Lost, lost! Thus things are ordered here! God's creatures, And yet he takes no pride in us!--none, none! Truly there needs another life to come! If this be all--(I must tell Festus that) And other life await us not--for one, I say 't is a poor cheat, a stupid bungle, A wretched failure. I, for one, protest Against it, and I hurl it back with scorn. Well, onward though alone! Small time remains, And much to do: I must have fruit, must reap Some profit from my toils. I doubt my body Will hardly serve me through; while I have labored It has decayed; and now that I demand Its best assistance, it will crumble fast: A sad thought, a sad fate! How very full Of wormwood 't is, that just at altar-service, The rapt hymn rising with the rolling smoke, When glory dawns and all is at the best, The sacred fire may flicker and grow faint And die for want of a wood-piler's help! Thus fades the flagging body, and the soul Is pulled down in the overthrow. Well, well-- Let men catch every word, let them lose naught Of what I say; something may yet be done. They are ruins! Trust me who am one of you! All ruins, glorious once, but lonely now. It makes my heart sick to behold you crouch Beside your desolate fane: the arches dim, The crumbling columns grand against the moon, Could I but rear them up once more--but that May never be, so leave them! Trust me, friends, Why should you linger here when I have built A far resplendent temple, all your own? Trust me, they are but ruins! See, Aprile, Men will not heed! Yet were I not prepared With better refuge for them, tongue of mine Should ne'er reveal how blank their dwelling is: I would sit down in silence with the rest. Ha, what? you spit at me, you grin and shriek Contempt into my ear--my ear which drank God's accents once? you curse me? Why men, men, I am not formed for it! Those hideous eyes Will be before me sleeping, waking, praying, They will not let me even die. Spare, spare me, Sinning or no, forget that, only spare me The horrible scorn! You thought I could support it. But now you see what silly fragile creature Cowers thus. I am not good nor bad enough, Not Christ nor Cain, yet even Cain was saved From Hate like this. Let me but totter back! Perhaps I shall elude those jeers which creep Into my very brain, and shut these scorched Eyelids and keep those mocking faces out. Listen, Aprile! I am very calm: Be not deceived, there is no passion here Where the blood leaps like an imprisoned thing: I am calm: I will exterminate the race! Enough of that: 't is said and it shall be. And now be merry: safe and sound am I Who broke through their best ranks to get at you. And such a havoc, such a rout, Aprile!