University of Virginia Library

THE MARTYR:

A DRAMA, IN THREE ACTS.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA

MEN

• Nero, emperor of Rome.
• Cordenius Maro, officer of the imperial guard.
• Orceres, a Parthian prince, visiting Rome.
• Sulpicius, a senator.
• Sylvius, a brave centurion.
• Roman Pontiff.
• Christian father or bishop, Christian brother, &c.
• A page, in the family of Sulpicius.
• Senators, Christians, soldiers, &c.

WOMEN

• Portia, daughter of Sulpicius.
• Christian women.

Scene, Rome.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A private apartment in the house of Sulpicius.
Enter Sulpicius and Orceres by opposite sides.
Sul.
So soon return'd!—I read not in thy face
Aught to encourage or depress my wishes.
How is it, noble friend?

Or.
E'en as it was ere I received my mission.
Cordenius Maro is on public duty;
I have not seen him.—When he knows your offer,
His heart will bound with joy, like eaglet plumed,
Whose outstretch'd pinions, wheeling round and round,
Shape their first circles in the sunny air.

Sul.
And with good cause.

Or.
Methinks I see him now!
A face with blushes mantling to the brow,
Eyes with bright tears surcharged, and parted lips
Quiv'ring to utter joy which hath no words.

Sul.
His face, indeed, as I have heard thee say,
Is like a wave which sun and shadow cross;
Each thought makes there its momentary mark.

Or.
And then his towering form, and vaulting step,
As tenderness gives way to exultation!
O! it had been a feast to look upon him;
And still shall be.

Sul.
Art thou so well convinced
He loves my little damsel?—She is fair,
But seems to me too simple, gay, and thoughtless,
For noble Maro. Heiress as she is
To all my wealth, had I suspected sooner,
That he had smother'd wishes in his breast
As too presumptuous, or that she in secret
Preferr'd his silent homage to the praise
Of any other man, I had most frankly
Removed all hindrance to so fair a suit.
For, in these changeling and degenerate days,
I scarcely know a man of nobler worth.

Or.
Thou scarcely knowst! Say certainly thou dost not.
He is, to honest right, as simply true
As shepherd child on desert pasture bred,
Where falsehood and deceit have never been;
And to maintain them, ardent, skilful, potent,
As the shrewd leader of unruly tribes.
A simple heart and subtle spirit join'd
Make such an union, as in Nero's court
May pass for curious and unnatural.

Sul.
But is the public duty very urgent
That so untowardly delays our happiness?

Or.
The punishment of those poor Nazarenes,
Who, in defiance of imperial power,
To their forbidden faith and rights adhere
With obstinacy most astonishing.

Sul.
A stubborn contumacy, unaccountable!

Or.
There's sorcery in it, or some stronger power.
But be it what it may, or good, or ill,
They look on death in its most dreadful form,
As martial heroes on a wreath of triumph.
The fires are kindled in the place of death,
And bells toll dismally. The life of Rome
In one vast clust'ring mass hangs round the spot,
And no one to his neighbour utters word,
But in an alter'd voice, with breath restrain'd,
Like those who speak at midnight near the dead.
Cordenius heads the band that guards the pile;
So station'd, who could speak to him of pleasure?
My words had come like sounds of evil omen.

Sul.
Cease; here comes Portia, with a careless face:
She knows not yet the happiness that waits her.

Or.
Who brings she with her thus, as if compell'd
By playful force?

Sul.
'Tis her Numidian page; a cunning imp,
Who must be woo'd to do the thing he's proud of.

Enter Portia, dragging Syphax after her, speaking as she enters.
Portia.
Come in, deceitful thing!—I know thee well;
With all thy sly affected bashfulness,
Thou'rt bold enough to sing in Cæsar's court,
With the whole senate present.
(To Orceres.)
Prince of Parthia,
I knew not you were here; but yet I guess
The song which this sly creature sings so well,
Will please you also.

Or.
How can it fail, fair Portia, so commended?

Sul.
What is this boasted lay?

Portia.
That tune, my father,
Which you so oft have tried to recollect;
But link'd with other words, of new device,
That please my fancy well.—Come, sing it, boy!

Sul.
Nay, sing it, Syphax, be not so abash'd,
If thou art really so.—Begin, begin!
But speak thy words distinctly as thou singst,
That I may have their meaning perfectly.

Or.
The picture of some very noble hero
These lines pourtray.

Sul.
So it should seem; one of the days of old.

Portia.
And why of olden days? There liveth now
The very man—a man—I mean to say,
There may be found among our Roman youth,
One, who in form and feelings may compare
With him, whose lofty virtues these few lines
So well describe.

Or.
Thou meanst the lofty Gorbus.

Portia.
Out on the noisy braggart. Arms without
He hath, indeed, well burnish'd and well plumed,
But the poor soul, within, is pluck'd and bare,
Like any homely thing.

Or.
Sertorius Galba then?

Portia.
O, stranger still!
For if he hath no lack of courage, certes,
He hath much lack of grace. Sertorius Galba!

Or.
Perhaps thou meanst Cordenius Maro, lady.
Thy cheeks grow scarlet at the very name,
Indignant that I still should err so strangely.

Portia.
No, not indignant, for thou errest not;
Nor do I blush, albeit thou thinkst I do,
To say, there is not of our Romans one,
Whose martial form a truer image gives
Of firm heroic courage.

Sul.
Cease, sweet Portia!
He only laughs at thy simplicity.

Or.
Simplicity seen through a harmless wile,
Like to the infant urchin, half conceal'd
Behind his smiling dam's transparent veil.
The song is not a stranger to mine ear,
Methinks I've heard it passing through those wilds,
Whose groves and caves, if rumour speak the truth,
Are by the Nazarenes or Christians haunted.

Sul.
Let it no more be sung within my walls:
A chaunt of their's to bring on pestilence!
Sing it no more. What sounds are those I hear?

Or.
The dismal death-drum and the crowd without.
They are this instant leading past your door
Those wretched Christians to their dreadful doom.

Sul.
We'll go and see them pass.

[Exeunt hastily, Sulpicius, Orceres.
Portia
(stopping her ears).
I cannot look on them, nor hear the sound.
I'll to my chamber.

Page.
May not I, I pray,
Look on them as they pass?

Portia.
No; go not, child:
'Twill frighten thee; it is a horrid sight.

Page.
Yet, an it please you, lady, let me go.

Portia.
I say it is a horrid, piteous sight,
Thou wilt be frighten'd at it.

Page.
Nay, be it e'er so piteous or so horrid,
I have a longing, strong desire to see it.

Portia.
Go then; in this there is no affectation:
There's all the harden'd cruelty of man
Lodged in that tiny form, child as thou art.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

An open square, with buildings.
Enter Cordenius Maro, at the head of his soldiers, who draw up on either side; then enters a long procession of public functionaries, &c., conducting martyrs to the place of execution, who, as they pass on, sing together in unison: one, more noble than the others, walking first.
[Exeunt martyrs, &c. &c. Cordenius with his officers and soldiers still remaining; the officers on the front, and Cordenius apart from them in a thoughtful posture.
1st offi.
Brave Varus marches boldly at the head
Of that deluded band.

2d offi.
Are these the men who hateful orgies hold,
In dens and deserts with enchantments wooing
The intercourse of demons?

3d offi.
Ay, with rites
Cruel and wild. To crucify a babe,
And, while it yet hangs shrieking on the rood,
Fall down and worship it! device abominable!

1st offi.
Dost thou believe it?

3d offi.
I can believe or this or any thing
Of the possess'd and mad.

1st offi.
What demonry, thinkst thou, possesses Varus?

2d offi.
That is well urged. (To the other.)
Is he a maniac?
Alas, that I should see so brave a soldier
Thus, as a malefactor, led to death!

1st offi.
Viewing his keen enliven'd countenance
And stately step, one should have rather guess'd
He led victorious soldiers to the charge:
And they, indeed, appear'd to follow him
With noble confidence.

3d offi.
'Tis all vain seeming.
He is a man, who makes a show of valour
To which his deeds have borne slight testimony.

