'A star so High,
In my sad sky,
I've early loved and late:
A clear lone star,
Serene and far,
Doth rule my wayward fate.

'Tho' dark and chill
The night be still,
A light comes up for me:
In eastern skies
My star doth rise,
And fortune dawns for me.

'And proud and bold,
My way I hold;
For o'er me high I see,
In night's deep blue,
My star shine true,
And fortune beams on me.

'Now onward still,
Thro' dark and chill,
My lonely way must be;
In vain regret,
My star will set,
And fortune's dark for me.

'And whether glad,
Or proud, or sad,
Or howsoe'er I be;
In dawn or noon,
Or setting soon,
My star, I'll follow thee.'

And so there was a pause and a silence. In the silvery notes of the
singer there was the ring of a prophecy; and Toole half read its
meaning. And himself loving a song, and being soft over his music, he
remained fixed for a few seconds, and then sighed, smiling, and dried
his light blue eyes covertly; and he praised the song and singer
briskly; and sighed again, with his fingers on the stem of his glass.
And by this time Devereux had drawn the window-curtain, and was looking
across the river, through the darkness, towards the Elms, perhaps for
that solitary distant light--his star--now blurred and lost in the
storm. Whatever his contemplations, it was plain, when he turned about,
that the dark spirit was upon him again.

'Curse that punch,' said he, in language still more emphatic. 'You're
like Mephistopheles in the play--you come in upon my quiet to draw me to
my ruin. 'Twas the devil sent you here, to kill my soul, I believe; but
you sha'n't. _Drink_, will you?--ay--I'll give you a draught--a draught
of _air_ will cool you. Drink to your heart's content.'

And to Toole's consternation up went the window, and a hideous rush of
eddying storm and snow whirled into the room. Out went the candles--the
curtains flapped high in air, and lashed the ceiling--the door banged
with a hideous crash--papers, and who knows what beside, went spinning,
hurry-scurry round the room; and Toole's wig was very near taking wing
from his head.

'Hey--hey--hey! holloo!' cried the doctor, out of breath, and with his
artificial ringlets frisking about his chops and eyes.

'Out, sorcerer--temptation, begone--avaunt, Mephistopheles--cauldron,
away!' thundered the captain;