that, even in the dungeon, and
before the deathsman, I,--I had the power to save them both!"

"But at some unconjectured and most fatal sacrifice to thyself."

"To myself! Icy sage, there is no self in love! I go. Nay, alone: I
want thee not. I want now no other guide but the human instincts of
affection. No cave so dark, no solitude so vast, as to conceal her.
Though mine art fail me; though the stars heed me not; though space,
with its shining myriads, is again to me but the azure void,--I return
but to love and youth and hope! When have they ever failed to triumph
and to save!"

BOOK VII. -- THE REIGN OF TERROR.

Orrida maesta nei fero aspetto
Terrore accresce, e piu superbo il rende;
Rosseggian gli occhi, e di veneno infetto
Come infausta cometa, il guardo splende,
Gil involve il mento, e sull 'irsuto petto
Ispida efoita la gran barbe scende;
E IN GUISA DE VORAGINE PROFONDA
SAPRE LA BOCCA A'ATRO SANGUE IMMONDA.
(Ger. Lib., Cant. iv. 7.)

A horrible majesty in the fierce aspect increases it terror, and
renders it more superb. Red glow the eyes, and the aspect
infected, like a baleful comet, with envenomed influences,
glares around. A vast beard covers the chin--and, rough and
thick, descends over the shaggy breast.--And like a profound gulf
expand the jaws, foul with black gore.

CHAPTER 7.I.

Qui suis-je, moi qu'on accuse? Un esclave de la Liberte, un
martyr vivant de la Republique.
--"Discours de Robespierre, 8 Thermidor."

(Who am I,--_I_ whom they accuse? A slave of Liberty,--a living
martyr for the Republic.)

It roars,--The River of Hell, whose first outbreak was chanted as the
gush of a channel to Elysium. How burst into blossoming hopes fair
hearts that had nourished themselves on the diamond dews of the rosy
dawn, when Liberty came from the dark ocean, and the arms of decrepit
Thraldom--Aurora from the bed of Tithon! Hopes! ye have ripened into
fruit, and the fruit is gore and ashes! Beautiful Roland, eloquent
Vergniaud, visionary Condorcet, high-hearted Malesherbes!--wits,
philosophers, statesmen, patriots, dreamers! behold the millennium for
which ye dared and laboured!

I invoke the ghosts! Saturn hath devoured his children ("La Revolution
est comme Saturne, elle devorera tous ses enfans."--Vergniaud.), and
lives alone,--I his true name of Moloch!

It is the Reign of T