Cor.
(advancing indignantly).
Thou liest; a better and a braver soldier
Ne'er fronted foe, nor closed in bloody strife.

[Turning away angrily to the background.
1st offi.
Our chief, methinks, is in a fretful mood,
Which is not usual with him.

2d offi.
He did not seem to listen to our words,
Yet they have moved him keenly.—
But see, he gives the signal to proceed;
We must advance, and with our closing ranks
The fatal pile encircle.

[Exeunt in order, whilst a chorus of martyrs is heard at a distance.

SCENE III.

An apartment in a private house.
Enter two Christian Women by opposite sides.
1st woman.
Hast thou heard any thing?

2d woman.
Nought, save the murmur of the multitude,
Sinking at times to deep and awful silence,
From which again a sudden burst will rise
Like mingled exclamations, as of horror
Or admiration. In these neighbouring streets
I have not met a single citizen,
The town appearing uninhabited.
But wherefore art thou here? Thou shouldst have stay'd
With the unhappy mother of poor Cælus.

1st woman.
She sent me hither in her agony
Of fear and fearful hope.

2d woman.
Ha! does she hope deliverance from death?

1st woman.
O no! thou wrongst her, friend; it is not that:
Deliverance is her fear, and death her hope.
A second time she bears a mother's throes
For her young stripling, whose exalted birth
To endless life is at this fearful crisis,
Or earn'd or lost. May heaven forefend the last!
He is a timid youth, and soft of nature:
God grant him strength to bear that fearful proof!

2d woman.
Here comes our reverend father.
Enter a Christian Father.
What tidings dost thou bring? are they in bliss?

Father.
Yes, daughter, as I trust, they are ere this
In high immortal bliss. Cælus alone—

1st woman.
He hath apostatised! O woe is me!
O woe is me for his most wretched mother!

Father
Apostatised! No; stripling as he is,
His fortitude, where all were braced and brave,
Shone paramount.
For his soft downy cheek and slender form
Made them conceive they might subdue his firmness:
Therefore he was reserved till noble Varus
And his compeers had in the flames expired
Then did they court and tempt him with fair promise
Of all that earthly pleasure or ambition
Can offer, to deny his holy faith.
But he, who seem'd before so meek and timid,
Now suddenly imbued with holy grace,
Like the transition of some watery cloud
In passing o'er the moon's refulgent disc,
Glow'd with new life; and from his fervid tongue
Words of most firm indignant constancy
Pour'd eloquently forth; then to the pile
Sprang he as lightly as a dauntless warrior
Scaling the breach of honour; or, alas!
As I have seen him 'midst his boyish mates,
Vaulting aloft for very love of motion.

1st woman.
High heaven be praised for this!—
thine eyes beheld it?

Father.
I saw it not: the friend who witness'd it,
Left him yet living 'midst devouring flame;
Therefore I spoke of Cælus doubtfully,
If he as yet belong'd to earth or heaven.

[They cover their faces, and remain silent.
Enter a Christian Brother.
Brother.
Lift up your heads, my sisters! let your voices
In grateful thanks be raised! Those ye lament,
Have earthly pangs for heavenly joy exchanged.
The manly Varus, and the youthful Cælus,
The lion and the dove, yoke-fellows link'd,
Have equal bliss and equal honour gain'd.

st woman.
And praised be God, who makes the weakest strong!
I'll to his mother with the blessed tidings.

[Exit.
Father.
Let us retire and pray. How soon our lives
May have like ending, God alone doth know!
O! may like grace support us in our need!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

An open space in front of a temple.
Enter Cordelius, as returned from the execution with his soldiers, who, upon a signal from him, disperse and leave him alone. He walks a few paces slowly, then stops, and continues for a short time in a thoughtful posture.
Cor.
There is some power in this, or good or ill,
Surpassing nature. When the soul is roused
To desp'rate sacrifice, 'tis ardent passion,
Or high exalted virtue that excites it.
Can loathsome demonry in dauntless bearing
Outdo the motives of the lofty brave?
It cannot be! There is some power in this
Mocking all thought—incomprehensible.
[Remains for a moment silent and thoughtful, while Sylvius enters behind him unperceived.
Delusion! ay, 'tis said the cheated sight
Will see unreal things; the cheated ear
List to sweet sounds that are not; even the reason
Maintain conclusions wild and inconsistent.
We hear of this:—the weak may be deluded;
But is the learn'd, th' enlighten'd noble Varus
The victim of delusion?—Can it be?
I'll not believe it.

Sylvius
(advancing to him).
No, believe it not.

Cor.
(starting).
Ha! one so near me!
I have seen thy face before; but where? who art thou?

Sylvius.
E'en that Centurion of the Seventh Legion,
Who, with Cordenius Maro, at the siege
Of Fort Volundum, mounted first the breach;
And kept the clust'ring enemy in check,
Till our encouraged Romans followed us.

Cor.
My old companion then, the valiant Sylvius,
Thou'st done hard service since I saw thee last:
Thy countenance is mark'd with graver lines
Than in those greener days: I knew thee not.
Where goest thou now? I'll bear thee company.

Sylvius.
I thank thee: yet thou mayst not go with me.
The way that I am wending suits not thee,
Though suiting well the noble and the brave.
It were not well, in fiery times like these,
To tempt thy generous mind.

Cor.
What dost thou mean?

Sylvius
(after looking cautiously round to see that nobody is near).
Did I not hear thee commune with thyself
Of that most blessed Martyr gone to rest,
Varus Dobella?

Cor.
How blessed? My unsettled thoughts were busy
With things mysterious; with those magic powers
That work the mind to darkness and destruction;
With the sad end of the deluded Varus.

Sylvius.
Not so, not so! The wisest prince on earth,
With treasured wealth and armies at command,
Ne'er earn'd withal such lofty exaltation
As Varus now enjoys.

Cor.
Thy words amaze me, friend; what is their meaning?

Sylvius.
They cannot be explain'd with hasty speech
In such a place. If thou wouldst really know—
And may such light—

Cor.
Why dost thou check thy words,
And look so much disturb'd, like one in doubt?

Sylvius.
What am I doing? Zeal, perhaps, betrays me.
Yet, wherefore hide salvation from a man
Who is so worthy of it?

Cor.
Why art thou agitated thus? What moves thee?

Sylvius.
And wouldst thou really know it?

Cor.
Dost thou doubt me?
I have an earnest, most intense desire.

Sylvius.
Sent to thy heart, brave Roman, by a Power
Which I may not resist.
[Bowing his head.
But go not with me now in open day.
At fall of eve I'll meet thee in the suburb,
Close to the pleasure-garden of Sulpicius;
Where in a bushy crevice of the rock
There is an entry to the catacombs,
Known but to few.

Cor.
Ha! to the catacombs!

Syl.
A dismal place, I own, but heed not that;
For there thou'lt learn what, to thy ardent mind,
Will make this world but as a thorny pass
To regions of delight; man's natural life,
With all its varied turmoil of ambition,
But as the training of a wayward child
To manly excellence; yea, death itself
But as a painful birth to life uncnding.
The word eternal has not to thine ears,
As yet, its awful, ample sense convey'd.

Cor.
Something possesses thee.

Sylvius.
Yes, noble Maro;
But it is something which can ne'er possess
A mind that is not virtuous.—Let us part;
It is expedient now.—All good be with thee!

Cor.
And good be with thee, also, valiant soldier!

Sylvius
(returning as he is about to go out).
At close of day, and near the pleasure-garden,—
The garden of Sulpicius.

Cor.
I know the spot, and will not fail to meet thee.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Catacombs, showing long low-roofed aisles, in different directions, supported by thick pillars of the rough unhewn rock, with rude tombs and heaps of human bones, and the walls in many places lined with human skulls.
Enter Cordenius Maro, speaking to a Christian Father, on whose arm he leans, and followed by Sylvius.
Cor.
One day and two bless'd nights, spent in acquiring
Your heavenly lore, so powerful and sublime.—
Oh! what an alter'd creature they have made me!

