Manfred (Act 2 Scene 3) Lord Byron

Scene III.—The summit of the Jungfrau Mountain.

                                   Enter First Destiny.

The Moon is rising broad, and round, and bright;
And here on snows, where never human foot
Of common mortal trod, we nightly tread,
And leave no traces: o'er the savage sea,
The glassy ocean of the mountain ice,
We skim its rugged breakers, which put on
The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam,
Frozen in a moment—a dead Whirlpool's image:
And this most steep fantastic pinnacle,
The fretwork of some earthquake—where the clouds
Pause to repose themselves in passing by—
Is sacred to our revels, or our vigils;
Here do I wait my sisters, on our way
To the Hall of Arimanes—for to-night
Is our great festival—'tis strange they come not.

                                   A Voice without, singing.

                 The Captive Usurper,
                          Hurled down from the throne,
                 Lay buried in torpor,
                          Forgotten and lone;
                 I broke through his slumbers,
                          I shivered his chain,
                 I leagued him with numbers—
                          He's Tyrant again!
With the blood of a million he'll answer my care,
With a Nation's destruction—his flight and despair!