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

“Noble Catiline! where you tread, the earth is hollow, though it gives no sound. There is a storm gathering, though there are no clouds in the sky. Rome is desperate; three hundred Patricians have sworn to do their duty; and what three hundred have sworn, thirty thousand will make good.”

Why, half the number now might sack the city,
With all its knights, before a spear could come
From Ostia to their succour.—'Twere a deed!—

(Reads)

“You have been betrayed by the Senate, betrayed by the Consuls, and betrayed by the people. You are a Roman, can you suffer chains? You are a soldier, can you submit to shame? You are a man; will you be ruined, trampled on, disdained?”

[Flinging away the paper.

Disdain'd! They're in the right—It tells the truth—
I am a scoff and shame—a public prate.—
There's one way left: (draws a poniard)
this dagger in my heart—
The quickest cure!

But, 'tis the coward's cure;—
And what shall heal the dearer part of me,
My reputation? What shield's for my name,
When I shall fling it, like my corpse, to those
Who dared not touch it living, for their lives?
So, there lies satisfaction; and my veins
Must weep—for nothing! when my enemies
Might be compell'd to buy them drop by drop.
No! by the Thunderer, they shall pay their price.

To die! in days when helms are burnishing;
When heaven and earth are ripening for a change;
And die by my own hand!—Give up the game
Before the dice are thrown!—Clamour for chains,
Before the stirring trumpet sounds the charge!—
Bind up my limbs—a voluntary mark
For the world's enginery, the ruffian gibe,
The false friend's sneer, the spurn of the safe foe,
The sickly, sour hypocrisy, that loves
To find a wretch to make its moral of,
Crushes the fallen, and calls it Charity!—
Sleep in your sheath!

[He puts up the poniard.

How could my mind give place
To thoughts so desperate, rash, and mutinous?
Fate governs all things. Madman! would I give
Joy to my enemies, sorrow to my friends,—
Shut up the gate of hope upon myself?
My sword may thrive!—

Dreams, dreams! My mind's as full
Of vapourish fantasies as a sick girl's!

I will abandon Rome,—give back her scorn
With tenfold scorn: break up all league with her,—
All memories. I will not breathe her air,
Nor warm me with her fire, nor let my bones
Mix with her sepulchres. The oath is sworn.

[Aurelia enters with papers.
AURELIA.
What answer's for this pile of bills, my lord?

CATILINE.
Who can have sent them here?

AURELIA.
Your creditors!
As if some demon woke them all at once,
These have been crowding on me since the morn.
Here, Caius Curtius claims the prompt discharge
Of his half million sesterces; besides
The interest on your bond, ten thousand more.
Six thousand for your Tyrian canopy;
Here, for your Persian horses—your Trireme:
Here, debt on debt. Will you discharge them now?

CATILINE.
I'll think on it.

AURELIA.
It must be now; this day!
Or, by to-morrow, we shall have no home.

CATILINE.
'Twill soon be all the same.

AURELIA.
We are undone!
My gold, my father's presents, jewels, rings—
All, to the baubles on my neck, are gone.
The consulship might have upheld us still;
But now,—we must go down.

CATILINE.
Aurelia!—wife!
All will be well; but hear me—stay—a little;
I had intended to consult with you—
On—our departure—from—the city.

AURELIA
(indignantly and surprised.)
Rome?

CATILINE.
Even so, fair wife! even so: we must leave Rome.

AURELIA.
Let me look on you; are you Catiline?

CATILINE.
I know not what I am,—we must begone!

AURELIA.
Madness!

CATILINE
(wildly.)
Not yet—not yet!

AURELIA.
Let them take all?

CATILINE.
The gods will have it so!

AURELIA.
Seize on your house?

CATILINE.
Seize my last sesterce! Let them have their will.
We must endure. Ay, ransack—ruin all;
Tear up my father's grave,—tear out my heart.

Wife! the world's wide,—Can we not dig or beg?
Can we not find on earth a den, or tomb?

AURELIA.
Before I stir, they shall hew off my hands.

CATILINE.
What's to be done?

AURELIA.
Hear me, Lord Catiline:
The day we wedded.—'Tis but three short years!
You were the first patrician here,—and I—
Was Marius' daughter! There was not in Rome
An eye, however haughty, but would sink
When I turn'd on it: when I pass'd the streets
My chariot wheel was followed by a host
Of your chief senators; as if their gaze
Beheld an empress on its golden round;
An earthly providence!

CATILINE.
'Twas so!—'t was so!
But it is vanish'd—gone.

