The Man. Where art thou? thy voice is almost lost in the distance. How can I follow thee through this abyss?
A Voice (in his ear). Where are thy wings?
The Man. Evil spirit, why dost thou mock and torture me? I scorn thee!
Another Voice. What! a great, immortal soul, which in a single moment should be able to traverse the boundless space of heaven, to faint and perish at a cliff on the side of a hill! Stout heart! sublime soul, shuddering, and imploring thy feet to go no farther! poor things!
The Man. Appear! Take forms with which I may contend, which may be overthrown! If I start or quail before you, may she never again be mine!
The Maiden (from the other side of the abyss). Seize my hand, and swing thyself over to me!
The Man. What strange change is coming over thee!...
The flowers start from thy temples, tear themselves loose from thy hair, and when thou touchest them, they crawl like lizards, and writhe and hiss like adders!
The Maiden. My beloved!
The Man. Merciful God! the wind has twisted and torn off thy floating drapery; it hangs in squalid rags about thee!