Confederates against the sovereign day,

Children of older and yet older sires,

Whose living coral berries dropped, as now

On me, on many a baron's surcoat once,

On many a beauty's wimple—would proceed

No poison-tree, to thrust, from hell its root,

Hither and thither its strange snaky arms.

Why came I here? What must I do? [A bell strikes.] A bell?

Midnight! and 'tis at midnight ... Ah, I catch

—Woods, river, plains, I catch your meaning now.