Have mercy upon all, and upon me. One day, grant me but a single day,
that I may collect the descendants of my sister together, and save them!"
And uttering these words, the wanderer fell upon his knees, and raised
his hands to heaven in a suppliant attitude.

Suddenly, the wind howled with redoubled violence; its sharp whistlings
changed to a tempest. The Wanderer trembled, and exclaimed in a voice of
terror, "O Lord! the blast of death is howling in its rage. It appears as
though a whirlwind were lifting me up. Lord, wilt Thou not, then, hear my
prayer? The spectre! O! do I behold the spectre? Yes, there it is; its
cadaverous countenance is agitated by convulsive throes, its red eyes are
rolling in their orbits. Begone! begone! Oh! its hand--its icy hand has
seized on mine! Mercy, Lord, have mercy! 'Onward!' Oh, Lord! this
scourge, this terrible avenging scourge! Must I, then, again carry it
into this city, must my poor wretched brethren be the first to fall under
it--though already so miserable? Mercy, mercy! 'Onward!' And the
descendants of my sister--oh, pray, have mercy, mercy! 'Onward!' O Lord,
have pity on me! I can no longer keep my footing on the ground, the
spectre is dragging me over the brow of the hill; my course is as rapid
as the death-bearing wind that whistles in my track; I already approach
the walls of the city. Oh, mercy, Lord, mercy on the descendants of my
sister--spare them! do not compel me to be their executioner, and let
them triumph over their enemies. Onward, onward! The ground is fleeing
from under me; I am already at the city gate; oh, yet, Lord, yet there is
time; oh, have mercy on this slumbering city, that it may not even now
awaken with the lamentations of terror, of despair and death! O Lord, I
touch the threshold of the gate; verily Thou willest it so then. 'Tis
done--Paris! the scourge is in thy bosom! oh, cursed, cursed evermore am
I. Onward! on! on!"[34]