rupted by the sorcerer Zornebock, who in the form of a Bohemian threw himself at my feet, and begged my love. I replied as my heart bade me answer the murderer of my father. The manners of the villain were uncouth; he was easily excited, but notwithstanding his rage, and although struggling with despair I resisted his menaces which I dared him to perform, imploring him to shatter the palace, and bury me in its ruins; but the fiend upon hearing my prayer, left me, saying he would grant me time to reflect upon his suit.
“After seven days he renewed his hateful proposal, and with scorn I bade him begone. He left the room trembling with rage, and shortly afterwards I felt the ground quaking under my feet, the castle seemed to roll into an abyss, I sunk upon my couch, bereft of sense. From this death-like slumber, the sorcerer’s fearful voice once awoke me:—‘Awake, thou sleeper,’ said he, ‘from thy seven years, sleep, and tell me has not beneficent Time diminished thy hate towards thy faithful Palatine. Rejoice my heart with the slightest ray of hope, and this sorrowful grotto shall be changed into a temple of joy.’ I did not condescend to honor the villainous sorcerer by look or answer, but covered my
