Thou touchstone of philosophy herself!
Thou bright eye of the mine! thou load-star of
The soul! the true magnetic pole to which
All hearts point duly north, like trembling needles!
Thou flaming spirit of the earth! which sitting
High on the monarch's diadem, attractest
More worship than the majesty who sweats
Beneath the crown which makes his head ache, like
Millions of hearts which bleed to lend it lustre!
Shalt thou be mine? I am, methinks, already
A little king, a lucky alchymist!-
A wise magician, who has bound the devil
Without the forfeit of his soul.
Werner, or what else?
Call me Werner still,
You may yet know me by a loftier title.
I do believe in thee! thou art the spirit
Of whom I long have dream'd, in a low garb.—
But come, I'll serve thee; thou shalt be as free
As air, despite the waters; let us hence,
I'll show thee I am honest-(oh, thou jewel!)
Thou shalt be furnish'd, Werner, with such means
Of flight, that if thou wert a snail, not birds
Should overtake thee.-Let me gaze again!
I have a foster-brother in the mart
Of Hamburgh, skill'd in precious stones-how many Carats may it weigh?-Come, Werner, I will wing thee.
SCENE II.-STRALENHEIM'S CHAMBER.
All's ready, my good lord!
And yet I must to bed; I fain would say
To rest, but something heavy on my spirit,
Too dull for wakefulness, too quick for slumber,
Sits on me as a cloud along the sky,
Which will not let the sunbeams through, nor yet
Descend in rain and end, but spreads itself
'Twixt earth and heaven, like envy between man
And man, an everlasting mist;—I will
May you rest there well!
STRALENHEIM.
I feel, and fear, I shall.
I know not why, and therefore do fear more,
Because an undescribable- -but 't is
All folly. Were the locks (as I desired)
Changed, to-day, of this chamber? for last night's Adventure makes it needful.
According to your order, and beneath
The inspection of myself and the young Saxon
I think they call him « Ulric.»
You think! you supercilious slave! what right
Have you to tax your memory, which should be
Quick, proud, and happy to retain the name
Of him who saved your master, as a litany
Whose daily repetition marks your duty—
Get hence! you think! indeed! you who stood still
Howling and dripping on the bank, whilst I
Lay dying, and the stranger dash'd aside
The roaring torrent, and restored me to
Thank him—and despise you.
Can recollect his name! I will not waste
I trust to-morrow will restore your lordship
To renovated strength and temper.
SCENE III.-THE SECRET PASSAGE.
Five-six hours have I counted, like the guard
Of outposts on the never-merry clock;
That hollow tongue of time, which, even when
It sounds for joy, takes something from enjoyment
With every clang. 'Tis a perpetual knell,
Though for a marriage feast it rings: each stroke
Peals for a hope the less; the funeral note
Of love deep-buried without resurrection
In the grave of possession; while the knoll
Of long-lived parents finds a jovial echo
To triple time in the son's ear.
I'm dark-I've blown my fingers-number'd o'er
And o'er my steps-and knock'd my head against
Some fifty buttresses-and roused the rats
And bats in general insurrection, till
Their cursed pattering feet and whirring wings
Leave me scarce hearing for another sound.
A light! It is at distance (if I can
Measure in darkness distance): but it blinks
As through a crevice or a key-hole, in.
The inhibited direction; I must on,
Nevertheless, from curiosity.
A distant lamp-light is an incident
In such a den as this. Pray Heaven it lead me
To nothing that may tempt me!
Else-Heaven aid me
To obtain or to escape it! Shining still!
Were it the star of Lucifer himself,
Or he himself girt with its beams, I could
Contain no longer. Softly! mighty well!
That corner's turn'd-So-Ah! no;-right! it draws
Nearer. Here is a darksome angle—so,
That's weather'd.-Let me pause.-Suppose it leads
Into some greater danger than that which
I have escaped-no matter, 't is a new one;
And novel perils, like fresh mistresses,
Wear more magnetic aspects :-I will on,
And be it where it may-I have my dagger,
Which
may protect me at a pinch.---Burn still,
Thou little light! Thou art my ignis fatuus!
My stationary Will o' the wisp!-So! so!
He hears my invocation, and fails not.
I could not sleep-and now the hour's at hand;
All's ready. Idenstein has kept his word;
And, station'd in the outskirts of the town,
Upon the forest's edge, the vehicle
Awaits us. Now the dwindling stars begin
To pale in heaven; and for the last time I
Look on these horrible walls. Oh! never, never
Shall I forget them. Here I came most poor,
But not dishonour'd: and I leave them with
A stain, if not upon my name, yet in
My heart! A never-dying canker-worm,
Which all the coming splendour of the lands,
And rights, and sovereignty of Siegendorf,
Can scarcely lull a moment: I must find
Some means of restitution, which would ease
My soul in part; but how without discovery?—
It must be done, however: and I'll
pause
Upon the method the first hour of safety.
The madness of my misery led to this
Base infamy; repentance must retrieve it:
I will have nought of Stralenheim's upon
My spirit, though he would grasp all of mine;
Lands, freedom, life,—and yet he sleeps! as soundly,
Perhaps, as infancy, with gorgeous curtains
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