Father.
Yes, gentle son, I trust that thou art alter'd.

Cor.
I am, methinks, like one who, with bent back
And downward gaze—if such an one might be—
Hath only known the boundless azure sky
By the strait circle of reflected beauty,
Seen in the watery gleam of some deep pit:
Till on a sudden roused, he stands erect,
And wondering looks aloft and all around
On the bright sunny firmament:—like one
(Granting again that such an one might be)
Who hath but seen the element of fire
On household hearth or woodman's smoky pile,
And looks at once, 'mid 'stounding thunder-peals,
On Jove's magnificence of lightning.—Pardon,
I pray you pardon me! I mean His lightning,
Who is the Jove of Jove, the great Jehovah.

Father
(smiling).
Be not disturb'd, my son; the lips will utter,
From lengthen'd habit, what the mind rejects.

Cor.
These blessed hours, which I have pass'd with you,
Have to my intellectual being given
New feelings and expansion, like to that
Which once I felt, on viewing by degrees
The wide developement of nature's amplitude.

Father.
And how was that, my son?

Cor.
I well remember it; even at this moment
Imagination sees it all again.
'Twas on a lofty mountain of Armenia,
O'er which I led by night my martial cohort,
To shun the fierce heat of a summer's day.
Close round us hung, the vapours of the night
Had form'd a woofy curtain, dim and pale,
Through which the waning moon did faintly mark
Its slender crescent.

Father.
Ay, the waned moon through midnight vapours seen,
Fit emblem is of that retrenching light,
Dubious and dim, which to the earliest patriarchs
Was at the first vouchsafed; a moral guide,
Soon clouded and obscured to their descendants,
Who peopled far and wide, in scatter'd tribes,
The fertile earth.—But this is interruption.
Proceed, my son.

Cor.
Well, on the lofty summit
We halted, and the day's returning light
On this exalted station found us. Then
Our brighten'd curtain, wearing into shreds
And rifted masses, through its opening gave
Glimpse after glimpse of slow revealed beauty,
Which held th' arrested senses magic-bound,
In the intensity of charm'd attention.

Father.
From such an eminence the op'ning mist
Would to the eye reveal most beauteous visions.

Cor.
First, far beneath us, woody peaks appear'd
And knolls with cedars crested; then, beyond,
And lower still, the herdsmen's cluster'd dwellings,
With pasture slopes, and flocks just visible;
Then, further still, soft wavy wastes of forest,
In all the varied tints of sylvan verdure,
Descending to the plain; then, wide and boundless,
The plain itself, with towns and cultured tracts,
And its fair river gleaming in the light,
With all its sweepy windings, seen and lost,
And seen again, till through the pale grey tint
Of distant space, it seem'd a loosen'd cestus
From virgin's tunic blown; and still beyond,
The earth's extended vastness from the sight
Wore like the boundless ocean.
My heart beat rapidly at the fair sight—
This ample earth, man's natural habitation.
But now, when to my mental eye reveal'd,
His moral destiny, so grand and noble,
Lies stretching on even to immensity,
It overwhelms me with a flood of thoughts,
Of happy thoughts.

Father.
Thanks be to God that thou dost feel it so!

Cor.
I am most thankful for the words of power
Which from thy gifted lips and sacred scripture
I have received. What feelings they have raised!
O what a range of thought given to the mind!
And to the soul what loftiness of hope!
That future dreamy state of faint existence
Which poets have described and sages taught,
In which the brave and virtuous pined and droop'd
In useless indolence, changed for a state
Of social love, and joy, and active bliss,—
A state of brotherhood,—a state of virtue,
So grand, so purified;—O it is excellent!
My soul is roused within me at the sound,
Like some poor slave, who from a dungeon issues
To range with free-born men his native land.

Father.
Thou mayst, indeed, my son, redeem'd from thraldom,
Become the high compeer of blessed spirits.

Cor.
The high compeer of such!—These gushing tears,
Nature's mysterious tears, will have their way.

Father.
To give thy heart relief.

Cor.
And yet mysterious. Why do we weep
At contemplation of exalted virtue?
Perhaps in token of the fallen state
In which we are, as thrilling sympathy
Strangely acknowledges some sight and sound,
Connected with a dear and distant home,
Albeit the memory that link hath lost:—
A kind of latent sense of what we were,
Or might have been; a deep mysterious token.

Father.
Perhaps thou'rt right, my son; for e'en the wicked
Will sometimes weep at lofty, generous deeds.
Some broken traces of our noble nature
Were yet preserved; therefore our great Creator
Still loved His work, and thought it worth redemption:
Therefore His generous Son, our blessed Master,
Did, as the elder brother of that race,
Whose form He took, lay down His life to save us,
But I have read thee, from our sacred book,
His gentle words of love.

Cor.
Thou hast! thou hast! they're stirring in my heart:
Each fibre of my body thrills in answer
To the high call.—

Father.
The Spirit of Power, my son, is dealing with thee.

Cor.
(after a pause).
One thing amazes me,— yet it is excellent.

Father.
And what amazes thee? Unbosom freely
What passes in thy mind.

Cor.
That this religion which dilates our thoughts
Of God Supreme to an infinity
Of awful greatness, yet connects us with him,
As children, loved and cherish'd;—
Adoring awe with tenderness united.

Sylvius
(eagerly).
Ay, brave Cordenius, that same thought more moved
My rude unletter'd mind than all the rest.
I struck my hand against my soldier's mail,
And cried, “This faith is worthy of a man!”

Cor.
Our best philosophers have raised their thoughts
To one great universal Lord of all,
Lord even of Jove himself and all the gods;
Yet who durst feel for that high, distant Essence,
A warmer sentiment than deep submission?
But now, adoring love and grateful confidence
Cling to th' infinity of power and goodness,
As the repentant child turns to his sire
With yearning looks, that say, “Am I not thine?”
I am too bold: I should be humbled first
In penitence and sorrow, for the stains
Of many a hateful vice and secret passion.

Father.
Check not the generous tenor of thy thoughts:
O check it not! Love leads to penitence,
And is the noblest, surest path; while fear
Is dark and devious. To thy home return,
And let thy mind well weigh what thou hast heard.
If then thou feel within thee faith assured;
That faith, which may, e'en through devouring flames,
Its passage hold to heaven, baptismal rites
Shall give thee entrance to a purer life,
Receive thee, as thy Saviour's valiant soldier,
For His high warfare arm'd.

Cor.
I am resolved, and feel that in my heart
There lives that faith; baptize me ere we part.

Father.
So be it then. But yet that holy rite
Must be deferr'd; for, lo! our brethren come,
Bearing the ashes of our honour'd saints,
Which must, with hymns of honour, be received.

Enter Christians, seen advancing slowly along one of the aisles, and bearing a large veiled urn, which they set down near the front. They then lift off the veil and range themselves round it, while one sings and the rest join in the chorus at the end of each short verse.
Cor.
(to father).
And ye believe those, who a few hours since
Were clothed in flesh and blood, and here, before us,
Lie thus, e'en to a few dry ashes changed,
Are now exalted spirits, holding life
With blessed powers, and agencies, and all
Who have on earth a virtuous part fulfill'd?
The dear redeem'd of Godlike love, again
To their primeval destiny restored?
It is a generous, powerful, noble faith.

Sylvius.
Did I not tell thee, as we pass'd along,
It well became a Roman and a soldier?

Father.
Nay, worthy Sylvius, somewhat more of meekness
And less of martial ardour were becoming
In those, whose humble Lord stretch'd forth His hand,
His saving hand, to e'en the meanest slave
Who bends beneath an earthly master's rod.
This faith is meet for all of human kind.

Cor.
Forgive him, father: see, he stands reproved;
His heart is meek, though ardent;
It is, indeed, a faith for all mankind.

Father.
We feel it such, my son, press'd as we are;
On every side beset with threatening terrors.
Look on these ghastly walls, these shapeless pillars,
These heaps of human bones,—this court of death;
E'en here, as in a temple, we adore
The Lord of Life, and sing our song of hope,
That death has lost its sting, the grave its triumph.

