MAX. What delight to observe How he incites and strengthens all around him, Infusing life and vigor. Every power Seems as it were redoubled by his presence He draws forth every latent energy, Showing to each his own peculiar talent, Yet leaving all to be what nature made them, And watching only that they be naught else In the right place and time; and he has skill To mould the power's of all to his own end. QUESTENBERG. But who denies his knowledge of mankind, And skill to use it? Our complaint is this: That in the master he forgets the servant, As if he claimed by birth his present honors. MAX. And does he not so? Is he not endowed With every gift and power to carry out The high intents of nature, and to win A ruler's station by a ruler's talent? QUESTENBERG. So then it seems to rest with him alone What is the worth of all mankind beside! MAX. Uncommon men require no common trust; Give him but scope and he will set the bounds. QUESTENBERG. The proof is yet to come. MAX. Thus are ye ever. Ye shrink from every thing of depth, and think Yourselves are only safe while ye're in shallows. OCTAVIO (to QUESTENBERG). 'Twere best to yield with a good grace, my friend; Of him there you'll make nothing. MAX. (continuing). In their fear They call a spirit up, and when he comes, Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread him More than the ills for which they called him up. The uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be Like things of every day. But in the field, Ay, there the Present Being makes itself felt. The personal must command, the actual eye Examine. If to be the chieftain asks All that is great in nature, let it be Likewise his privilege to move and act In all the correspondences of greatness. The oracle within him, that which lives, He must invoke and question--not dead books, Not ordinances, not mould-rotted papers. OCTAVIO. My son! of those old narrow ordinances Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights Of priceless value, which oppressed mankind, Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors. For always formidable was the League And partnership of free power with free will. The way of ancient ordinance, though it winds, Is yet no devious path. Straight forward goes The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies, and rapid; Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches, My son, the road the human being travels, That, on which blessing comes and goes, doth follow The river's course, the valley's playful windings, Curves round the cornfield and the hill of vines, Honoring the holy bounds of property! And thus secure, though late, leads to its end. QUESTENBERG. Oh, hear your father, noble youth! hear him Who is at once the hero and the man.