BROCK. This warrior's fabric is of perfect parts!
A worthy champion of his race—he heaps
Such giant obligations on our heads
As will outweigh repayment. It is late,
And rest must preface war's hot work to-morrow,
Else would I talk till morn. How still the night!
Here Peace has let her silvery tresses down,
And falls asleep beside the lapping wave. Wilt go with
me?
LEFROY. Nay, I shall stay awhile.
BROCK. You know my quarters and the countersign—
Good-night, Lefroy!
LEFROY. Good-night, good-night, good friend!
[Exit BROCK.]
Give me the open sleep, whose bed is earth,
With airy ceiling pinned by golden stars,
Or vaultage more confined, plastered with clouds!
Your log-roofed barrack-sleep, 'twixt drum and drum,
Suits men who dream of death, and not of love.
Love cannot die, nor its exhausted life,
Exhaling like a breath into the air,
Blend with the universe again. It lives,
Knit to its soul forever. Iena!
Dead in the forest wild—earth cannot claim
Aught but her own from thee. Sleep on! sleep on!
IENA. (Reviving) What place is this?
LEFROY. Who's there? What voice is that!
IENA. Where am I now?
LEFROY. I'll follow up that sound!
A desperate hope now ventures in my heart!