_Father Hudson_. My heart is moved with sorrow: the sins of men enter into me and I am constrained. Why was this man chosen for suffering; and what balm is there for his seed? _Both Choruses_. Fear God and seek not thine own advantage. Pluck not the grape thyself; for who knows whether it be intended for thee? I will weep freely and lift up my voice for the sorrows of men. There is none that shall comfort me. Come, Father, let us weep together and add our tears to thy streams; for so only can the medicine of this grief flow down to the children of men. INTERMEZZO _Father Hudson_. Is it finished? _Leader of Men_. No; it is begun. _Father Hudson_. His pain enters into me. I must endure these things. Woe is me that ever I was born of the brooks or received by the meadows! The pains of new birth get hold on me, and I see that life is sorrow. Why could ye not let me alone, ye pangs of knowledge; or go by on the other side, ye piercings of understanding? Must I be bound up forever with sin, and feel the hand of unevenness on my loins? _Both Choruses_. So it is with all creatures of a deep spirit. They are caught with the net; they are frozen in the ice of God; they are very helpless, and cry for relief day and night. Accept thy pains, for they are good. Reason not against fate but lay down thy will in earnest. _Father Hudson_. Will the man come again? _Leader of Men_. Once more shalt thou see him, and remember him forever. Lo, now he comes as the wounded lion, as the tiger bereft of his prey and wounded by the hunter. [_Enter_ Arnold, _a pistol in one hand, a letter clutched in the other. During this speech he crosses the stage._] His plot has failed and his iniquity is as a broken toy. Wrecked is all his life. He flees like a robber from his own land. Hills look your last upon Benedict! Ye Highlands, filled with clouds, and ye little streams that jet along the crags, this is your general. Will he remember you in his dreams, think you, or find himself back among you in his reveries? In his lone island, in his long years of silence, ye will return to him. Bid him adieu without bitterness, thou rocky castle! For his punishment shall be within himself day by day. [_Exit_ Arnold.] Behold, [_Shades his eyes with his hand as if observing_ Arnold] he is on the shore; his barge of eight oars obeys the signal; he stands in the prow; the rowers smite the water. With fury they row, for he commands them; with fury and terrible ire they row, for they fear the man. He has drawn a white handkerchief from his breast, though his pistol never leaves his hand. The prow of the British sloop of war looms above his barge. They see his signal. They are letting down the gangway. They are taking him up into the British vessel. _Chorus of Men_. So down the torrent of infamy, So into the bosom of Hell, O _Vulture_, thou bearest him!