Max monologue (Act 3) — The Piccolomini: A Play

Oh, never rudely will I blame his faith In the might of stars and angels. 'Tis not merely The human being's pride that peoples space With life and mystical predominance; Since likewise for the stricken heart of love This visible nature, and this common world, Is all too narrow; yea, a deeper import Lurks in the legend told my infant years Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn. For fable is love's world, his home, his birth-place; Delightedly dwells he among fays and talismans, And spirits; and delightedly believes Divinities, being himself divine The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty, That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, Or chasms, and watery depths, all these have vanished. They live no longer in the faith of reason! But still the heart doth need a language, still Doth the old instinct bring back the old names; And to yon starry world they now are gone, Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth With man as with their friend [11], and to the lover Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky Shoot influence down: and even at this day 'This Jupiter who brings whate'er is great, And Venus who brings everything that's fair!