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Some answered with a fierce and bitter laugh, As men whose agonies were made to pass The bounds of sufferance, by some reckless word, Dropt from the light of spirit.—Others lay— —Why should I tell thee, father! how despair Can bring the lofty brow of manhood down Unto the very dust?—And yet for this, Fear not that I embrace my doom—Oh God! That 'twere my doom alone!—with less of fix'd And solemn fortitude.—Lead on, prepare The holiest rites of faith, that I by them Once more may consecrate my sword, my life, —But what are these?—Who hath not dearer lives Twined with his own?—I shall be lonely soon— Childless!—Heaven wills it so. Let us begone. Perchance before the shrine my heart may beat With a less troubled motion. [Exeunt and.