Ah, who knows but that the book of History may show us at last on its
long-marred page--_Man_ himself,--no longer the partial and deformed
developments of his nature, which each successive age hath left as if in
mockery of its ideal,--but, man himself, the creature of thought,--the
high, calm, majestic being, that of old stood unshrinking beneath his
Maker's gaze. Even, as first he woke amid the gardens of the East, in
this far western clime at last he shall smile again,--a perfect thing.
_2nd Sol_. In your earnestness, you do not mark these strange sounds,
Edward. Listen. (_He grasps his sword_.)
(_A Soldier rushes down the path_.)
_3d Sol_. We are surrounded! Fly. The Indians are upon us. Fly.
[_Rushes on_.
(_Another Soldier bursts from the woods_.)
_4th Sol_. God! They are butchering them above there, do not stand here!
[_Rushes down the hill_.
_2nd Sol_. Resistance is vain. Hear those shrieks! There is death in
them. Resistance is vain.
_1st Sol_. Flight is vain.
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