourish'd��from their very roots
         Springs up a fungous brood, sickly and pale,
         Chill mushrooms, colour'd like a corpse's cheek ...
545        Festus. If I interpret well your words, I own
         It troubles me but little that your aims, 
         Vast in their dawning, and most likely grown
         Extravagantly since, have proved abortive:
         Perchance I am glad; you have the greater praise,
550      Because they are too glorious to be gain'd��
         You have not blindly clung to them and died
         With them��you have not sullenly refused
         To rise, because an angel worsted you
         In wrestling, though the world has not your peer;
555      And though too harsh and sudden is the change
         To yield you pleasure, as yet��still, you pursue
         The ungracious path as though 'twere rosy-strewn.
         'Tis well: and your reward, sooner or later,
         Will come from Him whom none e'er served in vain.
560        Paracelsus. Ah! very fine: for my part I conceive
         The very pausing from all further toil,
         Which you find heinous, would be as a seal
         To the sincerity of all my deeds:
         To be consistent I should die at once;
565      I calculated on no after-life;
         Nay, was assured no such could be for me,
         Yet��(how crept in, how foster'd, I know not)��
         Here am I with as passionate regret
         For youth, and health, and love so vainly lavish'd,
570      As if their preservation had been first
         And foremost in my thoughts; and this strange fact
         Humbled me wondrously, and had due force
         In rendering me the less averse to follow
         A certain counsel, a mysterious warning��
575      You will not understand��but 'twas a man
         Perishing in my sight, who summon'd me,
         As I would shun the ghastly fate I saw,
         To serve my race at once; to wait no longer
         That God should interfere in my behalf��
580      Nor trust to time; but to distrust myself,
         And give my gains, imperfect as they were,
         To men. I have not leisure to explain
         How since, a singular series of events
         Has raised me to the station you behold,
585      Wherein I seem to turn to most account
         The sad wreck of the past, and to receive
         Some feeble glimmering token that God views
         And may approve my penance: therefore here
         You find me��doing good as best I may;
590      And if folks wonder much and profit little
         'Tis not my fault; only I shall rejoice
         When my part in the farce is shuffled through,
         And the curtain falls; I must hold out till then.
           Festus. Till when, dear Aureole?
           Paracelsus.                      Till I'm fairly thrust
595      From my proud eminence. Fortune is fickle
         And even professors fall: should that arrive,
         I see no sin in ceding to my bent,
         Whatever that may be��but not till then.
         You little fancy what rude shocks apprize us
600      We sin: God's intimations rather fail 
         In clearness than in energy: 'twere well
         Did they but indicate the course to take
         Like that to be forsaken. I would fain
         Be spared a further sample ... Here I am
605      And here I stay, be sure, till forced to flit.
           Festus. Be you but firm on that head; long ere then
         All I expect will come to pass, I trust:
         The cloud that wraps you will have disappear'd.
         At present I see small chance of such event:
610      They praise you here as one whose lore already
         Divulged eclipses all the past can show,
         But whose achievements, marvellous as they be,
         Are faint anticipations of a light
         Which shall hereafter be reveal'd. When they
615      Dismiss their teacher, I shall be content
         That he depart.
           Paracelsus.   This favour at their hands
         I look for earlier than your view of things
         Would warrant. Of the crowd you saw to-day
         Remove the herd whom sheer amazement brings,
620      The novelty, nought else; and next, the tribe
         Whose innate blockish dullness just perceives
         That unless miracles (as seem my works)
         Be wrought in their behalf, they are not like
         To puzzle the devil; and a numerous set
625      Who bitterly hate establish'd schools, and help
         A teacher that oppugns them, till he once
         Have planted his own doctrine, when the teacher
         May reckon on their rancour in his turn;
         With a good sprinkling of sagacious knaves
630      Whose cunning runs not counter to the vogue,
         But seeks, by flattery and crafty nursing,
         To force my system to a premature
         Short-lived development ... Why swell the list?
         Each has his end to serve, and his best way
635      Of pushing it: remove all these, remains
         A scantling��a poor dozen at the best��
         Worthy to look for sympathy and service,
         And likely to draw profit from my pains.
           Festus. 'Tis no encouraging picture: still these few
640      Redeem their fellows. Once the germ implanted
         The rest will fail not to succeed.
           Paracelsus.                      God grant it!
         I would make some amends: the hate between us
         Is on one side. Should it prove otherwise,
         The luckless rogues have this excuse to urge,
645      That much is in my method and my manner,
         My uncouth habits, my impatient spirit,
         Which hinders of its influence and reception
         My doctrine: much to say, small skill to speak ...
         It is, I fancy, some slight proof my old
650      Devotion suffer'd not a looking-off,
         Though for an instant, seeing that then alone
         When I renounced it and resolved to reap
         Some present fruit��to teach mankind the truth 
         So dearly purchased��then I first discover'd
655      Such teaching was an art requiring cares
         And qualities peculiar to itself:
         That to possess was one thing��to display
         Another. I had never dream'd of this:
         Had but renown been present in my thoughts,
660      Or popular praise, I had soon found it out.
         One grows but little apt to learn these things.
           Festus. If it be so, which nowise I believe,
         There needs no waiting fuller dispensation
         To leave a labour to so little use:
665      Why not throw up the irksome charge at once?
           Paracelsus. A task, a task! ...
                                           But wherefore hide the whole
         Extent of degradation, once engaged
         In the confessing vein? In spite of all
         My fine talk of obedience, and repugnance,
670      Docility, and what not, 'tis yet to learn
         If when the task shall really be perform'd,
         My inclinations free to choose once more,
         I shall do aught but slightly modify
         Its nature in the next career they try.
675      In plain words, I am spoil'd: my life still tends
         As first it tended. I am broken and train'd
         To my old habits; they are part of me:
         I know, and none so well, my darling ends
         Are proved impossible: no less, no less,
680      Even now what humours me, fond fool, as when
         Their faint ghosts sit with me, and flatter me,
         And send me back content to my dull round?
         How can I change this soul? this apparatus
         Constructed solely for their purposes?
685      So well adapted to their wants and uses��
         To search, discover, and dissect, and prove:
         This intricate machine, whose most minute
         And meanest motions have their charms to me
         Though to none else��an aptitude I see��
690      An object I perceive��a use, a meaning,
         A property, a fitness, I explain,
         And I alone ... How can I change my soul?
         And this wrong'd body, worthless save when task'd
         Under that soul's dominion��used to care
695      For its bright master's cares, and to subdue
         Its proper cravings��not to ail, nor pine,
         So he but prosper��whither drag this poor,
         Tried, patient body? God! how I essay'd,
         To live like that mad poet, for a while!
700      To love alone! and how I felt too warp'd
         And twisted and deform'd! What should I do,
         Released from this sad drudgery, but return
         Faint as I am and halting, blind and sore,
         To my old life��and die as I begun!
705      I cannot feed on beauty, for the sake
         Of beauty only; nor can drink in balm
         From lovely objects for their loveliness;
         My nature cannot lose her first impress;
         I still must hoard, and heap, and class all truths
710      With one ulterior purpose��one intent.
         Would God translate me to his throne, believe
         That I should only listen to his words
         To further my own aims! Full well I know
         Beauty is prodigally strewn around,
715      And I were happy could I trample under
         This mad and thriveless longing, and content me
         With beauty for itself alone: alas!
         I have address'd a frock of heavy mail,
         Yet may not join the troop of sacred knights;
720      And now the forest-creatures fly from me,
         The grass-banks cool, the sunbeams warm no more!
         Best follow, dreaming that ere night arrive
         I shall o'ertake the company, and ride
         Glittering as they!
           Festus.           I think I apprehend
725      What you would say: if you, in truth, design
         To enter on such life again, seek not
         To hide that much of all this consciousness
         Of failure is assumed.
           Paracelsus.          My friend, my friend,
         I tell��you listen; I explain��perhaps
730      You understand: there our communion ends.
         Have you learnt nothing from to-day's discourse?
         When we would thoroughly know the sick man's state
         We feel awhile the fluttering pulse, press soft
         The hot brow, look upon the languid eye,
735      And thence divine the rest. Must I lay bare
         My heart, hideous and beating, or tear up
         My vitals for your gaze, ere you will deem
         Enough made known? You! who are you, forsooth?
         That is the crowning operation claim'd
740      By the arch-demonstrator��heaven the hall,
         And earth the audience. Let Aprile and you
         Secure good places��'twill be worth the while.
           Festus. Are you mad, Aureole? What can I have said
         To call for this? I judged from your own words.
745        Paracelsus. Oh, doubtless! a sick wretch describes the ape
         That mocks him from the bed-foot, and all gravely
         You thither turn at once: or he recounts
         The perilous journey he has late perform'd
         And you are puzzled much how that could be!
750      You find me here, half stupid and half mad:
         It makes no part of my delight to search
         Into these things, much less to undergo
         Another's scrutiny; but so it chances
         That I am led to trust my state to you
755      As calmly, as sincerely, as I may;
         And the event is, you combine, contrast,
         And ponder on my foolish words, as though
         They thoroughly convey'd all hidden here��
         Here, loathsome with despair, and hate, and rage!
760      Is there no fear, no shrinking, or no shame? 
         Will you guess nothing? will you spare me nothing?
         Must I go deeper? Aye or no?
           Festus.                    Dear friend ...
           Paracelsus. True: I am brutal��'tis a part of it;
         A plague-fit: you are not a lazar-haunter,
765      How should you know? Well then, you think it strange
         I should profess to have fail'd utterly,
         And yet propose an ultimate return
         To courses void of hope: and this, because
         You know not what temptation is, nor how
770      'Tis like to ply me in the sickliest part.
         You are to understand, that we who make
         Sport for the gods, are hunted to the end:
         There is not one sharp volley shot at us,
         Which 'scaped with life, though hurt, we slacken pace
775      And gather by the way-side herbs and roots
         To staunch our wounds, secure from further harm ...
         We are assail'd to life's extremest verge.
         It will be well indeed if I return,
         A harmless busy fool, to my old ways!
780      I would forget hints of another fate
         Significant enough, which silent hours
         Have lately scared me with.
           Festus.                   Another! and what?
           Paracelsus. After all, Festus, you say well: I am
         A man yet��I need never humble me;
785      I would have been��something, I know not what;
         But though I cannot soar, I do not crawl:
         There are worse portions than this one of mine;
         You say well ...
           Festus.        Ah! ...
           Paracelsus.            And deeper degradation:
         If the mean stimulants of vulgar praise,
790      And vanity, should become the chosen food
         Of a sunk mind; should stifle even the wish
         To find its early aspirations true;
         Should teach it to breathe falsehood like life-breath��
         An atmosphere of craft, and trick, and lies��
795      Should make it proud to emulate or surpass
         Base natures in the practices which woke
         Its most indignant loathing once ... No, no:
         Utter damnation is reserved for Hell!
         I had immortal feelings��such shall never
         Be wholly quench'd��no, no.
800                                  My friend, you wear
         A melancholy face, and certain 'tis,
         There's little cheer in all this dismal work;
         But 'twas not my desire to set abroach
         Such memories and forebodings. I foresaw
805      Where they would drive; 'twere better to discuss
         News of Lucerne or Zurich; or to tell
         Of Egypt's flaring sky, or Spain's cork-groves.
           Festus. I have thought: trust me, this mood will pass 
                              away.
