_Gab._ (_solus_). Four--
Five--six hours have I counted, like the guard
Of outposts, on the never-merry clock,
That hollow tongue[190] of time, which, even when
It sounds for joy, takes something from enjoyment
With every clang. 'Tis a perpetual knell,
Though for a marriage-feast it rings: each stroke
Peals for a hope the less; the funeral note
Of Love deep-buried, without resurrection,
In the grave of Possession; while the knoll[191] 10
Of long-lived parents finds a jovial echo
To triple time in the son's ear.
I'm cold--
I'm dark;--I've blown my fingers--numbered o'er
And o'er my steps--and knocked my head against
Some fifty buttresses--and roused the rats
And bats in general insurrection, till
Their cursed pattering feet and whirling wings
Leave me scarce hearing for another sound.
A light! It is at distance (if I can
Measure in darkness distance): but it blinks 20
As through a crevice or a key-hole, in
The inhibited direction: I must on,
Nevertheless, from curiosity.
A distant lamp-light is an incident
In such a den as this. Pray Heaven it lead me
To nothing that may tempt me! Else--Heaven aid me
To obtain or to escape it! Shining still!
Were it the star of Lucifer himself,
Or he himself girt with its beams, I could
Contain no longer. Softly: mighty well! 30
That corner's turned--so--ah! no;--right! it draws
Nearer. Here is a darksome angle--so,
That's weathered.--Let me pause.--Suppose it leads
Into some greater danger than that which
I have escaped--no matter, 'tis a new one;
And novel perils, like fresh mistresses,
Wear more magnetic aspects:--I will on,
And be it where it may--I have my dagger
Which may protect me at a pinch.--Burn still,
Thou little light! Thou art my _ignis fatuus!_ 40
My stationary Will-o'-the-wisp![192]--So! so!
He hears my invocation, and fails not. [_The scene closes_.