On him her flashing eyes a moment bent,
Then to the wall she turned as if to warp
Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent.
...
Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall
In time to his old tune ...
... And in a gushing stream
The tears rushed forth from her o’erclouded brain,
Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.”
Nor be forgotten the impressive instance of Schiller’s Wallenstein, in his hour of darkness, tranquillised by Thekla’s voice and lute:—