Cor.
O make me then the partner of your hopes!
[Taking the hand of Sylvius, and then of several other Christians.
Brave men! high destined souls! immortal beings!
The blessed faith and sense of what we are
Comes on my heart, like streams of beamy light
Pour'd from some opening cloud. O to conceive
What lies beyond the dim, dividing veil
Of regions bright, of blest and glorious being!

Father.
Ay, when it is withdrawn, we shall behold
What heart hath ne'er conceived, nor tongue could utter.

Cor.
When but a boy, I've gazed upon the sky,
With all its sparks of light, as a grand cope
For the benighted world. But now my fancy
Will greet each twinkling star, as the bright lamp
Of some fair angel on his guardian watch.
And think ye not, that from their lofty stations
Our future glorious home, our Father's house,
May lie within the vast and boundless ken
Of such seraphic powers?

Father.
Thy fancy soars on wide and buoyant wings;
Speak on, my son, I would not check thy ardour.

Cor.
This solid earth is press'd bencath our feet,
But as a step from which to take our flight;
What boots it then, if rough or smooth it be,
Serving its end?—Come, noble Sylvius!
We've been companions in the broil of battle,
Now be we fellow-soldiers in that warfare
Which best becomes the brave.

Sylvius.
Cordenius Maro, we shall be companions
When this wide earth with all its fields of blood
Where war hath raged, and all its towers of strength
Which have begirded been with iron hosts,
Are shrunk to nothing, and the flaming sun
Is in his course extinguish'd.

Cor.
Come, lead me, father, to the holy fount,
If I in humble penitence may be
From worldly vileness clear'd.

Father.
I gladly will, my son. The Spirit of Grace
Is dealing with thy spirit: be received,
A ransom'd penitent, to the high fellowship
Of all the good and bless'd in earth and heaven! Enter a Convert.

Whence com'st thou, Fearon? Why wast thou prevented
From joining in our last respectful homage
To those, who have so nobly for the truth
Laid down their lives?

Convert.
I have been watching near the grated dungeon
Where Ethocles, the Grecian, is immured.

Father.
Thou sayst not so! A heavier loss than this,
If they have seized on him, the righteous cause
Could not have suffer'd. Art thou sure of it?
We had not heard of his return from Syria.

Convert.
It is too true: he landed ten days since
On the Brundusian coast, and, as he enter'd
The gates of Rome, was seized and dragg'd to prison.

Father.
And we in utter ignorance of this!

Convert.
He travell'd late and unaccompanied,
So this was done at nightfall and conceal'd.
But see his writing given me by a guard,
Who has for pity's sake betray'd his trust:
It is address'd to thee.

[Giving him a paper.
Father
(after reading it).
Alas, alas! it is a brief account
Of his successful labours in the East:
For with his excellent gifts of eloquence,
Learning, and prudence, he has made more converts
Than all our zealous brotherhood beside.
What can we do? He will be sacrificed:
The church in him must bleed, if God so wills.
It is a dreadful blow.

Cor.
(to the convert).
I pray thee, in what prison is he kept?

Convert.
In Sylla's tower, that dwelling of despair.

Cor.
Guarded by Romans?

Convert.
Yes; and strongly guarded.

Cor.
Yet, he shall be released.

Father
(to Cordenius).
Beware, my son, of rash, imprudent zeal:
The truth hath suffer'd much from this; beware:
Risk not thyself: thy life is also precious.

Cor.
My whole of life is precious: but this shred,
This earthly portion of it, what is that,
But as it is employ'd in holy acts?
Am I Christ's soldier at a poorer rate
Than I have served an earthly master? No;
I feel within my glowing breast a power
Which says I am commission'd for this service.
Give me thy blessing—thy baptismal blessing,
And then God's spirit guide me! Serving God,
I will not count the cost but to discharge it.

Father.
His will direct thee then, my gen'rous son!
His blessing be upon thee!—Lead him, Sylvius,
To the blest fount, where from his former sins
He shall by heavenly grace be purified.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The garden of Sulpicius.
Enter Sulpicius and Portia, with flowers in her hand.
Portia.
Was it not well to rise with early morn
And pay my homage to sweet Flora? Never
Were flowers by mid-day cull'd, so fair, so fragrant,
With blending streaky tints, so fresh and bright.
See: twinkling dew-drops lurk in every bell,
And on the fibred leaves stray far apart,
Like little rounded gems of silver sheen,
While curling tendrils grasp with vigorous hold
The stem that bears them! All looks young and fresh.
The very spider through his circled cage
Of wiry woof, amongst the buds suspended,
Scarce seems a loathly thing, but like the small
Imprison'd bird of some capricious nymph.
Is it not so, my father?

Sul.
Yes, morn and youth and freshness sweetly join,
And are the emblems of dear changeful days.
By night those beauteous things—

Portia.
And what of night?
Why do you check your words? You are not sad?

Sul.
No, Portia; only angry with myself
For crossing thy gay stream of youthful thoughts
With those of sullen age. Away with them!
What if those bright-leaved flowers, so soft and silken,
Are gather'd into dank and wrinkled folds
When evening chills them, or upon the earth,
With broken stems and buds torn and dispersed,
Lie prostrate, of fair form and fragrance reft
When midnight winds pass o'er them; be it so!
All things but have their term.
In truth, my child, I'm glad that I indulged thee
By coming forth at such an early hour
To pay thy worship to so sweet a goddess,
Upon her yearly feast.

Portia.
I thank you, father! On her feast, 'tis said,
That she, from mortal eye conceal'd, vouchsafes
Her presence in such sweet and flowery spots:
And where due offerings on her shrine are laid,
Blesses all seeds and shoots, and things of promise.

Sul.
How many places in one little day
She needs must visit then!

Portia.
But she moves swift as thought. The hasty zephyr,
That stirr'd each slender leaf, now as we enter'd,
And made a sudden sound, by stillness follow'd,
Might be the rapid rustling of her robe.

Sul.
A pleasing fancy, Portia, for the moment,
Yet wild as pleasing.

Portia.
Wherefore call it wild?
Full many a time I've listen'd when alone
In such fair spots as this, and thought I heard
Sweet mingled voices uttering varied tones
Of question and reply, pass on the wind,
And heard soft steps upon the ground; and then
The notion of bright Venus or Diana,
Or goddess-nymphs, would come so vividly
Into my mind, that I am almost certain
Their radiant forms were near me, though conceal'd
By subtle drapery of the ambient air.
And oh, how I have long'd to look upon them!
An ardent strange desire, though mix'd with fear.
Nay, do not smile, my father: such fair sights
Were seen — were often seen in ancient days:
The poets tell us so.
But look, the Indian roses I have foster'd
Are in full bloom; and I must gather them.

[Exit eagerly.
Sul.
(alone).
Go, gentle creature, thou art careless yet.
Ah! couldst thou so remain, and still with me
Be as in years gone by!—It may not be;
Nor should I wish it: all things have their season:
She may not now remain an old man's treasure,
With all her woman's beauty grown to blossom. Enter Orceres.

The Parthian prince at such an early hour?

Or.
And who considers hours, whose heart is bent
On what concerns a lover and a friend?
Where is thy daughter?

Sul.
Within yon flowery thicket, blithe and careless;
For though she loves, 'tis with sweet, maiden fancy,
That, not impatient, looks in cheering hope
To future years.

Or.
Ay, 'tis a shelter'd passion,
A cradled love, by admiration foster'd:
A showy, toward nurse for babe so bashful.
Thus in the shell, athwart whose snowy lining
Each changeful tint of the bright rainbow plays,
A little pearl is found, in secret value
Surpassing all the rest.

Sul.
But sayst thou nothing
Of what I wish to hear? What of Cordenius?

Or.
By my good war-bow and its barbed shafts!
By the best war-horse archer e'er bestrode!
I'm still in ignorance; I have not seen him.

Sul.
Thou hast not seen him! this is very strange.