         I know you, and the lofty spirit you bear, 
810      And easily ravel out a clue to all:
         These are the trials meet for such as you,
         Nor must you hope exemption: to be mortal
         Is to be plied with trials manifold. 
         Look round! the obstacles which kept the rest
815      From your ambition have been spurn'd by you:
         Their fears, their doubts, the chains that bind them best,
         Were flax before your resolute soul, which nought
         Avails to awe, save these delusions, bred
         From its own strength, its selfsame strength, disguised��
820      Mocking itself. Be brave, dear Aureole! since
         The rabbit has his shade to frighten him,
         The fawn a rustling bough, mortals their cares,
         And higher natures yet would slight and laugh
         At these entangling fantasies, as you
825      At trammels of a weaker mind; but judge
         Your mind's dimension by the shade it casts!
         I know you.
           Paracelsus. And I know you, dearest Festus!
         And how you love unworthily; and how
         All admiration renders blind.
           Festus.                     You hold
         That admiration blinds?
830        Paracelsus.           Aye, and alas!
           Festus. Nought blinds you less than admiration:
         Whether it be that all love renders wise
         In its degree; from love which blends with love��
         Heart answering heart��to that which spends itself
835      In silent mad idolatry of some
         Pre-eminent mortal��some great soul of souls��
         Which ne'er will know how well it is adored:
         I say, such love is never blind; but rather
         Alive to every the minutest spot
840      That mars its object, and which hate (supposed
         So vigilant and searching) dreams not of:
         Love broods on such: what then? In the first case
         Is there no sweet strife to forget, to change,
         To overflush those blemishes with all
845      The glow of goodness they cannot disturb?
         To make those very defects an endless source
         Of new affection grown from hopes and fears?
         And in the last, is there no gallant stand
         Made even for much proved weak? no shrinking-back
850      Lest (since all love assimilates the soul
         To what it loves) it should at length become
         Almost a rival of its idol? Trust me,
         If there be fiends who seek to work our hurt,
         To ruin and drag down earth's mightiest spirits,
855      Even at God's foot, 'twill be from such as love 
         Their zeal will gather most to serve their cause;
         And least from those who hate, who most essay
         By contumely and scorn to blot the light
         Which will have entrance even to their hearts;
860      For thence will our defender tear the veil
         And show within the heart, as in a shrine, 
         The giant image of Perfection, grown
         In their despite, whose calumnies were spawn'd
         In the untroubled presence of its eyes!
865      True admiration blinds not; nor am I
         So blind: I know your unexampled sins,
         But I know too what sort of soul is prone
         To errors of that stamp��sins like to spring
         From one alone whose life has pass'd the bounds
870      Prescribed to life. Compound that fault with God!
         I speak of men; to common men like me
         The weakness you confess endears you more��
         Like the far traces of decay in suns:
         I bid you have good cheer!
           Paracelsus.              Praeclar�!  Optim�!  
875      Think of a quiet mountain-cloister'd priest
         Instructing Paracelsus! yet, 'tis so:
         And that his flittering words should soothe me better
         Than fulsome tributes: not that that is strange:
         Come, I will show you where my merit lies.
880      I ne'er supposed that since I fail'd no other
         Needs hope success: I act as though each one
         Who hears me may aspire: now mark me well:
         'Tis in the advance of individual minds
         That the slow crowd should ground their expectation
885      Eventually to follow��as the sea
         Waits ages in its bed, till some one wave
         Of all the multitudinous mass extends
         The empire of the whole, some feet perhaps,
         Over the strip of sand which could confine
890      Its fellows so long time: thenceforth the rest,
         Even to the meanest, hurry in at once,
         And so much is clear gain'd. I shall be glad
         If all my labours, failing of aught else,
         Suffice to make such inroad��to procure
895      A wider range for thought: nay, they do this;
         For whatsoe'er my notions of true knowledge
         And a legitimate success may be,
         I am not blind to my undoubted rank
         When class'd with others. I precede my age:
900      And whoso wills, is very free to make
         That use of me which I disdain'd to make
         Of my forerunners��(vanity, perchance;
         But had I deem'd their learning wonder-worth,
         I had been other than I am)��to mount
905      Those labours as a platform, whence their own
         May have a prosperous outset: but, alas!
         My followers��they are noisy as you heard,
         But for intelligence��the best of them
         So clumsily wield the weapons I supply
910      And they extol, that I begin to doubt
         Whether their own rude clubs and pebble-stones
         Would not do better service than my arms
         Thus vilely sway'd��if error will not fall
         Sooner before their awkward batterings
         Than my more subtle warfare! 
915        Festus.                    In that case,
         I would supply that art, and would withhold
         The arms until their mystery was made known.
           Paracelsus. Content you, 'tis my wish; I have recourse
         To the simplest training. Day by day I seek
920      To wake the mood, the spirit which alone
         Can make those arms of any use to them.
         Of course they are for swaggering forth at once
         With Hercules' club, Achilles' shield, Ulysses'
         Bow��a choice sight to scare the crows away!
925        Festus. Pity you choose not, then, some other method
         Of coming at your point. The marvellous art
         At length establish'd in the world bids fair
         To remedy all hindrances like these:
         Trust to Frobenius' press the precious lore
930      Obscured by uncouth manner, or unfit
         For raw beginners��let his types secure
         A deathless monument to after-times;
         Meanwhile enjoy and confidently wait
         The ultimate effect: sooner or later
         You shall be all-reveal'd.
935        Paracelsus.              An ancient question
         In a new form; no more. Thus: I possess
         Two sorts of knowledge��one, vast, shadowy, hints
         Of the unbounded aim I once pursued��
         The other, many secrets, made my own
940      While bent on nobler prize, and not a few
         First principles which may conduct to much:
         These last I offer to my followers here.
         Now bid me chronicle the first of these,
         My ancient study, and in effect you bid me
945      Revert to the wild course I have abjured.
         And, for the principles, they are so simple
         (Being chiefly of the overturning sort),
         That one time is as proper to propound them
         As any other��to-morrow at my class,
950      Or half a century hence embalm'd in print;
         For if mankind intend to learn at all,
         They must begin by giving faith to them,
         And acting on them; and I do not see
         But that my lectures serve indifferent well:
955      No doubt these dogmas fall not to the earth,
         For all their novelty and rugged setting.
         I think my class will not forget the day
         I let them know the gods of Israel,
         A�tius,  Oribasius, Galen, Rhasis,
960      And Avicenna, and Averr�es,
         Were blocks!
           Festus.    And that reminds me, they said something
         About your waywardness: you burn'd their books,
         It seems, instead of answering those sages ...
           Paracelsus. And who said that?
           Festus.                        Some I met yesternight
965      With Oecolampadius. As you know, the purpose
         Of this short stay at Basil was to learn 
         His pleasure touching certain missives sent
         For our Zuinglius and himself. 'Twas he
         Apprized me that the famous teacher here
         Was my old friend.
970        Paracelsus.      Ah, I forgot: you went ...
           Festus. From Zurich with advices for the ear
         Of Luther, now at Wittemburg��(you know,
         I make no doubt, the differences of late
         With Carolostadius)��and returning sought
         Basil and Oecolampadius.
975        Paracelsus.            Here's a case now
         Will teach you why I answer not, but burn
         The books you mention: pray, does Luther dream
         His arguments convince by their own force
         The crowds that own his doctrine? No, indeed:
980      His plain denial of establish'd points
         Ages had sanctified and none supposed
         Could be oppugn'd while earth was under him
         And heaven above��which chance, or change, or time
         Affected not��did more than the array
985      Of argument which follow'd. Boldly deny!
         There is much breath-stopping, hair-stiffening
         Awhile, amazed glances, mute awaiting
         The thunderbolt which does not come��and next
         Reproachful wonder and inquiry; those
990      Who else had never stirr'd are able now
         To find the rest out for themselves��perhaps
         To outstrip him who set the whole at work,
         As never will my wise class its instructor ...
         And you saw Luther?
           Festus.           'Tis a wondrous soul!
995        Paracelsus. True: the so-heavy chain which gall'd mankind
         Is shatter'd, and the noblest of us all
         Must bow to the deliverer��nay, the worker
         Of our own projects��we who long before
         Had burst its trammels, but forgot the crowd
1000     We would have taught still groan'd beneath the load:
         This he has done and nobly. Speed that may!
         Whatever be my chance or my despair
         What benefits mankind must glad me too:
         And men seem made, though not as I believed,
1005     For something better than the times can show:
         Witness these gangs of peasants your new lights
         From Suabia have possess'd, whom Munzer leads,
         And whom the duke, the landgrave, and the elector
         Will calm in blood! Well, well��'tis not my world.
           Festus. Hark!
1010       Paracelsus.   'Tis the melancholy wind astir
         Within the trees; the embers too are grey,
         Morn must be near.
           Festus.          Best ope the casement: see   
         The night, late strewn with clouds and flying stars,
         Is blank and motionless: how peaceful sleep
1015     The tree-tops all together! like an asp
         The wind slips whispering from bough to bough. 
           Paracelsus. Ay; you would gaze on a wind-shaken tree
         By the hour, nor count time lost.
           Festus.                         So you shall gaze:
         Those happy times will come again ...
           Paracelsus.                         Gone! gone!
1020     Those pleasant times! Does not the moaning wind
         Seem to bewail that we have gain'd such gains
         And barter'd sleep for them?
           Festus.                    It is our trust
         That there is yet another world to mend
         All error and mischance ....
           Paracelsus.               Another world!
1025     And why this world, this common world to be
         A make-shift, a mere foil, how fair soever,
         To some fine life to come? Man must be fed
         With angel's food, forsooth; and some few traces
         Of a diviner nature which look out
1030     Through his corporeal baseness warrant him
         In a supreme contempt for all provision
         For his inferior tastes��some straggling marks
         Which constitute his essence, just as truly
         As here and there a gem would constitute
1035     The rock, their barren bed, a diamond.
         But were it so��were man all mind��the station
         He gains is little enviable. From God
         Down to the lowest spirit ministrant
         Intelligence exists which casts our mind
1040     Into immeasurable shade. No, no:
         Love, hope, fear, faith��these make humanity;
         These are its sign, and note, and character;
         And these I have lost! gone; shut from me for ever,
         Like a dead friend, safe from unkindness more!
1045     See morn at length. The heavy darkness seems
         Diluted; grey and clear without the stars;
         The shrubs bestir and rouse themselves, as though
         Some snake that weigh'd them down all night let go
         His hold; and from the east, fuller and fuller
1050     Day, like a mighty river, flowing in;
         But clouded, wintry, desolate, and cold:
         Yet see how that broad, prickly, star-shaped plant,
         Half down in the crevice, spreads its woolly leaves,
         All thick and glistering with diamond dew.
1055     And you depart for Einsiedeln this day:
         And we have spent all night in talk like this!
         If you would have me better for your love
         Revert no more to these sad themes.
           Festus.                           One favour,
         And I have done. I leave you, deeply moved;
1060     Unwilling to have fared so well, the while
         My friend has changed so sorely: if this mood
         Shall pass away��if light once more arise
         Where all is darkness now��if you see fit
         To hope, and trust again, and strive again;
1065     You will remember��not our love alone��
         But that my faith in God's desire that man 
         Should trust on his support, as I must think
         You trusted, is obscured and dim through you;
         For you are thus, and this is no reward:
1070     Will you not call me to your side, dear Aureole?



