The Bride of Fort Edward | Page 2

breathing. Oh this year,
This year of blood hath made me old, and yet, Spite of my manhood
now, with all my heart, I could lie down upon this grass and weep For
those old blessed times, the times of peace again.
_1st Stud_. There will be weeping, Frank, from older eyes, Or e'er
again that blessed time shall come. Hearts strong and glad now, must
be broke ere then: Wild tragedies, that for the days to come Shall faery
pastime make, must yet ere then Be acted here; ay, with the genuine
clasp Of anguish, and fierce stabs, not buried in silk robes, But in hot
hearts, and sighs from wrung souls' depths. And they shall walk in light

that we have made, They of the days to come, and sit in shadow Of our
blood-reared vines, not counting the wild cost. Thus 'tis: among glad
ages many,--one-- In garlands lies, bleeding and bound. Times past,
And times to come, on ours, as on an altar-- Have laid down their griefs,
and unto us Is given the burthen of them all.
_2nd Stud_. And yet, See now, how pleasantly the sun shines there
Over the yellow fields, to the brown fence Its hour of golden
beauty--giving still. And but for that faint ringing from the fort, That
comes just now across the vale to us, And this small band of soldiers
planted here, I could think this was peace, so calmly there, The
afternoon amid the valley sleeps.
_1st Stud_. Yet in the bosom of this gentle time, The crisis of an
age-long struggle heaves.
_2nd Stud_. _Age-long?_--Why, this land's history can scarce Be told
in ages, yet.
_1st Stud_. But this war's can. In that small isle beyond the sea, Francis,
Ages, ages ago, its light first blazed. This is the war. Old, foolish, blind
prerogative, In ermines wrapped, and sitting on king's thrones; Against
young reason, in a peasant's robe His king's brow hiding. For the infant
race Weaves for itself the chains its manhood scorns, (When time hath
made them adamant, alas!--) The reverence of humanity, that gold
Which makes power's glittering round, ordained of God But for the
lovely majesty of right, Unto a mad usurper, yielding, all, Making the
low and lawless will of man Vicegerent of that law and will divine,
Whose image only, reason hath, on earth. This is the struggle:--here,
we'll fight it out. 'Twas all too narrow and too courtly _there_; In sight
of that old pageantry of power We were, in truth, the children of the
past, Scarce knowing our own time: but here, we stand In nature's
palaces, and we are _men_;-- Here, grandeur hath no younger dome
than this; And now, the strength which brought us o'er the deep, Hath
grown to manhood with its nurture here,-- Now that they heap on us
abuses, that Had crimsoned the first William's cheek, to name,-- We're
ready now--for our last grapple with blind power.
[Exeunt.
* * * * *

DIALOGUE II.

SCENE. _The same. A group of ragged soldiers in conference_.
_1st Soldier_. I am flesh and blood myself, as well as the rest of you,
but there is no use in talking. What the devil would you do?--You may
talk till dooms-day, but what's to hinder us from serving our time
out?--and that's three months yet. Ay, there's the point. Show me that.
_2nd Sol_. Three months! Ha, thank Heaven mine is up to-morrow;
and, I'll tell you what, boys, before the sun goes down to-morrow night,
you will see one Jack Richards trudging home,--trudging home, Sirs!
None of your bamboozling, your logic, and your figures. A good piece
of bread and butter is the figure for me. But you should hear the
Colonel, though, as the time draws nigh. Lord! you'd think I was the
General at least. Humph, says I.
_3d Sol_. Ay, ay,--feed you on sugar-candy till they get you to sign,
and then comes the old shoes and moccasins.----
_2nd Sol_. And that's true enough, Ned. I've eaten myself, no less than
two very decent pair in the service. I'll have it out of Congress yet
though, I'll be hanged if I don't. None of your figures for me! I say,
boys, I am going home.
_1st Sol_. Well, go home, and--can't any body else breathe? Why don't
you answer me, John?--What would you have us do?--
_4th Sol_. Ask Will Wilson there.
_1st Sol_. Will?--Where is he?
_4th Sol_. There he stands, alongside of the picket there, his hands in
his pockets, whistling, and looking as wise as the dragon. Mind you,
there's always something pinching at the bottom of that same whistle,
though its such a don't-care sort of a whistle too. Ask Will, he'll tell
you.
_3d Sol_. Ay, Will has