UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.
"Très volontiers," repartit le démon. "Vous aimez les tableaux changeans: je veux vous contenter."
Le Diable Boiteux.
XV.
Down through the night we drifted slow, the rays From London's countless gas-jets starred the haze O'er which we darkly hovered. Broad loomed the bulk of Wren's colossal dome Through the grey mist, which, like a sea of foam, The sleeping city covered.
"The year," the Shadow murmured, "nears its close. Lo! how they swarm in slumber, friends and foes, Kindred and utter strangers, The millions of this Babylon, stretched beneath The shroud of night, and drawing peaceful breath, Unstirred by dreads and dangers."
"But not by dreams," I answered, "Canst reveal, O Shade, the vagrant thoughts that throng and steal About these countless pillows? Or are these sleeping souls as shut to thee As is the unsounded silence of the sea To those who brave its billows?"
"Dreams?" smiled the Shadow. "What I see right well Your eyes may not behold. Yet can I tell Their import as unravelled By subtler sense, whilst through these souls they pass! What said the demon to Don Cléophas As o'er Madrid they travelled?