Chapter 39

_Enter_ ARNOLD _and his mother_ BERTHA.

_Bert._ Out, Hunchback!

_Arn._ I was born so, Mother![204]

_Bert._ Out, Thou incubus! Thou nightmare! Of seven sons, The sole abortion!

_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 lusty, 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.

_Arn._ No; I will not. I must not compromise my soul.

_Stran._ What soul, Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcase?

_Arn._ 'Tis an aspiring one, whate'er the tenement In which it is mislodged. But name your compact: Must it be signed in blood?

_Stran._ Not in your own.

_Arn._ Whose blood then?

_Stran._ We will talk of that hereafter. But I'll be moderate with you, for I see 150 Great things within you. You shall have no bond But your own will, no contract save your deeds. Are you content?

_Arn._ I take thee at thy word.

_Stran._ Now then!-- [_The Stranger approaches the fountain, and turns to_ ARNOLD.

A little of your blood.[208]

_Arn._ For what?

_Stran._ To mingle with the magic of the waters, And make the charm effective.

_Arn._ (_holding out his wounded arm_). Take it all.

_Stran._ Not now. A few drops will suffice for this.

[_The Stranger takes some of_ ARNOLD'S _blood in his hand, and casts it into the fountain_.

Shadows of Beauty! Shadows of Power! Rise to your duty-- 160 This is the hour! Walk lovely and pliant[cz] From the depth of this fountain, As the cloud-shapen giant Bestrides the Hartz Mountain.[209] Come as ye were, That our eyes may behold The model in air Of the form I will mould, Bright as the Iris 170 When ether is spanned;-- Such _his_ desire is, [_Pointing to_ ARNOLD. Such _my_ command![da] Demons heroic-- Demons who wore The form of the Stoic Or sophist of yore-- Or the shape of each victor-- From Macedon's boy, To each high Roman's picture, 180 Who breathed to destroy-- Shadows of Beauty! Shadows of Power! Up to your duty-- This is the hour!

[_Various phantoms arise from the waters, and pass in succession before the Stranger and_ ARNOLD.

_Arn._ What do I see?

_Stran._ The black-eyed Roman,[210] with The eagle's beak between those eyes which ne'er Beheld a conqueror, or looked along The land he made not Rome's, while Rome became His, and all theirs who heired his very name. 190

_Arn._ The phantom's bald; _my_ quest is beauty. Could I Inherit but his fame with his defects!

_Stran._ His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs.[211] You see his aspect--choose it, or reject. I can but promise you his form; his fame Must be long sought and fought for.

_Arn._ I will fight, too, But not as a mock Cæsar. Let him pass: His aspect may be fair, but suits me not.

_Stran._ Then you are far more difficult to please Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus's mother, 200 Or Cleopatra at sixteen[212]--an age When love is not less in the eye than heart. But be it so! Shadow, pass on! [_The phantom of Julius Cæsar disappears_.

_Arn._ And can it Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone,[db] And left no footstep?

_Stran._ There you err. His substance Left graves enough, and woes enough, and fame More than enough to track his memory; But for his shadow--'tis no more than yours, Except a little longer and less crooked I' the sun. Behold another! [_A second phantom passes_.

_Arn._ Who is he? 210

_Stran._ He was the fairest and the bravest of Athenians.[213] Look upon him well.

_Arn._ He is More lovely than the last. How beautiful!

_Stran._ Such was the curled son of Clinias;--wouldst thou Invest thee with his form?

_Arn._ Would that I had Been born with it! But since I may choose further, I will _look_ further. [_The shade of Alcibiades disappears_.

_Stran._ Lo! behold again!

_Arn._ What! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round-eyed satyr, With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect, The splay feet and low stature![214] I had better 220 Remain that which I am.

_Stran._ And yet he was The earth's perfection of all mental beauty, And personification of all virtue. But you reject him?

_Arn._ If his form could bring me That which redeemed it--no.

_Stran._ I have no power To promise that; but you may try, and find it Easier in such a form--or in your own.

_Arn._ No. I was not born for philosophy, Though I have that about me which has need on't. Let him fleet on.

_Stran._ Be air, thou Hemlock-drinker! 230 [_The shadow of Socrates disappears: another rises_.

_Arn._ What's here? whose broad brow and whose curly beard And manly aspect look like Hercules,[215] Save that his jocund eye hath more of Bacchus Than the sad purger of the infernal world, Leaning dejected on his club of conquest,[216] As if he knew the worthlessness of those For whom he had fought.

_Stran._ It was the man who lost The ancient world for love.

_Arn._ I cannot blame him, Since I have risked my soul because I find not That which he exchanged the earth for.

_Stran._ Since so far 240 You seem congenial, will you wear his features?