Or.
So it indeed appears.—My wayward friend
Has from his home been absent. Yesterday,
There and elsewhere I sought, but found him not.
This morning by the dawn again I sought him,
Thinking to find him surely and alone;
But his domestics, much amazed, have told me,
He is not yet return'd.

Sul.
Hush! through yon thicket I perceive a man.

Or.
Some thief or spy.

Sul.
Let us withdraw awhile,
And mark his motions; he observes us not.

Enter Cordenius from a thicket in the background.
Cor.
(after looking round him with delight).
Sweet light of day, fair sky, and verdant earth,
Enrich'd with every beauteous herb and flower,
And stately trees, that spread their boughs, like tents,
For shade and shelter, how I hail you now!
Ye are His works, who made such fair abodes
For happy innocence, yet, in the wreck
Of foul perversion, has not cast us off.
[Stooping to look at the flowers.
Ye little painted things, whose varied hues
Charm, e'en to wonderment; that mighty hand
Which dyes the mountain's peak with rosy tints
Sent from the rising sun, and to the barb'd
Destructive lightning gives its ruddy gleam,
Grand and terrific, thus adorns even you!
There is a father's full unstinted love
Display'd o'er all, and thus on all I gaze
With the keen thrill of new-waked ecstasy.
What voice is that so near me and so sweet?

Portia without, singing some notes of prelude, and then a song.
Cor.
Her voice indeed, and this my fav'rite song!
It is that gentle creature, my sweet Portia.
I call her mine, because she is the image
Which hath possess'd my fancy. Such vain thoughts
Must now give place. I will not linger here.
This is the garden of Sulpicius;
How have I miss'd my path? She sings again.
[Sings without, as before.
She wanders fitfully from lay to lay,
But all of them some air that I have praised
In happy hours gone by.

Cor.
O gentle, sweet, and cheerful! form'd to be
Whate'er my heart could prize of treasured love!
Dear as thou art, I will not linger here.

Re-enter Sulpicius and Orceres, breaking out upon him, and Orceres catching hold of his robe as he is going off.
Or.
Ha! noble Maro, to a coward turn'd,
Shunning a spot of danger!

Sul.
Stay, Cordenius.
The fellest foe thou shalt contend with here,
Is she thou callst so gentle. As for me,
I do not offer thee this hand more freely
Than I will grant all that may make thee happy,
If Portia has that power.

Cor.
And dost thou mean, in very earnest mean,
That thou wilt give me Portia—thy dear Portia?
My fancy catches wildly at thy words.

Sul.
And truly too, Cordenius. She is thine,
If thou wilt promise me to love her truly.

Cor.
(eagerly clasping the knees, and then kissing the hands of Sulpicius).
Thanks, thanks! —thanks from my swoln, o'erflowing heart,
Which has no words.—Friend, father, Portia's father!
The thought creates in me such sudden joy,
I am bewilder'd with it.

Sul.
Calm thy spirits.—
Thou shouldst in meeter form have known it sooner,
Had not the execution of those Christians—
(Pests of the earth, whom on one burning pile,
With all their kind, I would most gladly punish,)
Till now prevented me. Thy friend, Orceres—
Thou owest him thanks—pled for thee powerfully,
And had my leave. But dost thou listen to me?
Thy face wears many colours, and big drops
Burst from thy brow, whilst thy contracted lips
Quiver, like one in pain.

Or.
What sudden illness racks thee?

Cor.
I may not tell you now: let me depart.

Sul.
(holding him).
Thou art my promised son; I have a right
To know whate'er concerns thee,—pain or pleasure.

Cor.
And so thou hast, and I may not deceive thee.
Take, take, Sulpicius.—O such with'ring words!
The sinking, sick'ning heart and parched mouth!
I cannot utter them.

Sul.
Why in this agony of perturbation?
Nay, strive not now to speak.

Cor.
I must, I must!—
Take back thy proffer'd gift; all earth could give;—
That which it cannot give I must retain.

Sul.
What words were these? If it were possible,
I could believe thee touch'd with sorcery,
The cursed art of those vile Nazarenes.
Where hast thou pass'd the night? their haunts are near.

Or.
Nay, nay; repress thine anger; noble Maro
May not be question'd thus.

Sul.
He may and shall. And yet I will not urge him,
If he, with hand press'd on his breast, will say,
That he detests those hateful Nazarenes.

Cor.
No; though my life, and what is dearer far,
My Portia's love, depended on the words,
I would not, and I durst not utter them.

Sul.
I see it well: thou art ensnared and blinded
By their enchantments. Demoniac power
Will drag thee to thy ruin. Cast it off;
Defy it. Say thou wilt forbear all intercourse
With this detested sect. Art thou a madman?

Cor.
If I am mad, that which possesses me
Outvalues all philosophers e'er taught,
Or poets e'er imagined.—Listen to me.
Call ye these Christians vile, because they suffer
Pains nature shrinks from, rather than deny
What seems to them the truth? Call ye them sorcerers,
Because their words impart such high conceptions
Of power creative and parental love,
In one great Being join'd, as makes the heart
Bound with ennobling thoughts? Call ye them curst,
Who daily live in steady strong assurance
Of endless blessedness? O, listen to me!

Re-enter Portia, bursting from a thicket close to them.
Portia.
O, listen to him, father!

Sul.
Let go my robe, fond creature! Listen to him!
The song of syrens were less fatal. Charms
Of dire delusion, luring on to ruin,
Are mingled with the words that speak their faith;
They, who once hear them, flutter round destruction
With giddy fascination, like the moth,
Which, shorn of half its form, all scorch'd and shrivell'd,
Still to the torch returns. I will not listen;
No, Portia, nor shalt thou.

Portia.
O, say not so!
For if you listen to him, you may save him,
And win him from his errors.

Sul.
Vain hope! vain hope! What is man's natural reason
Opposed to demon subtlety? Cordenius!
Cordenius Maro! I adjure thee, go!
Leave me; why wouldst thou pull destruction on me?
On one who loved thee so, that though possess'd
Of but one precious pearl, most dearly priz'd,
Prized more than life, yet would have given it to thee.
I needs must weep: e'en for thyself I weep.

Cor.
Weep not, my kind Sulpicius! I will leave thee,
Albeit the pearl thou wouldst bestow upon me
Is, in my estimation, dearer far
Than life, or power, or fame, or earthly thing.
When these fierce times are past, thou wilt, perhaps,
Think of me with regard, but not with pity,
How fell soe'er my earthly end hath been,
For I shall then be blest. And thou, dear Portia,
Wilt thou remember me? That thought, alas!
Dissolves my soul in weakness.—
O, to be spared, if it were possible,
This stroke of agony! Is it not possible,
That I might yet—Almighty God forgive me!
Weak thoughts will lurk in the devoted heart,
But not be cherish'd there. I may not offer
Aught short of all to Thee!—
Farewell, farewell! sweet Portia, fare thee well!
[Orceres catches hold of him to prevent his going.
Retain me not: I am a Parthian now.
My strength is in retreat.

[Exit.
Portia.
That noble mind! and must it then be ruin'd?
O save him, save him, father! Brave Orceres,
Wilt thou not save thy friend, the noble Maro?

Or.
We will, sweet maid, if it be possible.
We'll keep his faith a secret in our breasts;
And he may yet, if not by circumstances
Provoked to speak, conceal it from the world.

Portia.
And you, my father?

Sul.
I will not betray him.

Portia.
Then all may yet be well; for our great gods,
Whom Cæsar and his subject-nations worship,
Will not abandon Rome's best, bravest soldier
To power demoniac. That can never be,
If they indeed regard us.

Or.
Were he in Parthia, our great god, the sun,
Or rather he who in that star resides,
Would not permit his power to be so thwarted
For all the demonry that e'er exerted
Its baleful influence on wretched men.
Beshrew me! for a thought gleams through my brain
It is this God, perhaps, with some new name,
Which these bewilder'd Nazarenes adore.

Sul.
With impious rites, most strange and horrible.

Or.
If he, my friend, in impious rites hath join'd,
Demons, indeed, have o'er the soul of man
A power to change its nature. Ay, Sulpicius;
And thou and I may, ere a day shall pass,
Be very Nazarenes. We are in ignorance;
We shoot our arrow in the dark, and cry,
“It is to wound a foe.” Come, gentle Portia;
Be not so sad; the man thou lovest is virtuous,
And brave, and loves thee well; why then despair?

Portia.
Alas! I know that he is brave and virtuous,
Therefore, I do despair.

Or.
In Nero's court,
Such men are ever on the brink of danger,
But wouldst thou have him other than he is?

Portia.
O no! I would not; that were base and sordid;
Yet shed I tears, even like a wayward child
Who weeps for that which cannot be attain'd,—
Virtue, and constancy, and safety join'd.
I pray thee pardon me, for I am wretched,
And that hath made me foolish and perverse.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Before the gate of Nero's palace: guards, with their officers, discovered on duty.
Enter to them another officer, speaking, as he enters, to the soldiers.
1st offi.
Strike up some sacred strain of Roman triumph;
The Pontiff comes to meet the summon'd council.
Omit not this respect, else he will deem
We are of those who love the Nazarenes.
Sing loud and clearly.

Enter Pontiff, attended.
SACRED HYMN by the soldiers.
Pontiff.
I thank you, soldiers! Rome, indeed, hath triumph'd,
Bless'd in the high protection of her gods,
The sov'reign warrior-nation of the world;
And, favour'd by great Jove and mighty Mars,
So may she triumph still, nor meanly stoop
To worship strange and meaner deities,
Adverse to warlike glory.

[Exit, with his train.
1st offi.
The Pontiff seems disturb'd, his brow is lowering.

2d offi.
Reproof and caution, mingled with his thanks,
Though utter'd graciously.

1st offi.
He is offended,
Because of late so many valiant soldiers
Have proselytes become to this new worship;
A worship too, as he insinuates,
Unsuited to the brave.

3d offi.
Ay, ay! the sacred chickens are in danger.

2d offi.
Sylvius is suspected, as I hear.

1st offi.
Hush! let us to our duty; it is time
To change the inner guard.

[Exeunt, with music, into the gate of the palace.

SCENE II.

A council-chamber in the palace: Nero with his councillors discovered; Nero in the act of speaking.
Nero.
Yes, Servius; formerly we have admitted,
As minor powers, amongst the ancient gods
Of high imperial Rome, the foreign deities
Of friendly nations; but these Nazarenes
Scorn such association, proudly claiming
For that which is the object of their faith,
Sole, undivided homage: and our altars,
Our stately temples, the majestic forms
Of Mars, Apollo, thund'ring Jove himself,
By sculptor's art divine so nobly wrought,
Are held by these mad zealots in contempt.
Examine, sayst thou! shall imperial Cæsar
Deign to examine what withstands his power?
I marvel at thy folly, Servius Sillus.

Enter an Officer.
Offi.
The Pontiff, mighty Cæsar, waits without
And craves admittance.

Nero.
Let him be admitted. Enter Pontiff.

Pontiff, thy visage, if I read it well,
Says that some weighty matter brings thee here:
Thou hast our leave to speak.

Pontiff.
Imperial Nero, didst thou not condemn,
That eloquent, but pestilential Nazarene,
The Grecian Ethocles, whose specious words
Wrap in delusion all who listen to him,
Spreading his baleful errors o'er the world?

Nero.
Did I condemn him! E'en this very day,
He in the Amphitheatre meets his doom;
Having, I trust, no power of words to charm
The enchafed lion, or the famish'd wolf.

Pontiff.
I am inform'd, and I believe it true,
That this bold malefactor is enlarged.

Nero.
It is impossible! Cordenius Maro
Is sworn to guard the prisoner; or, failing,
(How could he fail?)
to pay with his own life
The forfeit. But behold his fav'rite friend,
The Parthian prince, who will inform us truly. Enter Orceres, followed by Sulpicius.

Orceres, is thy friend Cordenius coming?
I have commanded him, and at this hour,
To bring his guarded prisoner to the palace,
Here to remain till the appointed time.

Or.
I know not; nor have I beheld Cordenius
Since yesterday; when, at an early hour,
Sulpicius and myself met him by chance:
But for the prisoner, he is at hand,
E'en at the palace gate; for as we enter'd
We saw him there, well circled round with guards,
Though in the martial throng we saw not Maro.

Nero
(to the pontiff).
Said I not so?
(To an officer.)
Command them instantly
To bring this wordy Grecian to our presence.
[Exit officer.
Sulpicius, thou hast known this Ethocles;
Is he a madman or ambitious knave,
Who sought on human folly to erect
A kind of fancied greatness for himself?

Sul.
I know not which, great Nero.

Nero.
And didst thou not advise me earnestly
To rid the state of such a pestilence?

Sul.
And so I still advise thee; for this Greek
Is dang'rous above all, who with their lives,
Have yet paid forfeit for their strange belief.
They come: the prisoner in foreign garb
So closely wrapp'd, I scarcely see his face.

Enter prisoner, attended.
Pontiff.
If it in truth be he.

Nero
(to the pontiff).
Dost thou still doubt?
(To the prisoner.)
Stand forth, audacious rebel to my will!
Dost thou still brave it, false and subtle spirit?

Cor.
(throwing off his Grecian cloak, and advancing to Nero).
I am not false, Augustus; but if subtle,
Add to my punishment what shall be deem'd
Meet retribution. I have truly sworn,
Or to produce thy thrall, or, therein failing,
To give my life for his; and here I stand.
Ethocles, by a higher power than thine,
Is yet reserved for great and blessed ends.
Take thou the forfeit; I have kept my oath.

Nero.
I am amazed beyond the power of utt'rance!
Grows it to such a pitch that Rome's brave captains
Are by this wizard sorcery so charm'd?
Then it is time, good sooth! that sweeping vengeance
Should rid the earth of every tainted thing
Which that curst sect hath touch'd. Cordenius Maro,
Thou who hast fought our battles, graced our state,
And borne a noble Roman's honour'd name,
What, O what power could tempt thee to this shame?

Cor.
I have been tempted by that mighty Power
Who gave to Rome her greatness, to the earth
Form and existence; yea, and to the soul
Of living, active man, sense and perception:
But not to shame, O Cæsar! not to shame!

Nero.
What, hast thou not become a Nazarene,
As now I apprehended? Say, thou hast not;
And though thy present act is most audacious,
Yet will I spare thy life.

Cor.
If thou wouldst spare my life, and to that grace
Add all the wealth of Rome, and all the power
Of Rome's great lord, I would not for the bribe
Be other than I am, or what I am
Basely deny.

Nero.
Thou art a Christian, then? Thou art a maniac!

Cor.
I am a man, who, seeing in the flames
Those dauntless Christians suffer, long'd to know
What power could make them brave the fear of death,
Disgrace, and infamy. And I have learnt
That they adore a God,—one God, supreme,
Who, over all men, His created sons,
Rules as a father; and beholding sin,
Growth of corruption, mar this earthly race,
Sent down to earth His sinless heavenly son,
Who left, with generous devoted love,
His state of exaltation and of glory,
To win them back to virtue, yea, to virtue
Which shall be crown'd with never-ending bliss.
I've learnt that they with deep adoring gratitude
Pay homage to that Son, the sent of God,
Who here became a willing sacrifice
To save mankind from sin and punishment,
And earn for them a better life hereafter,
When mortal life is closed. The heart's deep homage
Becometh well such creatures, so redeem'd.

Nero.
Out on that dreaming madness!

Cor.
Is it madness
To be the humble follower of Him,
Who left the bliss of heaven to be for us
A man on earth, in spotless virtue living,
As man ne'er lived: such words of comfort speaking,
To rouse, and elevate, and cheer the heart,
As man ne'er spoke; and suff'ring poverty,
Contempt, and wrong, and pain, and death itself,
As man ne'er suffer'd? O, if this be madness,
Which makes each generous impulse of my nature
Warm into ecstasy, each towering hope
Rise to the noblest height of bold conception;
That which is reason call'd, and yet has taught you
To worship different gods in every clime,
As dull and wicked as their worshippers,
Compared to it, is poor, confined, and mean,
As is the Scythian's curtain'd tent, compared
With the wide range of fair, expanded nature.

