 | Poems, dramatic and miscellaneous |  |
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SCENE II.
MAXIMUS and GAUDENTIUS.Maximus
That dignity the gods themselves inspir'd,
When Rome inflam'd with patriotick zeal,
Long taught the world to tremble and admire,
Lies faint and languid in the wane of fame,
And must expire in luxury's lew'd lap
If not supported by some vigorous arm;
Th' Armorici 'tis said have pass'd the Rhine,
And ruder tribes, both Goth and Vandal hosts,
May soon be thundering at the gates of Rome;
While here, a treacherous, bloody minded prince
Stains the imperial court with slaughter'd friends,
And riots in the zenith of his pride.
Gaudentius.
And are there none in this distracted state
Whose courage, zeal, and energy of mind
May stem the tide, and break the tyrant's yoke!
Maximus
The Roman people, sicken'd by his sloth,
Detest a weak, a lecherous, dastard prince
Who yet cuts down the bravest men Rome boasts,
And mocks the most heroick of her sons
Abused virgins rave in wild despair;
Affronted matrons weep, and beauty sighs,
While groans reecho from the tomb of grief,
And cry for vengeance on the emperor's head;
For innocence betray'd, and virtue sold.
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Dismay'd by blood, the senators detest
A sovereign, cruel, impotent and base,
And all the army's ripen'd for revolt.
Maximus.
'Tis time to dash him from th' imperial throne;
Name his successor, and the work is done.
Gaudentius.
The crown, the sceptre, the regalia wait,
Petronius's will to guide the realm,
And bid the mistress of the world revive.
Maximus.
Th' imperial crown has not a charm for me;
Hung on a soldier's spear, expos'd to sale,
Stain'd with the blood of a long line of Cæsars,
From Julius down to Valentinian's reign,
'Tis fall'n too low to wake ambition up.
Hung on a soldier's spear, expos'd to sale,
Stain'd with the blood of a long line of Cæsars,
From Julius down to Valentinian's reign,
'Tis fall'n too low to wake ambition up.
The palace groans with guilt too dark to name;
'Tis but the splendid theatre of woe,
From age to age the shambles of mankind,
On which to sacrifice the richest blood
The Roman annals boast—the crimson stream
Has ras'd the memory that a virtue liv'd,
Or that a noble deed from virtue sprang
In the proud boasts of ancient Roman fame.
'Tis but the splendid theatre of woe,
From age to age the shambles of mankind,
On which to sacrifice the richest blood
The Roman annals boast—the crimson stream
Has ras'd the memory that a virtue liv'd,
Or that a noble deed from virtue sprang
In the proud boasts of ancient Roman fame.
Gaudentius.
Ambition, in a noble, virtuous mind,
Is the first passion that the gods implant,
And soars to glory till it meets the skies:
If it has place in Maximus's breast,
Fortune, who sports with diadems and crowns
This day may hail him emperor of the west
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—Oh! my Eudocia.
Maximus.
'Tis just revenge that animates my arm;
But did ambition urge my purpose on?
Yet, my young pensive friend, if Valentinian
Wraps his mantle o'er his trembling head—
Like Julius Cæsar crys—“Brutus my son,”
Will not Eudocia unnerve thy arm?
Gaudentius.
Ah! my Eudocia!—would he were not thy sire;
But from my heart I tear thee for a moment,
'Till Ætius's manes are appeas'd,
And fair Ardelia's wrongs are all aveng'd.
Maximus.
But art thou sure thou canst this test sustain?
This test severe, of friendship, honour, love,
Will try thy soul, and probe thee to the heart.
Will not thy purpose shake, when her soft image
Dances in thine eye, and pity pleads?
But yet thou hast a struggle more severe;
Thou may'st as well avenge thy bleeding friends
And draw thy sword in injur'd virtue's cause:
'Tis whisper'd through the court the Suevick chief,
The valiant Ricemar, has purchas'd peace
With Genseric the terror of the west;
And that the heiress of the imperial throne
Is the rich price—that Hunneric his son
Is on his way to wed the fair Eudocia.
Gaudentius.
Petronius, thou hast fix'd my wav'ring will;
Let me lead on—my sword alone,
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To Valentinian's heart.
Maximus.
The hour draws nigh—the exercise begins—
Arm thy brave heart, and bid adieu to love.
[Exit Maximus.
Gaudentius
How would my eyeballs from their sockets start
To see Eudocia in that monster's arms?
Can her fair soul mix with the horrid brood,
Begot and nurtur'd in the Quadian lakes!
To see Eudocia in that monster's arms?
Can her fair soul mix with the horrid brood,
Begot and nurtur'd in the Quadian lakes!
Beneath the vaulted, black Carpathian mount,
Amidst the darkness of Cimmerian damps,
As nature sported with infernal fiends
She gender'd there this ill form'd squalid birth
And mid'st the jargon of discordant sounds
She call'd the beardless, uncouth monster, Hunneric:
And shall this savage violate her charms?
Save her, ye gods!—oh! save the Roman name
From such a stain, indelible and dark.
Amidst the darkness of Cimmerian damps,
As nature sported with infernal fiends
She gender'd there this ill form'd squalid birth
And mid'st the jargon of discordant sounds
She call'd the beardless, uncouth monster, Hunneric:
And shall this savage violate her charms?
Save her, ye gods!—oh! save the Roman name
From such a stain, indelible and dark.
[Exit.
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