And gilded crosiers, and crossed arms, and cowls,
And helms, and twisted armour, and long swords,
All the fantastic
furniture
of windows 120
Dim with brave knights and holy hermits, whose
Likeness and fame alike rest in some panes
Of crystal, which each rattling wind proclaims
As frail as any other life or glory.
Byron
_ You'll find the spring more obvious
On the other side; and, when you would return,
It yields to the least touch.
_Gab._ I'll in--farewell!
[GABOR _goes in by the secret panel_.
_Wer._ (_solus_). What have I done? Alas! what _had_ I done
Before to make this fearful? Let it be
Still some atonement that I save the man, 110
Whose sacrifice had saved perhaps my own--
They come! to seek elsewhere what is before them!
_Enter_ IDENSTEIN _and Others_.
_Iden._ Is he not here? He must have vanished then
Through the dim Gothic glass by pious aid
Of pictured saints upon the red and yellow
Casements, through which the sunset streams like sunrise
On long pearl-coloured beards and crimson crosses.
And gilded crosiers, and crossed arms, and cowls,
And helms, and twisted armour, and long swords,
All the fantastic
furniture
of windows 120
Dim with brave knights and holy hermits, whose
Likeness and fame alike rest in some panes
Of crystal, which each rattling wind proclaims
As frail as any other life or glory.
He's gone, however.
_Wer._ Whom do you seek?
_Iden._ A villain.
_Wer._ Why need you come so far, then?
_Iden._ In the search
Of him who robbed the Baron.
_Wer._ Are you sure
You have divined the man?
_Iden._ As sure as you
Stand there: but where's he gone?