AURELIA.
By you bright Sun!
That day shall come again; or, in its place,
One that shall be an era to the world!

CATILINE.
What's in your thoughts?

[Eagerly.
AURELIA.
Our high and hurried life
Has left us strangers to each other's souls:
But now we think alike. You have a sword;
Have had a famous name i'the legions!

CATILINE.
Hush!

AURELIA.
Have the walls ears? Great Jove! I wish they had;
And tongues too, to bear witness to my oath,
And tell it to all Rome.

CATILINE.
Would you destroy?

AURELIA.

Were I a thunderbolt!—

Rome's ship is rotten:
Has she not cast you out; and would you sink
With her, when she can give you no gain else
Of her fierce fellowship? Who 'd seek the chain,
That link'd him to his mortal enemy?
Who 'd face the pestilence in his foe's house?
Who, when the poisoner drinks by chance the cup,
That was to be his death, would squeeze the dregs,
To find a drop to bear him company?

CATILINE.
It will not come to this.

[Shrinking.
AURELIA
(haughtily).
Shall we be dragg'd,
A show to all the city rabble;—robb'd,—
Down to the very mantle on our backs,—
A pair of branded beggars! Doubtless Cicero—

CATILINE.
Cursed be the ground he treads! Name him no more.

AURELIA.
Doubtless he 'll see us to the city gates;
'Twill be the least respect that he can pay

To his fallen rival. Do you hear, my lord?
Deaf as the rock (aside).
With all his lictors shouting,
“Room for the noble vagrants; all caps off
For Catiline! for him that would be Consul.”

CATILINE
(turning away).
Thus to be, like the scorpion, ring'd with fire,
Till I sting mine own heart! (aside.)
There is no hope!

AURELIA.
One hope there is, worth all the rest—Revenge!
The time is harass'd, poor, and discontent;
Your spirit practised, keen, and desperate,—
The senate full of feuds,—the city vext
With petty tyranny,—the legions wrong'd—

CATILINE
(scornfully).
Yet, who has stirr'd? Woman, you paint the air
With Passion's pencil.

AURELIA.
Were my will a sword!

CATILINE.
Hear me, bold heart! The whole gross blood of Rome
Could not atone my wrongs! I'm soul-shrunk, sick,

Weary of man! And now my mind is fix'd
For Lybia: there to make companionship
Rather of bear and tiger,—of the snake,—
The lion in his hunger,—than of man!

AURELIA.
I had a father once, who would have plunged
Rome in the Tiber for an angry look!
You saw our entrance from the Gaulish war,
When Sylla fled?

CATILINE.
My legion was in Spain.

AURELIA.
We swept through Italy, a flood of fire,
A living lava, rolling straight on Rome.
For days, before we reach'd it, the whole road
Was throng'd with suppliants—tribunes, consulars;
The mightiest names o'the state. Could gold have bribed,
We might have pitch'd our tents, and slept on gold.
But we had work to do:—Our swords were thirsty.
We enter'd Rome, as conquerors, in arms;

I by my father's side, cuirass'd and helm'd,
Bellona beside Mars.

CATILINE
(with coldness).
The world was yours!

AURELIA.
Rome was all eyes; the ancient totter'd forth;
The cripple propp'd his limbs beside the wall;
The dying left his bed to look, and die.
The way before us was a sea of heads;
The way behind a torrent of brown spears:
So, on we rode, in fierce and funeral pomp,
Through the long, living streets, that sank in gloom,
As we, like Pluto and Proserpina,
Enthroned, rode on—like twofold destiny!

CATILINE
(sternly—interrupting her).
Those triumphs are but gewgaws. All the earth,
What is it? Dust and smoke. I've done with life!

AURELIA
(coming closer, and looking steadily upon him).
Before that eve—one hundred senators—
And fifteen hundred knights, had paid—in blood,

The price of taunts, and treachery, and rebellion!
Were my tongue thunder—I would cry, Revenge!

CATILINE
(in sudden wildness).
No more of this! In, to your chamber, wife!
There is a whirling lightness in my brain,
That will not now bear questioning.—Away! [As Aurelia moves slowly towards the door.

Where are our veterans now? Look on these walls;
I cannot turn their tissues into life.
Where are our revenues—our chosen friends?
Are we not beggars? Where have beggars friends?
I see no swords and bucklers on these floors!
I shake the state! I—What have I on earth
But these two hands? Must I not dig or starve?—
Come back! I had forgot. My memory dies,
I think, by the hour. Who sups with us to-night?
Let all be of the rarest,—spare no cost.—
If 'tis our last;—it may be—let us sink
In sumptuous ruin, with wonderers round us, wife!
Our funeral pile shall send up amber smokes;
We'll burn in myrrh, or—blood! [She goes.

I feel a nameless pressure on my brow,
As if the heavens were thick with sudden gloom;
A shapeless consciousness, as if some blow
Were hanging o'er my head. They say, such thoughts
Partake of prophecy. [He stands at the casement.

This air is living sweetness. Golden sun,
Shall I be like thee yet? The clouds have past—
And, like some mighty victor, he returns
To his red city in the west, that now
Spreads all her gates, and lights her torches up,
In triumph for her glorious conqueror.

(Hamilcar enters hastily.)
HAMILCAR.
Do I disturb you? 'Tis the morning's talk,
That some of those who supp'd with you last night
Have been arrested.

CATILINE
(with anger).
And by whom?

HAMILCAR.
The consul!

'Tis said, Cethegus headed an attack
On Cicero's house: his slaves were on the watch,
The rioters seized; and now the rumour goes
That bills of treason will be moved to-day
Against them in the Senate.

CATILINE.
They were rash—
But must be saved.

HAMILCAR.
I think some mighty change—
Some general shaking of the commonwealth,
Is not far off.

CATILINE.
It cannot come too soon.

HAMILCAR.
The heavens and earth are full of prodigies.—
Rome shrinks.—Of late no victim has been slain,
But its blood quench'd the altar. Romulus' wolf
Last night was struck by lightning. Thunderbolts
Have fallen on many temples. Heavy gore
Drops from Jove's statue in the Capitol.

CATILINE
(coldly).
Your wonders are but chance.

HAMILCAR.
Chance can do nothing. There's no turn of earth;
No—not the blowing of the summer wind,
Or the unstable sailing of a cloud,
Much more the destiny of mighty states,—
But hath a will that orders it.

CATILINE.
Let time tell.
Your brain is always rich in fantasies;
Your birth has done it—not the restless time;
The spirit of your fiery land of spells
Is colouring the common things of life
Into mysterious splendour.

HAMILCAR.
And I dream!
All Rome has seen the comet risen by Mars.

CATILINE
(anxiously).
What is't to me?—Yet I have had my dreams.—
Last night I could not rest: the chamber's heat,

Or some wild thoughts—the folly of the day—
Banish'd my sleep:—So, in the garden air,
I gazed upon the comet, that then shone
In midnight glory, dimming all the stars.
At once a crimson blaze, that made it pale,
Flooded the north. I turn'd, and saw, in heaven,
Two mighty armies! From the zenith star,
Down to the earth, legions in line and orb,
Squadron and square, like earthly marshalry.
Anon, as if a sudden trumpet spoke,
Banners of gold and purple were flung out;
Fire-crested leaders swept along the lines;
And both the gorgeous depths, like meeting seas,
Roll'd to wild battle. Then, they breathed awhile,
Leaving the space between a sheet of gore,
Strew'd with torn standards, corpses, and crash'd spears.
But soon upon the horizon's belt uprose,
Moon-like, or richer,—like the rising morn,
A bulwark'd city.

HAMILCAR
(eagerly).
Rome?

CATILINE.

Both armies join'd;
And, like a deluge, rush'd against the walls.
One chieftain led both armies to the storm,
Till the proud Capitol in embers fell,—
And heaven was all on fire!

Valerius enters with Papers; Catiline, startled, turns round, exclaiming—

My ancient friend!

VALERIUS.
Letters from Caius Manlius.

[He gives despatches.
HAMILCAR
(aside).
Now, temptation!

CATILINE.
What do I see?

(Reads)

“We have heard of the comitia:—Come to us, and be once more a hero;—we have ten thousand veterans;—a day's march, and an hour's fighting, will punish your enemies—save your friends—turn the Senate into ciphers— and make you—dictator!”

HAMILCAR
(aside).
That's to his heart's core.

CATILINE
(musing).
To be clear'd at once,—
To taunt the taunter,—lay the proud in the dust,—
To show the fools the man they have disdain'd!—

VALERIUS
(to HAMILCAR).
The tidings seem to stir him.

HAMILCAR
(turning to CATILINE).
Why, my lord,
Your brow grows cloudy, and you clench your hand,
As if it held your spear.

CATILINE
(perturbed).
The news is sudden.

HAMILCAR.
Were you not born in the Calends?

CATILINE
(gloomily).
Well?

HAMILCAR.
Last night
I pass'd an hour upon the battlements;

Mars glow'd in the horizon—Jove sat high
In zenith splendour. Right between their orbs,
The comet, i'the meridian, reign'd over heaven.

CATILINE
(eagerly).
Sign of a leader at his army's head?

HAMILCAR.
Sign of a king! Just then the second watch
Rang from the trumpets in the Capitol.

CATILINE
(aside).
My natal hour!

HAMILCAR.
I drew the horoscope;
The circle of the trine, from Mars to Jove,
Enclosed a throne—but to be won by war!

CATILINE
(musing).
Can the Heavens lie?

HAMILCAR
(loftily).
Summon your augurs—your astrologers—
Your Chaldee men of vision—that for years
Sit on their Babylonish temple tops,
And read no book but the eternal sky.—
Not one of them dares cope, this hour, with me.

CATILINE
(in astonishment).
Hamilcar!

HAMILCAR.
Ay—the African!—the slave!
You knew him not the master of the spells,
That shake the earth's foundations!

CATILINE
(drawing back in surprise).
A magician!

HAMILCAR.
In my own land, and hunting through the hills,
I've sat, from eve to sunrise, in the caves
Of Atlas, circled by the enchanters' fires,
And mingled with them;—men who yearly came,
By compact, to hold solemn festival:—
Some riding fiery dragons,—some on shafts
Of the sunn'd topaz,—some on ostrich plumes,
Or wond'rous cars, that press'd the subtle air
No heavier than its clouds,—some in swift barks,
That lit the Lybian sea through night and storm,
Like winged volcanoes. From all zones of the earth—
From the mysterious fountains of the Nile—
Gold-sanded Niger—India's diamond shore—

From silken China,—from the Spicy Isles,
Like urns of incense set i'the purple sea
By Taprobane.

CATILINE.
Conclave of guilt and power!
Could they fear mortal man?

HAMILCAR.
They honour'd me;
For in my veins they saw the ancient blood
Of mighty necromancers, Afric's kings;
And took delight in showing me their spells,
Immortal essences, amalgams, seals,
Strong talismans, that keep the Egyptian's gold
Shrin'd in the pyramids;—the Brahmin signs,
The mystic Ten, that measure ocean's sands,
The forest leaves, and stars;—the arrowy words,
That guard the slumbers of the genie king
Beneath Persepolis;—all powers of gems!

CATILINE
(strongly agitated).

'Tis glorious!—But they say in Rome, such thoughts
Lead men to madness! It was in your youth?—

Will not such knowledge perish from the mind,
Like all things else?

[Grasping his hand.

Hamilcar, there are times,
When man would give his life, a willing price,
To know the chance that but an hour might bring!

HAMILCAR
(loftily).
Years cannot touch those mysteries. I could now
Arch this high hall with fire, or sudden blood;
Cover your floors with vipers. I have power
To summon shrinking spirits from the grave;
To bring the hungry lion from his spoil;
To make the serpent worship at my feet;
To fling th'eclipse's mantle round the moon,
Turning her light to blood; nay, bind a spell
So strong upon the fountains of the air,
That all the stars should sicken, and, unsphered,
Throw night into confusion,—or foretell,
In blazonry like day, the fate of those
Who grasp at empire!

[Fixing his eyes on Catiline.

CATILINE
(gloomily).
I dare ask no sign
That's wrought by necromancy.

HAMILCAR.
I dare work
No sign, if you dared ask it—while I'm here,
A hostage. 'Tis our magic's first, great law,
That none shall wield its wonders but the free.

CATILINE
(musing).
Here's glory, power, ambition's godlike thirst,
Slaked to the full. Then, on the other side,
Exile and foul defeat; a traitor's grave;
Slaughters and scaffolds of my trusting friends.
Oh! for a thunderpeal to right or left,
That I might toss no more upon the rack
Of this uncertainty.

Aurelia enters hastily.
AURELIA.
I have brought tidings for you! Civil war!

CATILINE
(eagerly).
Has it broke out?

AURELIA.
Beside us!

HAMILCAR
(aside).
Tartarus, hear!

AURELIA.
'Tis but this moment the Proconsul Curtius
Has pass'd our porch, borne on his soldiers' necks,
Wounded to death.

CATILINE.
How,—when,—where was 't?

AURELIA.
At Ostia!
An army of disbanded veterans
Last night tore down the gates, and set the fleet
In flames.

CATILINE.
What more—what more?

AURELIA.
The cavalry,
That fled with Curtius, brought a rebel flag;
Your name was on't.

CATILINE.
'Tis destiny!

