We are in th’ awful presence of the dead;
Within yon tomb they sleep whose gentle blood
Weighs down the murderer’s soul. They sleep!—but I
Am wakeful o’er their dust! I laid my sword,
Without its sheath, on their sepulchral stone,
As on an altar; and the eternal stars,
And heaven, and night, bore witness to my vow,
No more to wield it save in one great cause—
The vengeance of the grave! And now the hour
Of that atonement comes!