Nero.
Away, away, with all those lofty words!
They but bewilder thee.

Cor.
Yet hear them, Nero! O resist them not!
Perhaps they are appointed for thy good,
And for the good of thousands. When these hands
Which have so oft done Rome a soldier's service,
This tongue which speaks to thee, are turn'd to ashes,
What now appears so wild and fanciful,
May be remember'd with far other feelings.
It is not life that I request of Nero,
Although I said these hands have fought for Rome.
No; in the presence of these senators,
First bind thyself by every sacred oath
To give this body to the flames, then hear me;
O could I speak what might convince Rome's chief,
Her senators, her tribes, her meanest slaves,
Of Christ's most blessed truth, the fatal pile
Would be to me a car of joyful triumph,
Mounted more gladly than the laurell'd hero
Vaults to his envied seat, while Rome's throng'd streets
Resound his shouted name. Within me stirs
The spirit of truth and power which spoke to me,
And will upon thy mind—

Nero.
I charge thee cease!

Or.
Nay, Emperor! might I entreat for him?

Cor.
(catching hold of Orceres eagerly).
Not for my life.

Or.
No; not for that, brave Maro!
(To Nero.)
Let me entreat that he may freely speak.
Fearst thou he should convince thee by his words?
That were a foul affront to thine own reason,
Or to the high divinities of Rome.

Nero.
Cease, Prince of Parthia! nor too far presume
Upon a noble stranger's privilege.

Pontiff.
Shall words so bold be to thine car august
So freely utter'd with impunity?

Or.
Pontiff; I much revere thy sacred office,
But scorn thy paltry words. Not freely speak!
Not with impunity! Is this a threat?
Let Rome's great master, or his angry slaves,
Shed one drop of my blood, and on our plains,
Where heretofore full many a Roman corse,
With Parthian arrows pierced, have vultures fed,
Twice thirty thousand archers in array,
Each with his bow strain'd for the distant mark,
Shall quickly stand, impatient for revenge.
Not with impunity!

Sul.
Nay, nay, Orceres! with such haughty words
Thou'lt injure him thou pleadst for. Noble Cæsar!
Permit an aged man, a faithful servant,
To speak his thoughts. This brave deluded youth
Is now, as I sincerely do believe,
Beneath the power of strong and dire enchantment.
Hear not his raving words, but spare his life;
And when its power (for all delusion holds
Its power but for a season) shall be spent,
He will himself entreat your clemency,
And be again the soldier of the state,
Brave and obedient. Do not hear him now:
Command him to retire.

Cor.
I thank thee, good Sulpicius, but my life,
For which thou pleadst, take no account of that;
I yield it freely up to any death,
Cruel or merciful, which the decree
Of Cæsar shall inflict, for leave to speak
E'en but a few short moments. Princely Nero!
The strong enchantment which deludes my soul
Is, that I do believe myself the creature,
Subject, and soldier, if I so may speak,
Of an Almighty Father, King, and Lord,
Before whose presence, when my soul shall be
Of flesh and blood disrobed, I shall appear,
There to remain with all the great and good
That e'er have lived on earth, yea, and with spirits,
Higher than earth e'er own'd, in such pure bliss
As human heart conceives not,—if my life,
With its imperfect virtue, find acceptance
From pard'ning love and merey; but, if otherwise,
That I shall pass into a state of misery
With souls of wicked men and wrathful demons:
That I believe this earth on which we stand
Is but the vestibule to glorious mansions,
Through which a moving crowd for ever press;
And do regard the greatest Prince, who now
Inflicts short torment on this flesh, as one
Who but in passing rudely rends my robe.
And thinkest thou that I, believing this,
Will shrink to do His will whom I adore?
Or thinkest thou this is a senseless charm,
That soon will pass away?

Nero.
High words, indeed, if resting on good proof!
A maniac's fancies may be grand and noble.

Cor.
Ay, now thou list'nest, as a man should listen,
With an inquiring mind. Let me produce
The proofs which have constrain'd me to believe,
From written lore and well-attested facts;—
Let me produce my proofs, and it may be
The Spirit of Truth may touch thy yielding heart,
And save thee from destruction.

Nero.
Ha! dost thou think to make of me a convert?
Away, weak fool! and most audacious rebel!
Give proofs of thy obedience, not thy faith,
If thou wouldst earn thy pardon.

Cor.
If thou condemn me in the flames to die,
I will and must obey thee; if to live,
Disgraced by pardon won through treachery
To God, my King supreme, and His bless'd Christ,
I am, indeed, thy disobedient rebel.

Nero.
And shall as such most dearly pay the forfeit.
Out!—take him from my presence till the time
Of public execution!
Cordenius Maro, thou shalt fall this day
By no ignoble foe;—a noble lion
Famish'd and fierce shall be thy adversary.
And dost thou smile and raise thy head at this,
In stately confidence?

Cor.
God will deliver me from every adversary.
And thou too smilest.—Yes; he will deliver
That which I call myself. For this poor form
Which vests me round, I give it to destruction,
As gladly as the storm-beat traveller,
Who, having reach'd his destined place of shelter,
Drops at the door his mantle's cumbrous weight.

Nero
(going).
Then to thy visionary hopes I leave thee,
Incorrigible man! Here, in this chamber
Keep him secure till the appointed hour.
[To the officers, &c.
Off, good Sulpicius! hang not on me thus!

Sul.
O mighty Cæsar! countermand your orders:
Delay it but a month, a week, a day.

[Exeunt Nero, Sulpicius, senators, &c., Sulpicius still keeping close to Nero in the act of supplication.—Orceres, Cordenius, and guards remain, the guards standing respectfully at a distance in the background.
Or.
Noble Cordenius! can thy martial spirit
Thus brook to be a public spectacle,
Fighting with savage beasts, the sport of fools,
Till thou shalt fall, deform'd and horrible,
Mangled and piecemeal torn? It must not be.

Cor.
Be not so moved, Orceres; I can bear it:
The God I worship, who hath made me humble,
Hath made me dauntless too. And for the shame
Which, as I guess, disturbs thee most, my Master,
The Lord and Leader I have sworn to follow,
Did as a malefactor end his days,
To save a lost, perverted race: shall I
Feel degradation, then, in following Him?

Or.
In this, alas! thou'lt follow Him too surely;
But whither, noble Maro?

Cor.
E'en to my destined home, my Father's

[house.
Or.
And where is that? O, canst thou tell me where?
Beyond the ocean, or beneath the earth?
Be there more worlds than this, beyond our ken
In regions vast, above the lofty stars?
Could we through the far stretch of space descry
E'en but the distant verge, though dimly mark'd,
Of any other world, I would believe
That virtuous men deceased have in good truth
A destined place of rest.

Cor.
Believe it—O, believe it, brave Orceres!

Or.
I'll try to do it. I'll become a Christian,
Were it but only to defy this tyrant.

Cor.
Thou must receive with a far different spirit
The faith of Jesus Christ. Perhaps thou wilt.
My heart leaps at the thought. When I am dead,
Remain in Rome no longer. In the East
Search thou for Ethocles, whom I have rescued;
And if he shall convert thee, O how richly
He will repay all I have done for him!—
But I would now withdraw a little space,
To pour my thoughts in prayer and thankfulness
To Him, the great, the good, the wise, the just,
Who holds man's spirit in His own high keeping,
And now supports my soul, and will support it,
Till my appointed task is done. In secret
The hearts by Jesus taught were bid to pray,
And, if it be permitted, so will I.
(To the guards, who advance as he speaks to them.)
My guards, and, some time past, my fellow soldiers,
Let me remain alone a little while,
And fear not my escape. If ye distrust me,
Watch well the door, and bind my hands with chains!

