[Controlsocial-usuarios] Other, Than that the Pilsen army has gone through The fo

[Branscum Shackleton]

Igns to her to be silent. Turn not thine eyes
upon the
backward view, Let us look forward into sunny days, Welcome with joyous
heart the victory, Forget what it has cost thee. Not

to-day, For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead; To thee he died
when first he parted from thee. WALLENSTEIN. This anguish will be
wearied down [12], I know; What pang is permanent with man? From the
highest, As from the vilest
thing of
every day, He learns to wean himself:
for the strong hours Conquer him. Yet
I feel what I have lost In him. The bloom is vanished from my life, For
oh, he stood beside me, like

my youth, Transformed for me the real to a dream, Clothing the palpable
and the familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn, Whatever fortunes
wait my future toils, The beautiful is vanished--and returns not.
COUNTESS. Oh, be not treacherous to thy own power. Thy heart is rich
enough to vivify Itself. Thou lovest
and prizest virtues in him, The which thyself didst plant, thyself
unfold. WALLENSTEIN (stepping to the door). Who interrupts
us now at this late hour? It is the governor. He brings the keys Of the
citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister! COUNTESS. Oh,
'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee; A boding fear possesses me!
WALLENSTEIN.
Fear! Wherefore? COUNTESS.
Shouldst thou depart this
night, and we at waking Never more
find thee! WALLENSTEIN. Fancies! COUNTESS. Ob, my soul Has long been
weighed down
by these dark forebodings,
And if I combat and repel them waking, They still crush down upon my
heart in dreams, I saw thee, yesternight with thy first wife Sit at a
banquet, gorgeously attired. WALLENSTHIN. This was
a dream of favorable omen, That marriage being the founder of my
fortunes. COUNTESS. To-day I dreamed that I was seeking thee In thy own
chamber. As I entered, lo! It was no more a chamber:
the Chartreuse At Gitschin 'twas, which
thou thyself hast founded, And where it

is thy will that thou shouldst be Interred. WALLENSTEIN. Thy soul is
busy with these thoughts. COUNTESS.
What! dost thou not believe that oft in dreams A voice of warning speaks
prophetic to us? WALLENS
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