If there would be another unlike thee,
That monstrous sport of nature. But get hence,
And gather wood!

Arn.
I will but when I bring it,
Speak to me kindly. Though my brothers are
So beautiful and lusty, and as free
As the free chase they follow, do not spurn me;
Our milk has been the same.
Bert.
As is the hedgehog's,
Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome
dam

Of the young bull, until the milkmaid finds
The nipple next day sore and udder dry.
Call not thy brothers brethren! Call me not
Mother; for if I brought thee forth, it was
As foolish hens at times hatch vipers, by
Sitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out!
[Exit BERTHA.
She is gone,

Arn. [solus]. Oh, mother!

and I must do

Her bidding-wearily but willingly I would fulfil it, could I only hope A kind word in return. What shall I do? [ARNOLD begins to cut wood: in doing this he wounds one of his hands.

[kin,

My labour for the day is over now.
Accursed be this blood that flows so fast;
For double curses will be my meed now
At home-What home? I have no home, no
No kind-not made like other creatures, or
To share their sports or pleasures. Must I
bleed, too,

[earth

Like them? Oh, that each drop which falls to Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung me!

Or that the devil, to whom they liken me,
Would aid his likeness! If I must partake
His form, why not his power? Is it because
I have not his will too? For one kind word
From her who bore me would still reconcile me
Even to this hateful aspect. Let me wash
The wound.

[ARNOLD goes to a spring, and stoops to wash his hands: he starts back. They are right; and Nature's mirror shows me What she hath made me. I will not look on it Again, and scarce dare think on't. Hideous wretch

That I am! The very waters mock me with
My horrid shadow-like a demon placed
Deep in the fountain to scare back the cattle
From drinking therein.
[He pauses.
And shall I live on,
A burden to the earth, myself, and shame
Ento what brought me into life! Thou blood,
Which flow'st so freely from a scratch, let me
Iry if thou wilt not in a fuller stream
Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself
On earth, to which I will restore at once
This hateful compound of her atoms, and
Resolve back to her elements, and take
The shape of any reptile save myself,
And make a world for myriads of new worms!
This knife! now let me prove if it will sever

This wither'd slip of nature's nightshade-my
Vile form-from the creation, as it hath
The green bough from the forest.
[ARNOLD places the knife in the ground,
with the point upwards.
Now 'tis set,

And I can fall upon it. Yet one glance
On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like
Myself, and the sweet sun which warm'd me, but
In vain. The birds-how joyously they sing!
So let them, for I would not be lamented:
But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell ;
The fallen leaves my monument; the murmur
Of the near fountain my sole elegy.
Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall!
[As he rushes to throw himself upon the
knife, his eye is suddenly caught by the
fountain, which seems in motion.
The fountain moves without a wind: but shall
The ripple of a spring change my resolve?
No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir,
Not as with air, but by some subterrane
And rocking power of the internal world.
What's here? A mist! No more?-

He

[A cloud comes from the fountain. stands gazing upon it: it is dispelled, and a tall black man comes towards him. What would you? Speak!

As man is both, why not

Arn. Spirit or man? Stran. Say both in one? Arn. You may be devil. Stran.

Your form is man's, and yet

So many men are that [me Which is so call'd or thought, that you may add To which you please, without much wrong to either.

But come you wish to kill yourself ;-pursue Your purpose.

4

Arn.

And all the fierce and fair of the same kind
With thee. Thy form is natural: 'twas only
Nature's mistaken largess to bestow
The gifts which are of others upon man.

Arn. Give me the strength then of the buffalo's foot,

When he spurns high the dust, beholding his
Near enemy; or let me have the long
And patient swiftness of the desert-ship,
The helmless dromedary!—and I'll bear
The fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience.
Stran. I will.

Arn. [with surprise]. Thou canst?

Stran. Perhaps. Would you aught else? Arn. Thou mockest me.

Shadows of beauty!
Shadows of power!
Rise to your duty-

This is the hour!
Walk lovely and pliant

From the depth of this fountain, As the cloud-shapen giant

Bestrides the Hartz Mountain.* Come as ye were,

That our eyes may behold

The model in air

Of the form I will mould, Bright as the Iris

When ether is spann'd ;

Such his desire is, [Pointing to AR-
Such my command!
Demons heroic-

Demons who wore

The form of the stoic
Or sophist of yore-
Or the shape of each victor
From Macedon's boy,
To each high Roman's picture,
Who breathed to destroy-
Shadows of beauty!
Shadows of power!
Up to your duty-

This is the hour!