1st offi.
Yes, brave Cordenius, to another chamber
Thou mayst retire, and we will watch without.
But be thy person free: we will not bind,
With felon cord or chain, those valiant hands,
Which have so often for thy country fought,
Until we are commanded.

Cor.
I thank you all, my friends, and I believe
That I shall meet and thank you too hereafter;
For there is something in you God must love.
(To 1st officer.)
And, loving, will not give to reprobation.
Codrus, thou once didst put thy life in hazard,
And suffer much to save a helpless Greek
Who sought protection of thee.
(Turning to the 2d officer.)
Ay, and thou,
Young Lelius, once a rich and tempting ransom
Didst freely to a captive wretch remit.
Ye are of those whom Jesus came to save:
Yes; we shall meet hereafter.
(To 3d officer.)
And thou, my former enemy, weep'st thou?
We're enemies no more; thou art my brother.
I will retire; my little term of life
Runs fleetly on; I must not spend it thus.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A crowded amphitheatre: Nero and the senators discovered in the background sitting in state; Portia, by the side of Nero, in the act of supplication.
Enter Sulpicius on the front, meeting with another noble Roman.
Sul.
(eagerly).
Is he advancing?

Noble Roman.
Yes, and close at hand,
Surrounded by a group of martial friends.
Oft have I seen him on a day of battle
March to the charge with noble portly gait;
But now he treads the ground with buoyant steps
Which from its surface spring, as though he press'd
Substance of renovating power. His form
Seems stately and enlarged beyond its wont;
And in his countenance, oft turn'd to heaven,
There is a look as if some god dwelt in him.

Sul.
How do the people greet him?

Noble Roman.
Every face
Gazing upon him, turns, with transit quick,
Pity to admiration. Warlike veterans
Are shedding tears like infants. As he pass'd
The legion he commanded in Armenia,
They raised a shout as if a victor came,
Saluting him with long and loud applause,
None daring to reprove them.
[Noise without of shouting.
Hark! he comes.

Enter Cordenius, followed by Orceres and Sylvius, and attended by other friends, with guards, &c.
Sul.
(advancing eagerly to meet him).
Cordenius, Cordenius, hear a friend,
A faithful ancient friend; thy Portia's father!
At Nero's footstool she is pleading for thee,
And will not plead in vain, if thou wilt testify
A yielding mind, a willingness to live.

Cor.
I am so pleased to die, and am so honour'd
In dying for the pure and holy truth,
That nature's instinct seems in me extinguish'd.
But if the Emperor freely pardon me,
I shall believe it is the will of God
That I should yet on earth promote His service,
And, so believing, am content to live;
Living or dying, to His will resign'd.

Enter Portia on the front, and catching hold of Cordenius with eagerness and great agitation.
Portia.
Cordenius, thou art pardon'd! Nero spares thee,
If thou wilt only say thou art a Roman,
In heart and faith, as all thy fathers were,
Or but forbear to say thou art a Christian.

Cor.
Thanks, gentle Portia! life preserved by thee,
E'en to be spent in want and contumely,
Rather than grieve thy kind and tender heart,
My dearest, gentlest friend! I had accepted:
But to deny my God, and put dishonour
Upon the noblest, most exalted faith
That ever was to human thoughts reveal'd,
Is what I will not—yea, and though a Roman,
A noble Roman, and a soldier too,
I dare not do. Let Nero have this answer.

Portia.
No, not this answer, Maro; not this answer!
Cast not life from thee, dear, most dear Cordenius!
Life, too, which I should spend my life in cheering,
Cast it not from thee like a worthless thing.

Cor.
Because it is not worthless but most precious,
And now, when dear to thee, more precious far
Than I have e'er esteem'd it, 'tis an offering
More meet for God's acceptance;
Withheld from Him, not even thyself, sweet maid,
Couldst cheer its course, nor yet couldst thou be happy.

Portia.
Nay, but I could!—to see thee still alive,
And by my side, mine own redeemed friend,
Should I not then be happy?

Cor.
I should be by thy side, dear love! but thou,
With all thy excellence, couldst have no happiness,
Mated with one, whose living form alone
Could move upon the earth, while far adrift
His mind would dwell by ceaseless meditation,
In other worlds of blessedness or woe;
Lost to the one, and to the other link'd
By horrid sympathy, till his wrench'd nature
Should to a demon's fell and restless spirit
At last be changed.

Portia.
Alas, alas! and dost thou then believe
That nought remains for thee but death or misery?

Cor.
No, gentle Portia! firmly I believe
That I shall live in endless happiness,
And with the blest hereafter shall behold
Thy blessed self with ecstasy of love,
Exceeding every thought of earth-born passion,
As the fair morning star in lovely brightness
Excels a night-fly, twinkling through the gloom.
Live in this hope, dear Portia! hold it fast;
And may His blessing rest upon thy head,
Who loves the loving and the innocent!
Farewell, in love and hope! farewell, in peace!
Farewell, in quick'ning faith,—in holy joy!

Portia
(clasping his knees).
Nay, let me yet conjure thee!
Make me not wretched, I who once was happy,
And happiest of all in loving thee.

Cor.
This is my anguish and my suffering!
O, good Sulpicius, bear her to her home.

Sul.
(leading her gently away, while she still clings to him).
Forbear, my child, thy tears are all in vain.

Enter a Lictor.
Lictor.
Cæsar forbids all further interruption
To his imperial sentence. Let Cordenius
Forthwith prepare him for the fatal fight.
This is mine office, and I must perform it.
[Begins to disrobe Cordenius, while Portia shrieks aloud, and is carried off in the arms of her father.
Disrobe thee, Maro, of those martial weeds.

Cor.
Gladly! for Him I serve;—my glorious Master
Hath braced me with an armour that defies
All hostile things; in which I'll strive more proudly
Than I have ever fought in field or breach
With Rome's or Nero's foes.

Lictor.
Cæsar desires thee also to remember,
That no ignoble audience, e'en thy Emperor,
And all the states of Rome, behold thy deeds.

Cor.
Tell him my deeds shall witness'd be by those
Compared to whom the Emperor of Rome,
With all her high estates, are but as insects
Hov'ring at mid-day o'er some tainted marsh.
I know full well that no ignoble audience
Are present, though from mortal eyes conceal'd.
Farewell, my friends! kind, noble friends, farewell!
[Apart to Sylvius, while Orceres goes off, re-appearing in another part of the theatre.
Sylvius, farewell! If thou shouldst e'er be call'd
To die a holy martyr for the truth,
God give thee then the joy which now I feel.
But keep thy faith conceal'd, till useful service
Shall call thee to maintain it. God be with thee!
(Looking round.)
Where is Orceres gone? I thought him near me.

Sylvius.
'Tis but a moment since he left thy side
With eager haste.

Cor.
He would not see my death. I'm glad he's gone.
Say I inquired for him, and say I bless'd him.
—Now I am ready. Earthly friends are gone.
Angels and blessed spirits! to your fellowship
A few short pangs will bring me.
—O, Thou, who didst upon the cross for us
A willing suff'rer die, receive my soul!
Almighty God and Sire, supreme o'er all,
Pardon my sins and take me to Thyself!
Accept the last words of my earthly lips:
High hallelujah to Thy holy name!

[A lion now appears, issuing from a low door at the end of the stage, and Cordenius, advancing to meet it, enters the arena, when Orceres from a lofty stand amongst the spectators, sends an arrow from his bow, which pierces Cordenius through the heart. He then disappears, and re-entering below, catches hold of his hand as Sylvius supports him from falling to the ground.
Or.
(to Cordenius).
Have I done well, my friend?—this is a death
More worthy of a Roman.
I made a vow in secret to my heart,
That thou shouldst ne'er be made a mangled sight
For gazing crowds and Nero's ruthless eye.

Sylvius.
That dying look, which almost smiles upon thee,
Tells thee thou hast done well; though words no more
May pass from these clos'd lips, whose last, bless'd utterance
Was the soul's purest and sublimest impulse.

[The curtain drops.