_Arn._ No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult. If but to see the heroes I should ne'er Have seen else, on this side of the dim shore, Whence they float back before us.

_Stran._ Hence, Triumvir, Thy Cleopatra's waiting. [_The shade of Antony disappears: another rises_.

_Arn._ Who is this? Who truly looketh like a demigod, Blooming and bright, with golden hair, and stature, If not more high than mortal, yet immortal In all that nameless bearing of his limbs, 250 Which he wears as the Sun his rays--a something Which shines from him, and yet is but the flashing Emanation of a thing more glorious still. Was _he e'er human only?_[217]

_Stran._ Let the earth speak, If there be atoms of him left, or even Of the more solid gold that formed his urn.

_Arn._ Who was this glory of mankind?

_Stran._ The shame Of Greece in peace, her thunderbolt in war-- Demetrius the Macedonian, and Taker of cities.

_Arn._ Yet one shadow more. 260

_Stran._ (_addressing the shadow_). Get thee to Lamia's lap! [_The shade of Demetrius Poliorcetes vanishes: another rises_. I'll fit you still, Fear not, my Hunchback: if the shadows of That which existed please not your nice taste, I'll animate the ideal marble, till Your soul be reconciled to her new garment

_Arn._ Content! I will fix here.

_Stran._ I must commend Your choice. The godlike son of the sea-goddess, The unshorn boy of Peleus, with his locks As beautiful and clear as the amber waves Of rich Pactolus, rolled o'er sands of gold, 270 Softened by intervening crystal, and Rippled like flowing waters by the wind, All vowed to Sperchius[218] as they were--behold them! And _him_--as he stood by Polixena, With sanctioned and with softened love, before The altar, gazing on his Trojan bride, With some remorse within for Hector slain And Priam weeping, mingled with deep passion For the sweet downcast virgin, whose young hand Trembled in _his_ who slew her brother. So 280 He stood i' the temple! Look upon him as Greece looked her last upon her best, the instant Ere Paris' arrow flew.

_Arn._ I gaze upon him As if I were his soul, whose form shall soon Envelope mine.

_Stran._ You have done well. The greatest Deformity should only barter with The extremest beauty--if the proverb's true Of mortals, that Extremes meet.

_Arn._ Come! Be quick! I am impatient.

_Stran._ As a youthful beauty Before her glass. _You both_ see what is not, 290 But dream it is what must be.

_Arn._ Must I wait?

_Stran._ No; that were a pity. But a word or two: His stature is twelve cubits; would you so far Outstep these times, and be a Titan? Or (To talk canonically) wax a son Of Anak?

_Arn._ Why not?

_Stran._ Glorious ambition! I love thee most in dwarfs! A mortal of Philistine stature would have gladly pared His own Goliath down to a slight David: But thou, my manikin, wouldst soar a show 300 Rather than hero. Thou shalt be indulged, If such be thy desire; and, yet, by being A little less removed from present men In figure, thou canst sway them more; for all Would rise against thee now, as if to hunt A new-found Mammoth; and their curséd engines, Their culverins, and so forth, would find way Through our friend's armour there, with greater ease Than the Adulterer's arrow through his heel Which Thetis had forgotten to baptize 310 In Styx.

_Arn._ Then let it be as thou deem'st best.

_Stran._ Thou shalt be beauteous as the thing thou seest, And strong as what it was, and----

_Arn._ I ask not For Valour, since Deformity is daring.[219] It is its essence to o'ertake mankind By heart and soul, and make itself the equal-- Aye, the superior of the rest. There is A spur in its halt movements, to become All that the others cannot, in such things As still are free to both, to compensate 320 For stepdame Nature's avarice at first. They woo with fearless deeds the smiles of fortune, And oft, like Timour the lame Tartar,[220] win them.

_Stran._ Well spoken! And thou doubtless wilt remain Formed as thou art. I may dismiss the mould Of shadow, which must turn to flesh, to incase This daring soul, which could achieve no less Without it.

_Arn._ Had no power presented me The possibility of change, I would Have done the best which spirit may to make 330 Its way with all Deformity's dull, deadly, Discouraging weight upon me, like a mountain, In feeling, on my heart as on my shoulders-- A hateful and unsightly molehill to The eyes of happier men. I would have looked On Beauty in that sex which is the type Of all we know or dream of beautiful, Beyond the world they brighten, with a sigh-- Not of love, but despair; nor sought to win, Though to a heart all love, what could not love me 340 In turn, because of this vile crookéd clog, Which makes me lonely. Nay, I could have borne It all, had not my mother spurned me from her. The she-bear licks her cubs into a sort Of shape;--my Dam beheld my shape was hopeless. Had she exposed me, like the Spartan, ere I knew the passionate part of life, I had Been a clod of the valley,--happier nothing Than what I am. But even thus--the lowest, Ugliest, and meanest of mankind--what courage 350 And perseverance could have done, perchance Had made me something--as it has made heroes Of the same mould as mine. You lately saw me Master of my own life, and quick to quit it; And he who is so is the master of Whatever dreads to die.