                    IV.��Paracelsus Aspires.

Scene, a House at Colmar, in Alsatia. 1528. 
Paracelsus, Festus.

           Paracelsus. [To John Oporinus, his secretary] Sic itur ad
               astra! Dear Von Visenburg
         Is scandalized, and poor Torinus paralyzed,
         And every honest soul that Basil holds
         Aghast; and yet we live, as one may say,
5        Just as though Liechtenfels had never set
         So true a value on his sorry carcass,
         And learned P�tter  had not frown'd us dumb.
         We live; and shall as surely start tomorrow
         For Nuremburg as we drink speedy scathe
10       To Basil in this mantling wine, suffused
         A delicate blush��no fainter tinge is born
         I' th' shut heart of a bud: pledge me, good John��
         "Basil; a hot plague ravage it, and P�tter  
         "Oppose the plague!" Even so? Do you too share
15       Their panic��the reptiles? Ha, ha; faint through them,
         Desist for them! They manage matters so
         At Basil, 'tis like: but others may find means
         To bring the stoutest braggart of the tribe
         Once more to crouch in silence��means to breed
20       A stupid wonder in each fool again,
         Now big with admiration at the skill
         Which stript a vain pretender of his plumes;
         And, that done, means to brand each slavish brow
         So deeply-sure, so ineffaceably,
25       That thenceforth flattery shall not pucker it
         So well but there the hideous stamp shall stay,
         To teach the man they fawn on who they are
         Whom I curse soul and limb. And now dispatch,
         Dispatch, my trusty John; and what remains
30       To do, whate'er arrangements for our trip
         Are yet to be completed, see you hasten
         This night; we'll weather the storm at least: to-morrow
         For Nuremburg! Now leave us; this grave clerk
         Has divers weighty matters for my ear,
[Oporinus goes out.
35       And spare my lungs. At last, my gallant Festus, 
         I have got rid of this arch-knave that dogs me
         As a gaunt crow a gasping sheep; and now
         May give a loose to my delight. How kind,
         How very kind, my first, best, only friend!
40       Why this looks like fidelity. Embrace me:
         Not a hair silver'd yet! Right: you shall live
         Till I am worth your love; you shall be proud,
         And I��but time will show. Did you not wonder?
         I sent to you because our compact weigh'd
45       Upon my conscience��(you recall the night
         At Basil, which the gods confound)��because
         Once more I aspire! And you are here! All this
         Is strange, and strange my message. 
           Festus.                           I confess,
         So strange that I must think your messenger
50       Has mingled his own fancies with the words
         Purporting to be yours.
           Paracelsus.           He said no more,
         'Tis probable, than the precious folks I leave
         Have said more roughly fifty-fold. Alack,
         'Tis true: poor Paracelsus is exposed
55       At last: a most egregious quack is he;
         And those he overreach'd must spit their hate
         On one who, utterly beneath contempt,
         Could yet deceive their topping wits. He said
         Bare truth; and at my bidding you are here
60       To speed me on my enterprise, as once
         Your lavish wishes sped me, my own friend? 
           Festus. And now, what is your purpose, Aureole?
           Paracelsus. There is no lack of precedents in a case
         Like mine, at least, if not precisely mine,
65       The case of men cast off by those they sought
         To benefit ...
           Festus.      They really cast you off? ...
         I merely heard a vague tale of some priest,
         Cured by your skill, who wrangled at the just
         Reward you claim'd; and that the magistrate
70       The matter was referr'd to saw no cause
         To interfere, nor you to hide your full
         Contempt of him; nor he, again, to smother
         His wrath, which raised so hot an opposition
         That Basil soon became no place for you.
75         Paracelsus. The affair of Liechtenfels? the shallowest
               pretext,
         The last and silliest outrage��mere pretence.
         I knew it, I foretold it from the first,
         How soon the stupid wonder you mistook
         For genuine loyalty��a cheering promise
80       Of better things to come��would pall and pass;
         And every word comes true. Saul is among
         The prophets! Just so long as I was pleased
         To play off all the marvels of my art��
         Fantastic gambols leading to no end��
85       I had huge praise, and doubtless might have grown
         Grey in the exposition of such antics,
         Had my stock lasted long enough; but such
         Was not my purpose: one can ne'er keep down
         Our foolish nature's weakness ... There they flock'd,
90       Poor devils, jostling, swearing, and perspiring,
         Till the walls rang again; and all for me!
         I had a kindness for them, which was right;
         But then I stopp'd not till I tack'd to that
         A trust in them and a respect��a sort
95       Of sympathy for them: I, in short, began
         To teach them, not amaze them; to impart
         The spirit which should instigate the search
         Of truth. Forthwith a mighty squadron straight
         Filed off��"the sifted chaff of the sack," I said, 
100      Redoubling my endeavours to secure
         The rest; when lo! one man had tarried so long
         Only to ascertain if I supported
         This tenet or the other; another loved
         To hear impartially before he judged,
105      And now was satisfied; one had all along
         Spied error where his neighbours marvell'd most:
         This doctor set a school up to revive
         The good old ways which could content our sires,
         Though not their squeamish sons; the other worthy
110      Discover'd divers verses of St. John,
         Which read successively refresh'd the soul,
         But mutter'd backwards cured the gout, the stone,
         The cholic, and what not��quid multa? The end
         Was a clear class-room, and a quiet leer
115      From grave folk, and a sour reproachful look
         From those in chief, who, cap in hand, install'd
         The new professor scarce a year before;
         And a vast flourish about patient merit
         Obscured awhile by flashy tricks, but sure
120      Sooner or later to emerge in splendour��
         Of which the example was some luckless wight
         Whom my arrival had discomfited,
         But now, it seems, the general voice recall'd
         To fill my chair, and so efface the stain 
125      Basil had long incurr'd. I sought no better��
         Nought but a quiet dismissal from my post;
         And from my heart I wish'd them better suited,
         And better served. Good night to Basil, then!
         But fast as I proposed to rid the tribe
130      Of my obnoxious self, I could not spare them
         The pleasure of a parting kick.
           Festus.                       You smile:
         Despise them as they merit!
           Paracelsus.               If I smile,
         'Tis with as very contempt as ever turn'd 
         Flesh into stone: this courteous recompense,
135      This grateful ... Festus, were your nature fit
         To be defiled, your eyes the eyes to ache
         At festering blotches, eating poisoning blains,
         The ulcerous barky scurf of leprosy
         Which finds a man and leaves a hideous thing
140      That cannot but be mended by hell fire,
         I would lay bare the heart of man to you
         Which God cursed long ago��which devils have made
         Their pet nest and their never-tiring home.
         O, sages have found out that man is born
145      For various ends��to love, to know. Has ever
         One stumbled in his search on any signs
         Of a nature in him form'd to hate? To hate?
         If that be man's true object which evokes
         His powers in fullest strength, be sure 'tis hate:
150      Yet men have doubted if the best and bravest
         Of spirits can nourish him with hate alone.
         I had not the monopoly of fools, 
         It seems, at Basil.
           Festus.           But your plans, your plans:
         I have yet to learn your purpose, Aureole.
155        Paracelsus. Whether to sink beneath such ponderous shame��
         To shrink in like a crush'd snail��to endure
         In silence and desist from further toil,
         And so subside into a monument
         Of one their censure blasted; or to bow
160      Cheerfully as submissively��to lower
         My old pretensions even as they dictate��
         To drop into the rank their wit assigns me,
         And live as they prescribe, and make that use
         Of all my knowledge which their rules allow��
165      Proud to be patted now and then, and careful
         To practise the fit posture for receiving
         The amplest benefit from their hoofs' appliance,
         When they shall condescend to tutor me.
         Then one may feel resentment like a flame
170      Within, and deck false systems in Truth's garb,
         And tangle and entwine mankind with error;
         And give them darkness for a dower, and falsehood
         For a possession, ages: or one may mope
         Into a shade for thinking; or may drowse
175      Into a dreamless sleep, and so die off:
         But I��now Festus shall divine��but I
         Am merely setting out once more, embracing
         My earliest aims again! What thinks he now?
            Festus. Your aims? the aims?��to know? and where is found
         The trust, the sure belief ...
180        Paracelsus.                  Nay, not so fast;
         The aims��but not the means. You know they made me
         A laughing-stock: I was a fool; you know
         The when and the how: hardly those means again;
         Not but they had their beauty��who should know
185      Their passing beauty if not I? But still
         They were dreams, so let them vanish: yet in beauty,
         If that may be. Stay ...
                           [He sings]
                Heap cassia, sandal-buds, and stripes
                  Of labdanum, and aloe-balls
190             Smear'd with dull nard an Indian wipes
                  From out her hair: such balsam falls
                From tall trees where tired winds are fain,
                Spent with the vast and howling main,
                To treasure half their island-gain;
195             And strew faint sweetness from some old
                  Egyptian's fine worm-eaten shroud,
                Which breaks to dust when once unroll'd;
                  Or shredded perfume, like a cloud
                  From closet long to quiet vow'd,
200             With moth'd and dropping arras hung,
                Mouldering her lute and books among,
                As when a queen, long dead, was young.
         Mine, every word; and on such pile shall die
         My lovely fancies with fair perish'd things,
205      Themselves fair and forgotten; yes, forgotten,
         Or why abjure them? So I made this rhyme
         That fitting dignity might be preserved:
         No little proud was I; though the list of drugs
         Smacks of my old vocation, and the verse
         Halts like the best of Luther's psalms ...
210        Festus.                                  But, Aureole,
         Talk not thus wildly and madly. I am here��
         Did you know all! But I have travell'd far
         To learn your wishes. Be yourself again;
         For in this mood I recognize you less
215      Than in the horrible despondency
         I witness'd last. You may account this joy;
         But rather let me gaze on your despair
         Than hear your incoherent words, and see
         That flush'd cheek and intensely-sparkling eye.
220        Paracelsus. Why, man, I was light-hearted in my prime,
         I am light-hearted now; what would you have?
         'Tis the very augury of success I want!
         Why should I not be joyous even as then?
           Festus. Joyous! and how? and what remains for joy?
225      You have declared the ends (which I am sick
         Of naming) are impracticable.
           Paracelsus.                 Aye,
         Pursued as I pursued them��the arch-fool!
         Listen: my plan will please you not, 'tis like;
         But you are little versed in the world's ways ...
230      This is my plan��(first drinking its good luck)��
         I will accept all helps; all I despised
         So rashly at the outset, equally
         With early impulses, which lately seem'd
         The mere persuasion of fantastic dreams;
235      All helps��no one sort shall exclude the rest:
         I seek to know and to enjoy. Well then��
         For all my cause should seem the cause of God
         Once more, as first I dream'd, it shall not balk me
         Of the meanest, earthliest, sensualest delight
240      That may be realized; for joy is gain,
         And gain is gain, however small: nor should,
         On the other hand, those honey'd pleasures follow
         As though I had not spurn'd them hitherto,
         Shall they o'ercloud my spirit's rapt communion
245      With the tumultuous past, the teeming future,
         Glorious with visions of a full success ...
           Festus. Success!
           Paracelsus.      And wherefore not? Why not prefer
         The grand results obtain'd in my best state
         Of being to those derived from seasons dark
250      As the thoughts they bred? When I was best��my youth
         Unwasted��seem'd success not surest too?
         Is it not darkness' nature to obscure?
         I am a wanderer: I remember well
         One journey, how I fear'd the track was miss'd�� 
255      So long the city I desired to reach
         Lay hid, when suddenly its spires afar
         Flash'd through the circling clouds; you may conceive
         My transport: soon the vapours closed again,
         But I had seen the city, and one such glance
260      No darkness could obscure: nor shall sad days
         Destroy the vivid memories of the past:
         I will fight the battle out!��a little spent
         Perhaps��but still an able combatant.
         You look at my grey hair and furrow'd brow;
265      But I can turn even weakness to account:
         Of many tricks I know, 'tis not the least
         To push the ruins of my frame, whereon
         The fire of vigour trembles scarce alive,
         Into a heap, and send the flame aloft!
270      What should I do with age? so sickness lends
         An aid; it being, I fear, the source of all
         We boast of: mind is nothing but disease,
         And natural health is ignorance.
           Festus.                        There is
         But one good symptom in this notable scheme:
275      I fear'd your sudden project had in view
         To wreak immediate vengeance on your foes;
         'Tis not so: I am glad.
           Paracelsus.           And if I please
         To spit on them, to trample them, what then?
         'Tis sorry warfare truly, but the fools
280      Provoke it: I ne'er sought to domineer;
         The mere asserting my supremacy
         Has little mortified their self-conceit;
         I took my natural station and no more:
         But if they will provoke me��will not suffer
285      Forbearance on my part��if I can have
         No quality in the shade, but must put forth
         Power for power; my strength against theirs��
         Must teach them their own game with their own arms��
         Why be it so, and let them take their chance!
290      I am above them like a God��there's no
         Hiding the fact��and, had I been but wise,
         Had ne'er concern'd myself with scruples, nor
         Communicated aught to such a race;
         But been content to own myself a man,
295      And in my elevation man's would be ...
         But live and learn, though life's so short! as 'tis��
         Though no more than the wreck of my past self��
         I fear, dear P�tter,  that your lecture-room
         Must wait awhile for its best ornament,
300      The penitent empiric, who set up
         For somebody, but soon was taught his place��
         Now, but too happy to be let confess
         His error, snuff the candles, and illustrate
         Your tenets' soundness in his person. Wait,
         Good P�tter!
305        Festus.    He who sneers thus, is a God!
           Paracelsus. Ay, ay, laugh at me! I am very glad 
         You are not gull'd by all this swaggering; you
         Can see the root of the matter!��how I strive
         To put a good face on the overthrow
310      I have experienced, and to hide and bury
         My degradation in its length and breadth;
         And how the motives I would make you think
         Just mingle as is due with nobler passions,
         The cursed lusts I modestly allow
315      May influence me��as I am mortal still��
         Are goading me, and fast supplanting all
         My youth's desires: you are no stupid dupe;
         You find me out. Yes, I had sent for you
         To palm these childish lies upon you, Festus!
         Laugh��you shall laugh at me!
320        Festus.                     Dear Aureole, then
         The past is nothing? Is our intercourse
         Yet to begin? Have I to swear I mean
         No flattery in this or that? Whatever
         You be, this is no degradation��these
325      Unworthy thoughts no inmates of your mind;
         Or wherefore this disorder? You are troubled
         As much by the intrusion of base views,
         Familiar to your adversaries, as they
         Would be should your high qualities alight
330      Amid their murky souls: and even so
         A stray wolf which the winter forces down
         From the bleak hills suffices to affright
         A village in the vales��while foresters
         Sleep sound though all night long the famish'd troops
335      Snuff round and scratch against their crazy huts:
         These evil things are monsters and will flee.
           Paracelsus. May you be happy, Festus, my own friend!
           Festus. Nay, further; the delights you fain would think
         Have superseded nobler aims, the harmless
340      And ordinary stimulants, will never
         Content you ...
           Paracelsus.   Oh, forbear! I once despised ...
         But that soon passes: we are high at first
         In our demands, nor will abate a jot
         Of their strict value; but time passes o'er
345      And humbler spirits accept what we refuse;
         In short, when some such comfort is doled out
         As these delights��we cannot long retain
         The bitter contempt which urges us at first
         To hurl it back��but hug it to our breast
350      And thankfully retire. This life of mine
         Must be lived out and a grave thoroughly earn'd:
         I am just fit for that and nought beside.
         I told you once, I cannot now Enjoy,
         Unless I deem my knowledge gains thereby;
355      Nor can I Know, without warm tears revealing
         The need of linking some delight to knowledge:
         So on I drive��enjoying all I can
         And knowing all I can. I speak, of course,
         Confusedly; this will better explain��feel here! 
360      Quick beating, is it not? a fire which must
         Be work'd off someway, this as well as any:
         So Festus sees me fairly launch'd; his calm
         Compassionate look might have disturb'd me once,
         But now, far from rejecting, I invite it.
365      I can lament with him, and lay myself
         Open before him, and receive his pity,
         And hope, if he command hope; and believe
         What he would have me��satiating myself
         With his enduring love: and he shall leave me
370      To give place to some credulous disciple
         Who holds that God is wise, but Paracelsus
         Has his peculiar merits. I suck in
         His homage, chuckle o'er his admiration,
         And then dismiss him in his turn: night comes,
375      And I shall give myself to painful study;
         And patient searching after hidden lore
         Shall wring some bright truth from its prison; my frame
         Shall tremble, and my thin lips swell, my hair
         Tingle, and all for triumph! and the morn
380      Shall break on my pent room, and dwindling lamp,
         And scatter'd papers, and unfinish'd scrawls;
         And with a failing heart and throbbing brow
         I shall review my captur'd truth, and trace
         Its end and consequence, its further bearings,
385      Its true affinities, the views it opens,
         The length it goes in perfecting my scheme,
         And view it sternly circumscribed��cast down
         From the high place my fond hopes yielded it,
         Proved worthless��which in getting yet had cost
390      Another wrench to this fast-falling frame;
         And I shall quaff the cup that chases sorrow
         And lapse back into youth again, and take
         My fluttering pulse for evidence that God
         Means good to me, and see my hopes come true,
395      And flee away from this remorseless care
         Which clogs a spirit born to soar so free,
         And my dim chamber shall become a tent,
         And Festus shall sit by me, and sweet Michal
         Shall make as though my ardent words should find
400      No echo in a maiden's quiet soul��
         But her pure bosom shall heave, her eyes fill fast
         With tears, her lips shall tremble all the while!
         Ha, ha!
           Festus. It seems then you expect to reap
         No unreal joy from this your present course;
         That you expect ...
405        Paracelsus.       To die! I owe that much
         To what I was at least. I should be sad
         To live contented after such a fall��
         To thrive and fatten after such reverse!
         The whole plan is a makeshift, but will last
         My time ...
410        Festus.   And you have never mused and said,
         "I had a noble purpose, and the strength 
         "To compass it; but I have stopp'd half-way,
         "And have bestow'd the first fruits of my toil
         "On objects little worthy to receive them:
415      "Why linger round them still? why clench my fault?
         "Why seek for consolation in defeat��
         "In vain endeavours to derive a beauty
         "From ugliness? why seek to make the most
         "Of what no power can change, in place of striving
420      "With mighty effort to redeem the past,
         "To gather up the treasures I cast down,
         "And hold a steadfast course till I arrive
         "At their fit destination��and my own."
         You have never ponder'd thus?
           Paracelsus. 
                            (Sings.) 
425           Over the sea our galleys went,
              Cleaving prows in order brave,
              With speeding wind and a bounding wave��
                A gallant armament:
              Each bark built out of a forest-tree,
430             Left leafy and rough as first it grew,
              And nail'd all over the gaping sides,
              Within and without, with black-bull hides,
              Seeth'd in fat and suppled in flame;
              So each good ship was rude to see,
435           Rude and bare to outward view,
                But each upbore a stately tent:
              Cedar-pales in scented row
              Kept out the flakes of dancing brine:
              An awning droop'd the mast below,
440           That neither noon-tide nor star-shine,
              Nor moonlight cold which maketh mad,
                Might pierce the regal tenement.
              When the sun dawn'd, gay and glad
              We set the sail and plied the oar;
445           But when the night-wind blew like breath,
              For joy of one day's voyage more,
              We sang together on the wide sea,
              Like men at peace on a peaceful shore;
              Each sail was loosed to the wind so free,
450           Each helm made sure by the twilight star,
              And in a sleep as calm as death,
              We, the voyagers from afar,
                Lay stretch'd��each weary crew
              In a circle round its wondrous tent,
455           Whence gleam'd soft light and curl'd rich scent,
                And with light and perfume, music too:
              At morn we started beside the mast,
              And still each ship was sailing fast!
              Now one morn land appeared!��a speck
460             Dim trembling betwixt sea and sky��
              Not so the isles our voyage must find
                Should meet our longing eye;
              But the heaving sea was black behind
              Many a night and many a day, 
465           And land, though but a rock, was nigh;
              So we broke the cedar pales away,
              And let the purple flap in the wind:
                And a statue bright was on every deck!
              We shouted, every man of us,
470           And steer'd right into the harbour thus,
              With pomp and poean glorious.

