Read "Melmoth the Wanderer" by Charles Maturin online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
Pandere res alta terrâ et caligine mersas. I'll show your Grace the strangest sight -- / Body o'me, what is it, Butts? -- / - Henry the Eighth
Of the desolation of mind into which the rejection of my appeal plunged me, I can give no account, for I retain no distinguishing image. All colours disappear in the night, and despair has no diary -- monotony is her essence and her curse. Hours have I walked in the garden, without retaining a single impression but that of the sounds of my footsteps; -- thought, feeling, passion, and all that employs them -- life and futurity, extinct and swallowed up. I was already like an inhabitant of the land where "all things are forgotten. " I hovered on the regions of mental twilight, where the "light is as darkness. " The clouds were gathering that portended the approach of utter night -- they were scattered by a sudden and extraordinary light.