Page:Miscellaneous Plays 1.pdf/347

Rh

Then shall it be unto thee as thou wilt. O! what dost thou behold?

Nay, nothing yet but the dark formless void. Be patient and attend.——I see him now: On the tower'd wall he stands: the dreadful battle Roars round him. Thro' dark smoke, and sheeted flames, And showers of hurling darts, and hissing balls, He strides: beneath his sword falls many a foe: His dauntless breast to the full tide of battle He nobly gives.—Still on thro' the dark storm Mine eye pursues him to his fate's high cope—

His fate's high cope! merciful, awful heaven! (After a pause.) O, wherefore dost thou pause? thine eyes roll terribly: