 | Later Lyrics |  |
166
CLAUDIUS.
When Caius Cæsar sank 'neath righteous steel,
The sweet blue patience of the firmament
Giving full measure, ere Jove's lightning fell,—
Poor Uncle Claudius! the fool, of whom
Augustus wrote, “Let him not sit with us
To see the games; contrive him out of sight
Who shames the Cæsars with his awkward ways,”—
He, scorned of men, the butt of all his tribe,
Astonished with the murder, hid his head
In the first truckle-bed he came upon,
Leaving his heels out, by the which they seized,
And dragged him forth. “To death?” he shivering cried.
“To empire!” they, and crowned him where he stood.
Not in derision, he gave grace to God,
And spread his solid base of human life.
The sweet blue patience of the firmament
Giving full measure, ere Jove's lightning fell,—
Poor Uncle Claudius! the fool, of whom
Augustus wrote, “Let him not sit with us
To see the games; contrive him out of sight
Who shames the Cæsars with his awkward ways,”—
He, scorned of men, the butt of all his tribe,
Astonished with the murder, hid his head
In the first truckle-bed he came upon,
Leaving his heels out, by the which they seized,
And dragged him forth. “To death?” he shivering cried.
“To empire!” they, and crowned him where he stood.
167
And spread his solid base of human life.
The ambitious rather tampered with his wives
Than set him on to capering cruelty.
Law did he give, assiduous, all the day;
Though, once, the cook-shop near the judgment-hall
So overcame him, that he slid away,
Feasted him full, and let the sentence wait.
His tastes in blood were moderate, but nice.
He loved to see the Retiarius die,
And therefore bade him lift his quivering face
In the last spasm. Or he would wait a day
The leisure of the executioner
Rather than lose the victim's agonies
The law allowed him.
With a sudden zeal
He pleaded once the tavern-keeper's cause:
“For who, my masters, would forego his morsel
At the right moment, smoking, brown, and crisp?
And those old wine-shops, with such cool retreats,
And clammy jars, distilling juice divine,
Shall we not keep them? Other things must pass:
These good old friends shall stand, Joy's monuments.”
Than set him on to capering cruelty.
Law did he give, assiduous, all the day;
Though, once, the cook-shop near the judgment-hall
So overcame him, that he slid away,
Feasted him full, and let the sentence wait.
His tastes in blood were moderate, but nice.
He loved to see the Retiarius die,
And therefore bade him lift his quivering face
In the last spasm. Or he would wait a day
The leisure of the executioner
Rather than lose the victim's agonies
The law allowed him.
With a sudden zeal
He pleaded once the tavern-keeper's cause:
“For who, my masters, would forego his morsel
At the right moment, smoking, brown, and crisp?
And those old wine-shops, with such cool retreats,
And clammy jars, distilling juice divine,
168
These good old friends shall stand, Joy's monuments.”
He gave the people victuals more than once,
And worthy games, with water combats rare.
Walking abroad, he dubbed them “Dominos,”
His toga loose and slovenly put on,
And offered salutation with his left,—
An act unseemly for a nobleman.
His married life had little luck or skill,—
The second venture wilder than the first,
While the third slew him with his favorite dish,
The stew of mushrooms, dangerous and dear.
And worthy games, with water combats rare.
Walking abroad, he dubbed them “Dominos,”
His toga loose and slovenly put on,
And offered salutation with his left,—
An act unseemly for a nobleman.
His married life had little luck or skill,—
The second venture wilder than the first,
While the third slew him with his favorite dish,
The stew of mushrooms, dangerous and dear.
Pass on, poor wretch, so dull and debonair,—
This mayst thou teach: How great soe'er the fool,
The multitude's a greater whom he rides.
This mayst thou teach: How great soe'er the fool,
The multitude's a greater whom he rides.
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