in a nest of demons, where despair in vain sits brooding over the putrid eggs of hope; where agony woos the embrace of death; where patience, beside the bottomless pool of despondency, sits angling for impossibilities. Yet, even _here_, to behold her, to embrace her! Yes, Matilda, whether in this dark abode, amidst toads and spiders, or in a royal palace, amidst the more loathsome reptiles of a court, would be indifferent to me; angels would shower down their hymns of gratulation upon our heads, while fiends would envy the eternity of suffering love.... Soft, what air was that? it seemed a sound of more than human warblings. Again! [_listens attentively for some minutes._] Only the wind; it is well, however; it reminds me of that melancholy air, which has so often solaced the hours of my captivity. Let me see whether the damps of this dungeon have not yet injured my guitar. [_Takes his guitar, tunes it, and begins the following air, with a full accompaniment of violins from the orchestra._ [_Air, Lanterna Magica._] SONG. BY ROGERO. I. Whene’er with haggard eyes I view This dungeon that I’m rotting in, I think of those companions true Who studied with me at the U— —niversity of Gottingen— —niversity of Gottingen. [_Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds_— II. Sweet kerchief, check’d with heavenly blue, Which once my love sat knotting in!— Alas! Matilda _then_ was true! At least I thought so at the U— —niversity of Gottingen— —niversity of Gottingen. [_At the repetition of this line_ ROGERO _clanks his chains in cadence._ III. Barbs! Barbs! alas! how swift you flew Her neat post-waggon trotting in! Ye bore Matilda from my view; Forlorn I languish’d at the U— —niversity of Gottingen— —niversity of Gottingen. IV. This faded form! this pallid hue! This blood my veins is clotting in, My years are many—they were few When first I entered at the U— —niversity of Gottingen— —niversity of Gottingen. V. There first for thee my passion grew, Sweet! sweet Matilda Pottingen! Thou wast the daughter of my tu— —tor, law professor at the U— —niversity of Gottingen— —niversity of Gottingen. VI. Sun, moon, and thou vain world, adieu, That kings and priests are plotting in: Here doomed to starve on water gru— —el,[273] never shall I see the U— —niversity of Gottingen— —niversity of Gottingen.