WALLENSTEIN (moves to the window).
There is a busy motion in the Heaven,
The wind doth chase the flag upon the tower,
Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle[34] of the moon,
Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light;
No form of star is visible! That one
White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder,
Is from Cassiopeia, and therein
Is Jupiter.
(A pause).
But now The blackness of the troubled element hides him! [He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks vacantly into the distance.]
COUNTESS (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand).
What art thou brooding on?
WALLENSTEIN.
Methinks,
If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me.
He is the star of my nativity,
And often marvelously hath his aspect
Shot strength into my heart.
COUNTESS.
Thou'lt see him again.