May roll all harmless o'er us as the wrath
Of these wild elements that menace now,
Yet do not reach us.
Werner (without attending, and walking disturbedly,
speaking to himself). No—'Tis past—'tis blighted,10
The last faint hope to which my withered fortune
Clung with a feeble and a fluttering grasp,
Yet clung convulsively—for twas the last—
Is broken with the rest: would that my heart were!
But there is pride, and passion's war within,