_Wallenstein._ Methinks, If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me. He, is the star of my nativity, And often marvellously hath his aspect 35 Shot strength into my heart. _Countess._ Thou'lt see him again. _Wallenstein._ See him again? O never, never again. _Countess._ How? _Wallenstein._ He is gone--is dust. _Countess._ Whom meanest thou then? _Wallenstein._ He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finished! For him there is no longer any future, 40 His life is bright--bright without spot it was, And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap. Far off is he, above desire and fear; No more submitted to the change and chance 45 Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis well With him! but who knows what the coming hour Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us! _Countess._ Thou speakest Of Piccolomini. What was his death? The courier had just left thee as I came. 50 [_WALLENSTEIN by a motion of his hand makes signs 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; 55 To thee he died, when first he parted from thee. _Wallenstein._ I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious. What does not man grieve down? From the highest, As from the vilest thing of every day He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours 60 Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost In him. The bloom is vanished from my life. For O! he stood beside me, like my youth, Transformed for me the real to a dream, Clothing the palpable and familiar 65 With golden exhalations of the dawn. Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, The beautiful is vanished--and returns not. _Countess._ O be not treacherous to thy own power. Thy heart is rich enough to vivify 70 Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him, The which thyself did'st 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! 75 _Countess._ O 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee-- A boding fear possesses me! _Wallenstein._ Fear? Wherefore? _Countess._ Should'st thou depart this night, and we at waking Never more find thee! _Wallenstein._ Fancies!