Page:CromwellHugo.djvu/292

 Hath gone its way as by a miracle. What wish had I that was not gratified? The nations 'neath my yoke have bent their necks. I 've but to say the word to be made king To-morrow.—In my most delirious dreams Have I e'er dreamed of greater eminence? Reformer, conqueror, and judge and king— Have I not reached my goal?—A noble end, In sooth, to play the archer at this gate, On sentry-go, for hire!—What outward pomp! What inward bitterness! [Another pause. A frigid night! 'Twill soon be twelve o'clock, when every ghost Comes from his coffin forth and shows his murderer His bloodstained hand, his fatal, gaping wound, And on his winding-sheet a bloody stain!— But what new dream is this? A grievous thing It is to be alone!—Am I a child? Ah me! would that I were!—That cursèd Jew, With all the horrid visions he evoked, Left me a-creep with fright; he chilled my blood,— I tremble even now.—It is so cold!— To counteract his sacrilegious words, Suppose that I repeat the sacred verse 'Gainst sorcery? [A clock begins to strike midnight with slow strokes. What noise is that?—The clock! it is the time! [He listens. I ne'er had heard it at the midnight hour. 'Tis like a knell! 'tis like a weeping voice! [He pauses and listens again. 'Twas it that struck a martyr's final hour! [After the last stroke of the clock. Midnight!—I am alone!—Should I invoke