University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Before the House of Belisarius.
Caius.
Alas! what miseries involve the house
Of Belisarius! Like a towering oak
Which many a year had braved the storms of heaven,
Yet rooted deep, magnificent in age,
He stood but yesterday; to day an earthquake
Hath loosed his roots, he falls, and with him falls
The ivy, and the vine with tender foliage
Curling around him.
(Enter Phorbas.)
Gracious powers! 'tis he!
It must, it is reality.—Oh! say—
Alive! at liberty!—By what rare accident?—

Phor.
My time is precious.—Know that to Eumenes
Was given the mandate for my execution
In darkest privacy.—I stood prepared.
When he with voice indignant fired the guards,
Who urged me to escape. One only murmured,
A wretch long used to Narbal's cruel deeds,
A stern assassin. Him the sword dispatched.
And by the postern door I sought these walls.

Caius.
Which my unguarded zeal had reach'd before thee.

Phor.
Blame not thyself. It was the zeal of friendship.

Caius.
Too rough, and blunt my speech. Ah! how Eumenes,
Could I believe—

Phor.
No more.—Attend! I mean
Tho to his Empress' arms he fly for shelter,
There to pursue, and sacrifice this Narbal.
Go thou with winged haste to old Nicanor,
Bid him with utmost speed direct the veterans
By different avenues to gain the forum;
There will I meet and head the sacred band.

Caius.
My speed is needless.—Lo! the warrior comes!

Enter Nicanor.
Nic.
Why loiters Phorbas in these paths of danger?
Before Eumenes' trusty messenger
Disclosed thy fate; my mind, as if with his
Holding free intercourse, had all things ripe
For some great, glorious action.

Phor.
How consent
Time and occasion with thy generous purpose?

Nic.
Already discontent with murmuring sound
Hath pass'd thro all our streets, and now the voice
Of bolder indignation rises high.
The people gather all in groupes and clusters
Haranguing one another; tho their clamours
Are intermix'd, and all among them speakers,
They aim at one sole end, to storm the palace,
And rescue thence the hero they adore.
My veterans all are ready, at a moment
We join their bands, and give to tumult, order.
Thy freedom is the best, most prosperous omen,
Insuring our success. Thy youthful presence
Will make us who already are prepared,
And dreadful to our foes, invincible.

Phor.
O noble friend! and worthy highest praise!
How I revere thy venerable age!
Then Belisarius shall again behold
The all-chearing sun, and vindicate his actions
In its meridian splendour.

Nic.
Shall he not?
Yes; or these hairs of dry antiquity
Shall be trod low beneath the reveler's foot;
And courtly sycophants with silken smiles
Shall mock these wither'd limbs.—O son of him,
Whom I these thirty years have call'd my friend,
Whose new-strung arm I saw like lightning blast
The Huns' fierce van! Haste! lead us, lead us on!
The step of age shall follow swift behind,
And in this cause of justice, more than emulate
Thy youthful ardour.

Phor.
Where are posted now
The reverend sons of war?

Nic.
All in their arms;
Received in friendly houses in the forum.
They wait the trumpets' sound to call them forth.
Their heads are hoary, but their valiant hearts
Shall urge them on to raise a dreadful storm,
Like winter, when compelling all the winds
He rolls in wreathes the fleecy snow before him,
And desolates the fields.

Phor.
Thou brave old man!
Thy spirit rouses mine to rapturous daring!
Haste! call them forth! march down the open space
By yonder temple; there I mean to join them.
I, in disguise, shall to the virtuous priest,
Who is my friend.

Nic.
I go. The word is justice,
And the thrice-honour'd name of Belisarius.

[Exit.
Phor.
Thou Caius to the palace; be it thine
To act as thy own reason dictates there.
Be mindful ever of Eumenes' orders.
We have our friends amid the guards. The time
Requires all speed.—Thy asking eye inquires
For those within. Marcella is recover'd.
I left her wrapp'd in sweetest sleep. Farewell.
She too may need thy aid.

Caius.
May heaven protect thee!
And crown thy head with victory and glory!
[Exit Caius.

Phor.
O vengeance! whether by the side of Jove
Thou sitt'st, intently gazing on his face,
Watching his frown, to snatch the fiery bolt
From the crook'd beak of his imperial bird!
Whether thou ridest along the sultry sky,
While pestilence and famine yoked, draw on
Thy livid car, and death with eager joy
Hastes close behind! Whether amid the ranks
Of homicidal Mars, thy two-edged sword
Thou surfeitest with slaughter! to my aid
Be near dread goddess! In a cause more just
Ne'er did thy breath inspire the human soul.
Beneath thy tutelary care I move.
Fill all my breast! with more than mortal vigour
Brace up each sinew! that from this day's actions
Guilt and successful villainy may tremble
Mid the bright blaze of their prosperity!

[Exit.