88 THE TEMPLARS IX CYPRUS. [ACT HI. Tho strong heroic age appears to speak,— A spirit blest,—in welcome kind to me, From all these columns, all these cupolas. COMMANDER. Sheer truth thou aaycst !—I nm an aged man And long I've dwelt within these castle walls ; No charm of novelty can influence me ; Yet oft, in these dim halls a shuddering takes This breast unused to fear, and then mesccms As though tho antiquo columns which have upborne, Through ages, tho dome's boldly curved concave, Did call to mo : " Bo faithful unto death ! " When I sometimes at cvening-tido survey Tho ancient tower in Gothic pomp ornate, And sco its ball that in tho moonlight shines Like some small star high in tho firmament ; Then seems it me, tho earlier knighthood, like A giant-counterpart, peers down on me, Immense and yet most comforting ; then is it As though ono whispered in mine car : " 'Twos men Piled np this bulk stupendous, by their zeal And courage, and their living faith that they Must give some holy gift, to overlivo Tho dust." Then I reflect how much men might Achieve of good, and how, God mend it ! they So little trill ; amazed,—tho pious raco Of valiant heroes could so dwindle down To such a breed of earth-worms !—Then no draught Of wine, no nice repast refreshes me ; I seem a stranger in this world of dwarfs : I limp in sadness to my little room, And groan to think I should have lived for this ! FRANK. Methinks, excuse me !—you mistake the mist Which heralds shining morn, for black midnight. All yet may mend and take a better turn !— COMMANDER. It may ? God mend it ! but it shall ! it must !