[Various phantoms arise from the wi and pass in succession before the STRAN GER and ARNOLD.

Arn. What do I see?

Stran.

The black-eyed Roman, w The eagle's beak between those eyes which ne Beheld a conqueror, or look'd along The land he made not Rome's, while Rom became

His, and all those who heir'd his very name.

Arn. The phantom's bald; my quest is tear Inherit but his fame with his defects. Cal. Stran. His brow was girt with laurels than hairs.

You see his aspect-choose it, or reject.
I can but promise you his form : his fame
Must be long sought and fought for.

Arn.

I will fight ta But not as a mock Cæsar. Let him pass; His aspect may be fair, but suits me not.

This is a well-known German superstition-a s shadow produced by reflection on the Brocken

Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus's mother,
Or Cleopatra at sixteen-an age
When love is not less in the eye than heart.
But be it so ! Shadow, pass on!

The phantom of JULIUS CÆSAR disappears.
Arn.
And can it

More lovely than the last. How beautiful! StraR. Such was the curled son of Cinias ;— Wouldst thou

Invest thee with his form?

Arn. Would that I had Been born with it! But since I may choose I will look further.

[further The shade of ALCIBIADES disappears. Lo! behold again!

Stran. Arn. What! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round-eyed satyr,

With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect,
The splay feet and low stature! I had better
Remain that which I am.

Stran.
And yet he was
The earth's perfection of all mental beauty,
And personification of all virtue.

But you reject him?

Arn.

If his form could bring me Tha: which redeem'd it-no. Stran.

I have no power To promise that; but you may try, and find it Easier in such a form, or in your own.

Arn. No. I was not born for philosophy, Though I have that about me which has need Let him fleet on. [on't. Stran. Be air, thou hemlock-drinker! [The shadow of SOCRATES disappears:

another rises.

If but to see the heroes I should ne'er
Have seen else on this side of the dim shore
Whence they float back before us.

Stran.

Hence, triumvir,

Thy Cleopatra's waiting.
[The shade of ANTONY disappears: another rises.
Arn.
Who is this?
Who truly looketh like a demigod, [stature,
Blooming and bright, with golden hair, and
If not more high than mortal, yet immortal
In all that nameless bearing of his limbs,
Which he wears as the sun his rays-a something
Which shines from him, and yet is but the flash-
Emanation of a thing more glorious still. [ing
Was he e'er human only?
Let the earth speak,

Stran.

If there be atoms of him left, or even
Of the more solid gold that form'd his urn.
Arn. Who was this glory of mankind?
Stran.

The shame
Of Greece in peace, her thunderbolt in war-
Demetrius the Macedonian, and
Taker of cities.

Arn.

Yet one snadow more. Stran. [addressing the shadow]. Get thee to Lamia's lap!

[The shade of DEMETRIUS POLIORCETES vanishes: another rises.

I'll fit you still,

Fear not, my hunchback; if the shadows of
That which existed please not your nice taste,
I'll animate the ideal marble, till

Your soul be reconciled to her new garment.
Arn. Content! I will fix here.
Stran.

I must commend Your choice. The god-like son of the sea-goddess,

The unshorn boy of Peleus, with his locks
As beautiful and clear as the amber waves
Of rich Pactolus, roll'd o'er sands of gold,
Soften'd by intervening crystal, and
Rippled like flowing waters by the wind,
All vow'd to Sperchius as they were-behold
And him-as he stood by Polixena, [them!
With sanction'd and with soften'd love, before
The altar, gazing on his Trojan bride,
With some remorse within for Hector slain
And Priam weeping, mingled with deep passion
For the sweet downcast virgin, whose young hand
Trembled in his who slew her brother.
He stood i' the temple! Look upon him as
Greece look'd her last upon her best, the instanc
Ere Paris' arrow flew.

Arn.

So

I gaze upon him As if I were his soul, whose form shall soon Envelope mine.

Stran.

You have done well. The greatest Deformity should only barter with The extremest beauty, if the proverb's true Of mortals, that extremes meet.

Arn

Come! Be quick!