_Stran._ Decide between What you have been, or will be.

_Arn._ I have done so. You have opened brighter prospects to my eyes, And sweeter to my heart. As I am now, I might be feared--admired--respected--loved 360 Of all save those next to me, of whom I Would be belovéd. As thou showest me A choice of forms, I take the one I view. Haste! haste!

_Stran._ And what shall _I_ wear?

_Arn._ Surely, he Who can command all forms will choose the highest, Something superior even to that which was Pelides now before us. Perhaps _his_ Who slew him, that of Paris: or--still higher-- The Poet's God, clothed in such limbs as are Themselves a poetry.

_Stran._ Less will content me; 370 For I, too, love a change.

_Arn._ Your aspect is Dusky, but not uncomely.[221]

_Stran._ If I chose, I might be whiter; but I have a _penchant_ For black--it is so honest, and, besides, Can neither blush with shame nor pale with fear; But I have worn it long enough of late, And now I'll take your figure.

_Arn._ Mine!

_Stran._ Yes. You Shall change with Thetis' son, and I with Bertha, Your mother's offspring. People have their tastes; You have yours--I mine.

_Arn._ Despatch! despatch!

_Stran._ Even so. 380

[_The Stranger takes some earth and moulds it along the turf, and then addresses the phantom of Achilles_.

Beautiful shadow Of Thetis's boy! Who sleeps in the meadow Whose grass grows o'er Troy: From the red earth, like Adam,[222] Thy likeness I shape, As the Being who made him, Whose actions I ape. Thou Clay, be all glowing, Till the Rose in his cheek 390 Be as fair as, when blowing, It wears its first streak! Ye Violets, I scatter, Now turn into eyes! And thou, sunshiny Water, Of blood take the guise! Let these Hyacinth boughs Be his long flowing hair, And wave o'er his brows, As thou wavest in air! 400 Let his heart be this marble I tear from the rock! But his voice as the warble Of birds on yon oak! Let his flesh be the purest Of mould, in which grew The Lily-root surest, And drank the best dew! Let his limbs be the lightest Which clay can compound, 410 And his aspect the brightest On earth to be found! Elements, near me, Be mingled and stirred, Know me, and hear me, And leap to my word! Sunbeams, awaken This earth's animation![dc] 'Tis done! He hath taken His stand in creation! 420

[ARNOLD _falls senseless; his soul passes into the shape of Achilles, which rises from the ground; while the phantom has disappeared, part by part, as the figure was formed from the earth_.

_Arn._ (_in his new form_). I love, and I shall be beloved! Oh, life! At last I feel thee! Glorious Spirit!

_Stran._ Stop! What shall become of your abandoned garment, Yon hump, and lump, and clod of ugliness, Which late you wore, or were?

_Arn._ Who cares? Let wolves And vultures take it, if they will.

_Stran._ And if They do, and are not scared by it, you'll say It must be peace-time, and no better fare Abroad i' the fields.

_Arn._ Let us but leave it there; No matter what becomes on't.

_Stran._ That's ungracious; 430 If not ungrateful. Whatsoe'er it be, It hath sustained your soul full many a day.

_Arn._ Aye, as the dunghill may conceal a gem Which is now set in gold, as jewels should be.

_Stran._ But if I give another form, it must be By fair exchange, not robbery. For they[223] Who make men without women's aid have long Had patents for the same, and do not love Your Interlopers. The Devil may take men,[dd] Not make them,--though he reap the benefit 440 Of the original workmanship:--and therefore Some one must be found to assume the shape You have quitted.

_Arn._ Who would do so?

_Stran._ That I know not, And therefore I must.

_Arn._ You!

_Stran._ I said it ere You inhabited your present dome of beauty.

_Arn._ True. I forget all things in the new joy Of this immortal change.

_Stran._ In a few moments I will be as you were, and you shall see Yourself for ever by you, as your shadow.

_Arn._ I would be spared this.

_Stran._ But it cannot be. 450 What! shrink already, being what you are, From seeing what you were?

_Arn._ Do as thou wilt.

_Stran._ (_to the late form of_ ARNOLD, _extended on the earth_). Clay! not dead, but soul-less! Though no man would choose thee, An Immortal no less Deigns not to refuse thee. Clay thou art; and unto spirit All clay is of equal merit. Fire! _without_ which nought can live; Fire! but _in_ which nought can live, 460 Save the fabled salamander, Or immortal souls, which wander, Praying what doth not forgive, Howling for a drop of water, Burning in a quenchless lot: Fire! the only element Where nor fish, beast, bird, nor worm, Save the Worm which dieth not, Can preserve a moment's form, But must with thyself be blent: 470 Fire! man's safeguard and his slaughter: Fire! Creation's first-born Daughter, And Destruction's threatened Son, When Heaven with the world hath done: Fire! assist me to renew Life in what lies in my view Stiff and cold! His resurrection rests with me and you! One little, marshy spark of flame--[224] And he again shall seem the same; 480 But I his Spirit's place shall hold!

