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In dim unshapely blackness. Aught that moves Across your path, or sheep or straggling goat, Is now a pawing steed or grizzly bull, Large and terrific; every air-mov'd bush Or jutting crag, some strange gigantic thing.

Theo. Is all still in the castle?

Frank. There is an owl sits hooting on the tower, That answer from a distant mate receives, Like the faint echo of his dismal cry; While a poor houseless dog, by dreary fits, Sits howling at the gate. All else is still.

Theo. Each petty circumstance is in our favour, That makes the night more dismal.

Frank. Aye, all goes well: as I approach'd the walls, I heard two centinels—for now I ween, The boldest spearman will not watch alone— Together talk in the deep hollow voice Of those who speak at midnight, under awe Of the dead stillness round them.

Theo. Then let us put ourselves in readiness, And heaven's good favour guide us! [Exeunt.

Or. (aside.) The room is darken'd: yesternight a lamp Did shed its light around on roof and walls, And made the dreary space appear less dismal.