My life, my days forevermore endure.
My life—it comes I know not whence, but mine
For aye 'twill be, indissolubly sure.
When the night drew on, Atmâ went away. In thought Bertram followed him, full of sad solicitude.
He strode along the heights. The cooling air and the sense of isolation were grateful to his worn spirit. He wandered far until he found himself in a rocky fortress, vast, black and terrible. The lowering peaks above inclined their giant heads to one another in awful conclave, and the ghastly moonbeams pierced to the gloom below, where they enwrapped the lonely form of Atmâ in a phosphorescent glare. The winds broke among the cliffs, and with shrieks and fearful laughter proclaimed the dark councils of the peaks, and in the din were heard mutterings and imprecations. A transport seized the soul of Atmâ. The horrible glee of the night awoke wrath, and he hurled defiance to the mocking winds.
"What! are th' infernal powers moved for me,
That all the hosts of hell me welcome give,
And claim me comrade in their revelry?