The Works of Lord Byron Volume V Part 120

_Arn._ Would that I had been so, And never seen the light!

_Bert._ I would so, too!

But as thou _hast_--hence, hence--and do thy best!

That back of thine may bear its burthen; 'tis More high, if not so broad as that of others.

_Arn._ It _bears_ its burthen;--but, my heart! Will it Sustain that which you lay upon it, Mother?

I love, or, at the least, I loved you: nothing 10 Save You, in nature, can love aught like me.

You nursed me--do not kill me!

_Bert._ Yes--I nursed thee, Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew not If there would be another unlike thee, That monstrous sport of Nature. But get hence, And gather wood![205]

_Arn._ I will: but when I bring it, Speak to me kindly. Though my brothers are So beautiful and l.u.s.ty, and as free As the free chase they follow, do not spurn me: Our milk has been the same.

_Bert._ As is the hedgehog's, 20 Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome dam Of the young bull, until the milkmaid finds The nipple, next day, sore, and udder dry.

Call not thy brothers brethren! Call me not Mother; for if I brought thee forth, it was As foolish hens at times hatch vipers, by Sitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out!

[_Exit_ BERTHA.

_Arn._ (_solus_). Oh, mother!--She is gone, and I must do Her bidding;--wearily but willingly I would fulfil it, could I only hope 30 A kind word in return. What shall I do?

[_ARNOLD begins to cut wood: in doing this he wounds one of his hands_.

My labour for the day is over now.

Accursed be this blood that flows so fast; For double curses will be my meed now At home--What home? I have no home, no kin, No kind--not made like other creatures, or To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed, too, Like them? Oh, that each drop which falls to earth Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung me!

Or that the Devil, to whom they liken me, 40 Would aid his likeness! If I must partake[206]

His form, why not his power? Is it because I have not his will too? For one kind word From her who bore me would still reconcile me Even to this hateful aspect. Let me wash The wound.

[ARNOLD _goes to a spring, and stoops to wash his hand: he starts back_.

They are right; and Nature's mirror shows me, What she hath made me. I will not look on it Again, and scarce dare think on't. Hideous wretch That I am! The very waters mock me with 50 My horrid shadow--like a demon placed Deep in the fountain to scare back the cattle From drinking therein. [_He pauses_.

And shall I live on, A burden to the earth, myself, and shame Unto what brought me into life? Thou blood, Which flowest so freely from a scratch, let me Try if thou wilt not, in a fuller stream, Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself On earth, to which I will restore, at once, This hateful compound of her atoms, and 60 Resolve back to her elements, and take The shape of any reptile save myself, And make a world for myriads of new worms!

This knife! now let me prove if it will sever This withered slip of Nature's nightshade--my Vile form--from the creation, as it hath The green bough from the forest.

[ARNOLD _places the knife in the ground, with the point upwards_.

Now 'tis set, And I can fall upon it. Yet one glance On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like Myself, and the sweet sun which warmed me, but 70 In vain. The birds--how joyously they sing!

So let them, for I would not be lamented: But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell; The fallen leaves my monument; the murmur Of the near fountain my sole elegy.

Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall!

[_As he rushes to throw himself upon the knife, his eye is suddenly caught by the fountain, which seems in motion_.

The fountain moves without a wind: but shall The ripple of a spring change my resolve?

No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir, Not as with air, but by some subterrane 80 And rocking Power of the internal world.

What's here? A mist! No more?--

[_A cloud comes from the fountain. He stands gazing upon it: it is dispelled, and a tall black man comes towards him_.[207]

_Arn._ What would you? Speak!

Spirit or man?

_Stran._ As man is both, why not Say both in one?

_Arn._ Your form is man's, and yet You may be devil.

_Stran._ So many men are that Which is so called or thought, that you may add me To which you please, without much wrong to either.

But come: you wish to kill yourself;--pursue Your purpose.

_Arn._ You have interrupted me.

_Stran._ What is that resolution which can e'er 90 Be interrupted? If I be the devil You deem, a single moment would have made you Mine, and for ever, by your suicide; And yet my coming saves you.

_Arn._ I said not You _were_ the Demon, but that your approach Was like one.

_Stran._ Unless you keep company With him (and you seem scarce used to such high Society) you can't tell how he approaches; And for his aspect, look upon the fountain, And then on me, and judge which of us twain 100 Looks likest what the boors believe to be Their cloven-footed terror.

_Arn._ Do you--dare _you_ To taunt me with my born deformity?

_Stran._ Were I to taunt a buffalo with this Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary With thy Sublime of Humps, the animals Would revel in the compliment. And yet Both beings are more swift, more strong, more mighty In action and endurance than thyself, And all the fierce and fair of the same kind 110 With thee. Thy form is natural: 'twas only Nature's mistaken largess to bestow The gifts which are of others upon man.

_Arn._ Give me the strength then of the buffalo's foot,[cw]

When he spurns high the dust, beholding his Near enemy; or let me have the long And patient swiftness of the desert-ship, The helmless dromedary!--and I'll bear[cx]

Thy fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience.

_Stran._ I will.

_Arn._ (_with surprise_). Thou _canst?_

_Stran._ Perhaps. Would you aught else? 120

_Arn._ Thou mockest me.

_Stran._ Not I. Why should I mock What all are mocking? That's poor sport, methinks.

To talk to thee in human language (for Thou canst not yet speak mine), the forester Hunts not the wretched coney, but the boar, Or wolf, or lion--leaving paltry game To petty burghers, who leave once a year Their walls, to fill their household cauldrons with Such scullion prey. The meanest gibe at thee,-- Now _I_ can mock the mightiest.[cy]

_Arn._ Then waste not 130 Thy time on me: I seek thee not.

_Stran._ Your thoughts Are not far from me. Do not send me back: I'm not so easily recalled to do Good service.

_Arn._ What wilt thou do for me?

_Stran._ Change Shapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks you; Or form you to your wish in any shape.

_Arn._ Oh! then you are indeed the Demon, for Nought else would wittingly wear mine.

_Stran._ I'll show thee The brightest which the world e'er bore, and give thee Thy choice.

_Arn._ On what condition?

_Stran._ There's a question! 140 An hour ago you would have given your soul To look like other men, and now you pause To wear the form of heroes.