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KONRAD WALLENROD.
a frightful viper has crept into the garden, and wherever it glides with its wandering breast, the grass withers, and the roses fade and become yellow as the reptile's breast! Return in imagination to the past, and remember the days which thou wouldst have spent in happiness, if . . . Thou art silent! no—sing and curse;—let not that burning tear, which pierces the granite, flow in vain. I will take off my helmet:—let it fall here, and let it burn my forehead! yes, here let it fall: I am ready to suffer; I shall feel while yet on earth what I am to suffer in hell."
THE VOICE FROM THE TOWER.
"Forgive me, my love, forgive me! I have erred!
"Thou camest late—it was so lonely
