strong, mighty, proud, reaching to heights—oh, how I love it! These pillars are as if reaching to the heavens, that ceiling hastening to become a support of the cupola. Who was it that built thee, proud Hlohov? Art thou a reflection of the mind and nature of thy builder? If so, surely then the men born half a thousand years ago were very different from those of to-day.”
Walking up to the second story, the harper found himself in a long, winding corridor, in which heavy doors, sheathed with iron, formed two black rows. He thoughtfully examined one after another, and remained standing before the last.
Opening it with no small difficulty, he entered a large hall, where he could see by the dusky light of his lamp bloody helmets, spears, coats of mail, and shields, hanging on the walls and piled up in the corners. Large, worn-out flags and banners shaded the old weapons, and in the cold breeze from the door they waved as if the hands of spirits had touched them.