[Noise without.
HAMILCAR.
It thunders!

AURELIA.
No; you hear the people's shouts!
Rome is all uproar. All the magistrates
Have just been summon'd to the Capitol;
The knights, half arm'd, are hurrying to the walls;
The people at the corners stand in groupes,
Outlying each his fellow,—full of news,
Visions, strange treasons, fearful prodigies,
Till all grow pale and silent with their fear:
Then rides some courier clattering through the streets,
With his spur buried in his panting horse,
And breaks their trance with his swift-utter'd tale.
You'd think another Hannibal was come,
After another Cannæ.

CATILINE
(musing).
Thanks! ye Gods!

AURELIA
(scornfully).
He goes to pray on 't.—Rise, lord Catiline!
Have you been drinking Lethe?

[Shouts without.
HAMILCAR
(aside).
Ay—howl on,
Ye Roman dogs:—Rebellion's in that roar!

CATILINE.
I heard a funeral trumpet, if my ears
Are not bewilder'd.—Hark! it sounds again!

Cecina enters in a military robe.
CATILINE
(hastily turning and approaching him).
Who's this? Cecina! welcome!—what's the news?
Has there been battle? Is the sword unsheath'd?

CECINA.
I come, to tell the Senate that the slaves
Have risen through all Apulia, and are now
Marching to Rome: I fought my way through them.

HAMILCAR
(aside).
The wind is rising; we shall see the storm!

CATILINE.
This is like news! The slaves in arms! To Rome!
This will breed blows! 'Twill try the Senate's brains.
Let their new consuls look to 't. (A trumpet).
Hark! again?
What Roman has bid farewell to the world?

CECINA.
Bear up this grief, my lord, like all the rest.
Your son—

CATILINE.
Sulpicius!

CECINA.
Has been basely slain!

CATILINE.
Great Jove!

[He hides his face in his robe.
CECINA.
The prætor's guards at Baiæ sack'd your house,—
He died upon the threshold: I have brought
His body here, with honour, as becomes
A brave man's memory.

CATILINE
(turning away).
Let the corse come in. [The body is brought in on a bier, carried by soldiers, Catiline rushes over to it.

Cecina, who did this? I'll have revenge!
Villains and murderers! What's the good of life,
If we but live to look upon such sights?
There lies the hope of all my fathers' line!
Our race extinguish'd!—Here's a gaping wound,—
So wide—his life fled through it!—Cicero!
Could you not spare?—Good friends; I'm sick at heart—
This blow has wither'd me. The world's a dream—
Your poniard, sir! (to Cecina.)
My grave must be that bier.

[He flings himself on the body. Lentulus enters.
LENTULUS.
My lord, prepare yourself! A multitude
Are coming to your house,—are in your porch,—
Led by a herald, who, by sound of trumpet,
Is now proclaiming Cicero Supreme—

HAMILCAR.
Dictator! There's the blow! All's lost in Rome!

AURELIA.
In Rome!—But, is the world contain'd in Rome?
Let me be once beyond the walls—I'll find—

CATILINE
(lifting his head from the bier feebly.)
Exiles and slaves!

AURELIA
(with ardour.)
I say, a host of friends,—
Tried hearts, of the true mould for victory:
They swam through blood for Marius,—and for you
They'd rush through fire, were you but—Catiline!

VALERIUS
(and the others approaching him.)
Our troops are in the field,—Mars might be proud
To leave his throne, and be their general!

HAMILCAR.
There are brave friends in Rome!

AURELIA.
He will not hear!

CATILINE
(faintly).
Psha! Masquers, dancers, dicers,—fitting hands

To play the iron soldier! Here's my hope—
My tree cut down. Why struggle for a name,
That, when I perish, perishes! Pale boy!
My health, wealth, heart, my life are on thy bier!

[He falls on the body.
HAMILCAR.
Rome summons you!

AURELIA.
Arise! must we be brain'd
While you lie dreaming there?—Ho! Catiline!
Disgrace is on you,—danger by your side,
Like a chain'd wolf, devouring with his eyes,
Before he's loosed to tear you.

LENTULUS
(approaching him).
He will die.

HAMILCAR
(vehemently).
The new dictator's calling for our heads,—
The lictors are afoot,—the block is ready!

[A knocking is heard, with clamours, and trumpets; the doors are flung open, and a herald enters with soldiery.]

The Herald reads:—

“Lucius Sergius Catiline; by command of the dictator, you are summoned to the temple of Jupiter Stator, at the second hour of the night, to answer solemnly before the Senate to attempts on his life, and other manifold treasons against the majesty of Rome.”