[_An ignis-fatuus flits through the wood and rests on the brow of the body. The Stranger disappears: the body rises_.

_Arn._ (_in his new form_). Oh! horrible!

_Stran._ (_in_ ARNOLD'S _late shape_). What! tremblest thou?

_Arn._ Not so-- I merely shudder. Where is fled the shape Thou lately worest?

_Stran._ To the world of shadows. But let us thread the present. Whither wilt thou?

_Arn._ Must thou be my companion?

_Stran._ Wherefore not? Your betters keep worse company.

_Arn._ _My_ betters!

_Stran._ Oh! you wax proud, I see, of your new form: I'm glad of that. Ungrateful too! That's well; You improve apace;--two changes in an instant, 490 And you are old in the World's ways already. But bear with me: indeed you'll find me useful Upon your pilgrimage. But come, pronounce Where shall we now be errant?

_Arn._ Where the World Is thickest, that I may behold it in Its workings.

_Stran._ That's to say, where there is War And Woman in activity. Let's see! Spain--Italy--the new Atlantic world[225]-- Afric with all its Moors. In very truth, There is small choice: the whole race are just now 500 Tugging as usual at each other's hearts.

_Arn._ I have heard great things of Rome.

_Stran._ A goodly choice-- And scarce a better to be found on earth, Since Sodom was put out. The field is wide too; For now the Frank, and Hun, and Spanish scion Of the old Vandals, are at play along The sunny shores of the World's garden.

_Arn._ How Shall we proceed?

_Stran._ Like gallants, on good coursers. What, ho! my chargers! Never yet were better, Since Phaeton was upset into the Po[226]. 510 Our pages too!

_Enter two Pages, with four coal-black horses_.

_Arn._ A noble sight!

_Stran._ And of A nobler breed. Match me in Barbary, Or your Kochlini race of Araby[de][227], With these!

_Arn._ The mighty steam, which volumes high From their proud nostrils, burns the very air; And sparks of flame, like dancing fire-flies wheel Around their manes, as common insects swarm Round common steeds towards sunset.

_Stran._ Mount, my lord: They and I are your servitors.

_Arn._ And these Our dark-eyed pages--what may be their names? 520

_Stran._ You shall baptize them.

_Arn._ What! in holy water?

_Stran._ Why not? The deeper sinner, better saint.

_Arn._ They are beautiful, and cannot, sure, be demons.

_Stran._ True; the devil's always ugly: and your beauty Is never diabolical.

_Arn._ I'll call him Who bears the golden horn, and wears such bright And blooming aspect, _Huon_;[228] for he looks Like to the lovely boy lost in the forest, And never found till now. And for the other And darker, and more thoughtful, who smiles not, 530 But looks as serious though serene as night, He shall be _Memnon_[229], from the Ethiop king Whose statue turns a harper once a day. And you?

_Stran._ I have ten thousand names, and twice As many attributes; but as I wear A human shape, will take a human name.

_Arn._ More human than the shape (though it was mine once) I trust.

_Stran._ Then call me Cæsar.

_Arn._ Why, that name Belongs to Empire, and has been but borne By the World's lords.

_Stran._ And therefore fittest for 540 The Devil in disguise--since so you deem me, Unless you call me Pope instead.

_Arn._ Well, then, Cæsar thou shalt be. For myself, my name Shall be plain Arnold still.

_Cæs._ We'll add a title[df]-- "Count Arnold:" it hath no ungracious sound, And will look well upon a billet-doux.

_Arn._ Or in an order for a battle-field.

_Cæs._ (_sings_). To horse! to horse! my coal-black steed Paws the ground and snuffs the air! There's not a foal of Arab's breed 550 More knows whom he must bear; On the hill he will not tire, Swifter as it waxes higher; In the marsh he will not slacken, On the plain be overtaken; In the wave he will not sink, Nor pause at the brook's side to drink; In the race he will not pant, In the combat he'll not faint; On the stones he will not stumble, 560 Time nor toil shall make him humble; In the stall he will not stiffen, But be wingèd as a Griffin, Only flying with his feet: And will not such a voyage be sweet? Merrily! merrily! never unsound, Shall our bonny black horses skim over the ground! From the Alps to the Caucasus, ride we, or fly! For we'll leave them behind in the glance of an eye. [_They mount their horses, and disappear_.