Oh handmaid of the Halls thou ne'er mayst tread. And let the darkness gather round that world, Not for the vision of thy glittering walls We ask, nor glimpse of brilliant troops that roam Thine ancient streets, thou sunless city,-- Wrap thy strange pavillions still in clouds, Let the shades slumber round thy many homes, By faith, and not by sight, through lowly paths Of goodness, sorrow-led, to thee we come. * * * * * PART FOURTH. * * * * * FULFILMENT. * * * * * DIALOGUE I. SCENE. _The ground before the fort. Baggage wagons. Cannon dismounted. Confused sounds within. A soldier is seen leaning on his rifle_. (_Another soldier enters_.) _2nd Sol_. It's morning! Look in the east there. What are we waiting for? _1st Sol_. Eh! The devil knows best, I reckon, Sir. _2nd Sol_. Hillo, John! What's the matter there? Here's day-break upon us! What are we waiting for? (_Another soldier enters_.) _3d Sol_. To build a bridge--that is all. _2nd Sol_. A bridge? _3d Sol_. We shall be off by to-morrow night, no doubt of it,--if we don't chance to get cooked and eaten before that time,--some little risk of that. _2nd Sol_. But what's the matter below there, I say? The bridge? what ails it? _3d Sol_. Just as that last wagon was going over, down comes the bridge, Sirs, or a good piece of it at least.--What else could it do?--timbers half sawn away! _2nd Sol_. Some of that young jackanape's work! _Aid-de-camp!_ I'd _aid_ him. He must be ordering and fidgetting, and fuming.--Could not wait till we were over. _1st Sol_. All of a piece, boys! _3d Sol_. Humph. I wish it had been,--the bridge, I mean. _1st Sol_. But, I say, don't you see how every thing, little and great, goes one way, and that, against us? Chance has no currents like this! It's a bad side that Providence frowns on. I think when Heaven deserts a cause, it's time for us poor mortals to begin to think about it. _3d Sol_. Now, if you are going to do so mean a thing as that, don't talk about Heaven--prythee don't. [_They pass on_. (_Two other soldiers enter_.) _4th Sol_. (_singing_.) _Yankee doodle is the tune Americans delight in, 'Twill do to whistle, sing, or play, And just the thing for fighting. Yankee doodle, boys, huzza_---- (_Breaking off abruptly_.) I do not like the looks of it, Will. _5th Sol_. Of what? _4th Sol_. Of the morning that begins to glimmer in the east there. _5th Sol_. No? Why, I was thinking just now I never saw a handsomer summer's dawning. That first faint light on the woods and meadows, there is nothing I like better. See, it has reached the river now.