              An hundred shapes of lucid stone!
                All day we built its shrine for each��
              A shrine of rock for every one��
475           Nor paused till in the westering sun
                We sate together on the beach
              To sing, because our task was done;
              When lo! what shouts and merry songs!
              What laughter all the distance stirs!
480           A loaded raft, and happy throngs
              Of gentle islanders!
              "Our isles are just at hand," they cried;
                "Like cloudlets faint in even sleeping,
              "Our temple-gates are open'd wide,
485             "Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping
              "For these majestic forms," they cried.
              Then we awoke with sudden start
              From our deep dream, and knew, too late,
              How bare the rock, how desolate,
490           Which had received our precious freight:
                 Yet we call'd out��"Depart!
              "Our gifts, once given, must here abide:
                "Our work is done; we have no heart
              "To mar our work," we cried.
           Festus. In truth?
495        Paracelsus.       Nay, wait: all this in tracings faint
         On rugged stones, strewn here and there, but piled
         In order once; then follows��mark what follows��
         "The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung
         "To their first fault, and wither'd in their pride!"
500        Festus. Come back, then, Aureole; as you fear God, come!
         This is foul sin; come back: renounce the past,
         Forswear the future; look for joy no more,
         But wait for death amid all peaceful sights,
         And trust me for the event��peace, if not joy!
505      Return with me to Einsiedeln, dear Aureole.
           Paracelsus. No way, no way: it would not turn to good.
         A spotless child sleeps on the flowering moss��
         'Tis well for him; and one deform'd by sin,
         Envying such slumber, may desire to put
510      His guilt away: shall he return at once
         To boyhood's carelessness? Our sires knew well
         (Spite of the grave discoveries of their sons)
         The fitting course for such��dark cells, dim lamps,
         A stone floor one may writhe on like a worm;
515      No mossy pillow, blue with violets.
           Festus. I see no symptom of these overbearing
         And tyrannous passions. You are calmer now. 
         This verse-making can purge you well enough,
         Without the terrible penance you describe.
520      You love me still: the lusts you fear will never
         Outrage your friend. To Einsiedeln, once more!
         Say but the word!
           Paracelsus.     No, no; those lusts forbid:
         They crouch, I know, cowering with half-shut eye
         Beside you; 'tis their nature. Thrust yourself
525      Between them and their prey; let some fool style me
         Or king or quack, it matters not, and let
         Your wisdom urge them to forego their treat!
         No, no; learn better and look deeper, Festus.
         If you knew how a devil sneers within me
530      While you are talking now of this, now that,
         As though we differ'd scarcely save in trifles!
           Festus. I know what you would say: all change proceeds,
         Whether for good or ill; keep that from me;
         Do not confide those secrets: I was born
         To hope, and you ...
535        Paracelsus.        To trust: you know the rest.
           Festus. Listen: I do believe the trust you boast
         Was self-delusion at the best. So long
         As God would kindly pioneer your path��
         Would undertake to screen you from the world��
540      Procure you full exemption from their lot,
         The common hopes and fears, on the mere pretext
         Of your engagement in his service��yield you
         A limitless licence��make you God, in fact,
         And turn your slave��you were content to say
545      Most courtly praises: what is it at last
         But selfishness without example? None
         Could trace God's will so plain as you, while yours
         Remain'd implied in it; but now you fail,
         And we who prate about that will are fools.
550      In short, God's service must be order'd here
         As he determines fit, and not your way,
         And this you cannot brook: such discontent
         Is weak. Renounce all creatureship��affirm
         An absolute right to have and to dispose
555      Your energies; as though the rivers should say��
         "We rush to the ocean; what have we to do
         "With feeding streamlets, lingering in the vales,
         "Sleeping in lazy pools?" Set up that plea,
         That will be bold at least.
           Paracelsus.               'Tis like enough:
560      The serviceable spirits are those, no doubt,
         The east produces. Lo, the master nods,
         And they raise terraces and garden-grounds
         In one night's space; and, this done, straight relapse
         Into a century's sleep, to the great honour
565      Of him that framed them wise and beautiful,
         Till a lamp's rubbing, or some chance akin,
         Release their limbs. I am of different mould.
         I would have soothed my Lord, and slaved for him, 
         And done him service past my narrow bond,
570      And thus I get rewarded for my pains!
         Beside, 'tis vain to talk of forwarding
         His glory otherwise; this is the sphere
         Alone of its increase, as far as we
         Can be concern'd, or I am much deceived:
575      We are his glory; and if we be glorious,
         Is not the thing achieved?
           Festus.                  Shall one like me
         Judge hearts like yours? Though years have changed you much,
         And you have left your first love, and retain
         Its empty shade to gild your crooked ways,
580      Yet still I hold that you have honour'd God;
         And has your course been all without reward?
         For wherefore this repining at defeat,
         Had triumph ne'er inured you to high hopes?
         I urge you to forsake the life you curse,
585      And what success attends me? simply talk
         Of passion, weakness, and remorse; in short,
         Any thing but the naked truth: you choose
         This so-despised career, and cheaply hold
         My fullest happiness, or other men's.
         Once more return!
590        Paracelsus.     And quickly. Oporinus
         Has pilfer'd half my secrets by this time��
         And we depart by day-break. I am weary,
         I know not how; not even the wine-cup soothes
         My brain to-night ...
595      Do you not thoroughly despise me, Festus?
         No flattery! One like you needs not be told
         We live and breathe deceiving and deceived.
         Do you not scorn me from your heart of hearts?
         Me and my cant��my petty subterfuges��
600      These rhymes, and all this frothy shower of words��
         My glozing self-deceit��my outward crust
         Of lies, which wrap, as tetter, morphew, furfair
         Wrap the sound flesh?��so see you flatter not!
         Even God flatters! but my friend, at least,
605      Is true. I would depart, secure henceforth
         Against all further insult, hate, and wrong
         From puny foes: my one friend's scorn shall brand me��
         No fear of sinking deeper.
           Festus.                  No, dear Aureole!
         No, no; I came to counsel faithfully:
610      There are old rules, made long ere we were born,
         By which I judge you. I, so fallible,
         So infinitely low beside your mighty
         Majestic spirit��even I can see
         You own some higher law. They make that out
615      Sin which is no sin��weakness which is strength;
         But I have only these, such as they are,
         To guide me; and I blame you where they bid,
         As long as any chance remains of winning
         Your troubled soul to peace; the more that sorrow
620      Has fallen on me of late, and they have help'd me 
         So that I faint not under my distress.
         But wherefore should I scruple to confess
         That, spite of all, as brother judging brother,
         Your fate is most inexplicable to me:
625      And should you perish yet without reward��
         Some great reward��I have too hastily
         Relied on love's effect. You may have sinn'd,
         But you have loved. As a mere human matter��
         As I would have God deal with fragile men
630      In the end��I say that you will triumph yet!
           Paracelsus. You have felt sorrow, Festus? 'tis because
         You love me. Sorrow, and sweet Michal yours!
         Well thought on; never let her know this last
         Dull winding-up of all: these miscreants dared
635      Insult me��me she loved; so grieve her not.
           Festus. Your ill success can little grieve her now.
           Paracelsus. Michal is dead! pray Christ we do not craze!
           Festus. Aureole, dear Aureole, look not on me thus!
         Fool, fool! this is the heart grown sorrow-proof��
         I cannot bear those eyes.
640        Paracelsus.             Nay, really dead?
           Festus. 'Tis scarce a year ...
           Paracelsus.                    Stone dead! then you have laid
               her
         Among the flowers ere this ... Now, do you know,
         I can reveal a secret which shall comfort
         Even you. I have no julep, as they think,
645      To cheat the grave; but a far better secret.
         Know then, you did not ill to trust your love
         To the cold earth: I have thought much of it��
         For I believe we do not wholly die.
           Festus. Aureole ...
           Paracelsus.         Nay, do not laugh; there is a reason
650      For what I say: I think the soul can never
         Taste death. I am, just now, as you may see,
         Very unfit to put so strange a thought
         In an intelligible dress of words;
         But take it as my trust, she is not dead.
655        Festus. But not on this account alone? you surely,
         Aureole, you have believed this all along?
           Paracelsus. And Michal sleeps among the roots and dews,
         While I am moved at Basil, and wondering
         With Nuremberg, and hoping and despairing,
660      As though it matter'd how the farce plays out,
         So it be quickly play'd. Away, away!
         Have your will, rabble! while we fight the prize,
         Troop you in safety to the snug back-seats,
         And leave a clear arena for the brave
665      About to perish for your sport ... Behold!



