Shakespeare's England . CHAPTER XXII A BORROWER OF THE NIGHT 9 k v^^ctJ / mtisi become a borrower of the a dark hour or twain. — Macbeth. IDNIGHT has just sounded from thetower of St. Martin. It is a peacefulnight, faintly lit with stars, and in theregion round about Trafalgar Square adream-like stillness broods over the dark-ened city, now slowly hushing itself to its brief andtroubled rest. This is the centre of the heart of moderncivilisation, the middle of the greatest city in the world—the vast, seething alembic of a grand future, thestately monument of a deathless past. Here, a
Shakespeare's England . CHAPTER XXII A BORROWER OF THE NIGHT 9 k v^^ctJ / mtisi become a borrower of the a dark hour or twain. — Macbeth. IDNIGHT has just sounded from thetower of St. Martin. It is a peacefulnight, faintly lit with stars, and in theregion round about Trafalgar Square adream-like stillness broods over the dark-ened city, now slowly hushing itself to its brief andtroubled rest. This is the centre of the heart of moderncivilisation, the middle of the greatest city in the world—the vast, seething alembic of a grand future, thestately monument of a deathless past. Here, alone, inmy quiet room of this old English inn, let me meditatea while on some of the scenes that are near me — thestrange, romantic, sad, grand objects that I have seen,the memorable figures of beauty, genius, and renown thathaunt this classic land. How solemn and awful now must be the gloom withinthe walls of the Abbey! A walk of only a few minutes 244. Church <if St. Martin. 246 SHAKESPEARES ENGLAND chap. would bring me to its gates — the gates of the mostrenowned mausoleum on earth. No human foot to-nightinvades its sacred precincts. The dead alone possess see, upon its gray walls, the marble figures, white andspectral, staring through the darkness. I hear the night-wind moaning around its lofty towers and faintly sob-bing in the dim, mysterious spaces beneath its frettedroof. Here and there a ray of starlight, streamingthrough the sumptuous rose window, falls and lingers,in ruby or emerald gleam, on tomb, or pillar, or duskypavement. Rustling noises, vague and fearful, floatfrom those dim chapels where the great kings lie instate, with marble efhgies recumbent above their such an hour as this, in such a place, do the deadcome out of their graves. The resolute, implacableQueen Elizabeth, the beautiful, ill-fated Queen of Scots,the royal boys that perished in the Tower, Charles theMerry and William the Silent —
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectshakespearewilliam15
