SCENE II.
MANFRED.
31
SCENE II.
A lower Valley in the Alps.—A Cataract.
Enter Manfred.
It is not noon—the sunbow's rays still arch
The torrent with the many hues of heaven,
And roll the sheeted silver's waving column
O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular,
And fling its lines of foaming light along,
And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail,
The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death,
As told in the Apocalypse. No eyes
But mine now drink this sight of loveliness;
I should be sole in this sweet solitude,
And with the Spirit of the place divide
The homage of these waters.—I will call her.
(Manfred takes some of the water into the palm of
his hand, and flings it in the air, muttering the
adjuration. After a pause, the Witch of the Alps
rises beneath the arch of the sunbow of the torrent.)
Man. Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light,
And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form
It is not noon—the sunbow's rays still arch
The torrent with the many hues of heaven,
And roll the sheeted silver's waving column
O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular,
And fling its lines of foaming light along,
And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail,
The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death,
As told in the Apocalypse. No eyes
But mine now drink this sight of loveliness;
I should be sole in this sweet solitude,
And with the Spirit of the place divide
The homage of these waters.—I will call her.
(Manfred takes some of the water into the palm of
his hand, and flings it in the air, muttering the
adjuration. After a pause, the Witch of the Alps
rises beneath the arch of the sunbow of the torrent.)
Man. Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light,
And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form
