The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly :: :: University of Virginia Library

I hate their feastings: 't would have been my death,
To stay in that close room! This air is cool.—
I felt my spirit choked. Gods! was I born
To bear those drunkards' tauntings on my hue,
My garb—Numidia's garb! My native tongue—
Not tunable to their Patrician ears?
Will the blow never fall?

There's not a slave,
Not the most beggar'd, broken, creeping wretch
That lives on alms, and pillows on the ground,
But had done something before now; and I—
A soldier, and a king; the blood of kings,
Afric's last hope;—let months and years pass by,

And still live on, a butt for ribald jests—
And more, to let Numidia's injuries sleep,
Like a chid infant's!
This is a mortal hour; the rising wind
Sounds angry, and those swift and dizzy clouds,
Made ghostly by the glances of the moon,
Seem horse and chariot for the evil shapes
That scatter ruin here.

Come from your tombs,
Warriors of Afric!—from the desert sands—
From the red field—the ever-surging sea,
Though ye were buried deeper than the plumb
Of seaman ever sounded.
Hamilcar,—Hannibal,—Jugurtha! Come,
My royal father! from the midnight den,
Where their curst Roman axes murder'd thee!
Ye shall have vengeance! Stoop upon my breast,
Clear it of man, and put therein a heart,
Like a destroying spirit's: make me fire,
The winged passion that can know no sleep,
Till vengeance has been done;—wrap up my soul

In darkness stronger than an iron mail,
Till it is subtle, deadly, deep as night,
Close as coil'd aspics, still as tigers couch'd,
But furious as them roused. Let me fill Rome
With civil tumult, hate, conspiracy,
All dissolution of all holy ties,
'Till she has outraged Heaven, while I, unseen,
Move like a spectre round a murderer's bed,
To start upon her dying agony.
Hark! Who disturbs the night?

[He listens.

Cethegus' voice!
One of those drunkards—a hot-headed fool;
Senseless and brave as his own sword.—Hallo! [He calls.

I'll try what mischief's in his mettle now.

[Cethegus comes in.
CETHEGUS.
Ho! prince of darkness—emperor of the Nile—
Star-gazer!—you are welcome to them all;—
Rome is no place for you! put on your wings,

And perch upon the moon! You left us all
Just in our glory.

HAMILCAR.
'Twas a noble set!

CETHEGUS.
Rome has none better;—all patrician blood,
Glowing with Cyprus' wine,—wild as young stags—
Bold as bay'd boars—haughty as battle steeds—
Keen as flesh'd hounds—fire-eyed as mounting hawks—

HAMILCAR.
'Twill be a glorious day that lets them soar.
How was 't with Catiline?

CETHEGUS.
He seem'd to feel
The fiercest joy of all; pledged Heaven and Earth
In brimming goblets; talk'd a round of things,
Lofty and rambling as an ecstacy;
Laugh'd, till his very laughter check'd our mirth,
And all gazed on him; then, as if surprised,
Marking the silence, mutter'd some excuse,
And sank in reverie; then, wild again,
Talk'd, drank, and laugh'd—the first of Bacchanals!

HAMILCAR.
That looks like madness (aside).
He has been abused:
The consulate was his by right.

CETHEGUS.
By right;
Ay, or by wrong!—had I been Catiline,
I should have knock'd out Cicero's brains.

HAMILCAR
(advancing to him).
Speak low;
The trees in Rome are spies. It may be done.—
The great Patricians hate him, though some few
Lacquey his steps. Were Catiline but roused
To draw the sword, this talker would be left
Bare as his pedigree.

CETHEGUS
(in surprise).
Raise war in Rome?

HAMILCAR.
No,—but take down the consul's haughtiness;
Make the Patricians what they ought to be,
Rome's masters; and restore the forfeitures
Now in plebeian hands.

CETHEGUS.
Show me but that;
And I am his, or your's, or any man's.
My fortune's on my back; the usurers
Have my last acre in their harpy hands.

HAMILCAR.
You must have Catiline, for he has all
That makes such causes thrive—a mighty name,
One that the youth will cling to; a bold tongue—
A bolder heart—a soldier's skill in arms—
A towering and deep-rooted strength of soul,
That, like the oak, may shake in summer's wind,
But, stript by winter, stands immoveable.

CETHEGUS.
He's a tried soldier.

HAMILCAR.
A most gallant one!

CETHEGUS.
You've seen him in the field?

HAMILCAR.
Ay, fifty times,—
I'the thickest fight; where all was blood and steel;

Plunging through steeds unrider'd, gory men
Mad with their wounds, through lances thick as hail,
As if he took the ranks for idle waves!
Now seen, the battle's wonder; now below,
Mowing his desperate way, till, with wild shrieks,
The throng roll'd back, and Catiline sprang out,
Red from the greaves to the helm.

CETHEGUS.
He shall be ours!
Then, Rome is full of mal-contents; the land
Cumber'd with remnants of the war; the slaves
Will crowd to his first call; then, in his house
He has the banner that the Marian troops
Still worship like a god;—but he will call
The act conspiracy.

HAMILCAR.
Jove save us all!

CETHEGUS.
How now, Hamilcar?

HAMILCAR
(going).
Fare you well, my lord. [He suddenly returns.

Conspiracy! Is not the man undone?
All over bankrupt, broken right and left—
Within this week he'll be without a rood,
A roof, a bed, a robe, a meal to eat!
Conspiracy! He's levell'd;—on the earth!
His last denarius hung upon this day,
And now you have him. This day has dissolved
His last allegiance. Go—you'll find him now
Tormented, like the hound that bays the moon,
Foaming to see the pomp beyond his reach.

CETHEGUS.
He has forsworn the world!

HAMILCAR.
'Tis laughable!

CETHEGUS.
If he draw back!

HAMILCAR.
Draw back! You'll find him flame.
Go to the banquet, ere they all break up;
Yet, should he chill,—provoke him—stir dispute—
Seize on his hasty word. The revellers there

Will take it for command; and thus his name
Be mix'd with tumult, till the lion snared
Is forced to battle.

CETHEGUS.
Then, to Catiline!
I may be king or consul yet.

HAMILCAR.
Away!

[Cethegus goes.
HAMILCAR.

The hour of blood's at hand!

[Draws his dagger.

Be thou my god!
Away, bold fool! O, Rome! those are thy men!
Ay—you shall have a crown,—a crown of straw;
Chains for your sceptre; for your honours stripes;
And for your kingly court a maniac's cell;
Where you and your compeers may howl to th'night,
And rave rebellion.

[Exit.