Melville monologue (Act 1) — André

The solemn hour, "when night and morning meet," Mysterious time, to superstition dear, And superstition's guides, now passes by; Deathlike in solitude. The sentinels, In drowsy tones, from post to post, send on The signal of the passing hour. "All's well," Sounds through the camp. Alas! all is not well; Else, why stand I, a man, the friend of man, At midnight's depth, deck'd in this murderous guise, The habiliment of death, the badge of dire, Necessitous coercion. 'T is not well. --In vain the enlighten'd friends of suffering man Point out, of war, the folly, guilt, and madness. Still, age succeeds to age, and war to war; And man, the murderer, marshalls out his hosts In all the gaiety of festive pomp, To spread around him death and desolation. How long! how long!---- --Methinks I hear the tread of feet this way. My meditating mood may work me woe. [_Draws._ Stand, whoso'er thou art. Answer. Who's there?