[He retires with the crowd. [Catiline, who had raised himself from the Bier while the Herald read; now advances to a Shrine in the extremity of the Hall, and brings out a legionary Eagle, covered with a black veil. He speaks in a wild and solemn tone.]
CATILINE.
Look, Romans, on this sign, and worship it!
If ever parted spirit walk'd the earth,
Haunting the treasure that it loved in life,
We stand this hour in presence of a thing,
That, bodied to our senses, would let loose
Our strength like water—strike our eyes with night—
Fill the hot brain with the unwholesome thoughts

That shake the reason.—This was Marius' gift!
Given by its master on his dying bed;
A nobler legacy than if his hand
Had shower'd down gold. But 't was upon my oath
Never to lift it in a Roman field.

AURELIA.
You dare not lift it.

CATILINE.
No; for th'ungrateful Rome,
That he had saved. Yet, if I stood in arms
Against her, then but strip this mystery— [He uncovers the eagle.

And the immortal spirit from his throne
Should follow it through battle—till the sword
Had done its work; and helms, on bloody brows,
Were changed for diadems.

HAMILCAR.
Let me adore
The talisman!

[He bends before it.
CATILINE.
Its equal's not on earth!

The metal fell from Heaven in thunder-peals;
'Twas temper'd in strange fire of warriors' bones;
Then shaped, at shuddering midnight, to wild songs,
That made the yawning earth give up her ghosts,
Mix'd with the unhallow'd spirits, that all day
Had toss'd on beds of adamant and fire.

AURELIA.
Let me see spears; leave magic to its fools.

CATILINE.
'Tis spear and shield. When Scipio was repulsed
Before Numantia, Marius, yet a boy,
With but this banner in his bold right hand,
Mounted the breach, and closed the war at once.
When the wild Teutons butchered Cæpio's legions,
He rear'd this banner, till his Roman knights
Dropp'd on their horses' necks, through weariness
Of making corpses. When the Cimbri came,
Reckon'd by hundred thousands, and Rome shrank,
As in the shadow of a thunder cloud;
He rear'd this banner. From that battle's blood
New rivers sprang; the ancient streams were chok'd

With German carnage. Through a winter's nights
Night was like day with piles of burning dead,
Waggons and shatter'd arms, barbaric spoils!
Dissensions rose in Rome; this eagle's wing
Blazed o'er his helmet, and her mightiest swords
Were edgeless in that mystic blaze. He died—
But not till he was master of the world!

HAMILCAR.
I met the chieftains of the Allobroges
To-day in the Forum;—brimful of complaints
Against the Senate's justice.

AURELIA
(with eagerness).
They have troops!—

CATILINE.
And gallant ones. I led them once in Spain.

HAMILCAR.
They talk half rebel, and leave Rome to-night.

CATILINE.
I'll see them first.

AURELIA.
The senate meet to-night,
If you go there, you're lost.

CATILINE
(loftily).
And have I borne
The brunt of Parthian bows and Spanish pikes?
O'er half the world shook hands with grim-faced death,
To shrink before some dozen bearded fools?
By Mars! I'll meet those doting senators,
Aye; stand within their prostrate ring, like one,
More god than man,—that, walking through the storm,
Had homage of the lightnings,—stood unblench'd,—
Arm'd only in his grandeur. I will meet them.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Temple of the Allobroges.
DUMNORIX, ARMINIUS, ETC.
A Cavern: in the Centre an Altar, with Incense, beneath the Statue of a Barbarian Goddess; a golden Axe and Helmet on the Altar; a curtained Recess in the Distance. Gaulish Priests standing before the Altar, with Warriors. They chaunt:—

Queen of the clouds! that mak'st thy purple throne
Upon our forest hills!
Queen of the thousand rills,
That fall in silver from the dewy stone!
Queen of myrtles, and the vine,
Dropping ruby on the snows
That diadem the Alps' eternal brows,—
Hear us, great goddess, from thy mystic shrine!

DUMNORIX.
Break off; I hear a stranger's foot.

ARMINIUS
(goes to the gate and calls).
Who comes?

CATILINE
(without).
A friend to Gaul.

[He enters, with his robe on his face, and advances to the altar. He uncovers his face.
DUMNORIX
(startled).
He is a Roman!

[The warriors surround him.
ARMINIUS to CATILINE
(haughtily).
If you come to share
Our worship, welcome; but if you would act
The spy, you perish. No!—take back your news,
And tell your lords that we are still their slaves,
And meek as ever.

