From the foregoing letters to Mr. Murray, we may collect some curious particulars respecting one of the most original and sublime of the noble poet's productions, the Drama of Manfred. His failure (and to an extent of which the reader shall be enabled presently to judge), in the completion of a design which he had, through two Acts, so magnificently carried on,--the impatience with which, though conscious of this failure, he as usual hurried to the press, without deigning to woo, or wait for, a happier moment of inspiration,--his frank docility in, at once, surrendering up his third Act to reprobation, without urging one parental word in its behalf,--the doubt he evidently felt, whether, from his habit of striking off these creations at a heat, he should be able to rekindle his imagination on the subject,--and then, lastly, the complete success with which, when his mind _did_ make the spring, he at once cleared the whole space by which he before fell short of perfection,--all these circumstances, connected with the production of this grand poem, lay open to us features, both of his disposition and genius, in the highest degree interesting, and such as there is a pleasure, second only to that of perusing the poem itself, in contemplating. As a literary curiosity, and, still more, as a lesson to genius, never to rest satisfied with imperfection or mediocrity, but to labour on till even failures are converted into triumphs, I shall here transcribe the third Act, in its original shape, as first sent to the publisher:-- ACT III.--SCENE I. A Hall in the Castle of Manfred. MANFRED and HERMAN. _Man._ What is the hour? _Her._ It wants but one till sunset, And promises a lovely twilight. _Man._ Say, Are all things so disposed of in the tower As I directed? _Her._ All, my lord, are ready: Here is the key and casket. _Man._ It is well: Thou may'st retire. [_Exit_ HERMAN. _Man._ (_alone._) There is a calm upon me-- Inexplicable stillness! which till now Did not belong to what I knew of life. If that I did not know philosophy To be of all our vanities the motliest, The merest word that ever fool'd the ear From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem The golden secret, the sought 'Kalon,' found, And seated in my soul. It will not last, But it is well to have known it, though but once: It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense, And I within my tablets would note down That there is such a feeling. Who is there? _Re-enter_ HERMAN. _Her._ My lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice craves To greet your presence. _Enter the_ ABBOT OF ST. MAURICE. _Abbot._ Peace be with Count Manfred! _Man._ Thanks, holy father! welcome to these walls; Thy presence honours them, and blesseth those Who dwell within them. _Abbot._ Would it were so, Count! But I would fain confer with thee alone.