KONRAD WALLENROD.
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ment, and partook not of the revelry of his brethren; but when in his lonely cell, tortured by the stings of remembrance and present sufferings, besought consolation in the cup.
Then he seemed to assume different features, a sickly flush suffused his pale and severe countenance, and his large and once bright eyes, altered and dimmed by time, darted flashes of rekindled lire,—his breast uttered sighs of grief, and tears swelled his eyes; his hand grasped the lute, and from his lips flew songs in an unknown tongue: to understand them,