CATILINE.
I have come for both—
And yet for neither. I would join your rites,

If they're for liberty! and I would spy
What clay the hearts are of, that live in chains.

DUMNORIX.
Stranger, those words are dangerous! We are here
Sent by our nation with the annual gifts
To Rome, and to this temple; not to talk
Of things above our wisdom.

ARMINIUS
(eagerly).
Let him speak!
Words are not spears. Who are you?

[To Catiline.
CATILINE.
I'm a man!
And, therefore, I can feel for fellow men.
What would you give for freedom?

ARMINIUS.
Death or life!

CATILINE
(ardently).
For freedom, if it stood before your eyes;
For freedom, if it rush'd to your embrace;

For freedom, if its sword were ready drawn
To hew your chains off?

DUMNORIX.
We must hear no more!
Roman, we are free.—

CATILINE.
Free! and ye stand in Rome!
Free! and ye bring her tribute. Men of Gaul,
I know you to be brave—in honour keen;
Taking no slight, but to be paid in blood!—
And then must I be told, that—when the whips
Of tyranny are ringing on your back;
When you are taunted, beggar'd, buffeted,—
Trampled like dogs; like dogs you'd lick the foot
That tramples you? No! by the avenging Mars!
I know that you are groaning in your souls
Over your abject country. Where's your name?
Swallow'd in Rome! Your land its wanton prey;
Your throne its footstool; your old hallow'd laws
The jest of Roman prætors. Nay; your gods
Are none of yours! This image is Rome's spoil. [Pointing to the statue.

Dragg'd from your capital; yet ye are free!

ARMINIUS.
He speaks the truth. Sir, we are beaten slaves;
Mere tribute-payers; cumberers of the earth;
Cradled in fetters; bred and buried in them.
I heard a Roman say so once.

CATILINE.
And you—
Let him escape?

ARMINIUS.
Why, ay!—into his grave!
I drove a bondsman's dagger through his throat.

CATILINE.
Soldier, your hand! a hundred such as you
Would give an empire freedom! Will you strike?

ARMINIUS.
This is brave speech!

DUMNORIX.
Yet, stranger, where's your pledge?
We are beset with spies.

ARMINIUS
(advancing to him).
Who are you?

CATILINE.
Catiline!

[They start back and gaze on him.
DUMNORIX.
The great patrician!

CATILINE.
Yes; an hour ago—
But now the rebel! Rome's eternal foe!
And your sworn friend! My desperate wrong's my pledge.
There's not in Rome,—no—not upon the earth,
A man so wrong'd. The very ground I tread
Is grudged me. Chieftains! ere the moon be down
My lands will be the senate's spoil; my life
The mark of the first villain that will stab
For lucre. But their time's at hand!—Gaze on!
If I had thought you cowards, I might have come
And told you lies. You have me now, the thing
I am;—Rome's enemy!—and fix'd as fate
To you and yours for ever.

ARMINIUS.
What's to be done?

DUMNORIX.
The state is strong!

CATILINE
(vehemently).
The state is weak as dust.
Rome's broken, helpless, heart-sick! Vengeance sits
Above her,—like a vulture o'er a corpse
Soon to be tasted. Time, and dull decay,
Have let the waters round her pillar's foot;
And it must fall. Her boasted strength's a ghost,
Fearful to dastards;—yet, to trenchant swords,
Thin as the passing air! A single blow,
In this diseased and crumbling frame of Rome,
Would break your chains like stubble.

ARMINIUS.
We have fought
For Rome on plain and mountain, shore and sea.

CATILINE.
What have you for your blood?

ARMINIUS.
Flat slavery!
Lucius Muræna came as proconsul,

And at his heels a host of plunderers;
Prætors and præfects, quæstors,—dregs of Rome,—
Hungry as hounds, and merciless as wolves,
To gorge upon us.—

CATILINE.
And they left you bare?

ARMINIUS.
Stript to the bone!

DUMNORIX.
Our fields are desolate,
Loaded with mortgage and hard usury.
For wine and oil they bear the loathsome weed—
Nightshades and darnels, docks and matted furze.
The plain is now a marsh, breathing blue steams,
That kill the flock; the blossom'd hill a heath;
The valley, and the vineyard, loneliness;
Where the rare traveller sees but mouldering graves,
And hears but brayings of the mountain deer,
That come, unscared, to wanton in the stream.

ARMINIUS
(despondingly).
We have no arms! There's not a spear-head left
In all Helvetia.

