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

Strange lights, you say, [To another.

Were seen towards Veii: Manlius must have moved.
Bring in your prisoner. (To another.)
[He walks about thoughtfully.

And this is my supremacy! The prize

108

That whets men's swords, and sows in noble hearts
The bitter seed of discord! Sir! see here [To the Secretary.

The cheerless image of a statesman's life!
To bear upon his brow the general care,—
To make his daily food of anxious thoughts,
To rob the midnight of its wholesome sleep,—
And all, but to be made the loftier mark
For every shaft that envy, sullen hate,
Or thwarted guilt, can lay upon the string,—
And have his thanks for all,—ingratitude!

HAMILCAR enters, chained.
HAMILCAR.
My lord Dictator,—I have to complain
Of insult from your officers. Why these chains?
Why am I dragg'd, at midnight, through the streets?
I claim to be Rome's hostage,—not her slave!

CICERO.

Sir, clear the chamber.

[To an Officer.

Moor, you are arraign'd [To Hamilcar.

109

Of treason to the majesty of Rome.
No frowning here!—A Roman wastes his time,
In reasoning with barbarians! Whips shall wring
Confession from you. Tell the truth at once.

HAMILCAR.
Send for your lictors; bring the scourge and screw:
I laugh at torture!

CICERO
(sternly).
All your steps are known,—
You have been leagued with Catiline;—your share,
When this wild work was done, and Rome in flames,
Should be Numidia.

HAMILCAR
(haughtily).
Call the torturers in,—
Try if I writhe. I stir up war in Rome!
What am I here? An alien! captive! stript
Of wealth and dignity! My tribes Rome's slaves,—
My sceptre in her hands!—Conspirator!—
If I could war by piling up the waves,
Or make my soldiers of the shifting sands,
I might be worth your chains.

110

CICERO.
Look on this scroll! [Showing him the list.

So! it has struck you! Do you know these names?
Glance at the bottom, Moor,—there's one name left,
That you might know. That traitor was, it seems,
To fire my palace.

HAMILCAR.
Some poor forgery,— [Flinging it down.

A trick to frighten dastards!—Bring the scourge.

CICERO.
You shall have agonies! (Calls)
The torturer!

[Aspasia is brought forward.
HAMILCAR
(in astonishment).
Aspasia!

CICERO.
Greek, who gave you this?

HAMILCAR
(rushing forward).
'Twas I!
Where are your dungeons?

111

CICERO.
Traitor, before morn
Your head is on the scaffold.

ASPASIA
(kneeling to CICERO).
Mighty lord!
Spare him!—Is this your promise before Heaven?
Hamilcar, speak one word.

[Turning and kneeling to him.
CICERO.
He is undone!

ASPASIA.
One word will save us both. The hour you die,
I scorn to live.

HAMILCAR
(to ASPASIA).
Deceiver! let me die,
Rather than live dishonour'd.

CICERO.
Prince, the grief
Of noble hearts for crime is honour's self.—
We must delay no longer,—all is known,—
Your full confession were not worth the breath
That gave it utterance.

112

ASPASIA.
Die for Catiline?

CICERO.
Why not? The captive for his conqueror.
Twas he that dragg'd the African to Rome.

HAMILCAR
(agitated).
'Tis not forgot,—'tis writ upon my heart,
To wipe away that shame!—I had resolved
To wait till he was emperor here, and then
To stab him on his throne!

CICERO
(urgently).
Take vengeance now!
If you have nature's current in your veins,—
If you have honour for your ancestors,—
If there be aught of human or divine,
That can awake the soul to just revenge,
They all command you. You will be the praise
Of Rome; and when the warrior's memory
Lies in his grave,—yours shall be pedestal'd
In nations' hearts!

ASPASIA
(kneeling to him).
Hamilcar, look upon me. By the faith

113

That I have borne you in my loneliness,—
By woman's love, that masters death,—but speak!—
I have betray'd you; and your noble blood
Sits heavy on my soul. Speak, or I die.

CICERO.
Rise, woman; the barbarian's heartless,—bound
In treason, stronger than those iron links.

HAMILCAR
(indignantly).
Turn traitor to my friends?

CICERO.
The truest friend
To Catiline is he that lets the axe
Fall on his weary life!—The epicure,
Who sleeps in luxury's lap; who wears no robe,
But from the silk-worm's loom; suffers no air
To come beneath his nostrils, but the breath
Of incense, and the aromatic herbs
That Indian princes pillow on; even he
May love the subtle-frowning messenger,
That comes to close his pleasure-pamper'd life:
But here it comes, a palpable discharge

114

Of pain and emptiness,—remission quick
Of all the ills that break down bankrupt life,
Kindly exchange for shame, grief, flat despair!

HAMILCAR.
Slay me at once,—strike here!

[Baring his breast.
CICERO
(calls to the Secretary).

Ho! Capito!
Give me the letter that was found to-night
In Catiline's house.

[Looks at the letter.

A claim from Lentulus,
That, when all 's done, this priestess shall be thrown
Into his share of the spoil.

[Aspasia falls into Hamilcar's arms.
HAMILCAR
(grasping at the letter).
Villains!—Is 't true?

CICERO.
You see his seal.

HAMILCAR
(raging).
To Tartarus with my oath!

115

They all shall die! That spoil shall never be,—
They meet to-night!—The whole conspiracy!

CICERO
(startled).
Where? in the Palatine? at Læca's house?

HAMILCAR.
No!—In the Marian Vault—in arms!

CICERO.
In arms!—
Summon the magistrates;—send couriers out [To the Secretary.

To Veii for the legion;—bid the knights
Keep all their chargers saddled.

HAMILCAR
(wildly).
Let me have
A cohort, and I'll take them—in the fact.—
Dividers of the spoil before 'tis won!—
They would have robb'd me,—trampled on my heart,—
Left me to wail, and howl, and gnash my teeth,
When I had done their drudgery! There's not one,
From first to last, but shall be in this hall,
Within an hour,—in chains!

[Exeunt.