We've fought the Enemy, broke thro' their Ranks,
Slain many on the Spot, pursu'd the rest
Till Night conceal'd and sav'd them from our Arms.
Ponteach.
'Tis bravely done, and shall be duly honour'd
With all the Signs and Marks of public Joy.
Chekitan.
What means this Gloom I see in every Face?
These smother'd Groans and stifled half-drawn Sighs;
Does it offend that I've return'd in Triumph?
Ponteach.
I fear to name—And yet it must be known.
[Aside.
Chekitan.
Has he not sped? Has ill befell my Brother?