CATILINE
(with ardour).
Have you no ploughshares, scythes?
When men are brave, the sickle is a spear!
Must Freedom pine till the slow armourer
Gilds her caparison, and sends her out
To glitter and play antics in the sun?
Let hearts be what they ought,—the naked earth
Will be their magazine;—the rocks—the trees—
Nay—there's no idle and unnoted thing,
But, in the hand of Valour, will out-thrust
The spear, and make the mail a mockery.

ARMINIUS.
Come to our altar. Drink the sacred pledge:—
There lie our kingly emblems, that we brought [Pointing to the axe and helmet.

In bitterness, for tribute. They are yours;
Our blood is yours.

CATILINE
(taking the goblet).
Here's a bold health to freedom!

DUMNORIX
(interposing).
This is too rash—too wild. We must implore
Our native goddess.

ARMINIUS.

Let your hymn be free;
Speak out your hearts to Heaven.—

Heaven scorns a slave!

HYMN.

(Chaunted by the Priests, &c. &c.)

Thou, whose throne is on the cloud,
Mighty Mother of the sky!
Clothe thee in thy darkest shroud,
Come, with terror in thine eye!
Stoop, a nation's cry to hear,
Goddess of the mountaineer!

On the hills our life is pour'd,
We have perish'd in the vale;
With our blood the stream is gored,
With our groans is swell'd the gale.
Tyranny has bound the chain
On our bosom and our brain.

What has crush'd our ancient glory?
Rome, by thee the deed was done!
What has bid our chieftains hoary
To a nameless grave begone?
What has from its kingly stand
Smote the spirit of the land?

Where was once a prouder spear?
Where was once a bolder brow?
When Helvetia's mountaineer
Thunder'd on the realms below!
Never keener shaft from string
Tore the Roman eagle's wing.

Goddess! give,—we ask no more,
'Tis the boon thou givest the brave,—
Freedom! in the Roman's gore,
Or in old Helvetia's grave!
Destiny and chance are thine;
Answer, Goddess, thrice divine!

[As the Chaunt ceases, a low sound of Thunder, followed by remote Music, is heard.

ARMINIUS
(to CATILINE).
That is the signal when the prophetess
Gives the responses. She's a wond'rous one,
A Grecian, from Dodona. She has slept
In the Trophonian Cave,—and stood, 'tis said,
At Delphi, on the tripod.

DUMNORIX.
Hush! She comes!

[The Curtains of the Recess open with a burst of light; Priests and Females, with laurel Wreaths, come forward to Music. Aspasia, the Prophetess, advances with an augural Staff, and crowned with Laurel. After a pause of thought, she bursts out into Recitation, accompanied by faint Music.

RECITATION.

ASPASIA.
Heard you not the earthquake's thunder?
Hark! the depths are rent asunder.
See! the Furies in their cave,
Sitting by a new-made grave:

Fix'd as stone, the upward lightning
Round their eyes of paleness bright'ning,
Fire their crowns; the outstretch'd hand
Sceptred with the funeral brand.

CHORUS.
Mighty Mother of the sky,
Hear a suppliant nation's cry!

RECITATION.

ASPASIA.
The grave is blood; a banner'd host
Are at its side,—plunged in, and lost.
A mighty people touch its verge;
Within the crimson flood they merge;
A golden helm, an axe, a throne,
Gleam through the tossing surge,—they're gone!
Through the cavern, laugh and yell
Shut the Furies' fearful spell.

CHORUS.
Mighty Mother, &c.

[Aspasia turns, and gazes on Catiline.

The prayer is heard! within the cave
Who stands? The bravest of the brave!
He strikes! The Stygian sisters fly,
The gulf of blood has lost its dye.
In shadowy lustre from its tide
Arise the buried—purified!
Last gleam the helm, the axe, the throne—
And he is King—that glorious One!

[The Priests, &c. bend before Catiline.
DUMNORIX.

Hail!—King of Gaul!

CHORUS chaunt,

Hail!—King of Gaul!

[Aspasia takes the axe and helmet.
ARMINIUS
(to CATILINE).
Now to the field!—The mountain horn shall ring,
And every Alp shall answer;—hollow caves,
And the dim forest-depths, and beds untracked
Of the eternal snows, shall teem with tribes
That know no Roman tyrants,—daring hearts,
Swift feet, strong hands, that neither hunger, thirst,

Nor winter cataracts, nor the tempest's roar,
When the hills shake with thunderbolts, can tire.

[Aspasia lays the helmet on Catiline's head, and places the axe in his hand. The Chorus chaunt, “Hail, King of Gaul!” The Scene closes.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.