_Fest._ But, Aureole, Talk not thus wildly and madly. I am here-- Did you know all! I have travelled far, indeed, To learn your wishes. Be yourself again! For in this mood I recognize you less Than in the horrible despondency I witnessed last. You may account this, joy; But rather let me gaze on that despair Than hear these incoherent words and see This flushed cheek and intensely-sparkling eye. _Par._ Why, man, I was light-hearted in my prime, I am light-hearted now; what would you have? Aprile was a poet, I make songs-- 'T is the very augury of success I want! Why should I not be joyous now as then? _Fest._ Joyous! and how? and what remains for joy? You have declared the ends (which I am sick Of naming) are impracticable. _Par._ Ay, Pursued as I pursued them--the arch-fool! Listen: my plan will please you not, 't is like, But you are little versed in the world's ways. This is my plan--(first drinking its good luck)-- I will accept all helps; all I despised So rashly at the outset, equally With early impulses, late years have quenched: I have tried each way singly: now for both! All helps! no one sort shall exclude the rest. I seek to know and to enjoy at once, Not one without the other as before. Suppose my labor should seem God's own cause Once more, as first I dreamed,--it shall not balk me Of the meanest earthliest sensualest delight That may be snatched; for every joy is gain, And gain is gain, however small. My soul Can die then, nor be taunted--"what was gained?" Nor, on the other hand, should pleasure follow As though I had not spurned her hitherto, Shall she o'ercloud my spirit's rapt communion With the tumultuous past, the teeming future, Glorious with visions of a full success. _Fest._ Success!