_Witch_. It may be 150 That I can aid thee. _Man_. To do this thy power Must wake the dead, or lay me low with them. Do so--in any shape--in any hour-- With any torture--so it be the last. _Witch_. That is not in my province; but if thou Wilt swear obedience to my will, and do My bidding, it may help thee to thy wishes. _Man_. I will not swear--Obey! and whom? the Spirits Whose presence I command, and be the slave Of those who served me--Never! _Witch_. Is this all? 160 Hast thou no gentler answer?--Yet bethink thee, And pause ere thou rejectest. _Man_. I have said it. _Witch_. Enough! I may retire then--say! _Man_. Retire! [_The_ WITCH _disappears._ _Man_. (_alone_). We are the fools of Time and Terror: Days Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die. In all the days of this detested yoke-- This vital weight upon the struggling heart, Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pain, Or joy that ends in agony or faintness-- 170 In all the days of past and future--for In life there is no present--we can number How few--how less than few--wherein the soul Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws back As from a stream in winter, though the chill[ba] Be but a moment's. I have one resource Still in my science--I can call the dead, And ask them what it is we dread to be: The sternest answer can but be the Grave, And that is nothing: if they answer not-- 180 The buried Prophet answered to the Hag Of Endor; and the Spartan Monarch drew From the Byzantine maid's unsleeping spirit An answer and his destiny--he slew That which he loved, unknowing what he slew, And died unpardoned--though he called in aid The Phyxian Jove, and in Phigalia roused The Arcadian Evocators to compel The indignant shadow to depose her wrath, Or fix her term of vengeance--she replied 190 In words of dubious import, but fulfilled.[138] If I had never lived, that which I love Had still been living; had I never loved, That which I love would still be beautiful, Happy and giving happiness. What is she? What is she now?--a sufferer for my sins-- A thing I dare not think upon--or nothing. Within few hours I shall not call in vain-- Yet in this hour I dread the thing I dare: Until this hour I never shrunk to gaze 200 On spirit, good or evil--now I tremble, And feel a strange cold thaw upon my heart. But I can act even what I most abhor, And champion human fears.--The night approaches.