_Arnold_. He may not come.-- What if it were a ruse to capture me?-- The whole proceeding cloaked in infamy, And no faith in the matter? Andre should be here. Andre is a man Of sterling honor, and will keep his faith. My secret's in his hand.--My change of heart Must to His Majesty have long been known, And he will praise me for it. Civil war Knows no such thing as treason; change of sides, The victory of reason in the heart, Makes Loyalist turn Whig. Montgomery, Richard Montgomery, was honor's darling; And when his body fell, scaling Quebec, Down the sheer rock it left a track of light Which sped in opposition towards the stars Bearing his fame. He was an officer In the King's army ere he found our own. Did conscience fret the gallant Irishman To think what uniform was on his back When he so died? What if in that assault I had died too, my name had ranked with his In song and monument; unfading laurels Had shed their brazen lustre o'er our brows, And we, like demigods, had lived forever. Was it enough for _him_, to scale the sky Against the slippery adamant of Fame, And, giving youth, give all? I have done more. All of his early prowess was mine too: In everything I match him; and to me Remains the hell of glory on the Lakes, When with my hand I stopped the British fleet,-- Stayed them a year: they dreaded to come on. And I had done it. There remain my fights At Ridgefield, and those shortened days At Saratoga, when the fit came on And I knew nothing but the act of war, And victory coming down, Victory, Victory! 'Twas I that saved them! Yes, 'twas I that saved you-- Ye little wranglers with the name of war! I beat Burgoyne, I saved the continent, The Continental Army and the Cause, Washington, Congress, and the whole of you, I saved ye,--saved ye,--and I had for it-- It chokes me still to say it--had for it-- It wakes me in the night with leaping hatred,-- Out of my bed I leap to think of it,-- Hitting me in my sleep the poison comes And fangs my heart.--I had a _Reprimand_! I, reprimanded by a sorry crew Of politicians--I, I, I----! Thus, in my heart for sixteen months of hurt, Burns the injustice, clamors the revenge. No, no revenge! but justice, Nothing but justice--I'll have justice! _Both Choruses_. Foolish is the man who thinks upon his wrongs though they be great. The sting is in him; the poison is in himself. Lo, he accuses others, and the deed of his death is done with his own hand. _Father Hudson_. What is the man disturbed about, my children? _Leader of Men_. He is a hero and a battle-god: The spoils and the rewards he justly won, Others have seized, and left his haughty heart A withered laurel. _Father Hudson_. Surely it was wrong; The hero should receive the hero's meed.