University of Virginia Library

What wouldst thou with me, jailer dark and grim?
My father was Sejanus: this his house,
From which they took him darkly, days ago,
Is mine own home, where I have right to dwell.

Where went my father? He was Cæsar s friend.
But, waiting here, I heard the multitude
Shouting his death, which yet I'll not believe.
And, when they forced my brother from my side,
Still as a ghost he went, and came no more.

See my poor toys spread out before the hearth!
It was a mimic sacrifice I made:
This doll was Iphigenia, this the priest;
And here I pierced my finger, to make blood,
Till my nurse chid me. Are you come for that?
I know our pastime may offend the gods;
Know the dark air is full of whispering things
That bear our follies to the ear of those
Whose wrath is strong, and vengeance terrible.
But I'm not wicked: 'twas no deadly rite
Invoking evil chance on man or God,
Or Cæsar, who is both, they say, in one.
If any power have sent you for my faults,
Which I'll confess as quickly as you'll name,
Bid old Camilla take my mother's rod,
(I had a mother,) she can use it well;
And I'll endure it, though I meant no wrong.

Thou dost not leave me? In thy fearful eyes,
My childhood withers with an instant age.
The marrow of my joints seems long drawn out
Caught on the horror of thy countenance.
Oh! this is like the nightmare that I feared,
Not knowing it could walk abroad by day.
I'd shriek for pity; but my voice is choked,
As if the ashes of the things I love
Stood in my throat to bury utterance.
I must go with thee? Never, while I live.
Ah, pity! by my hair he hurries me
Forth from the palace, through the glaring streets,
That strangely reel, and vanish from my sight.
I see the gods there, black against the sky,
And stiffening with the horror of men's deeds.
The spell that binds my lips is on their hands,
Or they would move to help me. Where is Cæsar?
Now hear this wretch that whispers in mine ear,
“Cæsar will have thy blood.” This gives me strength
To snap the chilly net-work of my fear,
And cry, “Thou liest!” See, the Consul comes!
“O noble man! I clasp thy garment's edge:
Save me as thou wouldst save thy fair-haired girl,
My playmate once.” Tears darkle in his eyes:
Pale, with a stifled curse he turns away;
He cannot aid me. Where the columns range,
The conscript fathers keep the weal of Rome.
Hark to me, fathers,—I am fatherless!
So quick away? Hear, Tyber, then, my cry;
Hear, ye protecting hills! Ah! silent all.
What's this dark vault? and what yon rusted ring
With the noose dangling? Look to thine own fate!
Thou dar'st not slay a virgin. I will tear
Thine eyes with these small fingers ere thou come
A foot's length nearer! Keep away, away,
Thou untold horror! Only touch me not;
And I will twine thy halter round my throat
Like a bright riband on a festal day.
Give me the rope! let my poor bruised hands go,
Seeking the priceless mercy Death can bring.
Oh, come! since thy still feet are waited for
As the last rapture,—sweet, thou com'st too late.