                     V.��Paracelsus Attains.

Scene, a cell in the Hospital of St. Sebastian, at Salzburg.
1541.

                       Festus, Paracelsus.

           Festus. No change! The weary night is well nigh spent,
         The lamp burns low, and through the casement-bars
         The grey morn glimmers feebly��yet no change!
         Another night, and still no sigh has stirr'd
5        That fall'n discolour'd mouth, no pang relit
         Those fixed eyes, quench'd by the decaying body,
         Like torch-flame choked in dust: while all beside
         Was breaking, to the last they held out bright,
         As a strong-hold where life intrench'd itself;
10       But they are dead now��very blind and dead.
         He will drowse into death without a groan!

         My Aureole; my forgotten, ruin'd Aureole!
         The days are gone, are gone! How grand thou wert:
         And now not one of those who struck thee down��
15       Poor, glorious spirit��concerns him even to stay
         And satisfy himself his little hand
         Could turn God's image to a livid thing.

         Another night, and yet no change! 'Tis much
         That I should sit by him, and bathe his brow, 
20       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
         Look'd all night long as though a creeping laugh
         At his own state were just about to break
25       From the dying man: my brain swam and my throat
         Swell'd, yet for all I could not turn away.
         In truth, they told me how he seem'd at first
         Resolved to live��to let no power forsake him;
         Thus striving to keep up his shatter'd strength,
30       Until they brought him to this stifling cell:
         At once his features fell��an hour made white
         The flush'd face and relax'd the quivering limb;
         Only the eye remain'd intense awhile,
         As though it recognized the tomb-like place;
         And then he lay as here he lies ...
35                                           Ay, here:
         Here is earth's noblest nobly garlanded��
         Her bravest champion, with his well-won meed��
         Her best production��all that makes amends
         For countless generations, fleeting fast
40       And follow'd by no trace��the all-surpassing
         Creature she cites when angels would dispute
         The title of her brood to rank with them ...
         Angels, this is our angel!��those bright forms
         Are human, but not his: those are but men
45       Whom the rest press around and kneel before��
         Those palaces are dwelt in by mankind;
         Other provision is for him you seek.
         Behold earth's paragon! Now, raise thee, clay!

         God! Thou art Love! I build my faith on that:
50       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 has he sinn'd��how else should he have done?
55       Surely he sought thy praise��thy praise, for all
         He might be wedded to the task so well
         As to forget awhile its proper end ...
         Dost thou well, Lord? Thou canst not but prefer
         That I should range myself upon his side ...
60       How could he stop at every step to set
         Thy glory forth? Hadst Thou but granted him
         Success, thy honour would have crown'd his triumph��
         A halo round a star ... Or say he err'd:
         Save him, dear God; it will be like thee: bathe him
65       In light and life! Thou art not made like us:
         We should be wroth in such a case; but Thou
         Wilt smile on him. Forgive these passionate thoughts,
         Which come unsought, and will not pass away.
         I know thee, who hast kept my path, and made
70       Light for me in the darkness��tempering sorrow,
         So that it reach'd 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 fashion'd. I could never err 
75       That way: the quiet place beside thy feet
         Reserved for me was ever in my thoughts;
         But he��Thou shouldst have favour'd him as well!

         Ah! he wakens! Aureole, I am here��'tis Festus!
         I cast away all wishes save one wish��
80       Let him but know me��only speak to me!
         He mutters��louder and louder; any other
         Than I, with brain less laden, would collect
         What he pours forth. Dear Aureole, do but look!
         Is it talking or singing this he utters fast?
85       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:
90       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 me!

