And above this roar of the lives and things of the little hour, alone in his chamber stood he on whose starry youth--symbol of the imperishable bloom of the calm Ideal amidst the mouldering Actual--the clouds of ages had rolled in vain.
All those exertions which ordinary wit and courage could suggest had been tried in vain.

All such exertions WERE in vain, where, in that Saturnalia of death, a life was the object.

Nothing but the fall of Robespierre could have saved his victims; now, too late, that fall would only serve to avenge.
Once more, in that last agony of excitement and despair, the seer had plunged into solitude, to invoke again the aid or counsel of those mysterious intermediates between earth and heaven who had renounced the intercourse of the spirit when subjected to the common bondage of the mortal.

In the intense desire and anguish of his heart, perhaps, lay a power not yet called forth; for who has not felt that the sharpness of extreme grief cuts and grinds away many of those strongest bonds of infirmity and doubt which bind down the souls of men to the cabined darkness of the hour; and that from the cloud and thunderstorm often swoops the Olympian eagle that can ravish us aloft! And the invocation was heard,--the bondage of sense was rent away from the visual mind.

He looked, and saw,--no, not the being he had called, with its limbs of light and unutterably tranquil smile--not his familiar, Adon-Ai, the Son of Glory and the Star, but the Evil Omen, the dark Chimera, the implacable Foe, with exultation and malice burning in its hell-lit eyes.