ACT I.
Scene I.—A ruinous chateau on the Silesian frontier of Bohemia.
Josepha. The storm is at it's height—how the wind howls,
Like an unearthly voice, through these lone chambers!
And the rain patters on the flapping casement
Which quivers in it's frame—the night is starless—
Yet cheerly Werner! still our hearts are warm:
The tempest is without, or should be so—
For we are sheltered here where Fortune's clouds