         I am Erasmus: I am here to pray
95       That Eremita use his wondrous skill:
         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?
100      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 commission'd ... I shall craze like him��
         I will be mute, and see what God shall send.
           Paracelsus. Stay, stay with me!
105        Festus.                         I will; I am come here
         To stay with you��Festus you loved of old;
         Festus, you know, you must know.
           Paracelsus.                    Festus! Where's
         Aprile, then? Has he not chaunted softly
         The melodies I heard all night? I could not
110      Get to him for a cold hand on my breast,
         But I made out his music well enough,
         O well enough. If they have fill'd him full
         With magical music as they freight a star
         With light, and have remitted all his sin,
115      They will forgive me too, I shall know too ...
           Festus. Festus, Festus!
           Paracelsus.             I would have ask'd if he
         KNOWS as he LOVES��if I shall LOVE as well
         As KNOW; but that cold hand, like lead��so cold.
           Festus. Dear Aureole ...
           Paracelsus.              Ah, the curse, Aprile, Aprile!
120      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
125      Astonish'd mortals; but the gods were calm, 
         And Jove prepared his thunder: all old tales.
           Festus. And what are these to you?
           Paracelsus.                        Ay, they must laugh
         So cruelly, so well; most like I never
         Could tread a single pleasure under foot
130      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!
         Your cunning has o'ershot its aim. One year,
         One month, perhaps, and I had served your turn:
135      You should have curb'd 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; 'tis on me,
140      The quack, the liar, the arch-cheat��all on me.
         And thus your famous plan to sink mankind
         In uttermost despair, by teaching them
         One of their race had probed the inmost truth,
         Had done all man could do, yet fail'd in all��
145      Your plan has proved abortive. They despair?
         Ha, ha! why they are hooting the empiric,
         The ignorant and incapable fool who thrust
         Himself upon a work beyond his wits,
         Nor doubting but the simplest of themselves
150      Could bring the matter to triumphant issue!
         So pick and choose among them all, accursed!
         Try now, persuade some other to slave for you,
         To ruin body and soul to work your ends:
         No, no; I am the first and last, I think.
155        Festus. Sweet friend; who are accursed? who has done ...
           Paracelsus. What have I done? you dare ask that? or you,
         Brave ones? Oh, you can chime in boldly, back'd
         By them; and what had you to do, wise peers?
         Only observe: why fiends may learn from them!
160      How they talk calmly of my throes��my fierce
         Aspirings, terrible watchings��each one claiming
         Its price of blood and brain; how they dissect
         And sneeringly disparage the few truths
         Got at a life's cost; they too hanging the while
165      About my neck, their lies misleading me,
         Their dead names brow-beating me. Wretched crew!
         Is there a reason for your hate? My truths
         Have shaken a little the palm about each brow?
         Just think, Aprile, all these leering dotards
170      Were bent on nothing less than to be kings
         As we! That yellow blear-eyed wretch in chief,
         To whom the rest cringe low with feign'd respect��
         Galen, of Pergamos and hell; nay speak
         The tale, old man��how we met face to face ... *
           Festus. Peace, peace; ah, see!
175        Paracelsus.                    In truth my delicate witch,
         My serpent-queen, you did but well to hide
         The juggles I had else detected. Fire
         May well run harmless o'er a breast like yours!
         The cave was not so darken'd by the smoke
180      But that your white limbs dazzled me. O white,
         And panting as they twinkled, wildly dancing!
         I cared not for your passionate gestures then,
         But now I have forgotten the charm of charms,
         While I remember that quaint dance; and thus
185      I am come back, not for those mummeries,
         But to love you, and to kiss your little feet,
         Soft as an ermine's winter coat!
           Festus.                        A light
         Will struggle through these thronging words at last,
         As in the angry and tumultuous west
190      A soft star trembles through the drifting clouds:
         These are the strivings of a spirit which hates
         So sad a vault should coop it, and calls up
         The past to stand between it and its fate:
         Were he at Einsiedeln��or Michal here ...
195        Paracelsus. Cruel ... I seek her now��I kneel��I shriek��
         I clasp her vesture��but she fades, still fades;
         And she is gone; sweet human love is gone!
         'Tis only when they spring to heaven that angels
         Reveal themselves to you; they sit all day
200      Beside you, and lie down at night by you,
         Who care not for their presence��muse or sleep��
         And all at once they leave you and you know them!
         We are so fool'd, so cheated! Even now 
         I am not too secure against foul play:
205      The shadows deepen, and the walls contract��
         No doubt some treachery is going on!
         'Tis very dusk. Where are we put, Aprile?
         Have they left us in the lurch? This murky loathsome
         Death-trap��this slaughter-house��is not the hall
210      In the golden city! Keep by me, Aprile,
         There is a hand groping amid the blackness
         To catch us. Have the spider-fingers got you,
         Dearest? Hold on me for your life; if once
         They pull you ... Hold ...
                                    'Tis but a dream��no more.
215      I have you still��the sun comes out again;
         Let us be happy��all will yet go well!
         Let us confer: is it not like, Aprile,
         That spite of gone-by trouble, this ordeal pass'd,
         The value of my labours ascertain'd,
220      Just as some stream foams long among the rocks
         But after glideth glassy to the sea,
         So, full content shall henceforth be my lot?
         What think you, poet? Louder! Your clear voice
         Vibrates too like a harp-string. Is it so?
225      "How couldst thou still remain on earth, should God
         "Grant thee the great approval thou dost seek?
         "I, thou, and God can comprehend each other,
         "But men would murmur, and with cause enough;
         "For when they saw thee, stainless of all sin,
230      "Preserved and sanctified by inward light,
         "They would complain��`a comfort shut from us, 
         "`He drinketh unespied; for we live on,
         "`Nor taste the quiet of a constant joy,
         "`For ache, and care, and doubt, and weariness,
235      "`While he is calm! Help is vouchsafed to him,
         "`And hid from us!'" 'Twere best consider that:
         You reason well, Aprile; but at least
         Let me know this, and die! Is that too much?
         I will learn this, if God so please, and die!

240      If thou shalt please, dear God, if thou shalt please!
         We are so weak we know our motives least
         In their confused beginning: if at first
         I sought ... But wherefore bare my heart to thee?
         I know thy mercy; and already thoughts
245      Flock fast about my soul to comfort it,
         To intimate I cannot wholly fail,
         That love and praise would clasp me willingly
         Could I resolve to seek them ... Thou art good,
         And I should be content; yet��yet first show
250      I have done wrong in daring! Rather give
         The supernatural consciousness of strength
         That fed my youth ... one only hour of that
         With thee to help��O what should bar me then!

         Lost, lost! thus things are order'd here! God's creatures!
255      And yet he takes no pride in us!��none, none!
         Truly there needs another life to come!
         If this be all (I must tell Festus that)
         And other life await us not��for one
         I say 'tis a poor cheat, a stupid bungle,
260      A wretched failure. I, for one, protest
         Against it��and I hurl it back with scorn!

         Well, onward though alone: small time remains,
         And much to do: I must have fruit, must reap
         Some profit from my toils. I doubt my body
265      Will hardly serve me through: while I have labour'd
         It has decay'd; and now that I demand
         Its best assistance, it will crumble fast:
         A sad thought��a sad fate! How very full
         Of wormwood 'tis, that just at altar-service,
270      The rapt hymn rising with the rolling smoke,
         When glory dawns, and all is at the best��
         The sacred fire may flicker and grow faint,
         And die, for want of a wood-piler's help!
         Thus fades the flagging body, and the soul
275      Is pull'd down in the overthrow: well, well��
         Let men catch every word��let them lose nothing
         Of what I say; something may yet be done.

         They are ruins! trust me who am one of you!
         All ruins��glorious once, but lonely now:
280      It makes my heart sick to behold you crouching
         Beside your desolate fane; its arches dim,
         Its crumbling columns grand against the moon:
         Could I but rear them up once more��but that
         May never be, so leave them! Trust me friends,
285      Why should you linger here when I have built
         A far resplendent temple, all your own?
         Trust me, they are but ruins! see Aprile,
         They will not heed! yet were I not prepar'd
         With better refuge for them, never should tongue
290      Of mine reveal how blank their dwelling is;
         I would sit down in silence with the rest.

         Ha, what? spit at me, and grin and shriek
         Contempt into my ear��my ear which drank
         God's accents once, and curse me? Why men, men,
295      I am not form'd for it; those hideous eyes
         Will be before me sleeping, waking, praying;
         They will not let me even die: spare, spare me,
         Sinning or no, forget that, only spare me
         That horrible scorn; you thought I could support it,
300      But now you see what silly fragile creature
         I am. I am not good nor bad enough,
         Not Christ, nor Cain, yet even Cain was saved
         From hate like this: let me but totter back,
         Perhaps I shall forget those jeers which creep
305      Into my very brain, and shut these scorch'd
         Eyelids, and keep those mocking faces out.

