And with one hand clench’d in his tangled hair
And with a sigh as if his heart would break—
[During this Segismund has entered from the fortress, with a torch.
Segismund. Once more the storm has roar’d itself away,
Splitting the crags of God as it retires;
But sparing still what it should only blast,
This guilty piece of human handiwork,
And all that are within it. Oh, how oft,
How oft, within or here abroad, have I
Waited, and in the whisper of my heart