The smoke from the powder has dimmed my eyes; it seems to me as if the valley were swelling up to my feet, and again sinking back to its place; the socks crack, and cross each other at a thousand angles, and my thoughts wander, flicker, quiver in the most fantastic forms. (_Seats himself upon a wall._) It is not worth the trouble to be a man--nor even an angel; the highest archangel must feel, after some centuries of existence, as we do after a few years of our fleeting life, utter weariness in his soul, and long, as we do, for mightier powers! Either one must be God--or nothing.... Enter Jacob with George. Take some of the men with you, go through the castle, and drive all before you upon the walls! JACOB. Counts, princes, bankers? Exit Jacob. THE MAN. Come to me, my dearest son! place thy thin hands in mine, while I press my lips upon thy pure forehead; thy mother's brow was once as white and smooth! GEORGE. Before thy men took up their arms to-day, I heard mamma's voice; her words came floating to me as soft and sweet as perfumed air; she said to me: '_George, thou wilt come to me this very evening, and sit down beside me_.' THE MAN. Did she name me to thee? GEORGE. She said: '_This very evening I expect my son_.' THE MAN (_aside_). Is my strength to fail me, when I have almost reached the end of the weary way? No, God will not permit it! For one moment's fiery madness, I will be thy prisoner to all eternity!--(_Aloud_). Oh, my son! forgive--forgive the fatal gift of life! We part; and knowest thou for how long a time? GEORGE. Take me with thee, father, and leave me not! I love thee; oh, leave me not, my father--and I will draw thee on with me! THE MAN. Our paths are widely sundered. Amid the choirs of happy angels thou wilt forget thy father--thou wilt bring me down no drop of cooling dew. O George! George! my son! my son! GEORGE. What dreadful cries! I tremble, father. Louder and louder, nearer and nearer comes the thunder of the cannon; the last hour--the prophesied--draws near! THE MAN. Jacob! quick--quick--here! A band of counts and princes cross the courtyard. Jacob follows with the soldiers. A VOICE. You give us broken arms, and force us to the combat! ANOTHER VOICE. Henry, have mercy on thyself! THIRD VOICE. Weak, wearied, famished, drive us not upon the walls! FOURTH VOICE. Where do they drive us? where? THE MAN. To death!--(_To George, folding him in his arms._) With this embrace I would fain bind thee to my heart forever, George! Alas! I know our paths are widely sundered: it may not be, my son! my son! Struck by a ball, George sinks dying in his arms. VOICE (_from above_). To me! to me! pure spirit! Up to me, my son! THE MAN. Ha! to my aid, soldiers! (_He draws his sword, and holds it before the lips of the wounded boy._) The blade is crystal clear; no moisture dims the cold and glittering steel! Breath and life already gone! O George, my son!