         Listen Aprile! I am very calm:
         Be not deceived, there is no passion here,
         Where the blood leaps like an imprison'd thing.
310      I am calm: I will exterminate the race! 
         Enough of that: 'tis said and it shall be ...
         And now be merry��safe and sound am I,
         Who broke through their best ranks to get at you,
         And such a havoc, such a rout Aprile! ...
315        Festus. Have you no thought, no memory for me, 
         Aureole? I am so wretched��my pure Michal
         Is gone, and you alone are left to me,
         And even you forget me��take my hand��
         Lean on me thus. Do you not know me Aureole?
           Paracelsus. Festus, my own friend, you are come at last?
         As you say, 'tis an awful enterprise��
         But you believe I shall go through with it:
         'Tis like you, and I thank you; thank him for me,
         Dear Michal! See how bright St. Saviour's spire
325      Flames in the sunset; all its figures quaint
         Gay in the glancing light: you might conceive them
         A troop of yellow-vested, white-hair'd Jews ...
           Festus. Not that blessed time��not our youth's time, dear
               God! 
           Paracelsus. Ha��stay! true, I forget��all is done since!
330      And he is come to judge me: how he speaks,
         How calm, how well! yes, it is true, all true;
         All quackery; all deceit! myself can laugh
         The first at it, if you desire: but still
         You know the obstacles which taught me tricks
335      So foreign to my nature��envy, and hate��
         Blind opposition��brutal prejudice��
         Bald ignorance��what wonder if I sunk
         To humour them the way they most approved?
         My cheats were never palm'd on such as you,
340      Dear Festus. I will kneel if you require me,
         Impart the meagre knowledge I possess,
         Explain its bounded nature, and avow
         My insufficiency��whate'er you will:
         I give the fight up! let there be an end,
345      A privacy, an obscure nook for me.
         I want to be forgotten even by God!
         But if that cannot be, dear Festus, lay me
         When I shall die, within some narrow grave,
         Not by itself��for that would be too proud��
350      But where such graves are thickest; see it look
         Nowise distinguish'd from the hillocks round,
         So that the peasant at his brother's bed
         Shall tread upon my own and know it not;
         So we shall all be equal at the last,
355      Or class'd according to life's natural ranks,
         Fathers, sons, brothers, friends��not rich, nor wise,
         Nor gifted: lay me thus, then say "He lived
         "Too much advanced before his brother men:
         "They kept him still in front; 'twas for their good,
360      "But still a dangerous station. Strange it were
         "That he should tell God he had never rank'd
         "With men: so here at least he is a man!"
           Festus. That God shall take thee to his breast, dear Spirit, 
         Unto his breast, be sure! and here on earth
365      Shall splendour sit upon thy name for ever!
         Sun! all the heaven is glad for thee: what care
         If lower mountains light their snowy phares
         At thine effulgence, yet acknowledge not
         The source of day? their theft shall be their bale,
370      For after ages shall retrack the beams,
         And put aside the crowd of busy ones,
         And worship thee alone��the master-mind,
         The thinker, the explorer, the creator;
         And who should sneer at the convulsive throes
375      With which thy deeds were born would scorn as well
         The winding sheet of subterraneous fire
         Which, pent and writhing, sends no less at last
         Huge islands up amid the simmering sea!
         Behold thy might in me! thou hast infused
380      Thy soul in mine; and I am grand as thou,
         Seeing I comprehend thee��I so simple,
         Thou so august! I recognize thee first;
         I saw thee rise, and I have watch'd thee well,
         And though no glance reveal that thou acceptest
385      My homage��thus no less I proffer it,
         And bid thee enter gloriously thy rest!
           Paracelsus. Festus!
           Festus.             I am for noble Aureole, God!
         I am upon his side, come weal or woe!
         His portion shall be mine! He has done well!
390      I would have sinn'd, had I been strong enough,
         As he has sinn'd! Reward him or I waive
         Reward! If thou canst find no place for him,
         He shall be king elsewhere, and I will be
         His slave for ever! ... There are two of us!
           Paracelsus. Dear Festus!
395        Festus.                  Here, dear Aureole! ever by you!
           Paracelsus. Nay, speak on, or I dream again. Speak on!
         Some story, any thing��only your voice.
         I shall dream else. Speak on!
           Festus. Thus the Mayne glideth
400                Where my love abideth;
                   Sleep's no softer: it proceeds
                   On through lawns, on through meads,
                   On and on, whate'er befall,
                   Meandering and musical,
405                Though the niggard pasturage
                   Bears not on its shaven edge
                   Aught but weeds and waving grasses
                   To behold it as it passes,
                   Save here and there a scanty patch
410                Of primroses, too faint to catch
                   A weary bee ...
           Paracelsus. More, more; say on!
           Festus.                         And scarce it pushes
                   Its gentle way through strangling rushes,
                   Where the glossy king-fisher
415                Flutters when noon-heats are near, 
                   Glad the shelving banks to shun,
                   Red and steaming in the sun,
                   Where the shrew-mouse with pale throat
                   Burrows, and the speckled stoat,
420                Where the quick sand-pipers flit
                   In and out the soft and wet
                   Clay that breeds them, brown as they.
                   Nought disturbs its quiet way,
                   Save some lazy stork that springs,
425                Trailing it with legs and wings,
                   Whom the shy fox from the hill
                   Arouses ...
           Paracelsus. My heart! they loose my heart, those simple
               words;
         Its darkness passes, which nought else could touch;
430      Like some dark snake that force may not expel,
         Which glideth out to music sweet and low.
         What were you doing when your voice broke through
         A chaos of ugly images? ... It is you, indeed!
         Are you alone here?
           Festus.           All alone: you know me?
         This cell?
435        Paracelsus. An unexceptionable vault��
         Good brick and stone��the bats kept out, the rats
         Kept in��a snug nook: how should I mistake it?
           Festus. But wherefore I am here?
           Paracelsus.                      Ah! well remember'd:
         Why, for a purpose��for a purpose, Festus!
440      'Tis like me: here I trifle while time fleets,
         And this occasion, lost, will ne'er return!
         You are here to be instructed. I will tell
         Their message; but I have so much to say,
         I fear to leave half out: all is confused
445      Within; but doubtless you will learn in time.
         They would not have dispatch'd me else: no doubt
         I shall see clearer soon.
           Festus.                 Tell me but this��
         You are not in despair?
           Paracelsus.           I? and for what?
           Festus. Alas, alas! he knows not, as I fear'd ...
450        Paracelsus. What is it you would ask me with that earnest,
         Dear, searching face?
           Festus.             How feel you, Aureole?
           Paracelsus.                                Well;
         Well: 'tis a strange thing. I am dying, Festus,
         And now the storm of life is fast subsiding
         I first perceive how swift the whirl has been:
455      I was calm then, who am so dizzy now��
         Calm in the thick of the tempest, but no less
         A partner of its motion, and mix'd up
         With its career. The hurricane is spent,
         And the good boat speeds through the bright'ning weather;
460      But is it earth or sea that heaves below?
         The gulf rolls like a meadow-swell, o'erstrewn
         With ravaged boughs and remnants of the shore. 
         And now some islet, loosen'd from the land,
         Swims past with all its trees, sailing to ocean.
465      And now the air is full of up-torn canes,
         Light strippings from the fan-trees; tamarisks 
         Unrooted, with their birds still clinging to them,
         All high in the wind. Even so my varied life
         Drifts by me. I am young, old, happy, sad,
470      Hoping, desponding, acting, taking rest,
         And all at once: that is, those past conditions
         Flock back upon me. If I choose to single
         Some certain epoch from the crowd, 'tis but
         To will, and straight the rest dissolve away,
475      And that particular state is present only,
         With all its circumstance forgotten long,
         But now distinct and vivid as at first��
         I being a careless looker-on, nought more!
         Indifferent and amused, but nothing more!
480      And this is death: I understand it all.
         There is new being waiting me, and new
         Perceptions must be born in me before
         I plunge therein; this last is Death's affair,
         And he is filling me minute by minute
485      With power, and while my foot is on the threshold
         Of boundless life��the portals yet unopen'd��
         All preparations not complete within��
         I turn new knowledge upon old events,
         And the effect is ... But I must not tell;
490      It is not fair. Your own turn will arrive
         Some day. Dear Festus you will die like me��
         Your turn will come so that you do but wait!
           Festus. 'Tis of that past life that I burn to hear ...
           Paracelsus. You wonder it engages me just now?
495      In truth, I wonder too. What's life to me?
         Where'er I look is fire, where'er I listen
         Music, and where I tend bliss evermore.
         Yet I can not refrain: 'tis a refined
         Delight to view those chances once again.
500      I am so near the perils I escape,
         That I must play with them and turn them over,
         To feel how fully they are past and gone.
         Still it is like some further cause exists
         For this peculiar mood��some hidden purpose;
505      Did I not tell you something of it, Festus?
         I had it fast, but it has somehow slipt
         Away from me; it will return anon.
           Festus. (Indeed his cheek seems young again, his voice
         Complete with its old tones��that little laugh
510      Concluding every phrase; with up-turn'd eye,
         As though one stoop'd above his head, to whom
         He look'd for confirmation and approval:
         Where was it gone so long, so well preserved?
         And the fore-finger pointing as he speaks,
515      Like one who traces in an open book 
         The matter he declares; 'tis many a year
         Since I remark'd it last: and this in him ... 
         But now a ghastly wreck!)
                                   And can it be,
         Dear Aureole, you have then found out at last
520      The utter vanity of worldly things?
         That man is made for weakness, and should wait
         In patient ignorance till God appoint ...
           Paracelsus. Ha, the purpose; the true purpose: that is it!
         How could I fail to apprehend! You here,
525      I thus! But no more trifling; I see all,
         I know all: my last mission shall be done
         If strength suffice. No trifling! Stay; this posture
         Hardly befits one thus about to speak:
         I will arise.
           Festus.     Dear Aureole, are you wild?
         You cannot leave your couch.
530        Paracelsus.                No help; no help;
         Not even your hand. So! there, I stand once more!
         Speak from a couch? why I ne'er lectured thus.
         My gown��the scarlet, lined with fur; now put
         The chain about my neck; my signet-ring
535      Is still upon my hand, I think��even so;
         Last, my good sword; ha, trusty Azoth, leapest
         Beneath thy master's grasp for the last time?
         This couch shall be my throne: I bid this cell
         Be consecrate; this wretched bed become
540      A shrine; for here God speaks to men through me!
         Now, Festus, I am ready to begin.
           Festus. I am blind with wonder.
           Paracelsus.                     Listen, therefore, Festus!
         There will be time enough, but none to spare.
         I must content myself with telling only
545      The most important points. You doubtless feel
         That I am happy, Festus; very happy.
           Festus. 'Tis no delusion which uplifts him thus ...
         Then you are pardon'd, Aureole, all your sin?
           Paracelsus. Pardon? and wherefore pardon?
           Festus.                                   'Tis God's praise
         That man is bound to seek, and you ...
550        Paracelsus.                          Have lived!
         We have to live alone to set forth well
         God's praise. 'Tis true, I sinn'd much, as I thought,
         And in effect need mercy, for I strove
         To do that very thing; but, do your best
555      Or worst, praise rises, and will rise for ever.
         Pardon from Him, who calls me to Himself
         To teach me better and exalt me higher!
         He might laugh as I laugh.
           Festus.                  But all this comes
         To the same thing. 'Tis fruitless for mankind
560      To fret themselves with what concerns them not;
         They are no use that way: they should lie down
         Content as God has made them, nor go mad
         In thriveless cares to better their condition.
           Paracelsus. No, no; mistake me not; let me not work
565      More harm than I have done. This is my case:
         If I go joyous back to God, yet bring
         No offering; if I render up my soul
         Without the fruits it was ordain'd to bear;
         If I appear to love God better for
570      My sins, as one who has no claim on him,
         Be not deceived: it may be only thus
         With me; or higher prizes may await
         The mortal persevering to the end.
         Beside, I am not all so valueless;
575      I have been something, though too soon I left
         Following the instincts of that happy time ...
           Festus. What happy time? For God's sake, for man's sake,
         What time was happy? All I hope to know
         That answer will decide. What happy time?
580        Paracelsus. When, but the time I vow'd myself to man? 
           Festus. Great God, thy judgments are inscrutable!
           Paracelsus. Yes, it was in me; I was born for it��
         I, Paracelsus: it was mine by right.
         Doubtless a searching and impetuous spirit
585      Might learn from its own motions that some task
         Like this awaited it about the world;
         Might seek somewhere in this blank life of ours
         For fit delights to stay its longings vast;
         And, grappling strenuously with Fate, compel her
590      To fill the creature full whom she dared frame
         Hungry for joy; and, bravely tyrannous,
