ABSTRACT
Eighteen years had now matured the blush of manly beauty on the cheek of Waldorf. The sober voice of Herman cooled not his fevered brain – his inclinations hurled him along – he felt a painful vacuum at his heart, and his soul was sick of obscurity: his passions, like fiery steeds, broke from guidance; / they blindly rush towards a precipice. No longer able to check their mad career, Reason shudders too late, and Death and Destruction point their ready darts.
