And which the sea has made a dustless ruin,
Seeking ever a mountain through whose forests
I seek a man, whom I must now compel
To keep his word with me. I came arrayed
In tempest, and, although my power could well
Bridle the forest winds in their career,

For other causes I forbore to soothe

Their fury to Favonian gentleness;

I could and would not: (thus I wake in him [Aside
A love of magic art.) Let not this tempest,
Nor the succeeding calm excite thy wonder;
For by my art the sun would turn as pale
As his weak sister with unwonted fear;
And in my wisdom are the orbs of Heaven
Written as in a record. I have pierced
The flaming circles of their wondrous spheres,
And know them as thou knowest every corner
Of this dim spot. Let it not seem to thee
That I boast vainly; wouldst thou that I work
A charm over this waste and savage wood,
This Babylon of crags and aged trees,
Filling its leafy coverts with a horror

Thrilling and strange? I am the friendless guest
Of these wild oaks and pines---and as from thee
I have received the hospitality

Of this rude place, I offer thee the fruit
Of years of toil in recompense; whate'er
Thy wildest dream presented to thy thought
As object of desire, that shall be thine.

And thenceforth shall so firm an amity
'Twixt thou and me be, that neither Fortune,
The monstrous phantom which pursues success,
That careful miser, that free prodigal,
Who ever alternates with changeful hand
Evil and good, reproach and fame; nor Time,
That loadstar of the ages, to whose beam
The winged years speed o'er the intervals
Of their unequal revolutions; nor

Heaven itself, whose beautiful bright stars
Rule and adorn the world, can ever make
The least division between thee and me,
Since now I find a refuge in thy favour.

SCENE III.

The DEMON tempts JUSTINA, who is a Christian

DEMON.

Abyss of Hell! I call on thee,

Thou wild misrule of thine own anarchy!

From thy prison-house set free

The spirits of voluptuous death,

That with their mighty breath

They may destroy a world of virgin thoughts; Let her chaste mind with fancies thick as motes

Be peopled from thy shadowy deep,

Till her guiltless phantasy

Full to overflowing be!

And, with sweetest harmony,

[move

Let birds, and flowers, and leaves, and all things

To love, only to love.

Let nothing meet her eyes

But signs of Love's soft victories;

Let nothing meet her ear

But sounds of Love's sweet sorrow;

So that from faith no succour may she borrow,
But, guided by my spirit blind
And in a magic snare entwined,
She may now seek Cyprian.
Begin, while I in silence bind

My voice, when thy sweet song thou hast begun.

A VOICE WITHIN.

What is the glory far above

All else in human life?

ALL.

Love! love!

[While these words are sung, the DÆMON goes out at one door, and JUSTINA enters at another.

THE FIRST VOICE.

There is no form in which the fire

Of love its traces has impressed not.
Man lives far more in love's desire
Than by life's breath soon possessed not.
If all that lives must love or die,

All shapes on earth, or sea, or sky,
With one consent to Heaven cry
That the glory far above

All else in life is

ALL.

Love! O love!

JUSTINA.

Thou melancholy thought, which art
So fluttering and so sweet, to thee
When did I give thee liberty
Thus to afflict my heart?

What is the cause of this new power
Which doth my fevered being move,
Momently raging more and more?
What subtle pain is kindled now
Which from my heart doth overflow
Into my senses?—

ALL.

Love, O love!

JUSTINA.

"Tis that enamoured nightingale

Who gives me the reply:

He ever tells the same soft tale

Of passion and of constancy
To his mate, who, rapt and fond,
Listening sits, a bough beyond.
Be silent, Nightingale !-No more

Make me think, in hearing thee
Thus tenderly thy love deplore,
If a bird can feel his so,

What a man would feel for me.

And, voluptuous vine, O thou

Who seekest most when least pursuing,―
To the trunk thou interlacest

Art the verdure which embracest,
And the weight which is its ruin,—
No more, with green embraces, vine,
Make me think on what thou lovest,—
For whilst thou thus thy boughs entwine,
I fear lest thou shouldst teach me, sophist,
How arms might be entangled too.

Light-enchanted sunflower, thou
Who gazest ever true and tender
On the sun's revolving splendour,
Follow not his faithless glance
With thy faded countenance,
Nor teach my beating heart to fear,
If leaves can mourn without a tear,
How eyes must weep! O Nightingale,
Cease from thy enamoured tale,—
Leafy vine, unwreath thy bower,
Restless sunflower, cease to move,—
Or tell me all, what poisonous power
Ye use against me.-

ALL.

Love! love! love!