PANCRATIUS. The hour of rest has not yet struck for me, and the last sigh of the last of my enemies marks the completion of but half my task. Look upon these heavy mists, these swamps, these desert plains; they stand between me and the realization of my plans. Every waste on earth must be peopled, rocks removed, lakes and rivers everywhere connected; a portion of the soil must be awarded to every human being; the teeming hosts of the living must far outnumber the multitudes who have perished; life and universal prosperity must fill the place of death and ruin, before our work of general destruction can be at all atoned for. If we are not to inaugurate an era of social and widespread happiness, our work of havoc and devastation will have been worse than vain! LEONARD. The God of Freedom will give us power for gigantic tasks. PANCRATIUS. What! _You_ speak of _God!_ Do you not see that it is crimson and slippery here--that we are standing deep in human gore? Whose blood is this beneath our feet? There is nothing behind us save the court of the castle; no one is near us. I know that we are quite alone, and yet, Leonard, I feel there is another here! LEONARD. I see nothing but this bloody corpse. PANCRATIUS. It is the corpse of his faithful old servant--that is only a dead body; but a spirit haunts this spot, and stands beside me; this cap--see, _his_ arms are embroidered upon it; Count Henry's shield; look, Leonard! there is the jutting rock o'erhanging the abyss--upon this very spot _his_ great heart broke! LEONARD. How pale you grow, Pancratius! PANCRATIUS. Look up! IT is there! above you! Do you not see it? LEONARD. I see nothing but a broken mass of clouds drifting down, and surging o'er the top of yonder craggy peak o'erhanging the abyss, which is turning crimson in the setting sun. PANCRATIUS. A fearful symbol burns upon it! LEONARD. Lean upon me! How ghastly pale you grow! PANCRATIUS. Millions of men obeyed my will; where are they now? LEONARD. Do you not hear their cries? They ask for you, their saviour. Look not on yon steep cliff; your eyes are dying in their sockets as you gaze upon it! PANCRATIUS. HE stands there, motionless; three nails are driven in HIM; three stars; His outstretched arms are lightning flashes! LEONARD. Who? Where! Revive! PANCRATIUS. GALILAEE VICISTI! He falls dead in the arms of Leonard. SELF-SACRIFICE. That for which man offers up his blood or his property, must be more valuable than they. A good man does not fight with half the courage for his own life that he shows in the protection of another's. The mother, who will hazard nothing for herself, will hazard all in the defence of her child; in short, only for the nobility within us--only for virtue--will man open his veins and offer up his spirit; but this nobility--this virtue--presents different phases: with the Christian martyr, it is faith; with the savage, it is honor; with the republican, it is liberty.--ANALECT.