University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—The Ruins of Carthage; the Ocean in the distance: the Moon rising.
Enter Tubero, two Citizens of Minturnæ, and Soldiers.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Amid this labyrinth of ruin'd walls
'Tis thought he lurks; and watches, in his turn,
With the hyæna and the haggard wolf,
The setting orb of day, meeting, the morn
Like them, with blood-shot eye; here hoping aid
From far but restless friends. To lure him hence
Were half a miracle.

TUBERO.
We'll venture for 't.
There is an old and ocean-cradled air—
'Tis said a wafture from this Carthage here—
Which, as a signal, the rude seamen sing
Along the Thracian coasts; wild as the waves
And rocks, to which 'tis kin. To Marius' ear
'Twas common from a child; and when in rage,
Like one that's stung by the tarantula,
I've seen it draw the venom from his breast
With a most healing music. That wild strain
I have set some to chorus from the sea.
Haply 't will draw him forth, sounding like signal
Of friends upon the main.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Let us stand close.
There; where the rising moon beneath that buttress
Casts solemn shadow, hardly pervious
To aught but lynxes' eyes. Softly; there; there.

[They retire stealthily.
AIR—CHORUS.
Lo! the crested billows, glancing,
Like white-maned steeds advancing!
'Mid the darkness lo! the lightning
O'er the anguish'd ocean bright'ning!
Now engulf'd, our galley toiling;
Now the breakers round her boiling;
Not a star to twinkle o'er us;
Waves behind, and night before us!
'Mid the restless, wild commotion,
Of the storm-tormented ocean,
Steady, seamen!—still be steady;
'Mid all dangers, ever ready!
Tho' to-night there's skies of sadness,
'Morrow brings us light and gladness:
Darkling now may be our duty,—
Day shall shew us joy and beauty!

[Marius appears amongst the ruins and comes forward.
MARIUS.
Whence came that strain? It is, at least, no traitor—
No liar to the heart. For, even now,
It stirs me, as, methinks, long since it did,
In far-fled, happier hours, when life was new,
And hope was high, when fame was bright, and sunset
Had not become my morn!
If friends of Marius
Be on the deep, and this be from their tongue,
Speed them, propitious Neptune! And thou, Moon,
Shine, like some Pharos, on these mouldering towers,
Gild each green wave that ripples past their prow,
And with thy beam pilot and point their course,
As with a silver wand.—The strain hath ceas'd.
Night falls apace. How awful is this spot!—
Here fell the bolt of Scipio! And here Carthage,
The naval crowned queen, blue Neptune's daughter,
Strong as the storms, and richer than the seas,
With all their untold gems, before the Roman
Sank down in blood and ashes. Here, ev'n here,
That swarthy Senate, dark as wintry waves,
Was quell'd for ever!
On these umber'd ruins
The sun doth wonder why he shines; the moon
Doth trim her silver lamp only to light
The fox and owl, obscene, that haunt these walls;
Aye or the grizzled wolf that couches there,
And prowls amid their shadows, as if scent
Of carnage still remain'd. You dank, black marsh,
Where the coarse flag and bristling reed choke up,
Mix'd with the fragments of the former time,
The hot and stagnant waters, once did hold
A thousand ships, that swept the azure seas
In glorious domination. Yea; where now
The melancholy her'n or peaceful crane
Doth wade alone, a gay and varied throng
Brought riches home from many a distant clime,
And sung amid their toil.
Oh! such a scene
Doth fit the fate of Marius. Ruin to ruin!
Deserted 'mid deserted—death in death!
And yet is Rome more blest than this? Her streets—
Do they not shelter wolves? Doth rapine never
Stalk 'mid her walls? And 'mongst her stately throngs
Is there more peace—more safety—than amid
These awful relics of her fallen foe?
Oh! no! the ghost of dark and ruin'd Carthage
Is not more foul than is the living spirit
Of yon, her fell destroyer! Hover round me,
Gaunt, grimly spectre of a fallen state,
For Marius is like thee; and, haply, soon
Shall be with thee, e'en here!

Enter from behind Tubero, Citizens, and Soldiers.
TUBERO.
'Tis he; this winged vulture's caught at last,
And now shall soar no further.
[Comes forward.
I' the Senate's name,
For treason foul, and manifest rebellion,
I do arrest thee, Caius Marius,—Consul,—
But now the Senate's prisoner.

MARIUS.
(Aside.)
'Tis as I thought,
Their bloodhounds are e'en here.
(Aloud)
By whom sent, sir?
By what authority?

TUBERO.
By that of Sylla,
Empow'r'd and armed by the Roman Senate,
For safety of the state.

MARIUS.
(Aside.)
For blood; for pride;
For safety of patrician tyranny!—
(Aloud.)
Well, sir,—I am your prisoner, deal with me
As it seems best to you and to your masters.

TUBERO.
You must accompany us unto Minturnæ,
And there await the Senate's pleasure.

MARIUS.
Sir,
I go; nor wish delay. Where fear is not,
Nor hope, 'tis all alike—the dungeon or
The palace! Nay, lead on; I have nought to say,—
Save this, my friend; and this e'en tell the Senate,
Amid their triumph.
When their pulse is high,
And pride grows drunken over foes o'erthrown,
And deems that now its sun shall never set,
But that which had a dawn shall know no night—
Tell them, amid their extacies o'er me,
And these white hairs dishonour'd in the dust,
Tell them, that thou beheldest Caius Marius
Sitting 'mid ruin'd Carthage! Tell them this;
For there 's a moral in 't—a deep one too,—
And worth the Senate's marking! Now, sir, lead on—

[Marius and Soldiers go out.
FIRST CITIZEN.
What is the Senate's pleasure as to this
Unhappy man? Goes he to Rome?

TUBERO.
Not so.
The Senate's orders are close custody;
The rest is left to Sylla.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Be it so;
We have dungeons deep enough.

TUBERO.
For Sylla's liking?
Not so, believe me, sir! There's but one prison
Sylla thinks strong enough for Caius Marius!

FIRST CITIZEN.
And what is that?

TUBERO.
The grave! You understand me.

FIRST CITIZEN.
I do— (aside)
too well.

TUBERO.
If that you would avoid
Sylla's displeasure; aye, and more than that,
Win his good favour,—you will strait seek out
Some resolute hand that 's fit for such a deed,
And prompt to undertake it. For his reward,
As well as yours, depend on 't, Sylla's bounty
Shall fail not of your hope.

FIRST CITIZEN
(aside).
The price of blood
Is mostly paid, whatever else be left
Ungifted and unguerdon'd!

TUBERO.
Sir! you answer not!

FIRST CITIZEN.
Your pardon, sir. I was in thought—and now
I do bethink me. In the citadel
There toils a slave; a Gaul, methinks, by race;
Who seems as he were of the very stones
That Pyrrha and Deucalion cast behind them
To renovate mankind; hard as the rock
On which he works—to whom both tears and smiles
Are equal strangers,—and who sits i' the sun,
Not knowing that he shines. This clod of earth
Shall do our work; and, if he's paid with freedom,
Will be far over-paid.

TUBERO.
This is your business.
Mine is to say, solely, “it must be done.”
Come, let us see this fellow.

[Exeunt.