y scorn upon ye--earthly strength
To wrestle, though with spirits; what ye take
Shall be ta'en limb by limb.

_Spirit_. Reluctant mortal!
Is this the Magian who would so pervade
The world invisible, and make himself
Almost our equal? Can it be that thou
Art thus in love with life? the very life
Which made thee wretched?

_Man_. Thou false fiend, thou liest!
My life is in its last hour,--_that_ I know, 110
Nor would redeem a moment of that hour;
I do not combat against Death, but thee
And thy surrounding angels; my past power
Was purchased by no compact with thy crew,
But by superior science--penance, daring,
And length of watching, strength of mind, and skill
In knowledge of our Fathers--when the earth
Saw men and spirits walking side by side,
And gave ye no supremacy: I stand
Upon my strength--I do defy--deny-- 120
Spurn back, and scorn ye!--

_Spirit_. But thy many crimes
Have made thee--

_Man_. What are they to such as thee?
Must crimes be punished but by other crimes,
And greater criminals?--Back to thy hell!
Thou hast no power upon me, _that_ I feel;
Thou never shalt possess me, _that_ I know:
What I have done is done; I bear within
A torture which could nothing gain from thine:
The Mind which is immortal makes itself
Requital for its good or evil thoughts,-- 130
Is its own origin of ill and end--
And its own place and time:[170] its innate sense,
When stripped of this mortality, derives
No colour from the fleeting things without,
But is absorbed in sufferance or in joy,
Born from the knowledge of its own desert.
_Thou_ didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt me;
I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy prey--
But was my own destroyer, and will be
My own hereafter.--Back, ye baffled fiends! 140
The hand of Death is on me--but not yours!
[_The Demons disappear._

_Abbot_. Alas! how pale thou art--thy lips are white--
And thy breast heaves--and in thy gasping throat
The accents rattle: Give thy prayers to Heaven--
Pray--albeit but in thought,--but die not thus.

_Man_. 'Tis over--my dull eyes can f