         Grow in demand, still craving more and more, 
         And make the joy conceded prove a pledge
         Of further joy to follow��bating nothing
595      Of its desires, but seizing all pretence
         To turn the knowledge and the rapture wrung
         From Destiny as an extreme, last boon,
         Into occasion for new covetings,
         New strifes, new triumphs. Doubtless a strong spirit
600      Might do all this unaided and alone,
         So glorious is our nature, so august
         Man's inborn uninstructed impulses��
         His naked spirit so majestical!
         But it was born in me: I was made so.
605      Thus much time saved: the feverish appetites,
         The tumult of unproved desire, the aimless
         Uncertain yearnings, near-sighted ambition,
         Distrust, mistake, and all that ends in tears
         Were saved me, though the lion heart repines not
610      At working through such lets its purpose out.
         You may be sure I was not all exempt
         From human trouble: just so much of doubt
         As bade me plant a surer foot upon
         The sun-road��kept my eye unruin'd mid
615      The fierce and flashing splendour��set my heart
         Trembling so much as warn'd me I stood there
         On sufferance��not to idly gaze, but have
         Remembrance of a darkling race; save that,
         I stood at first where all aspire at last
620      To reach��the secret of the world was mine.
         I knew, I felt, not as one knows or feels
         Aught else; a vast perception unexpress'd,
         Uncomprehended by our narrow thought,
         But somehow felt and known in every shift
625      And change in the spirit I bear��nay, dare I say,
         In every pore of this fast-fading frame
         I felt, I knew what God is, what we are,*
         What life is��how God tastes an infinite joy
         In infinite ways��one everlasting bliss,
630      From whom all being emanates, all power
         Proceeds; in whom is life for evermore,
         Yet whom existence in its lowest form
         Includes; where dwells enjoyment there is He!
         With still a flying point of bliss remote��
635      A happiness in store afar��a sphere
         Of distant glory in full view; thus climbs
         Pleasure its heights for ever and for ever!
         The centre-fire heaves underneath the earth,
         And the earth changes like a human face;
640      The molten ore bursts up among the rocks��
         Winds into the stone's heart��outbranches bright
         In hidden mines��spots barren river-beds��
         Crumbles into fine sand where sunbeams bask��
         God joys therein! The wroth sea's waves are edged
645      With foam, white as the bitten lip of Hate:
         When in the solitary waste strange groups
         Of young volcanos come up, cyclops-like,
         Staring together with their eyes on flame,
         God tastes a pleasure in their uncouth pride!
650      Then all is still: earth is a wintry clod;
         But spring-wind, like a dancing psaltress, passes
         Over its breast to waken it; rare verdure
         Buds here and there upon rough banks, between
         The wither'd tree-roots and the cracks of frost,
655      Like a smile striving with a wrinkled face;
         The grass grows bright, the boughs are swoln with blooms,
         Like chrysalids impatient for the air;
         The shining dorrs are busy; beetles run
         Along the furrows, ants make their ado;
660      Above birds fly in merry flocks��the lark
         Soars up and up, shivering for very joy;
         Afar the ocean sleeps; white fishing-gulls
         Flit where the strand is purple with its tribe
         Of nested limpets; savage creatures seek
665      Their loves in wood and plain; and God renews
         His ancient rapture! Thus He dwells in all,
         From life's minute beginnings, up at last
         To man��the consummation of this scheme
         Of being��the completion of this sphere
670      Of life: whose attributes had here and there
         Been scatter'd o'er the visible world before, 
         Asking to be combin'd��dim fragments meant
         To be united in some wondrous whole��
         Imperfect qualities throughout creation,
675      Suggesting some one creature yet to make��
         (So would a spirit deem, intent on watching
         The purpose of the world from its faint rise
         To its mature development)��some point
         Whereto those wandering rays should all converge��
680      Might: neither put forth blindly, nor controll'd
         Calmly by perfect knowledge��to be used
         At risk��inspir'd or check'd by hope and fear��
         Knowledge: not intuition, but the slow
         Uncertain fruit of an enhancing toil,
685      Strengthen'd by love��love: not serenely pure,
         But power from weakness, like a chance-sown plant
         Which, cast on stubborn soil, puts forth changed buds,
         And softer stains, unknown in happier climes:
         Love which endures, and doubts, and is oppress'd
690      And cherish'd��suffering much, and much sustain'd��
         A blind, unfailing, and devoted love:
         And half-enlighten'd, often-chequer'd trust:
         Anticipations, hints of these and more
         Are strewn confusedly everywhere��all seek
695      An object to possess and stamp their own;
         All shape out dimly the forthcoming race,
         The heir of hopes too fair to turn out false,
         And Man appears at last: so far the seal
         Is put on life: one stage of being complete,
700      One scheme wound up; and from the grand result
         A supplementary reflux of light,
         Illustrates all the inferior grades, explains
         Each back step in the circle: not alone
         The clear dawn of those qualities shines out,
705      But the new glory mixes with the heaven
         And earth. Man, once descried, imprints for ever
         His presence on all lifeless things��the winds
         Are henceforth voices, wailing, or a shout,
         A querulous mutter, or a quick gay laugh��
710      Never a senseless gust now man is born:
         The herded pines commune, and have deep thoughts,
         A secret they assemble to discuss,
         When the sun drops behind their trunks which glare
         Like grates of hell: the peerless cup afloat
715      Of the lake-lily is an urn, some nymph
         Swims bearing high above her head: no bird
         Whistles unseen, but through the gaps above
         That let light in upon the gloomy woods,
         A shape peeps from the breezy forest-top,
720      Arch with small pucker'd mouth and mocking eye:
         The morn has enterprise��deep quiet droops
         With evening��triumph when the sun takes rest��
         Voluptuous transport when the corn-fields ripen
         Beneath a warm moon like a happy face:
725      And this to fill us with regard for man,
         Deep apprehension of his passing worth, 
         Desire to work his proper nature out,
         To ascertain his rank and final place,
         For all these things tend upward��progress is
730      The law of life��man is not man as yet:
         Nor shall I deem his object served, his end
         Attain'd, his genuine strength put fairly out,
         While only here and there a star dispels
         The darkness��here and there a towering mind
735      O'erlooks its crawling fellows: when the host
         Is out at once to the despair of night;
         When all mankind is perfected alike,
         Equal in full-blown powers��then, not till then,
         Begins the general infancy of man;
740      For wherefore make account of feverish starts
         Of restless members of a dormant whole��
         Impatient nerves which quiver while the body
         Slumbers as in a grave? O long ago
         The brow was twitch'd, the tremulous lids astir,
745      The peaceful mouth disturb'd��half-utter'd speech
         Ruffled the lip; sometimes the teeth were set,
         The breath drawn sharp, the strong right-hand clench'd
               stronger��
         As it would pluck a lion by the maw:
         The glorious creature laugh'd out even in sleep!
750      But when arous'd��each giant-limb awake,
         Each sinew strung, the great heart pulsing fast��
         He shall start up, and stand on his own earth��
         Then shall his long triumphant march begin��
         Thence shall his being date; what thus collected
755      He shall achieve, shall be set down to him!
         When all the race is perfected alike
         As man, that is: all tended to mankind
         And, man produced, all has its end thus far;
         But in completed man begins anew
760      A tendency to God. Prognostics told
         Man's near approach; so in man's self arise
         August anticipations, symbols, types
         Of a dim splendour ever on before,
         In the eternal circle life pursues:
765      For men begin to pass their nature's bound,
         To have new hopes and cares which fast supplant
         Their proper joys and griefs; they grow too great
         For narrow creeds of right and wrong, which fade
         Before unmeasur'd thirst for good; while peace
770      Rises within them ever more and more.
         Such men are even now upon the earth��
         Serene amid the half-form'd creatures round,
         Whom they should save and join with them at last:
         Such was my task, and I was born to it��
775      Free, as I said but now, from much that chains
         Spirits high-dower'd, but limited and vex'd
         By a divided and delusive aim��
         A shadow mocking a reality
         Whose truth avails not wholly to disperse
780      The flitting mimic which itself has bred, 
         And so remains perplex'd and nigh put out
         By its fantastic fellow's wavering gleam;
         But from the first, the cheat could lure me not:
         I never fashion'd out a fancied good
785      Distinct from man's; a service to be done��
         A glory to be minister'd unto,
         With powers put forth at man's expense, withdrawn
         From labouring in his behalf; a strength
         Reserved that might avail him: I ne'er cared
790      Lest his success run counter to success
         Elsewhere: for God is glorified in man,
         And to man's glory vow'd I soul and limb.
         Yet, constituted thus, and thus endow'd,
         I fail'd: I gazed on power till I grew blind.
795      Power: I could not take my eyes from that��
         That only was to be preserved, increased
         At any risk; display'd, struck out at once��
         The sign, and note, and character of man.
         I saw no use in the past: only a scene
800      Of degradation, ugliness, and tears;
         The record of disgraces best forgotten;
         A sullen page in human chronicles
         To be erased: I saw no cause why man
         Should not be all-sufficient even now;
805      Or why his annals should be forced to tell
         That once the tide of light about to break
         Upon the world was seal'd within its spring,
         Although my own name led the brightness in:
         I would have had one day, one moment's space,
810      Change man's condition, push each slumbering claim
         To mastery o'er the elemental world
         At once to full maturity: then roll
         Oblivion o'er its work, and hide from man
         What night had usher'd morn. Not so, dear child
815      Of after-days, wilt thou reject the Past,
         Big with deep warnings of the proper tenure
         By which thou hast the earth: for thee the Present
         Shall have distinct and trembling beauty, seen
         Beside its shadow��whence, in strong relief,
820      Its features shall stand out: nor yet on thee
         Shall burst the Future, as successive zones
         Of several wonder open on some spirit
         Flying secure and glad from heaven to heaven;
         But hope, and fear, and love, shall keep thee man!
825      All this was hid from me: as one by one
         My dreams grew dim, my wide aims circumscribed��
         As actual good within my reach decreased,
         While obstacles sprung up this way and that,
         To keep me from effecting half the sum,
830      Small as it proved: as objects, mean within
         The primal aggregate, remain'd alone
         Of all the company, and, even the least,
         More than a match for my concentred strength ...
         What wonder if I saw no way to shun
835      Despair? for power seem'd shut from man for ever. 
         In this conjuncture, as I pray'd to die,
         A strange adventure made me know One Sin
         Had spotted my career from its uprise;
         And as the poor melodious wretch disburthen'd
840      His heart, and moan'd his weakness in my ear,
         I learn'd my own deep error: love's undoing
         Taught me the worth of love in man's estate,
         And what proportion love should hold with power
         In his right constitution: love preceding
845      Power��with much power always much more love;
         Love still too straiten'd in its present means,
         And earnest for new power to set it free.
         I learn'd this, and supposed the whole was learn'd:
         And thus, when men received with stupid wonder
850      My first revealings��would have worshipp'd me��
         And I despised and loathed their proffer'd praise;
         When, with awaken'd eyes, they took revenge
         For past credulity in casting shame
         On my real knowledge��and I hated them��
855      It was not strange I saw no good in man,
         To overbalance all the wear and waste
         Of faculties, display'd in vain, but born
         To prosper in some better sphere: and why?
         In my own heart love had not been made wise
860      To trace love's faint beginnings in mankind��
         To know even hate is but a mask of love's;
         To see a good in evil, and a hope
         In ill-success. To sympathize��be proud
         Of their half-reasons, faint aspirings, struggles
865      Dimly for truth��their poorest fallacies,
         And prejudice, and fears, and cares, and doubts;
         All with a touch of nobleness, for all
         Their error, all ambitious, upward tending,
         Like plants in mines which never saw the sun,
870      But dream of him, and guess where he may be,
         And do their best to climb and get to him:
         All this I knew not, and I fail'd; let men
         Regard me, and the poet dead long ago
         Who loved too rashly; and shape forth a third,
875      And better temper'd spirit, warn'd by both;
         As from the over-radiant star too mad
         To drink the light-springs, beamless thence itself��
         And the dark orb which borders the abyss,
         Ingulf'd in icy night, might have its course
880      A temperate and equidistant world:
         Meanwhile, I have done well, though not all well.
         As yet men cannot do without contempt��
         'Tis for their good, and therefore fit awhile
         That they reject me, and speak scorn of me;
885      But after, they will know me well: I stoop
         Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud,
         But 'tis but for a time; I press God's lamp
         Close to my breast��its splendour, soon or late,
         Will pierce the gloom: I shall emerge one day.
890      You understand me? I have said enough? 
           Festus. Now die, dear Aureole!
           Paracelsus.                    Festus, let my hand��
         This hand, lie in your own ... my own true friend!
         Aprile! hand in hand with you, Aprile!

           Festus. And this was Paracelsus!