Have sickened with my deep, dread, formless fears;
But, never have I felt what now I feel!
Great Spirit, hear me! help me!--this is death!

[_Staggers and swoons behind some shrubbery.]

Enter_ GENERAL BROCK _and_ LEFROY.

BROCK. You may be right, Lefroy! but, for my part,
I stand by old tradition and the past.
My father's God is wise enough for me,
And wise enough this grey world's wisest men.

LEFROY. I tell you, Brock,
The world is wiser than its wisest men,
And shall outlive the wisdom of its gods
Made after man's own liking. The crippled throne
No longer shelters the uneasy king,
And outworn sceptres and imperial crowns
Now grow fantastic as an idiot's dream.
These perish with the kingly pastime, war,
And war's blind tool, the monster, Ignorance!
Both hateful in themselves, but this the worst.
One tyrant will remain--one impious fiend.
Whose name is Gold--our earliest, latest foe!
Him must the earth destroy, ere man can rise,
Rightly self made, to his high destiny,
Purged of his grossest faults; humane and kind;
Co-equal with his fellows, and as free.