I have not questioned thee of life or death, Nor of the state which shall succeed them both; I care not for the first, nor fear the second; The last I leave to Him who gave to man Eternity for his inheritance. But I would know if the unceasing war, Which good and evil wage upon the earth, Has reached beyond, its confines.
Spirit.
Have I not answered thee? The Begetter of worlds, stars, suns, and systems! The Father of Creation! the Bridegroom Of the Spirit! hath He not written that Death has dominion only over sin? And thou would'st know if other worlds have felt The curse that fell upon, and blighted thine. Poor simple child of clay! no doubt thou know'st The story of the Eden of thy sire, And think'st that there, in its fresh, stainless breast, The baleful seeds of evil first were sown, Which since have spread so fearfully abroad,-- When the sad doom, that came on him and his, Was but the spray, cast from the wave of fate, Which just then reached thy newly finished orb. Where it first started--whither tends its course-- Where it shall stop--how many wrecks of worlds-- Once fairer far than thine was at its birth-- Shall strew its desolate way,--is not for things Brought forth from dust to know. What wouldst thou of me?
Werner.
The sole remaining good, if good it be, That yet is mine to share. I have tried all That earthly hope holds out to satisfy The longings of man's nature. I have loved, And made an idol of the thing I loved, And worshipped it with all my soul's intensity; And, for awhile, the frenzy of my dream Shut out all other thoughts. But it was short; Death plucked my lovely flower from my grasp, And then, the icy chill of desolation Came, like a snowy avalanche, upon My heart, and froze the fountains of its feeling. I was ambitious. I have striven for, And worn, the gaudiest wreath of fame, and when I would have placed it on my brow, it grew A mountain in its weight. I courted much The notice of the world, and when men praised, The very breath that bore their praise to me, Seemed cloggedwith pestilence.
Wealth, too, I coveted, And heaped its shining dust in hoards around me, And yet it was but dust, as barren of Enjoyment as the ground we tread upon. I clad myself in purple--heaped my board With all the fairest, sweetest fruits of earth, And filled my golden goblets with bright juice, Pressed from the goodliest grapes, and made my couch Of down, and yet, I was most wretched still. My garments were but cumbersome; my couch Could give no rest, and e'en my generous wines Could not remove the crushing weight that sat, Nightmare-like, on my heart, until it grew A palpable and keenly aching pang. There is, one path which yet remains untrod; To be my guide in it, I called thee hither,-- 'Tis that of knowledge.
Spirit.
The same In which the mother of thy race was lost, With e'en a wiser, mightier guide than I. She thirsted, too, for knowledge, and she gave Her innocence--her home in Paradise-- The happiness of him--who shared her lot-- To know--what? That her wn rebellious hand Had raised the flood- gates of a sea of crime, Which would for ever pour its bitter waves Upon the helpless unprotected race, Which her rash deed had ruined. Think of the sighs--the groans--the floods of tears-- The woes--too deep for these-- which have no end, Save but in heart-breaks! Think upon the toil-- The sweat--the pain--the strife--the crime--the blood-- The myriads of souls with which this one Sad lesson was obtained! whose price is yet Not fully paid, nor shall be so, until The last poor son of earth mingles with dust! Dost thou not fear to tread a path like this?
Werner.
I have no fear; It is so long since I have felt its thrill That 'twere a pleasure now to feel it.
Spirit.
What wouldst thou know? Thou art familiar with all earthly lore. More: Thou hast gained, and wield'st a power, to which The rulers of the elements do bow; The hurricane, at thy command goes forth, Walking where'er thou bid'st it, and the storm Ceases to howl when thou hast said,-- "Be still!" Thine anger stirs the ocean, and thy wrath Finds out the deepfoundations of the mountains, And shakes them with its strength; the subtle fire, That lights the tempest on its gloomy way, Starts from its cloud-rocked slumber, at thy call, To be thy messenger. Canst thou not be content when thou art feared By those who rule a world? What is there yet Which thy insatiate mind desires to know? Would'st learn immortal mysteries? Reflect Thou art but mortal.
Werner.
Spirit, why dost thou Taunt me with my mortality? "Weak things, Brought forth from earth,"--"Poor simple child of clay,"-- These are thy words, when well thou knows't that I, Though bound to earth by bonds made of its mire, Am mightier than thou. Were it not so, Thou would'st not now be face to face with one Of mortal birth. Thou, too, canst feel revenge, And knowest how to wreak it; but, take heed,-- The power which brought thee hither, can, and may Deal harshly with thee. If thou knowest aught Worthy of an immortal mind to know, To which I have not pierced, reveal thy knowledge.
Spirit.
We may not tell the secrets of eternity; But I can show thee things thou hast not seen, And they may profit thee, although 'twill shake Even thy proud heart to look upon them. Would'st see them?
Werner.
It is my wish. Spirit.
Come then. Werner.
Lead on; Although thy path be through hell's gloomy gate, I too will pass its portals at thy back. Thou canst not enter where I dare not pass.
[The cloud closes around them, and moves away, and a voice sings as it disappears.
To the region of shadow, The region of death, Where dust is a stranger, And life has no breath; Where darkness and silence Their dim shrouds have cast Round the phantoms of worlds That belong to the past; Spirits who sit on The thrones of the air, Guide ye our chariot, Waft ye us there.
[Exeunt. Act II.
The verge of Creation. Enter Werner and Spirit. Werner.
