And they shall walk in light that we have made,
They of the days to come, and sit in shadow
Of our blood-reared vines, not counting the wild cost.
Thus 'tis: among glad ages many,--one--
In garlands lies, bleeding and bound. Times past,
And times to come, on ours, as on an altar--
Have laid down their griefs, and unto us
Is given the burthen of them all.

_2nd Stud_. And yet,
See now, how pleasantly the sun shines there
Over the yellow fields, to the brown fence
Its hour of golden beauty--giving still.
And but for that faint ringing from the fort,
That comes just now across the vale to us,
And this small band of soldiers planted here,
I could think this was peace, so calmly there,
The afternoon amid the valley sleeps.

_1st Stud_. Yet in the bosom of this gentle time,
The crisis of an age-long struggle heaves.

_2nd Stud_. _Age-long?_--Why, this land's history can scarce
Be told in ages, yet.

_1st Stud_. But this war's can.
In that small isle beyond the sea, Francis,
Ages, ages ago, its light first blazed.
This is the war. Old, foolish, blind prerogative,
In ermines wrapped, and sitting on king's thrones;