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Did utter secret things! The distant river, too, bears to mine ear A dismal wailing. O mysterious night! Thou art not silent; many tongues hast thou. A distant gath'ring blast sounds thro' the wood, And dark clouds fleetly hasten o'er the sky: O! that a storm would rise, a raging storm; Amidst the roar of warring elements I'd lift my hand and strike: but this pale light, The calm distinctness of each stilly thing, Is terrible. (Starting.) Footsteps are near— He comes, he comes! I'll watch him farther on— I cannot do it here.[

Enter Rezenvelt, and continues his way slowly across the stage, but just as he is going off the owl screams, he stops and listens, and the owl screams again.

Rez. Ha! does the night-bird greet me on my way? How much his hooting is in harmony With such a scene as this! I like it well. Oft when a boy, at the still twilight hour, I've leant my back against some knotted oak, And loudly mimick'd him, till to my call He answer would return, and thro' the gloom We friendly converse held. Between me and the star-bespangl'd sky Those aged oaks their crossing branches wave, And thro' them looks the pale and placid moon. How like a crocodile, or winged snake,