The Fourth Watcher: My hair stands on end and my tears pour forth like the melting snow!
And I will utter such a cry
That one would think that a dead man had risen from his tomb, sending the stone flying!
What!
That armed horde that fell upon us terribly arrayed, those successive lines, those strong columns that, marching like one man, advanced across the valleys and the plains, that interminable line of cannon....
The Messenger: I said that we had conquered.
Did you not understand? I said that we had won the battle.
The Fourth Watcher: What is a single battle? The menace is always there.
The Messenger: The enemy is retreating, struck with terror. Halted as though he had seen The Angel of Death!
The Third Watcher: Of course! He was here! He has shown himself in their path.