Act II: Scene I. — John Endicott's Room. Early Morning

"Why dost thou persecute me, Saul of Tarsus?"All night these words were ringing in mine ears!A sorrowful sweet face; a look that pierced meWith meek reproach; a voice of resignationThat had a life of suffering in its tone;And that was all! And yet I could not sleep,Or, when I slept, I dreamed that awful dream!I stood beneath the elm-tree on the Common,On which the Quakers have been hanged, and heardA voice, not hers, that cried amid the darkness,"This is Aceldama, the field of blood!I will have mercy, and not sacrifice!"

The sun is up already; and my heartSickens and sinks within me when I thinkHow many tragedies will be enactedBefore his setting. As the earth rolls round,It seems to me a huge Ixion's wheel,Upon whose whirling spokes we are bound fast,And must go with it! Ah, how bright the sunStrikes on the sea and on the masts of vessels,That are uplifted, in the morning air,Like crosses of some peaceable crusade!It makes me long to sail for lands unknown,No matter whither! Under me, in shadow,Gloomy and narrow, lies the little town,Still sleeping, but to wake and toil awhile,Then sleep again. How dismal looks the prison,How grim and sombre in the sunless street,--The prison where she sleeps, or wakes and waitsFor what I dare not think of,--death, perhaps!A word that has been said may be unsaid:It is but air. But when a deed is doneIt cannot be undone, nor can our thoughtsReach out to all the mischiefs that may follow.'T is time for morning prayers. I will go down.My father, though severe, is kind and just;And when his heart is tender with devotion,--When from his lips have fallen the words, "Forgive usAs we forgive,"--then will I intercedeFor these poor people, and perhaps may save them.