From the irregular manner in which these scattered lights advanced, sometimes keeping a straight line, sometimes mixing and crossing each other, it might be inferred that the subterranean vault in which they appeared was of very considerable extent. Their number also increased; and as they collected more together, Philipson could perceive that the lights proceeded from many torches, borne by men muffled in black cloaks, like mourners at a funeral, or the Black Friars of St. Francis's Order, wearing their cowls drawn over their heads, so as to conceal their features. They appeared anxiously engaged in measuring off a portion of the apartment; and, while occupied in that employment, they sang, in the ancient German language, rhymes more rude than Philipson could well understand, but which may be imitated thus:-- Measurers of good and evil, Bring the square, the line, the level,-- Rear the altar, dig the trench, Blood both stone and ditch shall drench. Cubits six, from end to end, Must the fatal bench extend,-- Cubits six, from side to side, Judge and culprit must divide. On the east the Court assembles, On the west the Accused trembles-- Answer, brethren, all and one, Is the ritual rightly done? A deep chorus seemed to reply to the question. Many voices joined in it, as well of persons already in the subterranean vault as of others who as yet remained without in various galleries and passages which communicated with it, and whom Philipson now presumed to be very numerous. The answer chanted ran as follows:-- On life and soul, on blood and bone, One for all, and all for one, We warrant this is rightly done. The original strain was then renewed in the same manner as before-- How wears the night?--Doth morning shine In early radiance on the Rhine? What music floats upon his tide? Do birds the tardy morning chide? Brethren, look out from hill and height, And answer true, how wears the night? The answer was returned, though less loud than at first, and it seemed that those by whom the reply was given were at a much greater distance than before; yet the words were distinctly heard. The night is old; on Rhine's broad breast Glance drowsy stars which long to rest. No beams are twinkling in the east. There is a voice upon the flood, The stern still call of blood for blood; 'Tis time we listen the behest. The chorus replied, with many additional voices-- Up, then, up! When day's at rest, 'Tis time that such as we are watchers; Rise to judgment, brethren, rise! Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes, He and night are matchers.