_Abbot_. It never can be so, To reconcile thyself with thy own soul, And thy own soul with Heaven. Hast thou no hope? 100 'Tis strange--even those who do despair above, Yet shape themselves some fantasy on earth, To which frail twig they cling, like drowning men. _Man_. Aye--father! I have had those early visions, And noble aspirations in my youth, To make my own the mind of other men, The enlightener of nations; and to rise I knew not whither--it might be to fall; But fall, even as the mountain-cataract, Which having leapt from its more dazzling height, 110 Even in the foaming strength of its abyss, (Which casts up misty columns that become Clouds raining from the re-ascended skies,)[157] Lies low but mighty still.--But this is past, My thoughts mistook themselves. _Abbot_. And wherefore so? _Man_.I could not tame my nature down; for he Must serve who fain would sway; and soothe, and sue, And watch all time, and pry into all place, And be a living Lie, who would become A mighty thing amongst the mean--and such 120 The mass are; I disdained to mingle with A herd, though to be leader--and of wolves, The lion is alone, and so am I. _Abbot_. And why not live and act with other men? _Man_. Because my nature was averse from life; And yet not cruel; for I would not make, But find a desolation. Like the Wind, The red-hot breath of the most lone Simoom,[158] Which dwells but in the desert, and sweeps o'er The barren sands which bear no shrubs to blast, 130 And revels o'er their wild and arid waves, And seeketh not, so that it is not sought, But being met is deadly,--such hath been The course of my existence; but there came Things in my path which are no more. _Abbot_. Alas! I 'gin to fear that thou art past all aid From me and from my calling; yet so young, I still would---- _Man_. Look on me! there is an order Of mortals on the earth, who do become Old in their youth, and die ere middle age,[159] 140 Without the violence of warlike death; Some perishing of pleasure--some of study-- Some worn with toil, some of mere weariness,-- Some of disease--and some insanity-- And some of withered, or of broken hearts; For this last is a malady which slays More than are numbered in the lists of Fate, Taking all shapes, and bearing many names. Look upon me! for even of all these things Have I partaken; and of all these things, 150 One were enough; then wonder not that I Am what I am, but that I ever was, Or having been, that I am still on earth. _Abbot_. Yet, hear me still--